Shifter Alpha Claim 1-6 Omnibus (12 page)

Merck

I pile the bodies into the center of the room as Arden drags the last one over, and with a gentle heave, tosses the headless Lycan at the top.

He winks at me. “King of the hill.”

I frown, correcting him, “Lycan.”

He barks out a laugh, shrugging dismissively. “Whatever. At least we kept them from nailing Talyn.” He meets my eyes. “Now we have to find her.”

My eyebrow hikes, my body tensing. “Where is she—I don't smell her.”

“Took off with the damn cat.”

My lips quirk. “Well she can't be too far. And for the record,” I clap Arden on the shoulder and he staggers forward, “thanks for the help.”

His brows lower, hands going to strong hips. “Does this mean you'll share?”

I shake my head. “I understand you
think
you're capable of transitioning, Talyn. However, with zero changes to your record and her being of Lanarre descent—” I let my words trail off. Arden's no dumbass, he can figure out what happened here.

I am an alpha Changer, it's not in my nature to share a female.

She's just a change, but she's
my
change. When she becomes, Talyn will find her true mate.

“You're growling.”

I give him a sharp look, the humming deep within my chest quieting. “Fuck,” I mutter.

“Having a tough time reconciling the whole, ʻI'm a Changer and she's a changeʼ deal?”

He smirks.

I glare.

“Can't beat your chest then leave her?” Arden continues, smile widening. “I got your back on that one. I loved Talyn the instant I met her. I think I was too young to know what she was to me—biologically.”

I turn faster than Arden can track and jerk him to me by his thin ripped up shirt. The cloth makes a soft shriek as it falls apart from my harsh grip. “Listen up. I'm
not
giving Talyn over to a Mutable. Period. My job is to
change
her, then offer her as a breeder for the Lycans. Got it.” I shake him for emphasis.

Arden covers my hands with his own.

His grip begins to crush mine.

I glance down, his hands are no longer human, but talon-shaped. Like an eagle.

One that would have a twelve foot wingspan.

“Fuck!” I yell and he releases me.

My blood is hot as it runs down my forearms. The heat of healing burns through the sliced up top of my hands.

“Dick,” I grunt.

“Bully,” Arden chimes back softly. “Now
you
listen up—I know you don't give a shit about Talyn—the woman. But I do,” his thumb jabs his deeply muscled chest. “A Mutable doesn't have many stabs at a female whom they can mate with.”

I roll my eyes, folding my arms. “Nice choice of words.”

He shrugs. “It's no different than what you want Talyn for. You'll breed her for transition then you're on to the next female. It's perfect for the Lycans.” He flips his palms out. “But what about the females? What happens
after
they're discarded into the new Lycan society after only knowing humans?”

My jaw clenches. I hammer a shoulder up in a abrupt shrug. “I don't know—I
change
—like I keep saying. I do that part really fucking well. What happens to the females after I get them to their full Lycan forms is really none of my concern. I've been told they're assigned a mate who's good breedable stock. Period. What else is there?”

Arden's laugh shoots out of him like a bullet as he cocks his head to the side. “I don't
know
, you fucking one-dimensional prick—a
life
?” He slaps his thigh. “Talyn is a person, with unique desires, goals—dreams. Who are
we
to steal those away unless we have something to offer in return? Don't you see that perspective?”

My eyes slide away from his. Of course, his points make sense. How would I feel if someone told me it was time for me to be human now? Forget my strength, beast—hell my sense of smell. It's time for me to play mortal, and I'd get whatever female someone else thought would be a great match for me to be a stud with.

Like a real animal—without freedom of choice.

I feel a sour expression overtake my face.

Arden begins to nod, his eyes roving my features. “You're getting it. She's not resisting for the sake of being stubborn—Talyn's resisting out of a sense of lost liberty. She wants a little choice. Biology just handed her a shitty hand in a deck of cards not of her making. All I'm saying is, if you're just going to breed her into Lycan-ness, let me share so I can be her mate
afterward
. So that Talyn—the woman—is not exploited because of her genetic make up.”

I stubbornly shake my head, hands fisting. “I am
not
changing her for you. I'm changing her for Lycans. We don't have enough females. I can't just volunteer a change to you because you've been waiting in the wings for twenty years.”

“I was hoping to reason with you.”

What is he
talking
about?

“But now I'm going to give it to you straight.”

I cross my arms, my jaw set like stone. “Give
what
to me straight?”

“We're better together than apart.” His palm sweeps toward the dead  mound of Lycans we dispatched together.

I nod. “We can agree on the protection of Talyn, and I think I was clear how much I appreciated our collaboration.”

Arden nods at my factual statement. “But we've been jawing about our differences while she's running around, possibly enticing another rogue group of Lycan or others to her like a dinner bell.”

“Others?” I say, taking a menacing step forward.

He laughs. “Do you think I'm the only Mutable on the planet?” Arden makes a noise of disgust. “I am the only Mutable that gives a shit about Talyn. We're not the mating type, Changer.”

“What are you then?” I ask, coming to stand three inches from his face.

“We're the
breed them
and
leave them
type. It is a Mutable's role to impregnate as many viable female candidates as possible.”

I jerk my face back. “So you're no better than a Changer?” I scoff.

He purses his lips, giving a slow, grim nod. “So much worse. We do not need a female's consent.”

The gears of my mind grind to a halt. “Fucking
rapists
?”

Arden nods again. “I was orphaned. A chance meeting with a Mutable, who was part of a colony, told me what I was. I met Talyn before puberty.”

“What?”

He looks away, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes. “I bonded with her. It's rare, but it happens.” His deep blue eyes meet mine within the gloom of her destroyed bedroom.

“If another Mutable finds Talyn, she will not be transitioned well.” He interprets my expression. “Oh—she'll be transitioned alright. In the street, alley, or wherever the Mutable can drag her off to.”

“No!” I roar, his words creeping underneath my sensitive skin like slivers of glass.

“Yes,” he answers flatly. “I thought between the two of us, we could change her. And together, she'd gently be given her new life.
I
could be her mate—what I've always wanted.”

Damn,
I didn't like hearing any of that
.
“But I didn't help.”

The corner of Arden's lips lift. “No.”

I have a sudden epiphany. “Mutables can't get to her after I change her?”

“They can't with
me
in the mix. After my scent is mingled with hers, they won't bother—figuring she's already bred by one of their own.”

“And mine?”

Arden's lips tweak in a sad parody of a smile. “Fair game.”

“Fuck!” I yell again, yanking at my hair.

My hands come away with the blood of others.

“Meow.” Our heads swivel toward the window.

The feline is on the sill, black tail twitching. Her eyes implore us.

“Pooky's here,” Arden says in a tight voice.

“So where in the blue fuck is Talyn?” I seethe.

“Meow,” Pooky seems to reply, leaping out the window.

“Gone,” Arden says.

We look at each other.

Silence ticks like a silent clock as we race out into the back yard, looking for the only scent that matters.

Talyn.

Our disagreement about sharing doesn't preclude Talyn's importance. The struggle against each other only solidifies it.

Talyn

I wake with a pitiful groan.

I feel like I consumed every bottle of liquor inside my cabinet.

Every. One.

I rise up, ass in the air, and use my elbows as a prop for my throbbing head. Dumping my forehead into my hands, I groan again.

Just kill me now.

Then I remember that Jamie Duncan was at my sidewalk to conveniently catch me as I tossed myself over my fence while escaping the shifter catastrophe inside my house.

I sit up, rocking back on my heels as a temporary perch.

A stained mattress is tossed in the center of the bare floor like a discarded deck of cards. My eyes bounce around. There's nothing else. There's no amount of training that can prepare me for
this
.

I flatten my palm on the gross floor and hoist myself up. Pins and needles dog my lower legs and arms. I must've been in the same position for hours.

I have to pee so bad my bladder feels like a bomb ready to explode. I whip my head first to the right then left in search of a handy toilet.

The pain from the abrupt movement brings me to my knees, and a whimper squeezes past my lips. The wounds of my face begins to pulse to the beat of my heart where Duncan hit me.

I need a bathroom.

I lick my cracked lips.
I need water.

I roll my face against the cold hard floor, wincing, and spy two doors. The one to the left has a barrier in place at the bottom where fresh air and light would normally travel. It darkens the room.

The other door has soft black at the edges.

I pull myself to my feet, careful not to move my head too quickly. Gradually, my eyes adjust to the vague light seeping around the edges of a pull-blind shade that's completely closed.

I half-stagger to the door that has a vague outline around it.

I press my forehead against the cool surface and clasp the circular handle. Swinging the door wide, I step inside. I stand there for a moment in the soft blackness and a drop of water echoes against what I assume is a sink basin.

Thank God.

I smack the wall behind me, feeling for a light switch. A familiar plastic nub fills my palm and I slide my hand up.

Bright light snaps into the space like white blood and I yelp, closing my eyes and throwing a hand over my face.

Vomit pulses inside my stomach, begging for a chance to escape. I resolutely swallow back the rising gorge.

I don't need dickhead Duncan to come back to me while I'm vulnerable and puking so he can work his fists on me again.

A startled laugh bursts out of me with the thought of what my life has become in a day's time.

Fucked up,
if I'm any judge.

I'm so far away from coiffed and in-control counselor it feels like I've been reincarnated.

A bare bulb swings from the ceiling and I jump when the thin pull chain smacks me lightly on the cheekbone.

God!
I deliberately calm my breathing and slowly peruse the bathroom, easily finding a toilet that hasn't been flushed in so long the water is a stagnate swamp of mildew. I hit the handle and the water engulfs the choked dark water, swirling it down and away.

I sit and pee.

And pee some more, head in my hands. I bite my lip, as the stingy, hot stream evacuates, breathing a sigh of complete relief when my bladder is finally empty.

I stand in a half-squat, using one square of toilet paper.

I open the under sink cabinet—nothing.

Okay
. Conserve TP.

I turn on the faucet of an ugly mustard porcelain, 1970s chrome-rimmed sink and splash delicious water on my face.

The cold water stings my injuries... and I don't care. Cupping my hands, I gulp down greedy handfuls until my stomach slushes with it.

Cold water drips down my face, landing like soft drops of rain on my collarbone and dampening my t-shirt.

I survey the bathroom. No towel.

My gaze shifts to the mirror and I give a choked scream at my reflection.

I step back, hands to my throat and stare at my face.

But it's my eyes that are the worst.

A huge bruise circles my left orb like a raccoon's eye. Abrasions litter my chin, and a stubborn piece of gravel has embedded itself on the side of my jaw. I look like a war survivor.

Worse—
My naturally gray eyes look strange. Like a second layer of clear crystal floats over the surface of the irises.

Without glancing behind me, I pull the filthy chain from the bulb and the room is silenced to black again. A noise issues from my throat like a squeezed trickle of misery.

Where my eyes would be, discs of silver flicker reflectively back at me within the near-complete darkness of the bathroom.

I'm not
me
anymore, but something new.

Just as I think it, a piercing pain lances my female bits. With a defeated sigh, I slide down the wall and push the door shut with a finger.

It's just me inside the miserable suffocatingly blank bathroom.

Waves of heat pulse from my sex to my toes, radiating back to the center of me and spreading like a wildfire inside my body.

I remember what Arden said. And Merck.

I needed to be transitioned.

Changed.

My head drops. I guess this will happen the hard way or the easy way.

Right now, I'm not even with the men. Even if I caved to what they wanted—and I almost had—there's one tiny problem.

Jamie Duncan.