Undercover Alpha: BBW Paranormal Werewolf Romance (7 page)

“Just trust me,” he said. “I’ll…just wait here and I’ll see what’s out there. You don’t have to look or anything. I’ll come back in just a minute.”

“Okay,” she said. She still wasn’t certain…but she was pretty certain it was the best option for now. She sat down at the table and took out her pencils. “Are you going to—to change?”

He smiled. “Can’t when the sun is shining. Too strong. Only the dark or moonlight. New moon’s best, actually, that full moon thing’s a myth. Just hang tight, though, I can still give it a sniff.”

Give it a sniff. If she didn’t know better she’d think she was in some hidden camera show. It was ridiculous.

Having Jason in the apartment helped, though. She took down a pottery pitcher from the kitchen cabinet and started to sketch it. She didn’t forget what Jason was doing, much less the dead animals back there, but at least she could do the work.

She heard the sliding glass door open, and didn’t turn her head. “Well,” he said, “good news and bad news.” He walked over to the kitchen sink and started washing his hands. “Good news is there’s werewolf all over those animals, so my guess is they smelled you and are paying tribute.”

“Tribute? Like…like a cat would leave a dead animal on the doormat?”

“Yeah, more or less. It’s an old tradition. Not every clan does it any more. But with your uncle gone, you’re next in line, and they can smell it. Most of them looked a couple of days old, have you been around much?”

“Not at all,” she said.

“Yeah, your scent isn’t fresh, so the animals aren’t.” He looked thoughtful. “So…I’m gonna dispose of those, and we’ll put a signal out that you got the message and you don’t need any tribute for a little while.”

“Please don’t tell me that the signal involves pee,” she said.

“What would make you think that?”

She shrugged. “Werewolves? Dogs? They pee a lot, right? Mark their territory?”

“You pick up fast,” he said. “Do you think if I put these in some garbage bags anyone’s gonna ask questions?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I…haven’t ever dealt with this before.”

“It’s mostly squirrels,” he said. “We’ll risk it. You have heavy duty bags?”

“Under the sink,” she said. “Wait. What is the signal?”

He opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a trash bag. “You told me not to tell you.”

“Not my pee?”

“I told you,” he said. “Just sit down and sketch. Don’t worry about anything. I got this.” He put a hand on her shoulder. It calmed her immediately. Maybe she could believe him.

At least she could give it a shot.

***

He hadn’t fucked it up completely, at least. She believed him, or at least had believed him enough to calm down and let him get to work.

It hadn’t been that bad—squirrels and a rabbit—and he figured if he double-bagged the garbage, it wouldn’t be suspicious.

By the time he was done, she had drawn a bunch of sketches of the pitcher on her table, a pretty pottery one with blue flowers. Jason didn’t know much about art, but they looked really nice. He washed his hands again, really damn well, and sat down at the table. “Okay,” he said. “I smelled more than one werewolf for sure, maybe three.”

She put her pencil down, and thought over his words for a minute. “Are they…like, what does this tribute mean? Does that mean they want me to be their girlfriend? Or mate? Or…is it just like a friendship bracelet made out of dead squirrels?”

He laughed in spite of himself. “No,” he said. “It’s literally a tribute. Like you would to royalty back in the day.”

“I’m not…royalty,” she said.

“You are,” he said. “Every clan has a head, either an alpha or a queen. And when Oliver died, it passed to you.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why not Frieda?”

“It doesn’t go by first born or anything like that,” he said. “It might have been her, if she’d been the only child. But there were three of you, so it could have been any of you.”

“If we were boys, one of us would be an alpha?”

“Yeah,” he said. That sounded logical even if you weren’t a werewolf, right? It was hard to tell when you’d grown up in a clan. His wolf told him it mad perfect sense, but that was no help.

“And I’m a queen, not an alpha.”

“Not
a
queen.
The
Queen. The top of the clan.”

“So it’s not…it’s not a merit system.”

He laughed. “The power finds the right person. It probably sounds kind of bullshit, but hey, we’re werewolves. You can’t think logically about werewolves.”

“How can I be the right person? I don’t even know anything about all this.”

“It’s not about that. It’s about power, and guidance. You have to lead the clan.”

“What if I say no?”

It took him a second to even understand what she was saying. It was…. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I don’t know if it’s ever happened.”

“What about Frieda?”

“What about Frieda?” he asked.

“Is it…it’s not because she’s gay, is it?”

He shook his head. “No,” he said. “But she doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’s comfortable in a crowd. You’ve taught. You’re good with people. That’s the biggest thing.”

“It doesn’t make any sense to me,” she said. “What do you do, as the head of the clan? Just…order people around?”

“It usually doesn’t come to that,” he said. “Mostly it’s guidance. Keeping the wolves out of the public eye, making sure everyone behaves.”

“I don’t know about that.” She put down her pencil. “I mean, don’t I do enough of that already? I have to do it in my free time, now?”

“Usually for us, the clan comes first. Our jobs are what we do in our free time.”

“Us?”

“I’m an alpha,” he said. “Since my father died. The lineage isn’t always that direct, but it was for me.”

“But you think it’s just…it’s just this thing. Tribute. Like taxes. Only in dead animals.”

“Sort of?” He wasn’t sure how much detail he should get into.

She was still thinking over everything he’d said. “I love my job,” she said. “I don’t…I don’t want to be a Queen first and a teacher second.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. He’d always been a werewolf first. She hadn’t even known. He didn’t know how he could help her. He reached out a hand and touched her wrist.

That was a mistake.

The pain seared across his palm. Silver. He let go, but it wasn’t quick enough; the metal had left a mark, and it throbbed.

“Oh my God,” she said. “I’m so sorry—are you all right?”

“Silver,” he said. “Didn’t…didn’t notice you were wearing it.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, pulling the bracelet off and slamming it on the table. “Can I—would aloe or something work? Burn cream? I—I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said. Mostly all he could think about was the pain. “Um. Maybe if you have some burn cream?” Was it blistering? He stared at it, hoping he could figure it out.

“Shit,” she said. “Does that—do werewolves heal fast? Tell me you heal fast?”

“Normally,” he said. “Not silver. Hurts.”

She disappeared and reappeared with a tube of something…oh yeah. Burn cream. She took his hand. “Okay,” she said. “Hold still.”

“Hands are soft,” he said.

“You maybe ought to lie down,” she said.

“I’ll be okay,” he said. “I will.”

“Why don’t you lie down anyway?” Her hand was really warm. Really soft. It helped him think about something other than his hand. Her bedroom smelled nice. Like her. Like home.

“Wanna take off my shoes….”

“I’ll get your shoes,” she said, and it was so nice of her, she did, untying them, slipping them off—

He closed his eyes and tried to block out the pain.

When he woke, he was in…Lucy’s room. Lucy’s bedroom. Lucy’s
bed.
Oh, shit.

His hand still felt raw. He hadn’t had that bad a reaction to silver in a long time. Maybe it was because it was wielded by a Queen. Maybe he was just overtired. He’d run all night doing security with Ian and he was still dealing with jet lag.

He sat up.

Lucy was sitting on her couch reading. “Hey,” he said. “Thanks.”

She looked up at him, her face full of concern. “How are you feeling?”

“All right,” he said. “Hit me pretty hard. Gonna blame it on jet lag.”

“Does silver always—”

“It’s like an allergy,” he said. “Usually…usually it’s not that bad.” He felt tired, still, and achy, but not that bad. “Like I said, it was probably the jet lag.”

“Why can I wear it?”

He shrugged. “Because you can’t transform. You have to wield power somehow. So you can use silver, wolfsbane. The things we can’t.”

“Wolfsbane? That actually exists?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Monkshood, people usually call it. Might even be some around here, I think it grows this far north. It’s kind of pretty. I can touch it—it’s not like silver—but you feed it to a werewolf, they’re gonna have problems.”

“Oh, Ian called. You better tell him you’re okay. I…I told him you had a headache, because I wasn’t sure—”

“It’s cool,” he said, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Thank you.”

“So what did you find at the house?” she said, as he sent his text to Ian. “When you were ‘Remus’?”

“A bunch of muddled smells,” he said. “Basically it was to get a baseline. Something happens, we’ll know where it’s coming from, where it’s going.”

“This is a lot to take in,” she said.

“I know.” He reached out to take her hand. “Most of the time, things just get passed down through families. So everyone grows up knowing. Your uncle said that when your mom died, he couldn’t figure out what your dad knew, and he just…put it off, for too long. He was hoping the two of us could find the best way to tell you, but then he….”

“He had a heart attack,” she said. “That’s…normal. Like, a human thing. I thought werewolves were super healthy and strong and all that.”

“We are,” he said. “But we’re not immortal. He was eighty-seven, that’s not too unusual for a werewolf. Cancer, heart disease—we don’t have every disease, but we can get sick like anyone. I can stay here as long as you want me to, answer any question I can.”

“We have to drive out to my uncle’s house this afternoon,” she said. “We’re meeting with the lawyer at four.”

“Well,” he said. “Maybe I should come with you. I can say I’m looking for anyone who might be looking out for your uncle’s money. It might give me a better idea of if there was any trouble in the pack about the clans.”

“Yeah,” she said, though she wasn’t wholly on board.

“I could take you to lunch,” he said. “We can talk. And then we’ll drive up together, Ian can keep an eye on the house.”

“I don’t—I don’t need a babysitter,” she said. “None of us do.” She grabbed the bracelet with her free hand. “I can do a little research.”

“That’s just mean,” he said.

She looked at the silver. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess you’re right. How do you hide it? Don’t people notice when you…cry out in pain or whatever?”

“People don’t wear that much silver,” he said. “When they do it’s usually a necklace or earrings. Easy to miss. And….” He might as well say it. “I’m usually more careful with people I’ve just met.”

“You’re…you’re coming on pretty strong.”

“I can’t believe you’re not feeling what I’m feeling,” he said.

She didn’t answer him. Did that mean she wasn’t? Or was she just not ready to admit it? He had to be patient. This was a lot to take in all at once. The money, the animals, and now the whole werewolf thing. Only an asshole would want to push her, and he wasn’t an asshole.

“Let me take you to lunch,” he said. “We can just talk. We don’t have to talk about the werewolf thing, or anything you’re worried about. We can just be two people out at lunch. Maybe two friends?” He squeezed her hand a little. “And then if you don’t want me to come, I don’t have to.”

She looked at him for a long time. “Okay,” she said. “Lunch. Between friends.”

It was just lunch, but it felt like a triumph.

***

Richard St. Clare, Uncle Oliver’s lawyer, was a tall, thin white man, with skin so pale he looked unhealthy. He’d always reminded Lucy of Ichabod Crane. Now she wondered if he was a vampire. Why hadn’t she asked Jason if vampires existed? She could ask him later.

Right now he was looking up the stairs. Sniffing? She couldn’t tell.

“I’m glad you got him to come along,” Ophelia whispered in her ear. “He’s so fine…you think I can ride up front with him on the way back? I’m hoping—”

“O,” Frieda said. “Come here, I want to see what you think about this.” She grabbed Ophelia by the arm—none too gently—and steered her toward the back of the house.

Uncle Oliver’s house was really more like a mansion. It was a big white two-story farmhouse, with exposed beams inside. The furniture was old and expensive, and there were big Oriental rugs on the hardwood floors. Every room had a different color scheme.

Lucy wondered what Frieda was telling Ophelia.

“There were a few small considerations,” Richard said, “but the bulk of the property is split evenly between the three sisters. Now, none of you are planning on keeping the house?”

“I don’t know,” Dad said. “They haven’t made that decision. Whoever did would have to buy the other two out, right?”

“Legally, yes,” Richard said. “But of course, the terms would be entirely up to them—Sir?”

“Yeah?” Jason was halfway up the stairs. His arms were on the railing, and Lucy could see his muscles.

Lunch had been really nice. They hadn’t talked about werewolves, or money, or alphas and queens. They’d just talked, like two normal people with normal jobs and normal lives. Jason had told her some stories from the bodyguarding work he did, and she’d told him about her students, about what it was like to help guide these kids—especially the more stressed and directionless kids—to find their own voice and express something. He really did seem to care about her, about what she cared about. And…well, honestly, she was kind of curious now to see if Richard was a werewolf. How many werewolves did she know? Were they everywhere?

“Sir, you’ll need permission from the family to go up there. And you’ll need to be careful. Nothing can be broken or removed until after the probate process is finished.”