Alpha Betrayed: A Dark Shifter Romance

Ford

It's nearly two o'clock by the time we secure the waterproof walkie-talkies, cover the one Catherine will take with her into the sewer with black electrical tape to mask the bright yellow plastic, and hop the subway to the botanical gardens.

Once outside the station, we go our separate ways-Catherine and Layla to a nearby clothing store where Catherine intends to shift in the dressing room and me to a rooftop pool with a sliver view of the sewer grate across the street from the compound. There, I'll be out of sight of Jean-Paul's cameras but still able to keep an eye on the others.

I bought a swimsuit and t-shirt at the department store. I blend in with the other people taking advantage of the sunny day and happy hour drink specials at the cabana, but I haven't felt like this much of an outcast in years. Everyone at this swanky property is human and wealthy and dealing exclusively with first world problems like a margarita with too much salt on the rim or a lack of fresh towels by the hot tub.

The women turning to check me out as I settle under an umbrella at the far corner of the roof would run screaming in horror if they knew what I am and all the things I've done. I've murdered so many people that I lost track after a few months in the pits. And yes, I was forced to kill them-it was kill or be killed-but that blood is still on my hands, and it changed me.

Maybe killing my enemies would always have been relatively easy, but I doubt it. I was raised to be a warrior, but even the Zion fighters with the highest rate of confirmed kills rarely had a body count of more than ten or fifteen. Pack wars are increasingly rare and when conflicts do arise, they're usually snuffed out quickly with a minimum of bloodshed. There just aren't enough shifters in the world to go around killing each other without serious consideration.

But the owners and managers in the blood pits didn't care about loss of life. We were all pack rejects and expendable in their eyes. Which means I've ripped literally hundreds of living, breathing beings apart with my bare hands.

I intend to bring all that experience to bear once I'm in the same room with Jean-Paul. Thanks to Hermione, we're all well-armed, but I don't want to shoot Jean-Paul. I want to watch horror and pain fill his eyes as his shoulder dislocates from the socket and he realizes I don't intend to stop there. I'm going to keep pulling, tearing, until parts of his body litter the floor while he's still alive to see it.

I have never thirsted for anyone's blood like this.

With one exception, of course...

Knowing I still have time before the girls emerge from the clothing store by the station below, I pull out my cell and check the secure message app Maxim's team uses to communicate. There's still no update on Hammer aside from the fact that he seems to have abandoned the helicopter somewhere near the northern border of Quebec and proceeded on foot.

They're assuming Juliet's mom is still with him, but there's no confirmation of that so far. Hammer hasn't sent a ransom request or any other messages that we know of.

Back home, the rest of the Zion pack seems oblivious that their Alpha was just delivered a stunning defeat and at least fifty of their best fighters are dead. The intelligence from Natalie's spy network is that Hammer was keeping the reason for the rapid deployment of his force a secret from the pack at large, though it's likely his new wife knows the score. She seems way more involved than even my mother was, and she had a better line on what Hammer was up to than most of his generals.

Speaking of Natalie, I have a private message from her, as well. I open it to reveal a few simple lines that make my throat close up-You're going to get her back and live a beautiful life together. I feel it in my bones. Thinking of you and sending you strength. I'll be waiting to welcome you both back to Lost Moon with open arms.

I have no idea if Juliet will want to return to Lost Moon long term or not, but I'm grateful for Natalie and everything she's done for us. We may not have an entire brotherhood at our backs or control of our pack, but Juliet and I have made some real friends in the past few weeks. Natalie has shown us so much support and Catherine and Layla are as brave and loyal as they come.

Layla proved that when she stayed by our side on the obstacle course, even when I was dead weight and likely a lost cause. And Catherine is proving it right now.

I glance over the edge of the roof in time to see Layla's bouncing brown curls emerging from the clothing store. She's carrying a small purse. Inside the purse is Catherine in her hedgehog form and two of the walkie-talkies. I have the third in my beach bag. I take it out now, my palms starting to sweat for reasons that have nothing to do with the afternoon heat. This is it.This belongs © NôvelDra/ma.Org.

We're finally taking concrete action to get to Juliet. My hands shake with a mixture of hope and anxiety as I turn the walkie-talkie on and set it on the chair beside me, the better not to attract the attention of people at tables nearby, enjoying chips and salsa with their margaritas.

I remind myself that we have no idea if Juliet is even inside the compound and that this could all be a wild goose chase. If I'd gotten closer, I should have been able to sense her through our fated mate bond, but Layla and Catherine insisted it was too much of a risk, and I agreed. We don't want Jean-Paul to realize he's lost his would-be bride until we're on our way back to Lost Moon with Juliet.

If he's married her or touched her or done anything else to damage her in the hours since he became her captor, I'm going to kill him extra slowly.

I will kill him, even if I have to break into Maxim's prison once Jean-Paul is captured and awaiting trial. Kidnapping isn't an execution-worthy offense in shifter courts, but I have enough friends in Maxim's pack that I bet I can convince someone to look the other way while I make sure Jean-Paul realizes what a mistake it was to take what's mine.

To take what's hers. Ours.

It's all tangled up with Juliet. What's hers is mine, what's mine is hers, and I can't imagine a future that isn't ours to share together. I don't know who I'd be or what I'd do, I only know it would be a tragic waste. I was meant to be her partner, her champion, her husband, and I'm prepared to do whatever it takes to make the dream of a life with her a reality.

Even sit here and let our friends take the first steps to win her freedom, even though I'm champing at the bit to do something, hit something, tear something-preferably Jean-Paul-apart with my teeth.

As I watch, Layla approaches the sewer grate, still bouncing along with her easy, breezy, "sightseer enjoying the big city" energy. As she gets closer, she pulls her cell from her pocket and starts to type something on the screen.

When she trips a few seconds later, it's totally believable, even though there was nothing to trip over on the smooth pavement. When her cell goes flying, the shock on her face is equally convincing. She kneels down on the ground, gathering the case, screen protector, and phone, which I'm sure she rigged to fall apart as soon as it made contact with the ground. She makes a show of trying to put them together as she shifts position until her body conceals most of the grate.

Thanks to her superior shifter strength, she's able to discreetly move the grate to one side, while still messing with her phone, and slide it back a few seconds later, presumably after Catherine has hopped inside. I don't see any sign of her hedgehog form, but Catherine is a professional. She has practice sneaking into dangerous places without being seen or getting caught.

Hopefully, today will be more of the same.

My breath comes a little easier as Layla stands, tucking her phone in her purse as she turns up the alley and disappears from view. Just a few seconds later, my walkie-talkie speaker crackles and Layla's voice whispers, "The Hokey Pokey is in and swimming herself around. Over."

Picking up the device, I press the button on the side, and murmur, "Good. The eye in the sky is keeping watch. Ping you if I see anything suspicious. Over."

"Fingers crossed. Over," Layla replies.

I'm placing the bright yellow toy back on the seat beside me when a teasing voice behind me asks, "Are you on a super-secret spy mission?"

I turn to see a gorgeous redhead in sunglasses, a red bikini, and matching red lipstick holding a pink drink with a little umbrella tucked into one side. I clear my throat and force a smile, "Nah, just playing a game with my little sister while she's on her way to ballet class."

"Aw, isn't that sweet? What a good brother." Her lips push into a pout as she steps closer, circling around to the empty chair on my left, right in the path of my view down to the compound. "Can I join you? All the other tables are full."

"You can have it." I start to push my chair back, but she reaches out, resting her drink-cooled fingertips on my arm.

"I lied. The other tables aren't full, I just wanted to join you." She peeks at me over the top of her glasses. "Don't tell the rest of them, but you're the cutest guy on the roof. I checked."

I clear my throat, more uncomfortable than I would have expected. I used to flirt with women-and be flirted with-all the time. But that was before. Before the pits, before the rage that ate me alive, before the love that made me a better person than I was before. Now, flirting with a woman other than Juliet would be like a fish trying to ride a bicycle.

I exhale and shrug. "Sorry. I have a girlfriend." "Girlfriend" is too flimsy a word for what Juliet is to me, but it's something this human woman should understand.

She straightens, pulling her fingers from my arm. "Gotcha." She smiles. "Well, can't blame a girl for shooting her shot." She nods toward my bag. "Tell your little sister she's a lucky kid. My brother spent most of our childhood putting bugs in my bed and cutting the hair off my dolls."

I smile again and promise I will, relieved when she's gone, and I can focus my attention on the compound again.

But nothing has changed. The walls are still high and impenetrable, the gates are still closed, and I have no idea what's going on inside. I wish for x-ray vision, but since I don't have it, my gaze wanders to my right, over the botanical garden's much shorter walls. Almost immediately, I spot a woman in a bright red dress and wavy red hair who looks so much like the woman who just approached me, I feel the need to glance across the roof to make sure she hasn't teleported down to the ground. But no, Red Bikini is still here, lounging on a chair by the pool, sipping her drink, and shooting flirty smiles at two guys in matching blue speedos that I'm pretty sure aren't playing for her team.

I glance back at the garden, where Red Dress is glancing over her shoulder flirtatiously at a man in an expensive blue suit. It's been expertly tailored to fit his long body and narrow shoulders and perfectly matches the blue fedora he wears. Blue fedora...

The hat pricks at something in my brain. I pull out my cell, keeping one eye on the couple now canoodling in a patch of shade by the rose bushes as I pull up the images of Jean-Paul I saved this morning. I only met him once, under incredibly stressful circumstances, and didn't trust myself to remember him without a little visual assistance.

About three swipes in, I pull up a shot of him grinning in a blue fedora, seemingly in the middle of shooting finger guns at the photographer at some kind of concert. I zoom in on the hat and the striped, brown-and-tan feathers secured to the darker blue ribbon around the base.

Looking back at the garden, I wish I had binoculars. Even with my better-than-human shifter vision, I can't make out what kind of feathers are on this guy's fedora from this far away, but my gut says it's the same one. And the height and weight are right for Jean-Paul, too. He's only five ten, but his thin frame makes him look taller.

Once he has the redhead in his arms, however, it's clear he isn't as tall as he first appeared. He only has a couple inches on the woman, who is now beaming up at him like he hung the f*****g moon. After a few moments, the redhead starts to look familiar, too, and not just because she resembles the woman who approached me.

There's something about the shape of her face and the way she tilts her head to the side as she flutters her hands while she talks.

Lifting my phone, I zoom in on the couple and hold my cell as still as I can as I tap the capture button. Once I have the shot, I zoom in even more, my stomach bottoming out as the puzzle pieces click into place. The image is grainy, but I'd be willing to bet my right hand that's my cousin Bethany. She used to be a blonde, not a redhead, and she's gained a little bit of weight, but the heart-shaped face, the hand motions, and the way she bounces on her tiptoes when she laughs...they're all a dead ringer. And if that's Bethany, flirting her face off with Jean-Paul outside the walls of his compound...

Snatching the walkie-talkie from my bag, I whisper, "I'm coming down to meet you at the rendezvous point. There's been a development. Something you need to know. Over."

A beat later, as I'm gathering my things to leave, Layla says, "Okay, but be careful and take the long way around, back toward the subway. I can't be sure, but I think I passed some of Jean-Paul's pack at a little coffee bar in the alley. They smelled like wolves, anyway, and one of them shot me a very dirty look on my way by. Over."

"Got it. See you soon. Over." I take the path by the roof's edge on my way to the elevator, watching as my cousin makes out with the man who kidnapped Juliet to be his bride, my head full of more questions than answers. But I already know this doesn't bode well for Juliet. Not well at all.