Happily Ever Alpha Page 8

  Charles glared at him icily. “Are you going to continue to interrupt me?” When Gabriel said nothing, Charles continued, “I agree that something must be done. We cannot continue to let the humans pick us off. It would be easiest if we could discontinue the hunts, but that is not an option.”

  It wasn’t that they couldn’t hunt as humans, but that their inner wolves demanded the hunt, and in order to maintain control of their animal half they had to appease it. If they went too long without a hunt, the animal would try to wrest control, and that was when shifters became truly dangerous.

  “Why not track down the humans who are hunting us and pay them back in kind?” Ranulf suggested.

  “And prove to them that we are just as barbaric as they are?” Charles shook his head. “No. We must send them a warning; a clear message that if they do not leave us alone, we will rain hell down upon them.”

  The other shifters leaned forward eagerly, warming to the idea. “What about Kellan?” Gabriel asked. “Should we tell him about this?” As the Epsilion and one of the primary defenders of the Clan, Kellan should have been at the meeting, but he was with Ian, doing his best to console the poor man.

  Charles shook his head. “He is in a precarious enough position, trying to woo a human mate. I don’t want his head and his heart to be conflicted over this matter.”

  Ranulf folded his arms. “And what about this plan of yours? What if the humans choose not to heed our warning?”

  Charles smiled grimly. “Then there will be war.”

  * * *

  “Are you certain you’ll be able to stop them?” the village chief asked, looking nervously between the group of men standing in the square. They wore dark clothes and wide brimmed hats that shielded their faces so the only thing illuminated by the torches were their solemn mouths.

  “We’ve been doing this a long time, sir,” the man said, lifting his head so that his blue eyes glittered in the torchlight. “If we can’t handle this monster for you, then nobody can.”

  “Al-alright.” The chief held out a bag—the gold coins clinked as his hand trembled. “Here is the first half. You’ll receive the rest when you’ve slayed the monster.”

  The man frowned. “We don’t charge for our services.”

  The village chieftain hesitated. “You… were not the one who asked. It was a red-headed fellow who made the arrangements.”

  The man turned, sharply. “What is this?”

  The redhead in question stepped forward. “I don’t think it’s fair for you to be dragging us all over the countryside for nuthin’. I know you come from a well-to-do family and you might not understand what it means to be hurtin’, but the rest of us aren’t as fortunate as you.”

  “I realize that, which is why I offer my services for free.” The man took the gold and handed it off to Ryan. “A good deed should be done for its own sake, not for monetary gain.” He looked at the faces of his men, who stared steadily into his eyes. “If I’d known that you all felt this way, I wouldn’t have asked you to do this with me.”

  The village chief took a step back. “If you all don’t want the money—”

  “No.” The man turned, took the pouch, and tossed it to the redhead. “We’ll take it—this once, because it was prearranged, and because the families of these men are in need.” He turned back to his men. “But if you want to continue hunting with me, you won’t do this again.”

  Without waiting for an answer, the man hopped on his horse and headed for the location the village chief had spoken of. The thundering of hooves behind him told him that his men were no ready to desert him—yet.

  They cantered down the dirt road and into the forest, until they reached another point on the map. The man held up a hand and they stopped, dismounted and tied their horses down while they proceeded on foot. Shortly, they came to a large cave, set deep into a rock wall, and they could hear loud snoring echoing through the stone walls to outside.

  Silently, they crept inside, and each of the men had to fight back a curse at the stench that wafted toward them—urine, unwashed flesh and other odors best not spoken of. The snoring became louder as they inched down the tunnel, becoming even quieter as the flicker of torchlight came into view—they were close to the monster’s den.

  Rounding the corner, the monster finally came into view—a hulking brute, covered in hair from head to toe and nothing else, asleep face-up on a pile of animal skins. Blood encrusted horns curved over his head, and they caught a glimpse of fang from his open maw. In his left paw he held what looked like a human leg bone, stripped clean of flesh, and there were many other bones littered across the floor.

  One of his men accidentally stepped on one of the bones, and the crack echoed off the cavern and woke the monster, who sat up, his red eyes glowing eagerly in the dark. He came to his feet in a roar as he caught sight of them, and the man cursed as he dove out of the way, and then threw one of his knives, which landed with a solid thud between two of the behemoth’s ribs. The monster roared in pain and lashed out with his burly arms, sending two of his hunters flying into opposite walls. The man winced as he heard the sickening crunch of skulls against stone.

  Two of his men who had managed to get themselves into corners peppered the monster with arrows, taking out his eyes. It blundered around the cavern, roaring as it tried to find a target, and the man used the opportunity to throw another knife, this one burying itself into the monster’s heart.

  It froze, and then fell back, shaking the cavern as its body hit the floor. The hunters stood immobile, not a single one daring to so much as twitch. Only when several minutes had passed did they let out sighs of relief, convinced that the monster was no more.

  Shaking his head in disgust, the man stepped forward. “Let’s collect our dead and get out of here.”

  * * *

  “Oh, Clara, it’s awful,” Eve rushed into the living room, and Clara looked up from her knitting to see that her aunt’s face was pale, her bonnet still on her forehead, which was a true sign of alarm as her aunt never wore it in the house. “The Bennet boys are dead.”

  “What?” Clara set her knitting aside and rose from the rocking chair. “How? When?” The Bennets owned a farm three miles down the road from them, and were a family of five.

  Eve shook her head. “I don’t know. My friend Martha told me it was some kind of mauling from a beast—perhaps a bear.”

  “How awful.” Clara placed a hand on her aunt’s shoulder. “Both boys? They couldn’t have been any older than me. Judy is going to be devastated. How will they be able to manage the farm?” The Bennets were not well-off, and could not afford to hire extra help for the harvest. With only Mary, the youngest, left behind, they were going to have a very hard time indeed.

  “I don’t know, but I am going to offer what help I can. I came home to gather a basket to bring to them; I am going to offer Judy my sympathies. We are good friends, and the Bennet boys used to come and help me with my own plowing.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  They packed a loaf of bread and several jars of preserves, and set off. It took them much longer than Clara had expected to reach the Bennet house—her aunt lagged, and they had to stop and rest often. Clara noticed that some of the paleness in her aunt’s face wasn’t simply from the shock of recent death, but from fatigue as well, and she worried. Her aunt was not a young woman; perhaps they should have taken one of the horses, but it was not a very long walk, and since her aunt hadn’t made the suggestion Clara hadn’t thought of it.

  When they reached the Bennet house, Kent Bennet opened the door, looking scruffy, his eyes red-rimmed. His voice was gruff as he greeted them and invited them into the house, where Judy sat at the kitchen table, her face pasty pale, her eyes puffy red clouds. Clara stopped short as she saw Lucas sitting there next to her, solemn and sturdy as he offered Judy encouragement.

  “Oh Judy,” Eve cried, rushing to take her friend in her arms. “I’m so sorry to hear about your boys.”


  As the two women grieved, Clara turned to Lucas, puzzled. “What are you doing here?”

  “Chris and Taylor were good friends of mine,” Lucas said softly, his blue eyes clouded with sadness. “And I was the one who found them.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Clara said, dropping into the chair next to him. “What happened?”

  Lucas shook his head. “I didn’t see what went on, but when I was walking in the woods this morning I came upon their bodies. I don’t know what got ‘em—they’re heads were smashed up real good, and they had some claw marks on ‘em, like a wild animal had gone after them. Maybe a bear.” He sighed. “A terrible way for them to go.”

  The two women rejoined them at the table once Judy had stopped crying. “What can we do for you, Judy?” Eve asked. “If there is any way I can help you to get through this—”

  Judy shook her head. “It’s very kind of you to offer, but I know you have enough going on yourself, Eve. Lucas and his brothers have already agreed to help me with the harvest, and my husband and his friends are taking care of the funeral.”

  Eve turned to Lucas. “That’s a very fine thing for you to do, Lucas.”

  He shook his head. “It’s the least I can do, especially since…” he shook his head.

  “Since what?” Clara asked, frowning.

  “Ahh, nothing.” Lucas flashed a shadow of his trademark grin. “Just rambling, I suppose.”

  * * *

  Eve insisted on staying to help with the funeral arrangements, and so Clara walked home alone to finish up the chores. There wasn’t very much to do, so afterward she made her way to the forest and back through the maze, her thoughts pensive as she dwelled on matters of life and death. Judy’s grief had hit far too close to her own, resurfacing a pain she now felt guilty about not thinking about these past few days. Ever since Kellan and this whole mating thing had come into her life she’d hardly given a thought to her parents, and she was ashamed. Did life move so quickly that the dead were this easily forgotten? When she died, would her memory pass with such swiftness from the hearts of her loved ones?

  No, she told herself with a shake of her head. That wasn’t fair to say. She hadn’t forgotten about her parents completely. She had been distracted; too preoccupied by the people in her life to dwell on the hole in her heart left by their deaths, but it was still there. It throbbed now, aching for something, anything to fill it.

  When she exited the maze, it was to find the entire village cloaked in an air of grief and melancholy that only sharpened the edges of her own grief. The villagers were solemn, and while a few flashed glances of hatred her way, most seemed to be in another place. They were all dressed in black, which told Clara one thing—the shifters had just gone through a funeral of their own.

  She found Kellan as he was emerging from an unfamiliar house, also solemn and dressed in black. He tried for a smile when he saw her, but it was clear to her that his heart wasn’t really in it, which was fine by her—she didn’t have the energy for a smile either.

  “What happened?” she asked, closing the distance between them.

  “The man whose wife had lost her child during the attack died yesterday,” Kellan said quietly, leading her off the streets and into his cabin. “We buried her today. Ian, her husband, has been inconsolable, but I had to leave him when I sensed that you were here.”

  Clara stared at him as he closed the door behind them. “You shouldn’t have left him for my sake. I would have been fine going back home by myself.”

  Kellan shook his head. “I didn’t want to leave you wandering the village by yourself without my protection. Besides, he has other clan members with him for support.” He took her gently by the shoulders, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “You look like something is troubling you.”

  Clara looked down. “It just… this is a dark day,” she said quietly. “One of my aunt’s friends just lost both of her sons. They were killed by some kind of animal. Seeing their mother today, so struck by grief, made me think about my own loss.” She swiped at her eyes fiercely. “I know I should be grateful I’m alive, but I feel so ashamed when I realize that I’m so busy I forget to think about my parents. I look around at these people so wrapped up in the grief of losing their own family members, and feel awful that I am not also the same way. I feel like I should be suffering too; perhaps that I should have died as well. It doesn’t seem fair that I survived and my parents didn’t.”

  “Clara, don’t.” Kellan drew her against his chest. “You can’t do this to yourself. Trust me, I’ve been there. They have moved on, to whatever place it is that we go after we die…a better place. It is only natural that we move on too, and it isn’t disrespectful to them.”

  Clara wrapped her arms around him and held tight, soaking in the warmth and comfort he offered. “What you say makes sense to my head, but my heart is struggling to accept it.”

  Kellan stroked the top of her head, and then released her. “Come, and let me show you something.”

  He led her to his bedroom and knelt down in front of a small wooden table pressed into a corner of the room. On top of it stood a tallow candle, and next to it a knife with a carved wooden handle and a jade pendant.

  “This is my memorial shrine to my parents,” he told her.

  As Clara knelt down beside him, he picked up the pendant and held it up for her to see there was a wolf etched into the flat surface, sitting back on its haunches with its head tilted up so it could howl to the night sky.

  “Belonged to my mother—she wore it every day of her life. And this knife was my father’s; he never went hunting without it. When I feel the need to be close to them, I come here, light the candle, and just talk to them. I don’t know whether or not it works, if they really hear what I am saying, but sometimes I feel like they are here, like they are actually sitting next to me when I talk to them. It comforts me, and helps eases the pain.”

  Clara reverently touched the pieces, and then touched Kellan’s hand. “I had no idea people did things like this,” she murmured. “It… seems almost holy.”

  “You can make one of your own, you know.” Kellan curled his fingers around hers, then brought them to his lips. “I know you said you lost everything, but you might be able to find something to use.”

  “Yes,” Clara murmured, her eyes transfixed on Kellan’s lips pressed against her knuckles. “I might do that.”

  Instead of releasing her fingers, he pressed a kiss to each of her knuckles, feathering his lips gently over her skin. Tingles of pleasure shot down her arm, and Clara sucked in a breath. She watched his eyes, fixated on her, as they darkened with desire, and a sudden panic gripped her.

  “Don’t,” he said hoarsely when she tried to pull away. “I… please. I just want to touch you.”

  Clara held herself still, which was easier said than done because her body desperately wanted to gravitate toward him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Touching leads to… other things.”

  “I won’t let it go that far.” He tugged her closer. “Please. I need you.”

  The rawness in his voice coupled with the burning look in his eyes was all it took to crumble her defenses. Crawling forward on her knees, she allowed him to pull her into his lap. His spicy scent surrounded her as his hands slid up the sides of her face, fingers gently twining into her hair.

  “You’re beautiful, you know.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead, his fingers gently kneading the edges of her collarbone, releasing tension she hadn’t realized was there. “Not just on the outside, but inside too. Something about your soul calls to me.”

  “The mating bond?” Clara asked, and though she wanted to sound skeptical the words came out softly, as though she were in a trance.

  “Perhaps,” he answered, feathering kisses down from the bridge to the tip of her nose. “Maybe it’s both.”

  He pressed his lips against hers, softly, tenderly, and Clara sighed at the sweetness of it. As her arms curled around his neck, she
realized that she’d needed this—the comfort of wrapping herself up in someone else, with no expectations for anything but the present. Despite his earlier plea that he needed her, now that she was in his arms he didn’t demand, didn’t take, just gave her what she needed. And it was that knowledge that had her opening up to him before he asked, sliding her tongue against the seam of his lips so that she could taste him.

  Kellan groaned as Clara breached the entrance to his mouth, tangling her tongue with his. He wanted to tighten his arms around her, but his instincts told her that if he did so he would frighten her. She was scared of the idea of being mated to him, perhaps scared of commitment in general, but she also wanted just as he did. It was better if he allowed her to explore her own desires first, rather than indulge his.

  Clara shifted closer, straddling Kellan’s thighs with her legs as she kissed him more deeply. She could feel his chest rumble against hers as he groaned huskily, and sensed the restraint in the powerful muscles flexing beneath her—he was holding back, giving her a chance to explore. The stubble on his jaw chafed her hands lightly as she wove her fingers through his thick, dark hair, enjoying the silk texture of it. After a moment she slid her hands down the front of his tunic, resting them against his chest so she could feel his heartbeat pounding against her palm—strong, hard, fast. Just like the rest of him.

  Growing bolder, she nipped gently at his lips, then forged a trail down the side of his jaw with her teeth and tongue, enjoying the spicy, slightly salty taste of his skin. “I’ve never done this before,” she confessed quietly to him as she worked her way down the side of his neck.

  “I’ve never felt like this before,” Kellan panted, his fists clenched at his sides.

  Clara blinked. “Are… are you alright?”

  “I’m fine,” he rasped, his body trembling.

  She pulled back. “Are you sure? If you want, I can—”