Claimed by the Alpha
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Saranna DeWylde
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Chapter One
“We’ve got a Guild infestation, Stanislav. What are you going to do about it?” Senator Kenneth Bardot demanded.
Luka shifted the phone with his shoulder—he still had blood on his hands from the most recent den of infected werewolves he’d put down. It clung to his fingers, stained his nails, a scarlet letter of accusation. But he’d had to do it because they’d become like mad dogs.
“What am I going to do about it?” He kept his tone carefully modulated, but it was more for his own control than the Aeternali Senator’s comfort. “Bardot, you’re on the Guild Oversight Committee. One would think you could manage to keep your own house clean.” The Guild Oversight Committee was supposed to make sure the supernatural police force continued to protect and serve without abusing their power, but more often than not, it was the Aeternali that abused that power. They disgusted Luka, but dealing with them now was the only way he’d be able to save his people and stop the infection before it was pandemic.
“One would think, Luka. One would most certainly think,” he drawled. “You know how these cops are. One of the female cops is down with Van Brunt’s body now. I want you to take care of it.” The cop had been bitten and there were even odds on whether Van Brunt would stay dead, or rise...infected. There shouldn’t have been anything for this woman to find.
“Where are you on locating Gevaudan and his benefactor? My Beta is still missing and displeased doesn’t begin to cover my state of mind.” He kept the facade of civility, but the threat was clear. Luka, if properly motivated, could tear Senator Bardot apart like a rag doll. The only thing keeping him from being so motivated was finding Ian Gevaudan, the source of the virus that had already claimed so many of his people.
“These things take time. Finesse. You can’t just barge in and—”
“Oh, but I can.” The growl started low in the back of his throat, almost like a purr. “And I will, if he’s not found.”
“You know Konstantin’s been infected.”
As if that mattered to Luka. If Kon had to be put down, he’d be the one to do it—honorably for his Beta. But Luka believed to his core that the virus affected him differently. He was still the Konstantin he’d entrusted with his life and the lives of their people. “I also know the virus was engineered to bond with his DNA and I know the Aeternali think they have a new weapon. Find him, retrieve him, or I’ll do it and war be damned.”
Yes, Luka would go to war. He was ready to do so now, regardless of how the situation played out. The Aeternali might be a council of supernaturals, much like the UN, but they had wronged him, violated those who depended on him.
Luka would not and could not let that go unanswered. Neither would the beast inside of him allow him to do so. Already, his teeth elongated in his mouth, the change hovered so near.
“You may want to rethink that,” Kenneth Bardot said, as if he had some information Luka did not.
“And you may want to start thinking. You ever have to put down your own, Bardot? Noble members of your race who don’t remember who they are, what they are? Instead these members are scrounging in the filth, mindless of everything but the next belly full of flesh? Gnawing on their own bodies with no more viable food sources available to them?”
“Luka, I know this hard for you, but—” His tone changed, softer now.
“You know nothing,” he snarled. “I feel all of their pain, the fear. The black moment of death. But mostly it’s this terrible emptiness, like starving for a thousand years. Every life I end, even as a mercy, pushes me closer to the Abyss. To the dark things you want inside no Alpha of Alphas. I’ll take care of your Guild problem, there’s no love lost there, but you’ve got three days to find my Beta. Or I’ll go to war against Gevaudan, the Aeternali and you. You’re either with me or against me on this one.” It was even odds on what the Senator would say—Luka had yet to determine his motivations for getting involved, but so far, his information had been reliable.
“That’s madness, Stanislav.”
“Madness was signing the Aeternali treaty to begin with.” In exchange for granting the Aeternali certain powers, the treaty was supposed to guarantee peace for his people. It had been a pretty lie. He tossed the phone on the bed and tried again to wipe off the blood that seemed to permanently stain his hands. But it was better that he end their suffering rather than some exterminator. Better the Alpha of Alphas who could bear witness to their indignities and the wrong done to them. Better him who would pass down the memory of the atrocity to be recorded in their histories so it would never be forgotten or hidden with some Aeternali cover-up like this village. After he’d finished exterminating the last of the infected people here, Aynkava would be nothing but dust and ash when he and the rest of the cleanup crew left. Abandoned, the village’s ground would be stained red by the blood that had been spilled there. The Czechoslovakians would never know what happened and it would become fodder for urban legends and stories told to make children quake in their beds rather than the very real horror it was.
Luka cast a glance at the darkening sky. The dens of infected werewolves would be on the hunt again for more meat. Why would the Guild send another investigator when the brass knew about the virus and had signed off on testing? Not for the death of one cop—they were elite forces and as such expendable. The woman who’d been sent must be Van Brunt’s partner. One night, over too many honeyed vodkas, Evan had admitted his investigation was unsanctioned. Luka had done his best to get him to leave, and had finally decided to have him removed forcibly.
But before he could do so, Van Brunt had been ripped apart this morning. Luka didn’t know why the beasts hadn’t consumed him like they did their other kills. He didn’t want to think about what it meant if the virus changed again and the zombie werewolves had become reasoning beings. Ones who had deliberately left him infected to increase their numbers.
Luka didn’t have time to babysit the woman cop—he had people to kill. The infection had to be contained at any cost. Of course, if Evan Van Brunt woke up hungry, the woman would need his help to protect herself.
Leaving the inn, he walked with measured purpose down the aged and cobbled brick roads to where he’d left the body for processing. A sweet scent slammed into him before he even got a glimpse of Van Brunt’s partner.
Gypsy blood. Gypsies and wolves were either oil and water, or gasoline and a match.
By the delectable scent of roses and sugar that taunted him, Luka was sure that he and this woman would be more like a nuclear reactor at critical mass. Luka definitely couldn’t afford that kind of distraction.
Mine. His beast roared in his head.
He stopped and closed his eyes. No, not a mate. Not now.
If he couldn’t protect his Beta from the virus, how would he protect anyone else? Especially a Gypsy mate? Rage bubbled under his skin, hot and volcanic, as the beast tried to erupt from inside him. Luka’s iron will locked down the wolf and he swallowed hard, centering himself and focusing on the task at hand.
He reminded himself that she was a Gypsy investigating deaths that appeared to be at the jaws of a werewolf. Gypsy girls were warned from a young age about his kind, about the draw between them. If he showed up all fangs and claws, he’d never be able to protect her because she wouldn’t allow it. She’d stuff him full of silver and probably try to cut off his head.
That, he could get over. The silver and the ax would be uncomfortable, but not like the burning fire of a mate found, but left unclaimed.
Mine.
Part of him hoped she’d be physically revolting. No mistake, he’d still have to have her, but he’d be able to put it off until the virus had been contained. Then he could seduce her, make her fall in love with him. Gypsies were more like humans requiring such seduction, the building of these emotions like constructing a pyramid, layer by layer. Wolves were much simpler. He recognized his mate. He’d live for her, he’d die for her. Only her. Forever.
Even so, he still hoped her face was unpalatable.
Fate was happy to inform him she had other designs when he rounded the corner.
The woman wasn’t only beautiful, she was a feast for his senses. Everything about her had this sudden hyperclarity, as if the world around her faded to gray and she was the only thing in color.
Her hair was black and thick, glossed with a pretty sheen like a raven’s wing. His fingers already itched to be tangled in it at the nape of her neck, tilting her head back for his kiss. Those red velveteen lips would part with a shuddering exhale, she’d taste like sugar and rain. The ethereal glow unique to Gypsy blood made her flesh look like pristine, white silk and he knew it would be just as soft.
There was an aura of strength about her, though. For all of her softness, the lushness of her body, there was steel in her bones. The mark of the Abyss, the trial she’d faced to become a Guild cop. Necromancers ripped a hole in the world and cadets were flung back into the vast primordial darkness that spawned them all, a place that was equivalent to the mortal Hell. They had to fight their way back. Most failed, but those who succeeded were forever changed. A necessary thing to do the job required of them. It pleased him to sense such power in her. She’d need it to be mated to him. The mark of her people flashed with magical life on the back of her neck.
Obviously intelligent, highly educated, his mate collected samples from the dead man like a forensic tech—inspecting and labeling each item before filing it in its proper place inside a small, leather case she carried with her. Underneath her scent rippled sour currents of fear. She was afraid, but she did what was required of her anyway.
It was inherently wrong that his mate should ever know a single moment of fear. Fury ratcheted up another notch, like mercury in a thermometer.
It will be you she fears if you don’t control yourself.
The mark of her people flashed with magical life on the back of her neck and a string of profanity longer than the village charter flared just under his breath.
This cop wasn’t just any Guild. She wasn’t just any Gypsy.
She was Zoranna’s granddaughter.
In the same way that he was the Alpha of Alphas, the Adam of his kind—Zoranna was the Eve of Gypsies. There was no way she’d allow her granddaughter to be claimed by a wolf. Not even Luka.
Her daughter had been murdered by her wolf lover.
Luka’s ears perked to the chorus of unnatural howls still too far away for anyone to hear but him.
The beasts were coming.
And they were hungry.
