Falling for the Alphas: Part One

FALLING FOR THE ALPHAS

PART ONE

by Cassie Wright

Falling for the Alphas: Part
1

Cassie Wright

Smashwords Edition
| Copyright 2014 Cassie Wright

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Chapter 1

The moon cleared the
clouds, and lit the ruined street in shades of silver. It shone on
the shattered glass that littered the sidewalks, gleamed dully on
the ruined fire escapes, and made the shadows where it didn't reach
all the more menacing and dark. In the distance, an ambulance siren
sang its plaintive call, but here in the once booming industrial
heart of Fort Brixton all was silent.

Dylan stood on the corner
of a flat roof four stories above the street. The cold wind off
Lake Michigan pulled at his shoulder length hair, plucked at his
jacket. He didn't shiver. Instead, he gazed out over the dark
block, at the abandoned factory buildings, the dead street lamps,
the rusted hulks of cars. His frame betrayed coiled anger. As if
this urban decay were a personal insult.

Footsteps behind him. They were just
shy of silent, but his senses were unnaturally sharp. His jaw
tightened and he turned to see Kayden walking across the roof
toward him. Dylan watched in silence until his former packmate
stopped, only ten yards away.

The air between the two
alphas crackled with barely controlled tension. For a long while
both men simply stood, chins raised, shoulders back, hands curled
into fists, until finally Dylan spoke.

"Kayden. This is your last chance.
We've run out of time."

The other man narrowed his
cold blue eyes. He wasn't wearing a jacket against the cold. Curls
of a tattoo emerged from the neckline of his shirt, tribal glyphs,
and wrapped around his forearms. "You know I won't step down.
You're wasting my time."

"Kayden." Dylan stepped
forward. There was urgency in his voice. Frustration. "We need to
unite the packs. You know this. Bring your people back to the
Cairn. Return to us. We can be whole once more, strong. United, we
can defeat the enemy."

Kayden curled his lip in
disdain. "Return to the Cairn? What Cairn? You found a new totem
spirit I don't know about? The action is here, Dylan. In the city.
This is the frontline of the war. Why would we leave? Why would we
return to Manistee?"

Dylan took a deep breath
as he fought against his anger for patience. "We can't abandon the
Cairn, totem spirit or no. And our kinfolk live there. You want us
to abandon them too? We come into the city to fight, but we do not
stay." His tone grew cold. Harsh. "You know this."

Kayden laughed, but it was
a lonely sound, bitter. "You still scared of being polluted by the
city? By the filth and corruption here? Scared of losing your
connection to your primordial wolf?" Before Dylan could speak,
Kayden took a step forward and
shifted
. Iron-hued fur exploded
across his body like a forest fire, and his bones thickened and
grew. Sinews popped, his legs buckled back, and his clothing melted
away like mist. In less time than it took to blink, his human self
was replaced by a nine foot tall monster from legend. Massive jaws
hung open showing dagger teeth and lolling crimson tongue, and his
tattoos showed black against his gray fur. Golden eyes looked down
at the now dwarfed Dylan.

Kayden took a step forward
and the menace in the air doubled. In the harsh tongue of
werewolves, he said, "Do I look like I have lost the wolf,
brother?"

Dylan gazed up at the
monster before him without fear. He crossed muscled arms over his
broad chest. Sadness crossed his face. "We need you back. We need
your people. Or we shall all die."

Kayden lowered his massive head until
he was eye level with Dylan. "Then step down as alpha. Roll on your
back and show me your throat. Join your Silver Song pack to The
Vengeance."

Dylan clenched his jaw. "You know I'll
never do that."

Kayden reared back up to
his full height. "Then you waste my time. The Vengeance will not
leave the city. We won't return to Manistee to hide with our tails
between our legs by a pile of spirit-dead rocks. We're staying and
fighting until we destroy the enemy here."

Dylan felt a great weariness wash over
him. He shook his head. "You leave me no choice."

Kayden's golden eyes narrowed. "You
going to challenge me then?"

"Oh my brother." Dylan felt a pang in
his chest, and a cold, cutting wind blew his hair across his face.
"Yes. The next time we meet, it shall be before our packs. And I
will have to kill you."

~~~

Naomi cursed and ran her
hand through her hair. Where the hell was she? She stared at her
cell phone again, but she still had no signal. Only in Fort Brixton
could you still find places with absolutely no coverage. Driving
slowly and peering out every window, she tried to spot a street
sign. She might as well be driving across the dark side of the
moon. This was the dead part of town, the stay-the-hell-out part of
town, and yet here she was past sundown driving in circles like
some clueless tourist just asking for trouble.

If Councilman Stark wanted
to impress on her how badly things were going for Fort Brixton,
then arranging for her to interview him at the old Gladstone
Theater was a truly over-the-top way to do so. What ever happened
to brunch interviews at one of the few remaining swank restaurants
on Miracle Mile? Naomi winced as her trusty VW Beetle jolted over
yet another pot hole of doom. She was going to wreck the axle at
this rate.

A glowing white ball of
light appeared in the air above the passenger seat. It lit the
inside of the car with flowing bands of gold and honey that rippled
everywhere like reflections off the surface of a pool. Naomi
glanced irritably at it. "I'm not giving up."

If I had hair I'd be
pulling it. This isn't safe
. Its voice was
as familiar as the palm of her hand and right now incredibly
annoying. She knew nobody else could hear Illixy, that nobody else
even saw him, but she was alone and there was nobody here to think
her crazy.

"It's perfectly safe." She
glanced dubiously out the windows. "There's nobody dumb enough to
be out here right now but me."

Naomi.
It paused as if searching for patience.
Would you like me to define the word 'safe' for you? Please
turn back.

She was tempted. Oh was
she. But this was her chance to break a real story. Nobody at the
Post believed in her or took her seriously. Most of the time the
other journalists either made snide comments about her luscious
curves or ignored her. The only time she had received any real
attention was when they invariably tried to hit on her when they
were drunk after work. She needed this, to prove them wrong, to get
them to stop staring at her breasts and hips and see the
determined, talented journalist she knew she was.

"No. I have to do this."
She gripped the steering wheel tighter. Did all the street lamps
have to be out? She turned on her high beams. "I'm close. Gladstone
is around here somewhere. There!"

The facade of the old
theater still held some of its faded grandeur. A huge venue back in
the booming 50's and 60's, it had finally closed in the late 90's
and been for sale ever since. Naomi breathed a sigh of relief at
the sight of the SUV parked outside it. Councilman Stark was
already here.

Last
chance
. Illixy pulsed with
distress.
I've got a really bad
feeling
.

Naomi hesitated. She
didn't know what Illixy was - a guardian angel, an imaginary
friend, an incredibly persistent psychotic delusion - but she did
know he was overly protective. "I'm sorry." She opened her
briefcase and checked one last time that everything she needed was
within. "I know it looks scary, but this is a Councilman I'm
meeting." She paused and looked at the dark exterior of the
theater. "Granted it's Councilman Stark, and this is a very freaky
place to meet, but if he gets nasty, I can just leave. That, and,
well. I told George I was coming." George, her dismissive editor.
If she went into work tomorrow and confessed she'd turned around
because she got scared, she'd lose what little credibility she
had.

Illixy pulsed brightly
once, twice, and then disappeared. Naomi sighed. That meant he was
very upset. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained. She didn't
move. She didn't want to admit that she was frightened. She'd been
chasing an interview with Jarod Stark for over three months; he was
implicated in a number of corruption scandals, and supposedly had
ties to the mafia and powerful people in Washington DC. People even
whispered that he was partially responsible for Fort Brixton's
attempt to declare bankruptcy. He was probably going to just try
and scare her off the story. Which in and of itself was a
story.

Naomi lowered the car
visor and checked her face. A subtle and professional shade of
lipstick, just enough blush to accentuate her cheekbones (her best
feature), and a ghosting of mascara to bring out her long lashes.
She knew she looked striking. She'd heard that Stark talked more to
pretty women, and though some men didn't appreciate her full
curves, she knew that Stark would. It was the only explanation she
had for his having agreed to do the interview.

Naomi got out of her car
and locked it. Smoothed her skirt down to her knees, adjusted her
scarf, and then buttoned her dove gray raincoat before opening it
once more. A little cleavage might help. Well, alright, a lot of
cleavage. She raked her long black hair back and turned to the
Gladstone Theater. It was time.

She peered into the SUV's
windows as she strode past it. Nobody inside. The Gladstone had
been a baroque and very ornate affair, making its once sumptuous
exterior look incredibly sad by the years of neglect. She tried to
read the marquees, but it was too faded and covered with dirt. The
large doors stood open, and she stepped carefully through them and
into the ruined foyer. A rotten red carpet led up a slight incline
to the main lobby, where a dilapidated chandelier caught gleams
from the faint yellow light coming through the doors to the theater
space itself.

"OK Naomi," she said to
herself. "Put on your Big Girl Pants. You're a professional. Let's
go." She raised her chin and walked forward authoritatively only to
stop at the door. "Oh wow," she whispered.

She stood at the top
level, from which the seats descended in concentric rings to the
main stage. It had been a small theater by today's standards, but
the walls were so ornately decorated it looked like an underwater
grotto. Everything was covered in dust and fallen plaster. On the
stage stood Councilman Stark, a heavy flashlight in his hand. He
pointed it at her and she raised her hand to block the
beam.

Run
, whispered Illixy in her ear.

"Ms. Daniels." His voice
was smooth, rich, used to command. And uncomfortably amused.
"Welcome."

Naomi lowered her hand as
he lowered the light. He was dressed in an immaculate black suit,
black shirt, with a lurid neon green tie that almost glowed in the
dark. His black hair was combed back, and he was even more handsome
in person than she had imagined. Late thirties, with a predatory
smile and the body of an athlete. Councilman Stark.

"Thank you for agreeing to
meet," she said, and began to descend between the seats toward the
stage. "Though this is... a little unorthodox."

Stark raised an eyebrow. "Unorthodox?
Why would you say that? This setting fits my needs
perfectly."

Run
, whispered Illixy again in her ear, and this time goose
bumps flurried down Naomi's arms.