fate of the alpha - episode 2 Page 2

  Julian surmised that she was rightly concerned about a bunch of college kids noticing the prone and bleeding man next to Ainsley’s front door.

  “Extingui” he whispered to the porch light. It went out instantly, plunging them all into relative darkness.

  “Ainsley!” one of the runners cried, in a familiar quavery voice. Carol Lotus, a professor from the college, rounded the hedge and bounded up the front walk. Julian was impressed that the old girl wasn’t even winded.

  “Carol, it’s alright. The danger is gone,” Ainsley replied.

  MacGregor followed right behind Carol.

  “We’re fine, Mac,” Ainsley said. “Can you let the others know? We have a new pack member and he’s wounded so we’re gonna need some space.”

  MacGregor nodded. He still looked troubled, as he should when his alpha was in danger.

  As a matter of fact, Carol looked worried too, but in a different way. Julian watched as she darted a frantic glance at Grace.

  Grace gave a nearly imperceptible shake of her head and Carol seemed to slump a little with relief.

  “Let’s get him inside,” Grace said in a firm voice.

  Julian rushed to her side. Together with Ainsley, they lifted the young man. He didn’t even moan. Carol scurried to opened the front door.

  “Go on with the others,” Grace said to Carol softly as she passed.

  “Thank you,” Carol whispered.

  The young man was bleeding profusely. Julian moved his lips silently in a lingering spell to staunch the worst of it, and to protect Ainsley’s Oriental rugs. They continued to the bathroom and laid him as gently as they could in the clawfoot tub.

  For a moment they all just looked down at the battered body. In the stark light of the bathroom, his wounds looked more serious. Three deep slashes across his shoulders, chest and abdomen formed a crimson W shape that was streaming rivulets of blood despite Julian’s spell.

  “He’s not responsive, and his wounds aren’t healing,” Grace said. “What’s going on?”

  “Garrett’s sword was coated with silver,” Ainsley replied. Her voice was quiet but Julian could hear the feeling behind it. Her own injury with a silver bullet had happened only a month ago. She would bear the scars for the rest of her life.

  “There must still be some silver in him,” Grace said.

  “How do you get silver out of someone?” Julian asked.

  “Can you do what you did to Erik?” Ainsley’s voice was hopeful.

  “That was magic, not real silver,” Julian said. “And this silver has been pulverized and mixed into some kind of oil. It’s probably in his bloodstream already.”

  “If it came from Garrett, it should have some residual magic,” Grace offered. “I touched that cane once.” Her involuntary shudder told Julian all he needed to know about the experience. “I wonder if there’s enough magic in that silver for me to draw it out...”

  Grace’s features hardened. She had made a decision and meant to carry it out.

  “Julian, get me something to put the silver in.”

  He scurried down to the kitchen and grabbed a mug off the kitchen table. It was hard not to think about the last time Grace had used her magic to heal someone. And after she healed Erik...

  Julian had replayed the mind-movie of her fierce little body going weak with need in his arms again and again. The look in her eyes burned him still.

  He tried hard to focus on the task at hand, rather than wondering how she might feel after the operation. Even now, after what she had done with Ainsley to take Coslaw down...

  When he returned to the bathroom no one even bothered to look up. Grace gazed down at the boy in the tub, her arms already making the stirring, gathering motions over him.

  He could hear her breathing growing rough and feel the disturbance of her magical efforts billow against his skin. While Ainsley watched the boy in the bathtub, Julian couldn’t take his eyes off Grace.

  Her pulse quickened as her arms spun and wove the air. He could see it throbbing in the tiny hollow at the base of her neck. Julian wanted nothing more than to nuzzle it, bury his nose in her clean, flowery scent.

  Ainsley gasped and Julian looked down at the boy. His wounds were drawn upward, as if by a thousand invisible strings, then further, as though the whole bathroom were under water and those flaps of injured skin were floating.

  Grace’s face was a study in determination. Sweat beaded on her beautiful smooth skin, and her ballerina arms pulled and strained at the magic.

  Just when Julian began to fear that the task was impossible, Ainsley sucked in a breath and he saw what was happening.

  A teeming army of silver dust motes was spilling out of the wounds and into the air just above the boy. Ainsley cringed from the shining mist.

  Julian grabbed the mug, and held it out. The mist spilled merrily into the cup at complete odds with the gravity of the situation.

  Suddenly, the skin across the boy’s abdomen began knitting back together as he watched. Julian knew that wolves had healing powers but had never seen such a serious injury heal before his eyes. It was so seamless it looked like an injury happening in reverse. No sooner had the first wound closed than the second closed and the third.

  Julian looked down into the mug. The silver inside formed an inch deep layer of harmless looking powder, its magic was gone. He wondered what he ought to do with it. Could it possibly be flushed?

  One moment the bathroom was silent as a church, the next an explosion of scrabbling and roaring exploded as the boy in the bathtub shifted into wolf form and desperately tried to get out of the tub. The slippery porcelain beneath his claws was probably all that saved them from a brutal attack.

  Instinctively, Julian grabbed Grace’s hand to drag her from the room.

  Ainsley, showing not a hint of concern for the snapping jaws, stepped toward the wolf in the tub and placed her hand on his shoulder.

  The wolf stilled instantly under her touch and seemed to slump, then thrust his huge head into her belly. Ainsley smiled down at him and scratched behind his big ear.

  “Don’t shift unless you want to,” she said. “I’m Ainsley. The witch who just saved your life is a pack VIP, Grace. And the man is Julian, another friend to the pack. You’ve earned your place. Let me bring you somewhere you can rest, my loyal one.”

  The wolf melted back into a young man. He knelt in the tub, his hands grasping the sides, his head still pressed to Ainsley’s middle.

  He was naked and covered in blood. But he seemed utterly unconcerned about anything but basking in her acceptance.

  At length, he lifted his head and looked into her eyes.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Javier,” he answered. His voice was deep, yet awed.

  “Thank you for your service to me today, Javier. I will show you to your room.”

  With great dignity, Javier rose and stepped out of the tub. Then Ainsley beckoned and he trotted after her down the narrow hallway.

  “I’m going straight to Ophelia after this!” Ainsley called back to Julian and Grace.

  The astonishing scene had distracted Julian from Grace, but her presence struck him hard the moment they were alone.

  Her hand was so small and soft in his, but feverishly hot. He looked down at their fingers, twined together, loving the way the honey of her delicate skin braided with his.

  The room was silent again, but for the slight sound of Grace’s still rapid breath.

  Julian met her gaze.

  The hunger in her eyes prowled between them like a living thing.

  It stole from Grace her usual serious demeanor. For once, the squared shoulders were rounded, her lips swollen from the kisses he hadn’t yet given her. In her exertions, some of her long hair had come loose from her ponytail so that she looked like she was already in bed, tousled and waiting for him.

  She moved toward him and for a moment, he thought he couldn’t resist her - that he would never find the strength to
deny what she needed and what he wanted to give.

  But his conscience screamed at him, and he took a shuffling step backward. The forgotten mug in his hand smacked the mirror behind him, the sound echoing through the small space like a gunshot.

  Julian didn’t realize he had been holding his breath, until it came rushing out in relief that neither the mug nor the mirror had shattered.

  Grace’s expression hardened, and she stormed past him to take off down the narrow hallway at a jog.

  CHAPTER 5

  Erik awoke suddenly, sunlight stinging his eyes.

  Someone was there.

  Erik hadn’t been startled by another man’s presence since he was twelve years old and his wolf arrived.

  He sat up as calmly as he could, stretching and trying his best to look unsurprised. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the dark blue of a police uniform. Great.

  “Hey buddy, whatcha’ doing out here?” The officer’s voice was slow and guardedly friendly.

  “I got tired last night and didn’t want to risk driving in the mountains anymore.” Erik replied. “And that moon was so bright...”

  There were a lot of wolves in Copper Creek, but without his wolf’s sniffer, he couldn’t tell if he was talking to one now. Back in Tarker’s Hollow, the cops would have already fed him the pack line, Did you notice the moon last night? But this guy didn’t look like he was picking up on the clue Erik was trying to drop.

  Fuck.

  Why hadn’t Ophelia given him the local code?

  He studied the cop. He was very tall, with dark, pomaded hair, big brown eyes, and deep smile lines, all of which gave him the look of a young Elvis, in spite of the fact that he was clearly at least sixty. A shining star insignia perched proudly on his lapel.

  “Well, hell, I would’ve thought you’d be in a hurry to get into town and make new friends with a full moon in! You’re wolf, right?” the cop asked jovially.

  “Uh, yes.” Erik glanced over his shoulder reflexively, as if someone might hear.

  “No need to worry. We don’t get many outsiders ‘round here, so we don’t have to play your big city games. I’ll bet you have some fancy code words or something like that, don’t you?”

  Erik smiled at the idea of Tarker’s Hollow being a big city.

  “Yes, you’re right,” Erik said, the tension leaving his body. “We do have code words.”

  “Ha!” The officer laughed a deep, rich laugh like molasses. “Hey Reggie, you hear that?”

  “I hear ya’, Lonnie,” came a voice from the patrol car behind. Erik hadn’t even noticed him.

  “I’m Sheriff Lonnie Muncy,” He offered Erik a meaty hand. “That’s my deputy, Reggie Walker.”

  “I’m Erik Jensen.” The sheriff had a firm, dry grip, that reminded Erik of his father’s handshakes. But with less competitive squeezing. “Nice to meet you.”

  “That’s a real pretty truck you got,” Sheriff Muncy said, gazing at it like he was trying to get up the nerve to ask it to dance.

  Erik smiled proudly. It was a nice truck. He forgave it for giving him a neck cramp.

  Reggie waved from the patrol car. He was a young guy with an old smile and a neatly trimmed Afro.

  Erik waved back with a smile of his own. So far, so good.

  “So what brings you to Copper Creek?” the sheriff asked. “You here to volunteer on the cave-in mess? There’s not much that can be done, you know?”

  “Well, I was sent by the Federation to help, yes.”

  There was a brief pause in which the sheriff cleared his throat and lifted his slightly stooped shoulders straighter. “Erik Jensen, oh yes. Yes, we’re glad you could be here. I’m sorry, I was expecting someone... older.”

  “Uh, no problem,” Erik said, puzzled by the man’s expectations.

  “We’ll escort you down the mountain,” Muncy offered. “You probably aren’t used to these hills.”

  “Thanks.”

  Shit.

  Now he would be in town the night of the full moon.

  Erik hopped back in the truck, wishing he could take a leak off the side of the road. His bladder would have to hold until he got to town.

  By the time they got halfway down the mountain. he was pretty surprised he hadn’t already wet his pants a little. He couldn’t believe coal trucks drove around these mountains.

  Coal trucks.

  The guard rails didn’t even seem up to the task of stopping his pick-up from flipping down the ravine to the meandering creek below. Every half a mile or so, a driveway appeared to go nearly straight uphill at a ninety degree angle.

  Twice they passed long, sandy embankments with signs saying Runaway Truck Ramp. He shuddered at the thought of being behind the wheel of a truck without brakes thundering down this mountain.

  Just as Erik began to relax slightly and take in the beauty of the peaceful wooded mountain, they reached the valley and the heart of Copper Creek.

  If the mountains were natural and lovely, the town was the opposite. A metal grate bridge, molting scales of sky blue paint, led the way toward a straight line of slanting frame buildings that huddled in the shadow of the mountain. The businesses were housed in plain white boxes with gray asphalt shingle roofs, as simple as a child’s drawing. They stared at him sadly as he drove past, their signs flapping listlessly.

  There was something odd about this town. It felt like it was sepia-toned. Erik couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe it was the thin layer of dirt that covered every sign, every car, and even seemed to line the faces of the people who stood on Main Street, watching the guy with the shiny pick-up truck drive into town.

  The F150 was too fancy for Copper Creek. He should have brought his dad’s old truck. He hadn’t given it any thought, and now he felt like a dandy. Which was pretty funny given that driving a pick-up truck at all in Tarker’s Hollow made people assume you were the help.

  The sheriff’s car pulled up on the pavement in front of a large brick building. The brick stood out after all the wood frame buildings, even though it was just a stout square with a flat roof. Copper Creek Police & Fire was painted on its wooden sign. The red lettering, which must have once been a brilliant scarlet, was covered with that same fine dust, as was the white background.

  Erik hopped out of the truck in time to catch the door for the sheriff.

  “Thanks, Doc.” said the sheriff. “We’ve got a packet in the office for you. Then you can figure out where to hang your hat.”

  The entry had a simple varnished pine floor and a thick wool welcome mat. The sheriff and deputy wiped their feet on the mat energetically before continuing into the office. Erik followed their lead.

  Huge metal pendant lights, so old they were nearly in fashion again, hung over the counter. The sheriff walked behind and fished around on a shelf for a few seconds.

  “Here ya’ go.” He slid a large manilla envelope over to Erik. “This has your badge, so you can enter the site, and some other stuff the Federation said you’d need.”

  Erik opened it and pulled out a piece of laminated card stock dangling from a black lanyard.

  Erik Jensen, PsyD (Speciality - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder)

  What?

  In a desperate bid not to let his jaw hit the floor, Erik pressed his lips together and slid the badge back into the envelope.

  “It was a long drive, do you have a rest room I could use before I figure out where I’m headed?”

  “Of course, Doc, I shoulda’ thought of that.” The sheriff pointed to a door in the rear corner of the office. “Right back there.”

  Erik gave a nod and strode as fast as he could for the bathroom.

  Once inside he nearly collapsed. Ophelia hadn’t mentioned anything about this. She had specifically told him she needed someone with his skills. He’d assumed he was supposed to be here for his excavation knowledge, although digging foundations had very little in common with rescuing trapped miners. At least he could have faked his way through that role convincing
ly.

  How was he going to pretend to be a psychologist? He was an excavator.

  He gave up on trying to figure it out and relieved himself. It did make him feel better physically. But now he was left with the problem of impersonating a psychologist front and center.

  Erik had never been to a psychologist professionally. There were psychologists who lived in Tarker’s Hollow, of course, but none of them exactly talked shop around town. Who would ever believe he was a psychologist if he didn’t know the first thing about what they did besides sit people on couches?

  Or was that a psychiatrist? What was the difference?

  Shit.

  He didn’t have time to dwell on it. He needed to get out of the bathroom before the sheriff started thinking something was wrong with him.

  The sheriff. Oh man. No wonder the sheriff was expecting someone else. Erik was wearing work boots, jeans and an old white T with a flannel on top. And driving a truck.

  He stifled the laughter that threatened. He was going to need a psychologist himself by the time this was over. Taking a deep breath, he looked at himself in the mirror and willed himself to believe it was going to be okay.

  He pushed open the bathroom door and strode back over to the sheriff.

  “Thanks, I feel like myself again,” he said as jovially as he could. “Can you direct me to wherever the emergency workers are staying?”

  “Well, Doc, you’ve got a choice. The workers were all put up in trailers out near the site, and I’m sure they have room for you there. But since you’re one of our kind, I have a better option for you. The Millers live in town and they have a room to let. They’re great people. LeeAnn’s husband is our alpha, and he’s down in that mine, so they could use a distraction right now. Would you be interested?”

  Shit. Erik had to think fast.

  If he went with the emergency workers, who were not from Copper Creek, they would quickly realize he wasn’t a real psychologist. If he went with the Millers, they would quickly realize he wasn’t a wolf.

  The sheriff’s kind look was beginning to go cold, and Erik read between the lines. The Millers were wolves. Wolves stuck together.