Lycan Alpha Claim 3 (3 page)

Narah

Murphy grabs my elbow, steadying me as I trip over the second shattered glass tabletop. I hate this new klutziness.

I give him a grateful little smile. “Thanks, Murph.”

He grunts a welcome, and I smirk.

He's so fucking
grumpy
since I turned his ungrateful ass. Always complaining that the ladies aren't really
into
him anymore.

Being a vampire is an attraction-killer in this day and age of vamps being outed.

And then there's the bit where human women are attracted to the newly discovered vamps—fang-bangers. So
not
sexy, apparently.

I contain my smile with an effort.

But Murph needs blood, and he's proclaimed the bagged variety shit.

So here we are, rummaging through the debris of Dr. Phisher's home instead of finding blood donors—a new favorite pastime for Murph.

Donors, not debris. I feel like adding a winky face to my thoughts.

My eyes skip from pile to pile of broken and scattered household items.
Destroyed house, more like.

Murphy strokes the ebony head of what I presume to be Talyn's cat.

Cats love vampires.

She purrs, barely containing herself from clawing Murphy. Instead, her little furred paws swoosh forward and backward rhythmically, the claws barely peeking out then retracting.

Murphy flicks her collar, where a glittering name tag shaped like a crown dangles.

“Old-fashioned,” he comments.

Yes, it's weird that the kitty has an etched name on the collar. Why the cat can't be just thumb-pressed between the eyes for instant pulse stats is beyond me.

“She's older,” I shrug, thinking of the good doctor.

“Forty?” he asks, eyebrow hiking.

I bite my lip. “Nah, maybe a little shy of that.”

Memory's fuzzy too.
Marvelous.

“Yeah, but this beauty was around before the pulse days. Probably resisting the tech.” He cocks an inky eyebrow.

“Probably,” I say sarcastically.

“Hey!” Murphy throws up his hands and the cat launches onto the back of an unbalanced couch.

The overstuffed back sways under the ten pounds of feline weight, and she springboards again, landing on the next busted piece of furniture.

I sigh, kneading the back of my neck.

Talyn's going to shit when she sees what her house looks like.

“I've finally come on board with everything Brain Impulse Technology. Admit it, Narah.”

I kick a shard of glass into a new hill of trash, and slide a knowing glance his way. “I admit that Casper
said
you either come on board or your ass could find new employment.”

“Humph.” He stabs a finger in the air. “And I did.”

“Coercion doesn't count, Murph.”

My eye catches something, and I sink to my haunches, automatically swinging my blade out of the way as I do.

“What is it?”

I pluck a strand of hair, caught as though between teeth, from a splintered table leg and the flat nail head it's caught on.

I hold it up to the meager light.

We don't need light. We're vampire.

Besides, light alerts humans of our presence. Or things that aren't people—so we never turn any on. The advantages of being a vampire aren't lost on me. I can't believe what I could do when I was human.

Murphy's brows come together. He plucks the single strand from my fingertips.

Running it underneath his nostrils he scents deeply. His eyes spring wide. “Wankers!” he exclaims.

My brows knot. “Okay, don't hold back, you know I can't scent like you.”

Which I hate.
And Murphy loves to lord over me.

“Well,” he waggles his brows, “I am superior, being that I am full vampire.”

I plant a swift elbow in his gut.

He doubles over with a whoosh.

The hair floats between us and I grab it. “Stop fucking around, Murph. Talyn is missing. Yʼknow—a client, you asshat.”

Murphy straightens. “I don't hit the ladies,” he says in an offhand way, reflective eyes steady on my face.

“Sounds like you're reminding yourself,” I comment slowly.

His eyes glitter at me with dark promise.

I don't scare easily. But this new vampiric Murphy is a different ball of wax.

“I am,” he says. “If you were a bloke, I'd have already bloodied your face.”

My hands drop, swinging loosely at my sides. “Bring it.”

Murphy's nostrils flare.

It's not the first battle of wills we've had. He is my youngling. A position I've not been fair with—or asked for.

But no one gave me the Vampire 101 Handbook.

I made Murphy a vampire to save him.

It's mega unfair.

Turning Murph was also a knee-jerk reaction. Now we're living with the consequences, and it's been rough going.

“You know that I can't.”

My shoulders sag. I'm suddenly ashamed.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper in a voice uncharacteristically humble.

Murphy drags me to him and hugs me.

I don't deserve it.

“I can't hurt you, Narah. You're my sire. And beyond that, you're a woman.”

Painful tears leak from the corners of my eyes and he pulls away. This guy that's been my obnoxious friend since the day I got out of the orphanage is giving me comfort—when he should have kicked my ass instead.

His fingers grip my shoulders painfully, not in aggression, but from sheer lack of knowing his new undead strength. “What is it—truly?”

My mouth opens and closes. The damn cat streaks by with a strangled meow and I jump. His hold gentles.

Murphy scoots down, planting his face in front of my eyes. I can't miss him, or the compassion I see in his gaze. “It can't be that a client's in danger? We've gone that route before. There's
always
a client in peril. Now that vamps are out in the open, we get more and more work policing what the human lawmen can't master. What might it really be, love?”

I roll to my tiptoes and his hands slide to my upper arms.

I speak it softly in his ear.

No one could hear my softly uttered words but another vampire.

My two vampire mates aren't around. I'm with Murphy and that's my reprieve from the guys.

The guys that don't know my secret yet.

Aeslin and Matthews trust my youngling. As they should. He can't go against his biology of protection.

Even when I beg him to with my immature behavior.

Murph jerks back as though struck, his eyes darkening to a pewter-mercury with surprise and wonder.

“Brilliant,” he whispers in a voice that lacks its usual cocky bravado.

“
Not
,” I say, and begin to cry in earnest.

I'm not much for tears but hormone overload will do that to a chick, apparently. And I'm not immune to what every other woman feels at a time like this.

Pregnant.

Talyn

The Mutables have me trussed up like a turkey.

I really wish I hadn't taken off when the zoo was kicking each other's ass in my house.

I close my eyes, so exhausted and hungry I've gone beyond hunger pains into sort of a numb emptiness.

These jerks are fond of zip ties. I can see why. They're tight and hurt if one tries to wrest themselves out of the compromising position of hostage.

Just as my eyes flutter shut again, something is jammed between my lips.

Straw.

I suck greedily, and cool water slides down my parched throat. Hostage or not, I can't think for my thirst. My hunger begins to abate as the more important hydration issue is tackled. 

I sigh.

“Thanks,” I say to whoever gave me the drink.

I finally open my eyes and I'm relieved to see it's not Duncan. A tenseness I didn't even realize clung to me sloughs off a little.

I study the face in front of me and a giggle escapes. I don't mean to. But somehow, his half-donkey face is hilarious.

“Really?” I ask, without any sense of self-preservation, “do you—you couldn't think of a different animal?”

He scowls, and the long droopy ears hike with the expression.

“Think of the comedic potential here,” I add, heaping on insult to injury. I'm giddy with exhaustion, spent adrenaline and insufficient nourishment.

My
give a fuck
has officially given up.

He slaps my face, the little bit of water that hadn't traveled down the pipe comes up, flying out of my mouth along with enough blood to sober me.

“You're here to be bred, Lycan female. That is all. You can be half-dead for all we care. We're just keeping you barely coherent and in minimal health so we can breed you, then we're on to the next female.”

He smirks.

On to the next female.

His lecherous grin widens. “I'm clever, even if I look like an ass.”

I spit out more blood, giving him a look filled with my hate. “Your play on words is not impressive. Anyone can be
on
a female if said female is bound. And ass works, even if you're not a donkey in the present.”

His hands ball into fists.

“Go ahead,” I goad. I'd rather miss their rape of me. Just knock me out and turn out the lights.

I don't have any hope that Merck and Arden will find me.
What if Duncan's a Masker like Arden?

“Don't,” someone says in quiet command behind Donkey.

Donkey visibly restrains himself from beating a bound woman.

I can see it pains him.

Donkey Dick is a better name
, I decide.

“She needs a lesson, Drake.”

The new man—Drake—says, “Maybe, but not by you.”

Donkey whirls, his ears flapping, and I bite the inside of my cheek not to snort hysterical laughter again.

What's wrong with me?
I know—death wish!

“She's got a mouth!”

The hidden Drake comments, “I can think of better things to do with her mouth than shut it with our fists.”

Uh-oh.
My urge to laugh drains away.

Donkey turns, his lips twisting in ugliness as he surveys me on the floor. “Good idea.”

He jerks me to my feet and slams me against the wall. My head bounces, and I find I can't stand.

I've been in one position too long. My teeth float with the need to pee again.

“Bitch,” he seethes.

“Hee-haw,” I croak.

“Alex,” the guy named Drake says in warning.

“What?” he asks between his teeth, hands at my throat.

My eyes roll, trying in vain to find Drake, soft gray edging in at my consciousness.

He squeezes my neck.

“Leave the female for now. Duncan said we each get a piece later tonight.”

Not a good development.

Donkey, who I now know is Alex, punches the wall next to my face. I yelp as my head bounces off the surface. His grip releases suddenly and he grins.

I track him as he stalks off, allowing myself to slide down the wall with a shoulder. My wrists burn, and I wince as I roll my tongue along a swollen and cut lip, courtesy of the last slap from Donkey.

“Hey.”

I look up, and a huge man stands before me.

Drake,
I intuit.

“Yeah,” I croak in answer.

I understand no one is my friend in this little palace I find myself in, and I'm not allowing myself to soften toward this guy because he delayed a beating.

“I'm Drake.”

“Okay,” I answer, eyeing him warily.

I guess it doesn't make sense that he'd beat me too—having just saved me from Donkey. So at least I'm spared that. For now.

He reaches out to me and I flinch, trying to raise my bound hands defensively, though I can't get too far. Drake cups my chin, forcing my eyes to his.

“I won't hit you,” he says through gritted teeth, and I notice
he's
not a horse's ass.

Sharp teeth line a wide mouth, and lips a shade too full to be within human norms. His eyes are slanted, the pupils are oblong, instead of dots.

Snake.

“Oh my god—cobra man!” I try to scoot away as new panic surges through me. I attempt to wrestle away from him, but his hold on my chin tightens instantly. Painfully.

He could crush my jaw.

I still.

His fingers lessen their bruising pressure.

“I'm
not
a snake.”

I scrutinize him more closely. His skin isn't flesh-toned, but iridescent. The outline of scales shine in the dim light of the room. Drake turns his head to the side.

His ears lie flat against his head, shaped like an elaborate fan that sweeps up from the back of his head and ends in three points, a swagging split is evident between each point as they ascend in a graduated arc.

Drake's lips part and steam rises from his mouth.

My lips part. “Oh dear God—you're what?”

“You know what I am.” His muscular arms cross, and the barely outlined scales on every surface of his exposed skin morph, flashing prismatic color and deepening.

His eyes sweep upward, the colors of the irises swimming and changing.

I'm dizzy.

“I'm no donkey.”

I nod slowly, in awe of what I suspect he is. In more awe as to the level of finesse he'd need to become a tiny bit more of his animal to reveal his identity to me.

“I thought you guys were Mutable? Any animal?”

Drake nods. “Of course. But our base animal, the one that is our animal in rest, that is the shape we hold form without effort. The other forms we must shift into. And there's the matter of being Alpha.”

My breathing is shallow. Hyperventilating might be an option in my near future.

“Our base form determines the hierarchy of who is Alpha of the colony.”

“That's why Donkey backed down?” I ask.

Drake nods, a smile ghosting his lips. His golden brown hair is a short mat of spikiness tight to his skull.

He smiles. “Dragon trumps Donkey every time, Talyn.”

I duck my head between my knees. It's not easy with my ankles bound but it's that or pass out.

I guess I want to stay awake for my gang rape after all.

Even if Dragon-man extended a temporary olive branch, it's only a matter of time.

And time isn't on my side.