Dirty Alphas

by Alexa B. James

  “She obviously remembers Aaron,” says a low, melodic voice, and I turn to face Darrel Knight as his dark-blue eyes examine me.

  He buries his hands into his pockets and leans back against the wall, kicking one heavy motorcycle boot over the other. That his shoes are motorcycle boots is just an educated guess, judging from his leather jacket, the helmet under his arm, and a smear of motor oil on the inseam of his thick jeans. His complexion also holds a darker shade than his brothers’, a deep bronze where the other two have more of a light, golden hue, making me think he probably spends most of his time outdoors with the sun on his face. When I meet his gaze, I get the odd feeling the scarred werewolf is looking straight through me—a feeling that scares me more than anything else. I’ve heard the rumors about Darrel Knight as well—rumors that, until this very moment, I found ludicrous.

  People say the middle Knight brother reads minds.

  It’s ludicrous, of course—he’d be the first werewolf in history to be telepathic, but looking at Darrel now, I’m not so sure.

  “I remember all of you,” I say to Darrel after a moment before scooping up the drain snake from the floor and tilting my head. “And I, unfortunately, have pressing matters waiting for me. You’re all just staring at me expectantly without telling me what you want. Am I supposed to be bowing and scraping or something?”

  “Have you ever bowed to anyone in your life?” Darrel's smooth voice holds a hint of interest and amusement, as if he knows I’m not really one to bow down to any kind of authority.

  “We definitely don’t expect you to bow to us not unless you want to.” Lance takes a step before his brothers, taking up point in the middle, leaving Aaron and Darrel on either side of him in a triangular-shaped formation.

  My heart hastens its pace, banging against my ribs.

  Lance’s posture and positioning say so much. The way he’s standing, hands folded together before him, it’s as if he’s greeting me formally at a meeting of alphas. This is a messy office in a low-rent apartment complex for crap's sake. I’m literally, at this moment, holding up a drain snake, and I’m not the alpha of the Six Rivers pack—at least no one knows I truly am. That illustrious and rather challenging role now belongs to my father, something I never plan on changing.

  Looking at them standing here now, any lingering doubt in my mind that they’re here for a takeover dissipates. Why they waited so long, I’ll never understand, but their presence signifies something major. I can see it written in their ready stances and the hard planes of their features.

  The need to warn my father is overwhelming, but one wrong move could escalate this situation. Calling my father in front of these guys to shout, “Man the barricades!” is probably the wrong move.

  The only thing I can’t fathom is why they didn’t go directly to my father with the challenge. There is no possible way they could know the truth. I’m certain there’s no way they can know the truth...almost certain.

  I keep my eyes trained on Lance since he’s decided to take point on this. I not only refuse to avert my gaze again, I don’t acknowledge his brothers on either side of him. A strange, tingling feeling rises in me suddenly, and it feels good. It’s the opposite of what I should be feeling as I wonder if they’ll attack and who will do it first. Not that they would ever kill me. Rough me up, absolutely, but killing females is generally frowned upon when there’s so few of us to begin with. Attacking an alpha’s kin to initiate a challenge is a move Jacob allegedly did several times. Maybe these brothers aren’t as different from Jacob as they want everyone to believe.

  Without any kind of warning, my wolf pushes an image before me, but it’s not of carnage or me challenging three alphas at once. No. The image that fills my mind for a second is me, sitting on my desk as Lance stands between my open thighs. He’s gloriously naked. Tattoos cover every inch of him, scrolling black and red designs. Both our bodies glisten with sweat. His hands grip my legs as his lips gently move over mine. In contrast to his gentle kisses, he’s thrusting into me hard—in and out so forcefully, I’m moaning and panting into his mouth. The only way I could possibly describe this is that he’s fucking me. In all the times I fantasized about actually having sex—and I do all the time, I never imagined I would enjoy rough sex on a desk, but in this vision, I’m more than enjoying it—

  Smashing my eyes closed, I force the image and my wolf into the darkest depths of my mind.

  Back, girl.

  Bad.

  Really fucking bad.

  What is wrong with my wolf? Has she lost her ever-loving mind from being in solitary for so long? Is she trying to punish me for denying her?

  As the office fills with the scent of my lust, I know she must be punishing me. If I’m smelling it, they definitely are.

  Chapter Five

  Scarlet

  I sit across from the three Knight brothers, realizing 'awkward' doesn’t even touch this situation. The last thing I should be doing is sending out random lust bombs at the three werewolves who came to attack me at my place of work. But thanks to my unruly wolf, that's what I just did.

  Lance Knight’s buzzed dark hair, tan skin, and muscled body make him look like sex-on-a-stick. I can admit an attraction to him, hell, to all three of them. I’m not dead.

  But I’m also not stupid.

  Lions are beautiful, box jellyfish are magnificent, and swans are grace personified, but if you mess with them or what’s theirs, you’re liable to come out the loser.

  Lance considers me for one more beat of silence, then approaches my desk until his thighs are practically resting against its edge. Finally setting the drain snake back on the floor, I keep my eyes trained on him, craning my head back just a tad and offering him a saucy little smile that says, I know you think you just got the upper hand, you arrogant prick, but you didn’t.

  He sets his paperback before me with the cover facing down, then his hand moves to his pocket. I tense, but all he pulls out is a checkbook. “We’d like to rent three units, please.”

  My held breath nearly whooshes past my lips, but I manage to keep my astonishment in check. “Three apartments...at Meadows?”

  What. The. Fuck?

  Lance smirks. “Do you manage any other buildings?”

  “No.” I tilt my head to the side, keeping my eyes on Lance while gesturing to his brothers. I almost laugh at the absurdity of it all as I lean back to look between the three alphas. I don’t laugh, as this is obviously about more than renting a unit, but I want to release a bout of nervous giggles. “It took you ten minutes of posturing to ask me if you could rent apartments? Damn. I must look more intimidating than I thought.”

  I ignore Aaron’s soft chuckle and swivel to the side, opening a filing drawer and pulling out three application forms. I’m damn proud of my steady hands as I place the forms in front of the brothers and grab three pens from my cup holder, making sure they’re the pens with the pink flowered tops, before handing them over. The idea of watching these alpha males fill out forms with large, pink blooms on their pens brings me a strange sense of stress-relief.

  It’s the simple things.

  I pull out a contract and lay it flat on the desk, turning it right side up for Lance. “Let me just point out a few of the highlighted items most potential tenants’ question right off the bat.”

  “All right.” He leans over until our foreheads are almost touching. His proximity is unnecessary since his heightened vision can pick out the fine print from across the room.

  “First, there are absolutely no pets unless you hold a familiar’s license from a witch or mage council. And second… ”

  I tilt my head ever so slightly until my eyes meet his. My lips come within two inches of his. Lance's eyelids widen, ever so slightly, in clear surprise. I’ve once again gone for confrontational when most wolves would keep their eyes averted.

  His pupils dilate, and his eyes darken. A dark, musky scent that hints at something forceful, yet enticing, fills my nostrils. He regards me
with a smirk and a different kind of challenge in his eyes.

  “Second?”

  I keep my eyes glued to his eyes—my lips just inches from kissing him—and proceed with the usual spiel as if this breach of personal space isn’t setting my wolf on edge. “We only offer one-year leases, and we do not accept subletting. You might want to consider that if you’re only looking for temporary accommodations.”

  “That’s not a problem,” he says, his cinnamon breath warming my lips.

  “Great.” I give him a forced smile. “A one-bedroom unit is twelve hundred dollars a month. I’ll need first and last month’s rent, plus a three-hundred-dollar cleaning deposit just in case one of you alphas goes bat-shit crazy and shifts in the living room.”

  Lance clenches his jaw, letting me know I’ve finally hit a nerve. Good.

  I pretend not to see it and continue. “This is a haven residence, meaning no one is excluded based on their species, whether they’re human, fae, shifter, vampire, troll, goblin, or anything else. We have a no tolerance policy of conflict between tenants. Whoever starts it is instantly evicted. Think you three can manage that?”

  “Of course we can,” Lance says, his voice going flat.

  I’m pushing buttons all over the place.

  Bad girl, no biscuit.

  “I’ll just need your information, then.” Without breaking eye contact, I push the forms across my desk.

  Lance eases back and takes the contracts, forms, and pens before delivering the needed supplies to his brothers. All three take a seat in the chairs placed on either side of the room. Lance and Darrel are now situated on my right, Aaron on my left. Taking a measured breath, I swivel to face an open box of Christmas wall hangings, so I can pretend to get some work done, when someone clears their throat.

  “I thought you were in New York at a university with another pack?” Darrel asks.

  I look up to find the toughest, scariest looking alpha of the three watching me carefully with those dusk-blue eyes. I can’t help being disconcerted by Darrel’s smooth, low voice as the rest of him looks so rough. Not that he’s bad looking—hell, he’s one of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen, but there’s just an extremely rugged, tough look about him. Silver scars cross through his right eyebrow, cheek, and chin. But it’s more than that; there’s an air about him that screams that, no matter the company, he’s always going to be the biggest threat in the room.

  And great, now I’m freaking myself out.

  “Didn’t you transfer to another pack in New York for school?” Darrel asks again.

  “I did,” I say, then get back to shuffling through sparkly reindeer.

  “But something made you move back a year ago and get a permanent job. Your father needed you…?” Darrel asks the last part as a question.

  I focus hard on the reindeer, but inside, I’m screaming.

  Shit.

  Darrel Knight really is psychic. The air seems too thin, as if the three massive werewolves have sucked all the oxygen out of it.

  There’s no way these three know why I had to return home or what I did to their brother by conventional means. Anything pertaining to my involvement the night Jacob was killed didn’t get out. The three betas that had been guarding me died by my father’s hands, and Jacob’s freed wives are the most loyal pack members we have. My father only brought in our pack doctor and her son Zane to help us with Jacob’s body—the same Zane who is now my boyfriend. Even though all anyone was told was that I was present for Jacob’s fight with my father, my father swore everyone to secrecy. So, there shouldn’t be a reason for these Knight brothers to take an interest in me, unless the rumors about Darrel Knight are true.

  And then I realize that I’m being completely irrational. I’m one of the alpha’s daughters, and they obviously would be thorough in their research. Know thine enemy and all that shit.

  Well, I’m not going to make this takeover easy for them and offer up information about my life. Instead of saying anything, I make a humming sound and shrug in response before going back to my decorations box.

  “Why did you come back here? Thought you were living the high life,” Lance asks.

  This time, I keep my focus on a stuffed Santa centerpiece and the engrossing task of untangling him from a creepy marionette that must have been in the attic since the building’s vampire owner, Marie, was a girl back in the sixteenth century.

  “I missed the drugs, sex, and rock and roll…oh, and the food. They make amazing chevre here; you should try some.”

  I finally free Santa from the evil web of the dancing dog marionette. I bite my thumbnail and tilt my head to study Saint Nick, pretending the stuffed little guy takes up all my attention, but I glance back and forth, watching the men in my peripheries. The moment these three make one minuscule move, I’ll know, and I’ll be ready.

  “You don’t seem like the kind of woman who belongs in a small town. Don’t you miss the big city life?” Aaron chimes in. His voice is seductive, coaxing even. The words sound like flirting, but I know better. If they'd started out their conversation with Aaron taking point, I might never have realized I was being interrogated.

  Yeah, sure.

  Before I have a chance to redirect the conversation, someone walks into the office and redirects it for me.

  I look up, thinking I’ll see another tenant, but I do a double take when my best friend Mack Banrigh struts in with his duffel bag hanging off his shoulder. A wide grin spreads across his cute face. I wanted a distraction—but gods above, not this one.

  “How’s my favorite girl doing? Are you ready to dance your ass off?”

  Shit.

  As Mack strides through the office, his smile falters for a fraction of a breath, then as if three massive alpha werewolves holding pink flower pens in my cramped little office is perfectly normal, he strides over to me.

  I smile brightly at him, probably too brightly, and say, “After I finish with these three and clear two drains, I’m ready.”

  Normal. Everything is normal.

  I manage to dial back my smile from rabid to somewhat genuine as I examine Mack’s familiar comforting features. Like most fae, Mack is inhumanly good looking. His wide nose and lips sit centrally on a chiseled face. When he smiles, as he’s doing now, his grin seems to engulf his entire face. His impossibly bright aquamarine eyes shine out against his deep amber skin tone, and in his gaze, I read a message: he’s here now, everything will be okay. Even though having him here is so very dangerous for both of us, Mack always makes any awful situation instantly seem manageable.

  But this situation isn’t okay, not even close.

  Why the hell did I forget Mack was coming over for a practice session? The Knight brothers are infamous for their violent turf wars with the fae. I don’t know the details, but I know there’s a whole lot of hatred between the Northern California fae and the Knight brothers’ packs. There’s a lot of hatred specifically directed at the queen of the Seelie court of Spring, Titania, and her youngest son just waltzed into the room.

  He holds his arms out wide and leans across the table.

  Gracelessly, I dive into his tall, lean muscled frame while I wrap my arms around his torso. From the corner of my eye, I notice Darrel’s nostrils flaring, meaning he’s scenting my visitor and probably already knows he’s fae.

  Bad. Really bad.

  Chapter Six

  Darrel

  I scent the damn fae the moment he walks into the room. Queen Titania’s brood usually have a flowery scent, like a bouquet of poisonous daisies—but not this one. This fae smells closer to mint, like Christmas candy.

  Maybe I just have Christmas on the brain, since I’ve had to kick tinsel off my boot three times since entering this office.

  The fae prince only has eyes for Scarlet Riley. He’s partially blocked her from view, showing his back to us. If it isn’t a deliberate move, I’ll eat my own paw. The fae slings a large duffel bag over his shoulder with who knows what the hell shit he has in there
. I don’t smell silver, but I do smell something subtle, and there are ways of disguising the smell of silver. Prince Macklin Banrigh shifts his stance, looking out at us from his peripheral vision.

  Unlike the young prince’s pale and willowy mother and older siblings, he resembles the robust Seelie fae of the Court of Eternal Summer. From my research, for half his life, the prince lived in the jungle kingdom that spans the entirety of the Amazon forests in the City of Ghrian. The idea of a metropolis comprised of the majority of the fae population turns my insides cold. If a shifter entered that jungle, be they werewolf or dragon, they might as well consider themselves a white stag for how doggedly they’d be pursued by the Great Hunt. I can’t imagine a deadlier world for a werewolf, and if we don’t stop Queen Titania, that’s exactly what’s coming to Heartland forest.

  And here is a fae hunter standing among us, smiling down at his prey like he’s Romeo to her Juliet.

  I feel a sharp, sudden pain on my leg and glance down to see I’ve accidentally driven my pen through both my application and the clipboard behind it. Blood soaks up into my jean pant leg, but the hot, searing pain in my thigh means my wolf energy is high enough for the injury to instantly heal. I shift my clipboard and continue to fill out my form, all the while watching the fae out of the corner of my eye.

  “Are we reviewing the tango today?” Prince Macklin says in a light accent very reminiscent of the Summer fae.

  “Yes.”

  Scarlet pulls back, her hands gripping around the fae prince’s waist as she spins around him. The result has her back to us brothers and her body blocking the fae. Well, it doesn’t block much of him. Scarlet Riley is a tiny little werewolf. She’s also nothing like I expected her to be. I thought she’d be a spoiled and vicious pack princess—not this sharp-tongued, curvy woman with cobwebs in her hair, brandishing plumbing equipment.