Alpha vs Alpha Read online

  “Keep an eye out on the Mason quints too. They’re on the hunt for a mate to share. If they try to mark you and you don’t want to be bothered, sic Cain on them.” I winked.

  Cain, whom everyone calls Tank for his muscular density, trumpeted his raw temper often, and he threw a mean jaw-breaking left hook. Ask Tommy, our town’s lead electrician who shocks even the loosest tongues with unhealthy sarcasm. Healing time lasted two days too long. Sometimes harsh discipline was the key to authority. Brother or not, Cain’s throat would never lose the mauling scars I’d inflicted, nor would he forget the reason why I’d laid down the law.

  “Hah!” Kasey said enthusiastically. “Yesterday, I sent Charlie Mason limping home with a bloody nose and torn shoulder.”

  I failed at stopping the chuckle even when the wolf inside me snarled, ready to rip apart all five Mason brothers in final warning before my departure, for whatever indiscretion one knucklehead had forced on my sister. But Kasey would always take care of Kasey. She wielded vicious claws. And fangs. Like mother, like daughter. “One day soon you’ll have to choose a mate, little one. Don’t wait too long or the Council will select one for you. Remember, Dad’s old school like the rest of the board. He’ll have the right and there won’t be anything Mom can do about it this time.”

  Pack law ruled for unmarried females over thirty. The heat cycle sent males into a fucking frenzy. Chaos. Dad had tried mating Kasey with an older wolf when she turned eighteen, would have if Mom hadn’t intervened. She hid with her daughter for a month, had the pack males whining and freaking out with worry. Notice I’d said “males” only. Pack females knew where they were stashed, had helped with the deceit, and had defied our Alpha. They were more afraid of Mom than Dad.

  No one, no one, in their right mind was marrying off Catherine Fairchild’s baby girl to an elder sporting strong hand and sharp incisors. The threat of divorce and moving out of state with her children, which had never happened between lifelong mates, cooled Dad’s jets. Both knew separating would be painful and cause devastating consequences. Actually, I thought the threat of no bootie changed his mind. The parents stayed locked up in the master suite for three days after Mom and Kasey’s return from their adventures. Nowadays, with the help of human resources, our females use medical patches to temper the heat scent.

  “Gotta go,” I said, setting the runt on her feet. “Need to make it to Branson’s by tomorrow night.”

  I embraced Mom. Tears filled her eyes too, even after the severe tongue-lashing she gave me for talking filthy. “I love you, Mom.” I kissed her cheek as always.

  “I love you more, pup,” she replied and hugged me with all her strength. “Keep those ears perked, and may the wolf goddess guide and protect you.”

  Dad stuck his hand out. I grasped it with equal pressure. He respected my strengths and yanked me into a bear hug. We would always have a difference of opinion, Alpha versus Alpha, but we loved one another regardless of our views.

  “At the risk of sounding cliché,” he whispered. “Be careful out there.”

  Faced with my musculature in wolf or human skin, few predators peddled brass enough to display aggression up close and personal-like and risk a killing. If by chance I ran into a small problem, I’d be shit out of luck. I never carried a cell phone on excursions; temps were easy to come by. Besides, reception was mostly nonexistent in the wilderness. The route I planned to run was rough, uneven, and treacherous in some areas. Phones were excess weight. And I didn’t need the muzzle-bashing.

  “I will, Pops, and I’ll make contact as soon as possible. We’ll find our kinsmen and get to the bottom of this travesty.”

  Wolf shifters were fiercely social (exceptions to the rule: feuds), and when one unexpectedly dropped out of sight, the wolf pack alliance went on full alert until the lost were found. Dead or alive. Then, it was up to the Council’s sovereign authority or the wolf’s own pack to decide what happened next.

  Dad nodded then tried to separate two or three vertebrae with a good, hard slap. I rolled my tense shoulders, cracked my neck, and shrugged it off.

  Our entire wolf community of well-wishers had gravitated toward our family circle. We’d all been on edge since the first kidnapping and death…I had no idea what the future held for me, but I sure as hell planned on rectifying the current situation. Then Aspen here I come for a little frolicking in search of some wagging tail and a perfect set of tight butt cheeks or hindquarters fitting my big paws. Oh, yeah. My cock thrummed at the idea of pillaging pussy or some ass. I’ve always refrained from screwing anyone within our township. Too much drama associated with lust and unreciprocated emotions. Add jealousy to the mix and you’ve got big problems. Jealousy was for those—males and females—who lacked confidence in themselves, who felt threatened by a little competition. Confidence was a sentiment I’ve carried all through life. End of story.

  Besides, I wasn’t looking for a mate because, again, I didn’t need one for three logical reasons. One, I wasn’t in pursuit of happiness. Living footloose and fancy-free equated to happiness. Two, I wasn’t searching for love. My heart was never and would never be broken. Lastly, I wasn’t seeking peace because wildness brought exhilaration with it. Happiness. Love. Peace. HeLP. Pristine and sterile-sounding? Maybe, but Hamilton Fairchild was as imperfect—average looks, decent physique, slightly better-than average intelligence—as the next two-legged, erect being. No male or female ever declared me handsome or sloppy or stupid. Plus, I’ve been smart enough not to bring home a bedmate to meet Spencer Fairchild and his pack. Or fuck a partner inside the Fairchild household, meaning automatically mated in Dad’s eyes. Old school. Someday soon, I’d best find personal living space away from here, to fuck whomever I wanted, when I wanted.

  I can’t imagine being tied down to one bed partner at this stage of my life anyway.

  Nearly four weeks had slipped by without plugging my lonely dick into somebody. I needed relief or I’d go into an unholy rampage, fucking everything in sight.

  Damn. Get a grip. There’s a full moon on the horizon. Two days max and you’ll find the heat you need.

  The second I shifted, I twitched my nose and sniffed the breeze rustling through the valley and evergreens. Out west, the promise of a storm brewed, the season’s first. Par for the course in October.

  Lifting my muzzle toward the sky, I howled loud enough to go hoarse, signaling my prompt departure, and forgot about it. When the pack choir of oldsters and youngsters joined in, I hit the trail in a gallop then stretched out to a dead run, wind whistling in my ears and ruffling my tan on gray fur.

  Freedom.

  2

  I have a huge appetite, and I filled my belly with tender, young deer a few hours ago. After a solo dining experience, I buried the remaining carcass. Bones mostly, but I absolutely loathe lungs and intestines.

  By dusk, I was growing tired, needing to find a good place to bed down for the night. I knew of the perfect utopia. Evergreens to fill my nostrils with their clean scent, wild grasses to cuddle by backside or belly, a nearby babbling brook to quench my thirst. My Garden of Eden wasn’t too far away, couple miles maybe, surrounded by pine trees and boulders. This was tick season. I’d sleep by rocks as opposed to under or near trees. Rocky Mountain fever rarely killed shifters because we’re immune to most diseases. On the other hand, we itched like crazy, scratched until our skin turned raw when traveling alone and no companion to dislodge the burrowing vampires from our hides.

  I slowly made my way across the face of a steep, rocky incline, carefully leaping from boulder to flat boulder when a distant rumbling caught my attention. It sounded like thunder, but as I looked up toward the western sky, the terrain shifted perilously under my paws. Then all hell broke loose.

  Above me, a thunderous roar devoured the evening’s serenity. We’d had significant rainfall during spring and again all through September. Mud- and rockslides weren’t uncommon in this area. I had no time to choose the perfect escape route, so I darted bac
k to what seemed a safe location seconds before the wide cluster of debris poured down the slope. Dirt, mud, rocks, hollow timber, even healthy trees tumbled, crashed far below in the valley, and raced up the adjoining mountainside, triggering several more substantial floods of chaos.

  Discouraged as I looked out over the hellish mess that cut me off from my supposed utopia, a final misguided projectile smashed my right front paw. I yelped.

  Shit, Hamm.

  Frustration needled my brain as I stood on three legs, pain lancing through nerve endings from toes to shoulder, and stared out again across the mass of destruction toward the wilderness beyond. My preplanned route was no longer viable. Alternative choices were slim: Take the long way around, stopping at one or two local motels while en route through hunting territory, or follow Dad’s suggestion and thumb a ride to Moab and backtrack…again through rifle country. I growled at both scenarios. I’d need clothes. Humans and hunting season were pains in animal shifters’ lives. And both lousy choices would add another two days to my journey. Fuck.

  Or I could risk trespassing on Villere territory.

  I’d never met a single wolf from the pack or heard of anyone who had. We smelled them, knew they were out there, their land well marked with pack scents. I imagined they smelled other shifters on the outskirts of their boundary line. I’d passed by a few times, ignored the distant howls warning me away. I was nobody’s fool and always trotted off straight to my final destination, avoiding unnecessary confrontation.

  This land is your land, I’d sing to myself.

  Since nighttime was closing in fast, I decided to take the chance. I’d find a safe den or lair for bedding down, sleep light, and rise before the skies brightened and sent millions of stars into hiding for another day. Promptly, I’d make a mad dash off their property. Problem was my tootsies ached like a mother. Swollen but not broken. Painful, though. I’d only lost a partial nail, and I took a moment to lick away the trickle of red oozing between two toes. Adding blood to the mix of animal scents asked for trouble, drawing predators to the unsuspecting wounded. I wasn’t lame, luckily, and could still brawl with the best, bad paw or not.

  Watchful, I limped, sneaking through the dense forest. Only the faintest wolf scents, old ones, were detectable to my superior nose’s smelling ability. Other resident odors belonged to a variety of game: small rodents, bears, felines, deer—umm, stomach growls again—and fowl. Specifically, owls. Filthy fuckers shit all over the same nests each and every damn year.

  My ears pricked and twitched a minute later, hearing an obscure, crunching sound. I tensed, crouched. Innocuous? Maybe. Dangerous? Who knew? I stayed focused, never letting my attentions scatter when something ominous might be lurking around the next bend. Critters were up and about all hours of the day and night. Wolves had phenomenal eyesight.

  I critically scoured the forest floor and saw nothing worth my inner disturbance.

  A hoot followed by a flutter of wings sounded from the Ponderosa pine looming above me. The big-eyed bitch had swooped in, snared an evening snack, and then perched to feed.

  Figures.

  I slinked away before the horned owl took a dump on the Hamm’s head and left me in a foul state. Hah. Foul? Fowl? I chuffed quietly.

  Then a twig snapped. Twigs. Plural. Animals much larger than any rodent or bird. By their scent, wolves. Fuck. No need to wait or engage in battle with more enemies than I could handle all by my lonesome. There’s a thin line separating bravery from stupidity. I might be big, but I wasn’t raised to be a dumbass. I left the gate in a romp. Few animals could keep up with my speed. Pays to be oversized and agile.

  Ten seconds into the sprint, I caught sight of two pairs of glowing gold eyes up ahead. I veered right, farther onto their lands. Hanging a left meant foolishness when a steep cliff towered above the valley of destruction. Surviving a two-hundred-foot drop onto jagged boulders after the mudslide didn’t meet my requirements. I wasn’t suicidal. I’d fight to the death first. But damned if exhaustion proved too much after a long day at full speed. Tongue flapping in the wind, I was determined to keep my freedom and forget the weakness. I pressed onward, forcing my legs into long, ground-covering strides, dodging trees, rocks, and the rogues hoping to sink their fangs into my throat and belly.

  They forced me into another sharp right, strategically herding me, I knew. Somehow, I had to outsmart them. I barreled over one snarling fucker, a yelping son of bitch half my size, rolled up to all four paws, and didn’t miss a single stride. I couldn’t look backward and risk slowing down, couldn’t waste the moments of freedom, and tried veering left again. No such luck. Three wolves lunged, kept me on the same path to my destiny. To certain death. They were brothers. I’d caught a whiff of their similarities.

  Fatigue became my downfall. Too many enemies were engaged in the chase. Wolves were strategic warriors capable of running prey to the ground. The best chance I had was the shallow cave they corralled me into for their malevolent machinations.

  Haunches against a rock wall, I exercised an Alpha’s tyranny; bristling, snarling, and snapping at any wolf boasting iron nerves that ventured too close to my personal space. In the end, they’d probably get a dinner, but I sure as hell planned on a sandwich out of their fiasco.

  In theory, I was in a favorable standoff. These pussies tiptoed around on toenails outside my reach, fur fluffed, muzzles wrinkled, snorting. When I faked a charge, they recoiled like meerkats dodging a strike from a scaly intruder after mauling the invader—all in sequence, all shoving backward. Like wolves, meerkats crowned one leader. Female, though. None of these rogues had enough balls to become leader in any heroic saga.

  I knew my normal brown eyes glowed bright, menacing gold, and I flashed three-inch fangs, tongue flickering out for emphasis.

  Yeah, dare ya to try some of this, motherfuckers. I’ll rip ya a brand-new one.

  All two dozen or more drew back. Retreat or not, it was a matter of outlasting them to make it through the boundary dividing me from them safely. Not likely. Unless I put one or two down permanently. If I managed to grab one by the shorthairs, an all-out attack would take place in a heartbeat. Game over. End of story. So we waited and snarled and pissed, throwing off intimidating body stinks. I had plenty of time. Ideally, sooner rather than eventually, the Fairchild or Branson pack would realize I had encountered problems. Fact: No one, not even Dad, would ever prevent Catherine Fairchild from locating her beloved pup and exacting revenge against my perpetrators.

  Out of nowhere, the group parted. Tails wagged and tucked, omegas bared vulnerable bellies, and beta high-pitched yips reigned.

  What’s up with this shit?

  The female’s scent had yet to reach my nose, and I had excellent odor reception. Was it a queen who ruled these pussies? Chuffing, I shook off the confusion and bewilderment. If the leader was a queen, I now had the finest solution to the problem. Fuck her silly. Right here in the cave with everybody watching. Fuck her silly and hit the road immediately after. The simple thought sent a bolt of blazing fire to my lead brain. My overzealous cock shot out instantly, twitched in anticipation, the swollen head pulsating a few inches above the ground. Had I not been in this grim predicament, I might’ve raised my leg for a quick lick, stimulating pheromones. What the hell? I licked. Should awaken her senses to my virility.

  Then shock overrode my wandering sensibilities. Realization startled my elongated dick back to flaccidity and into hiding.

  Fuck a duck. I’m dead meat.

  3

  No way in hell would I survive any kind of strike by the pack’s sovereign leader, rather, the colossal biped silhouetted by the moon’s glow, stepping into the cave among its cowering minions.

  I’d heard of Weres before, but they were as much folklore to my kind as magi, faeries, and witches were to humans. Supposedly, the rare breed moved undetected about our planet. Good thing. If humans labeled me a freak, this horrendous monster was, without a doubt, an abomination—a sacrilege of the wo
rst kind.

  Sinewy muscles bulged from neck to calves. From my perspective, its pelt shimmered mostly dark, backlit by the moon’s incandescence. To my good fortune, the savage-looking creature lacked three items: hooves, horns, pitchfork.

  The sight of the frightening being sucked my bravado and every molecule of air right out of my body, sent them funneling toward the cave’s opening. My ass bumped the cold rocky barricade. Protection, but still leaving my front in dire straits. Regrouping, I crouched low and flattened my ears against my skull, bared fangs, and emitted my lowest bass growl, which echoed off the walls. I was good at threats, great at follow-through in most cases. Fairchilds never backed down or retreated in fear when challenged.

  No doubt the Were was male. I’d caught a glimpse of swinging balls and fur-veiled cock, and his snarl made mine sound like a puppy’s whine. Tremors vibrated through my flesh and bones, caused my heart to stutter in response. I reciprocated the threat with another warning worthy of a cornered canine. And teeth? The gang of his sharp dentals, exposed under an elongated muzzle, doubled in size of the “kiddy” choppers I possessed. Eyes glowing orange, his pupils narrowed. They remained focused on me.

  I braced for his assault.

  Fortunately, he—or it—neither leaped nor charged. Instead, his approach was slow, but deliberate, silent in the cave’s relative quiet. Obviously a stalker of sorts. Obviously a possessed killer looking for its next meal, which was my trespassing backside.

  Paw aching from the adrenaline rush, the chase, and subsequent dread shaking every bodily cell, sure as shit, I was the meat du jour, but if I shifted back to human form…I had one chance to save my day, and my ass.

  Choking a wolf to death wasn’t easy but it has happened. Choking a bitchin’ werewolf was another story altogether if I failed at crushing its larynx. Still, if a strangling didn’t kill him, it’d slow him down long enough for me to take a flying leap out of my enclosure. Shit wasn’t looking good, though. Until tonight, my right had been the strongest crusher of my two hands.