Alpha’s Hunger Box Set: Books 1-3

by Wilder, Carina

Perhaps she will enjoy getting acquainted with me, as well.

  August 5

  Krane and I have been tasked a new project: building a large barn for Mr. Demarche. I’m responsible for the design, and Krane will oversee the men doing the work.

  In spite of his reputation as a miser, Demarche is paying us handsomely for the work.

  One day, I plan to be as wealthy as he is.

  Between August 5 and 10, a few of the journal’s pages had been torn out. I leafed through the book only to see that from this date forward, many of the entries had been stripped away. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was Tristan himself who’d torn away the snapshots of his former life. But if he’d done that, why not just burn the whole book?

  There was no point in wondering just now. So I kept reading.

  August 10

  The summer days are all but unbearably hot. Krane always teases me for sweating so much. He seems to like the heat. But then again, his body is made for it. He’s always embraced scorching weather as most people embrace air. Heat feeds him, it strengthens him. My brother is a creature of fire, whereas I crave the cool of the Magic Lake.

  Perhaps Krane is stronger than I am. But that’s why we work well together. I’m the brains in our small operation. He’s the brawn.

  Most importantly, we protect each other.

  I hope we continue to do so all our lives.

  August 12

  Rumors continue to swirl about Demarche’s true nature. I’ve even heard that he’s had men killed when they crossed him.

  I cannot—will not—believe the tales. My employer has only ever been good to me. He invites me into his mansion occasionally to dine, even. Twice in the last week I’ve eaten the best meals of my entire life, prepared by his personal cook.

  Some of those who live in New Orleans refuse to work for him, or even to come near the plantation. They say that he has the Devil in him, that his plantation is fraught with demons and unholy shadows.

  Well, I’m willing to deal with the Devil, so long as he pays me a good wage.

  However, I choose for now to believe that he’s a decent man.

  I need to believe it.

  Something tells me he’s the key to my future.

  Yes, I thought. Something tells me he’s the key, too.

  When my eyes landed on the next entry, my stomach began to churn with nausea.

  This was the moment I’d been dreading.

  August 18

  Something extraordinary has happened, though I hardly dare write about it.

  Demarche’s daughter Elodie returned from her trip abroad. She’s twenty-two years old and unmarried.

  She’s as beautiful as the rumors said. Her hair is red as fire, her eyes light green with flecks of gold, like precious gems.

  Best of all, she seems quite interested in spending time by my side. Now and then she wanders over to our worksite and watches us. She’s an inquisitive young lady, and even asks us questions about our methods. To my surprise, she seems to know a lot about building. She’s even offered a few suggestions, which I only pretend to accept in order to please her.

  On occasion she teases us, showing off her fancy dresses and her feminine little parasol—one that she says she bought in China. I can’t quite imagine being wealthy enough, or free enough, to travel around the world. But one day I plan to be. I will make my way to the far corners, and maybe if I’m fortunate, I’ll have a woman like her by my side.

  My one greatest wish is to prove to the world that I’ve never belonged in a run-down shack in the bayou. I intend to earn the best life money can buy.

  August 21

  Krane has told me that he thinks Elodie is dangerous. Something about her riles him up in a way that unsettles even me, though to tell the truth, I think my brother is worrying needlessly. “If Demarche is the Devil,” he insists, “she’s his accomplice. I don’t like those eyes of hers. I don’t trust her as far as I can hurl her. You need to stay a thousand miles away. Don’t speak to her. Don’t listen to her artificial charm. She’s a seductress, through and through.”

  I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s jealous of my affection for her. Krane has always been my closest friend and confidant, and Elodie is threatening to replace him.

  I’ve already decided that she’s the farthest thing from the Devil. I intend to grow closer to her, whether my brother likes it or not. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life, in fact.

  A pang of envy slammed into my chest as I read my lover’s words, but I fought it off, telling myself that he’d written them over two hundred years ago. He wasn’t that man anymore.

  Besides, there was no way I was going to let myself feel shitty over a woman who’d probably died well over a century back.

  I reminded myself that I wasn’t looking to incriminate my lover for his past. I was looking to save him from it.

  I had no choice but to continue.

  Chapter 28

  After August 21st ’s entry, several pages were missing. The odd scrap of torn paper was the only evidence that they’d ever been here.

  For some reason the next date was October 12.

  Demarche has found out about my closeness to his daughter, and they say he’s out for blood. It would be a vast understatement to say that I am disappointed to realize that he does not hold me in high esteem.

  I have fled the plantation and am hiding out in our old house for fear of discovery.

  They say he is furious. I live day to day in terror. Krane told me he’s coming for me, that he’s enraged beyond anything the men have ever seen.

  His right hand man, one known as the Marquis, has had it in for me from the start. Perhaps he’s the one who told Demarche about my affection for Elodie. He’s never liked having another strong man around, one who has others under his command.

  He’s a brutal man, violent and cruel. I have no doubt that he hates that a wealthy woman has fallen for me.

  Well, I’ll just run away with Elodie, that’s all. We’ll make a new life for ourselves. In China, or England. Anywhere but here.

  I know that Krane will help me find the money to flee.

  He’s always been loyal.

  After that, still more pages were torn away. Every entry over the following two months was gone, and I wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for it or devastated.

  There was no question in my mind that something happened during that time. Tristan’s handwriting had degenerated into an almost illegible scrawl, far from the tidy script from the earlier journal entries. The lack of control seemed primitive, feral, as though his hand was struggling to retain its humanity.

  My heart ached to realize that I was staring at the words of a man who’d been tortured.

  December 14

  I don’t have much time to write, as I don’t know when the madness will overtake me again. I hardly dare even describe it for fear that doing so will summon the one I call Him.

  I never know when the beast will come, when he’ll consume me from the inside. He is a devil, a monster. He rules my body now, forcing me into starvation, thirst, cruel cravings that are so inhuman that I want nothing more than to hang myself from a tree and end this right now.

  It was the Marquis who did this to me. The night of October 15th, he came and found me in the woods beyond our house. It was then that I was afflicted with the curse that tortures me now. A punishment for daring to love a woman who was forbidden to me.

  The night was dark, clouds covering the moon and stars. I shouldn’t have been able to see anyone or anything. Yet there they were, two pin pricks of bright light moving towards me. I heard sniffing, as though an animal was coming my way. Terror seized me at the thought that a beast was hunting me.

  It was only when he came close that I realized it was only a man who approached. Still, my heart began to hammer in my chest when his face moved into the light.

  I knew there could be only one reason for the Marquis’ arrival.

  I asked him calmly if Dem
arche had sent him to punish me, and he said yes. But he didn’t drag me away, didn’t try to kill me. Instead he walked up close and whispered, “Come with me.”

  I considered running. I knew these woods well, better than anyone. But something told me his bright eyes and strangely keen nose would keep me from getting far. Perhaps if I obeyed, he’d show me mercy when the time came. Perhaps he’d make my death swift.

  He brought me deep into the woods, to a large Cypress tree. Told me to press myself against it, face first. He bound my hands together on the other side of the trunk and I pressed my forehead into the bark, asking him to finish me quickly.

  But it was then that I heard Demarche’s deep, rumbling voice behind me.

  “Give it to me,” he said. “Give me the whip.”

  In that moment I realized that my nightmare had only just begun.

  * * *

  That was where the entries stopped entirely. The next several pages were gone, and after that came the back cover.

  All I could do was assume that Tristan had gone on to describe the beating he’d taken. The events that had led to his change. I could only assume that Elodie had deserted him.

  So, like Madame Lola had said, she’d destroyed him. Not only had she been the cause of his downfall, she’d probably broken his heart, too.

  I hated her for it.

  I closed the journal and pressed my hand to its cover. With every word that I’d read, a small piece of my heart had broken off and floated away. I should have been happy, I supposed. Slowly, every question I’d ever had about Tristan was being answered. But the answers weren’t what I’d hoped for; they only confirmed that he’d been through hell. He’d suffered the tortures of the damned, and he would wear the scars for the rest of his life.

  A sense of utter devastation permeated the marrow of my bones as I realized at last that there might be no way to help him. No way to truly heal him. Maybe you couldn’t heal from the life he’d once lived, no matter how good your life might seem to the rest of the world.

  My mind went back to a time before I’d ever met Tristan, to when my sister Grace had shut down after her trauma at the hands of our stepfather. How she’d retreated into herself, refused to open up to anyone, to let me into her world.

  For the first time I was beginning to understand why my lover had always been so reticent, so distant. I understood how hard it must have been for him to let himself love me. To say the words that were so important to me.

  The young man that Tristan had once been was destroyed for daring to feel, to love a woman. Even if the pages had disappeared, I knew full well that Demarche must have beaten him. I’d seen his scars, I knew them intimately. I knew the consequences he’d suffered.

  I could only imagine what the Seven planned for him now. It sounded like they’d sentenced him to an eternal life of solitude. Love, and we’ll destroy you.

  The question was, why did they care? Why did it matter to them if he’d once foolishly loved his boss’s daughter? Why the hell would they hold onto a grudge like that for centuries? Surely his transgression had nothing to do with dragon shifters.

  I pressed my elbows into the table and pushed my face into my hands, tormented by the choice that lay ahead of me.

  I knew I could stay with my lover and risk further punishment for him.

  Or I could say good-bye and suffer for the rest of my life.

  It was the hardest decision I’d ever had to make. Yet it was the easiest, too.

  I needed to set him free because he’d already been through hell. I couldn’t inflict it on him again, not for anything in this world.

  I picked the journal up and thrust the locket into my pocket before rising slowly to my feet. The stifling, heavy air combined with the sadness in my heart weighed me down so much that I felt like I could barely move.

  But as I took my first step towards the door, my heart jumped in my chest when it creaked open towards me.

  “Who’s there?” I asked.

  A sudden, skittering movement on the floor drew a scream from my lips, and I leapt up onto the wooden chair, grateful for its sturdy construction.

  A reptile of some sort was making his way through the kitchen with a cold, dead look in his eyes. He had to be five feet long or more. His muzzle extended into a wide tip, and his scales reminded me of some purses I’d seen in New York shop windows.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I shouted to the air as the full length of his form pushed its way inside. “An alligator? Really? Like this day doesn’t suck enough.” I cursed myself for not having properly closed the door behind me and looked around, trying to figure out how I could possibly leap down and run out of the house before the toothy bastard took a bite out of me.

  But just as I was about to climb on top of the table, the door opened again. For a second I worried that the gator had brought its family with him. But instead, my eyes were greeted by the sight of an extremely tall, broad silhouette of a man standing in the doorway.

  “You must be Ariana,” a low voice rumbled as the figure stepped forward. Whoever he was, he didn’t seem particularly surprised to see me perched on top of the chair. Curious to know what had me so high off the ground, his gaze shifted from me to the alligator. “Tsk,” he clicked with his tongue as he moved closer to the beast, who’d twisted his large head around to stare at the visitor. “You should know better, little one.”

  “Little? Are you kidding me?” I yelled. “Get away from it! I saw its teeth…”

  But the man simply walked over to the creature, bent down and reached a hand around its muzzle, clamping it shut. The gator started thrashing, trying to escape. But apparently it was no match for its captor, who lifted it under his arm like the reptile was nothing more than a tame house cat.

  “Be right back,” the man shot me before stepping outside to set the gator free and turning back towards the house.

  When my heart had calmed down a little, I leapt off the chair and let out the longest exhale of my life.

  One predator was gone.

  But now, a giant man who somehow knew my name was about to corner me inside a house in the middle of nowhere. He almost seemed like the more dangerous prospect.

  “Who are you?” I asked, clutching the journal to my chest as Mr. Enormous came stalking back my way.

  He advanced towards me slowly, his features coming into focus for the first time now that he didn’t have competition from a carnivorous lizard. I could see that he was wearing a gray t-shirt and dark jeans, as well as what looked like a pair of steel-toed boots. A thick head of shoulder-length, blondish hair framed a face coated in stubble that reminded me a little too much of Tristan’s. His chest was immensely broad, his shoulders massive. His eyes were a mixture of bright blue and green, iridescent, impossibly luminous.

  The eyes of a shifter.

  Well, that answered one question.

  As he moved towards me, several other figures began to gather in the doorway behind him. He held up his hand as if to tell them to stay back. “Don’t,” he said. “She’s alone. It’s not nice to frighten a lady.”

  “No shit,” I replied. “Now tell me who you are. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m Patrick,” he said, eyes locked on my own. “Trick, to my friends.” Now he held both hands up to me, palms forward, as if to show me that he wasn’t holding a weapon. I knew full well, however, that his most dangerous weapon was on the inside. Not to mention the small group of shifters gathered by the door. “I’m a member of the Southern Pack. Well, what’s left of it.”

  “I assume you’re a wolf shifter?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Like Tristan.”

  “Are you the alpha?” I asked, not bothering to ask how he knew about Tristan just yet.

  He shook his head. “Our alpha was recently killed in battle.”

  I’d calmed down enough now to begin to notice that his accent sounded southern, but there was something else there, as well. Like Tristan, this man was a closed book, mysteri
ous and intriguing.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

  “Thank you. It was hard to lose him…and I’d be lying if I said the situation hasn’t created a few problems for us. There are others around who’d like to see our entire pack lying dead on the ground. A new alpha is in the works, but it’s a bit of a complicated process.”

  “I’m sure. But I’m confused. How do you even know about me? About Tristan?”

  Trick chuckled and pulled out the chair on the opposite side of the table from where I was still standing. He yanked the cloth off and seated himself, clasping his hands on the wooden surface. His forearms were ridged with veins, his biceps chiseled and defined. Whereas Tristan was lean enough to look natural in a three-piece suit, Trick looked like he belonged on the back of a beast of a motorcycle, dressed from head to toe in leathers.

  In a rough sort of way, his face was incredibly handsome, his eyes inquisitive. He was the sort of man no woman’s father wants to see invited to the dinner table, but that every single woman wants in her bed. Something about the feeling of danger that vibrated in the air around him reminded me of Krane, and I wasn’t about to let my guard down.

  “I know about Tristan because he’s famous, for one thing,” he said. “I would have thought you knew as much by now. He may be even more famous down here in than up in your neck of the woods.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  Trick studied me for a few seconds before replying. “Because he helped create the world we live in now. Plus, he’s saved our asses more than once,” he said, playing with the cloth that had covered the table. “But he’s also nearly brought our world crashing down more than once. Your lover is a bit of a pain in the ass, truth be told. Oh, don’t get me wrong—I like the guy. But every time he comes here, we brace ourselves for some massive catastrophic event.”

  “So I take it you knew we were staying in the city,” I said.