Alfa Blood Box Set

by Mac Flynn

  He started from his thoughts and shook his head. "I-I'm sorry, I sometimes distract myself-"

  "-when you're thinking about Lance?" I finished for him.

  "Yes."

  I sighed, scooted over and patted the empty spot beside me. "Why don't you tell me a little about the history between you two? Sounds like you go back a long ways."

  Luke shook his head. "Very long, but that's a story for another time," he insisted. "For now the present is a troublesome enough story that's being played out in his favor."

  "We'll just have to try our best and stop him where we can," I encouraged him. I patted the seat again. "Now at least come over here and sit down. You're about to pace a hole in the floor and I don't think the neighbors would appreciate your foot going through their ceiling."

  Luke chuckled and walked over to sit beside me. "What would I do without you here to cheer me up?" he wondered.

  "Probably would've kidnapped another beautiful, talented young woman to be a mate."

  "But they wouldn't have been you," he persisted.

  I put on a playfully thoughtful face and tapped my chin. "You're right, they wouldn't have been as beautiful or talented."

  "Or modest," he teased.

  "Yes, I have tons of that."

  "And sex appeal."

  "Practically exuding it," I agreed.

  "And-" My stomach growled, and the sound echoed through the room.

  "-and hunger," I finished.

  He chuckled. "We'll have to fix that, and then get some sleep. Tomorrow will no doubt be interesting."

  "Courtesy of Lance," I replied.

  20

  The next day started out great. I had a handsome, rich guy wrapped around me and the bright sun drifted through the thin curtains against the balcony doors. Everything went downhill at the knock on the door. "Sir? Breakfast is ready and the meeting will begin in an hour," Alistair called through the door.

  We got up, or rather I slunk out of bed, breakfasted, dressed, and Luke herded me to the amphitheater. The empty benches were now filled to capacity and people lined the walls on either side of the room. The place was so crowded that one push would have caused a domino effect of screaming and shoving straight down to the empty stage. Luke led me to some unoccupied seats near the stage and on the right column of benches meant for the lord of his district. I looked around and spotted some familiar faces.

  Burnbaum sat on the same column, but behind us, and I noticed Abby's parents in the far back with her stuck firmly between them. Close beside us sat Baker in all his brooding glory. I looked to the other side of the aisle and noticed Lance and his assassin assistant on the bench equal to ours with Farber and two other men behind him. I guessed those were the other lords he convinced to join his voting block, Simpling and Mullen.

  Both sides of the aisle were a rowdy group of chatting and jostling werewolves, and there was more than one glare cast across the aisle at the opposing group. Many wore the colored armbands of one party or the other, but there was an equal number who didn't show allegiance to either group by having bare arms. The tension in the room was so high I breathed animosity and exhaled my own tension. "Was the tension this bad yesterday?" I asked Luke.

  He shook his head. "No, but the armbands were found stolen last night," he reminded me.

  I noticed Stacy come down the stairs and she took a seat on the other side of Luke close to the aisle. She leaned past him and smiled at me. "Having fun yet?" she teased me.

  "Tons," I mumbled.

  I then turned my attention to the stage. A large oak desk stood in the center with three chairs behind it and a gavel on the top. At the appropriate, god-awful hour of eight, a man stepped onto the stage and cleared his throat. "Attention, everyone!" he called out over the crowds. The audience hushed and turned their attention to him. "The meeting will now begin. The High Lord Stevens will now reside over us."

  I wrinkled my nose. That last name sounded familiar. "Isn't Stevens Stacy's last name?" I asked Luke.

  He nodded. "Her father is the current High Lord."

  The man himself stepped out in a silk robe as ridiculously fancy as Farber's dress that suited his short, white hair and stern face. He stepped up onto the stage with two attendants behind him carrying the train of his robe. The three strode over to the chairs where Stevens sat down first and the other two fanned the robe out behind him before they took their seats on either side of him.

  Stevens took up the gavel and pounded it against the desk. He didn't need to, the room was deathly quiet already. "The proceedings will now begin with a reading of the rules and regulations," he announced.

  My mouth dropped open in horror as the crier came out on stage and proceeded to read from a large handbook. There was no talking out of turn, no yelling, no running, spitting, swearing, coughing, sneezing, laughing, breathing, and generally anything else that would have kept this meeting interesting to anyone with a functioning heart and brain. I slumped down in my chair and suppressed a groan. "Is it always this boring?" I whispered to Luke.

  "Yes," he quietly replied.

  "Can't disagreements be solved with a fight to the death?" I suggested.

  He smiled. "That's happened before, but it's now discouraged."

  "Janitors get tired of cleaning up the mess?" I guessed. He shook his head and put his fingers to his lips, silencing both me and my fun.

  After a half hour of tediousness the man slammed the book shut, waking up about half the audience from an uncomfortable nap. They sat up and Stevens pounded his gavel against the desk, again when there was silence. "Before we begin has anyone any changes to the program?" We weren't surprised when Lance stood.

  "I have news, High Lord," Lance announced.

  Stevens raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Lord Connor?"

  "I would like to change the date of the vote to the next day." The gasp from the crowd created a vacuum with enough suction to clean the floor.

  Stevens' frown was so deep you could have driven a semi truck through the creases. "How can you suggest such a thing? It has always been done this way, and it's bad enough to have the meeting so many days ahead of schedule," he insisted.

  "But I have evidence to suggest we have terrorists in our midst." Lance's eyes flickered over to our side of the room. "And I believe they intend to bomb Sanctuary." Many faces in the crowd paled and whisperings sprang up as suspicions and fears resounded through the hall. Several stood to rush to their rooms and leave Sanctuary immediately.

  Stevens pounded the gavel so hard against the desk that splinters flew out and the head flew off. It clattered across the floor between the sides and slid to a stop against the bottom step. "That is enough!" He glared at Lance. "What proof do you have of these wild allegations?"

  "A large shipment of explosives was stolen from Simpling's territory. I happen to know they were transported here on one of yesterday's trains." His eyes fell on Burnbaum and he scowled. "I can't positively prove who took them, but I hope to have hard evidence within the next few days." He turned back to Stevens. "So that is why I request the change, and move to have the nomination of the lords done this day, and the vote tomorrow."

  Baker shot up from his seat. "I protest this! Many of my people haven't arrived!"

  "I agree this is a highly unusual change, but why aren't your people here already?" Stevens asked Baker.

  "They're busy in their fields and can only come here for one day," Baker explained to the room.

  Stevens ruffled at the reply. "Nothing is more important than the vote. They had a duty to attend the entire session, not come here for a single day to cast a vote for High Lord. I can't see my way to agreeing to your objection."

  "They must make their living!" Baker protested.

  "They have time enough to do that for nearly a full five years between votes," Stevens argued.

  "But this shortens the time without giving them ample warning," he insisted. There was a murmur from the crowd in agreement. Baker turned to the audience. "We have a
lready had the meeting rushed to these days, and now we shorten those days? Will there be any voting next session?"

  "Here, here!" Burnbaum shouted. That riled up both sides of the aisle as they argued for or against the change.

  Stevens smashed the handle of his gavel against the desk and the remains broke apart in his clawed hands. "That is enough! We will have a vote from the lords who represent you, and be done with the discussion!"

  Simpling arose from his seat. "I second the motion to vote on the change, if only for the safety of those present."

  Another man beside Simpling who I guessed was Mullen also stood. "I third the motion."

  Luke jumped from his seat. "I second Baker's motion to delay the vote until the traditional week is complete." Baker didn't smile, but he bowed his head at Luke, who returned the compliment.

  "I abstain from this vote," Stevens refused. He glanced over to Farber. "What way will you vote, Farber?"

  Farber stood with a smile and relished the attention on himself. "This is most perplexing, your High Lord. It gives one pause to think-"

  "Just give me your answer," Stevens snapped.

  Farber pouted, but nodded at Lance. "I will agree with Lance, and fourth the motion."

  A great commotion arose from the crowd, and even those on the red side weren't too thrilled with this change of a time-honored schedule. Stevens, now with a little more hair on his hands and face, pounded a claw against the desk. "Enough! There will be no speaking out of turn while I preside over this meeting!" his voice boomed over the crowd. He pointedly glanced at Luke and Baker. "This is all very preposterous, but I do not wish to have a heated disagreement among the lords and plead with the two dissenters to agree with their fellow representatives."

  "That's something we can't do, High Lord," Luke refused.

  Stevens scowled. "You are being very difficult, but very well," he replied. The High Lord turned to Lance, and there was a growl of disapproval in his tone. "You have your majority of the lords who represent our people, but I will have it recorded that this has never been done in our three hundred years of elections and I heartily disapprove of the change."

  "Duly noted, High Lord, but I care more for the safety of my people than for the traditions of politics," Lance boldly replied. He received a resounding round of applause from his side and plenty of boos from the other side of the aisle.

  Stevens' face turned an unhealthy shade of purple, but he kept his temper in check. He stood, glanced over the lords, and nodded at the person to his left who retrieve an old notebook from the desk. It looked to be covered in blackened hide. "Those who wish to be nominated stand and be recognized by the Recorder."

  All six of the competing lords stepped out into the aisle. For a moment Lance and Luke stood side by side, and I was struck by the similar glint in their blue eyes. Lance smirked at Luke, who returned the look with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. The pair led the others up the center stairs onto the stage, where each of them gave their name to the Recorder. Stevens was a sight with his pursed lips and red, angry face.

  I slid over to Stacy. "Is your dad usually this angry?" I whispered to her.

  She shrugged. "Only when he doesn't get his way," she replied.

  Stevens stood and grabbed the book which he raised high so the crowd could see it. "All the lords have given their names for nomination. You have twenty-four hours to decide your vote and they will be gathered by the ballot gatherers tomorrow at this time." Stevens slammed the book against the Recorder's chest and marched up the center aisle. His robe carriers hurried about him and the audience erupted in disbelief and gossip. Lance and his lackey lords followed them out of the room.

  Stacy leaned toward us. "I have to go talk with a few sources about these terrorists and I'll meet you back in your room," she told us.

  "Be careful," Luke warned her.

  She smiled and winked at him. "I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." With that she hurried off to her investigations.

  Rumors flew faster than rockets as speculation arose about the terrorists. Many neutral individuals hurried from the room, fearful of both sides of the aisle. Baker stormed out while Burnbaum pushed through the crowd to us. With the room in an uproar no one could overhear our conversation. Hell, I could barely hear our conversation. "This is not good. We have no time to plan this vote," he told us.

  A man with a red armband grinned at us from across the aisle. It was the same one who'd spat on Burnbaum the day before. "Don't have time to rig the votes, eh?" he jeered.

  Burnbaum glared at him, but Luke put a calming hand on his friend's arm. "We have bigger problems to deal with than him," he reminded the innkeeper.

  Burnbaum clenched his teeth, turned his back on the man, and nodded. "Da. Do you believe this rumor of terrorists?" he asked Luke.

  Luke frowned. "Only if Lance makes them."

  Unfortunately for us, our jeering opponent didn't take well to being ignored. He pushed his way to us and sneered at our worried faces. "Don't be so sad. Maybe you still have time to blow the place up," he encouraged.

  That was the insult that broke Burnbaum's patience. The innkeeper swung around and smashed his fist into the man's face. I heard bone shatter beneath the collision, and the man reeled back with his face covered in blood and broken teeth. He was caught by his friends, who promptly dropped him and dove at Burnbaum. The innkeeper performed the same plastic surgery on them, and with the help of some of his friends pushed them back across the aisle. That prompted the entire left column to jump into the fray, and Burnbaum's party followed suit. It was a hail of punches, bites, clawing and screaming, and before I knew what I was doing I'd joined the fray with my own long claws extended for maximum damage.

  Luke pulled me from the fight with me covered in blood, but very little of it was mine. A commotion sounded from the doors at the top of the stairs and Protector Brier with his men stormed the room. They bashed and smashed their way through the crowds, pushing aside those who still had a handle on their sanity and slamming the door shut on the wild, half-transformed and half-crazed werewolves by knocking them cold. That quieted the place down and Brier stood on stage in front of the bloody and battered crowd.

  "All right, everyone, I warned you. Now follow me to the cells," he ordered. There was a shout of protests from some of the more self-important individuals. Brier held up his hands and shook his head. "I don't care if you were the High Lord in a past life. You're all coming with me." His eyes pointedly fell on Luke, which meant neither of us would receive mercy from him, so we went with the jail-bird flow

  21

  Everyone in the room, conscious and unconscious, was rounded up and marched double-file out of the room. Luke and I were no exception. We were marched out into the lobby and one of the Protectors opened the large, dungeon-like door to the right of the entrance. The door opened to a narrow, winding stone staircase with stone walls on either side. We prisoners, who numbered three dozen, were led single-file down the steps. This staircase had real torches that sprinkled ash down on us and cast shadows on the rough, unfinished walls. Luke kept close behind me and caught me when I tripped on the uneven steps.

  The winding stairs led to a long, damp, narrow room that stretched out for fifty yards. Along the right wall were a dozen ten-by-ten foot cells with gray-colored bars on all sides. I'd never seen a dungeon cell, and now I got a great view of the inside. The men and women were separated to keep a bad situation from getting worse, and we girls were shoved into the first cell closest to the stairs. Luke was put in a cell several blocks down, but I could feel his eyes on me.

  I sighed, but nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard a terrible scream. My head whipped over to one of the far cells where a scuffle erupted. The men jostled and shoved each other, and they screamed every time a bare patch of skin collided with the bars. Smoke arose from their burnt flesh and filled the air with the ghastly smell of Kentucky Fried Werewolf. I glanced at my own bars, and realized the gray color was more than just a
good shine. The bars were forged from solid silver. I and the rest of the women took a few healthy steps back from them while Brier's men rushed down to stop the fighting werewolves from scorching each other alive.

  The blood all over me also created a rather cold and uncomfortable situation for me. A distinct draft drifted from the bottom of the stairs and passed over the dried blood all over my clothes, skin, hair, and somehow even under my armpits. Brier paced before the cells and one look from his stern gaze was enough to quiet the rowdy bunch. "I won't keep you in here for long, but long enough to cool your heals. If I find you in another mess you'll be down here for the rest of the week."

  The fool who'd started the brawl stepped up to the front of the bars with that stupid sneer on his face. "We don't have a week. The voting's tomorrow," he told the officer.

  Brier stopped in front of the cell with a calm, disinterested expression on his face. "I'll keep you for a month and the voting be damned."

  The fool's mouth dropped open. "You can't do that! We have rights!"

  Brier's arm whipped out and grabbed the man's shirt collar. The Protector pulled the loud-mouthed man against the bars where his lips slammed into the silver metal. The man screamed and flailed his arms and those, too, knocked into the bars. He stiffened with his arms straight out behind him with small puffs of smoke coming out from his burn injuries. "Your rights end when you break the rules here," Brier growled. Now I saw the family resemblance with the sheriff, but at least this Brier wasn't harassing good people. "You make trouble again and I'll see to it that you don't leave this cell for that month. Got it?"

  "Got it," the man whimpered through his burnt lips. Brier let him go and the man stumbled back into the crowd behind him.

  Brier looked around at the silent prisoners. "Anyone else want to argue with me?"

  "I'll give it a try," a smooth voice spoke up. All eyes turned to the dungeon entrance where Stacy leaned against the wall on the bottom step. She had a smile on her impeccable lips, and pushed off the wall to walk up to the Protector. "Mind letting some of these prisoners go, Chief Protector?" she cooed.

  Brier was unmoved by her powers of persuasion. "No."