Southern Alpha Book One (Southern Alpha Serial 1) Page 2

  Not to mention the cold, clammy air that felt like the breath of the dearly departed and the chill of a place that had once housed the dead…but now welcomed those who may never die.

  “What’s a northerner like you doing in a place like this?” I asked as Sierra followed me down. The marble steps were worn smooth in the middle, and I made sure to position myself in front of her in case she slipped and I had to perform a quick, heroic rescue.

  Of course, a rescue would mean more touching. And more touching would mean a raging hard-on.

  “I’m…doing research,” Sierra replied in a suddenly mousy tone. I stopped and turned her way when I realized that she was already some distance behind me. It was no wonder; her feet were as hesitant as her voice. She reached for each slippery stair in front of her with the tip of her toe as if each step might be her last. “You might say I’m investigating,” she added as she drew nearer.

  My body went rigid at the word “investigating.” I glared up at her, pressing a hand to either wall of the dark stairwell to bar her way. Research and investigating were dirty words in this place. The Undercroft was sacred to my kind. Sexy blondes were welcome; snoops definitely were not. It was a risk to let any human in, but one who was too curious was a liability.

  “Wait—are you a cop?” I asked. “FBI?”

  Her eyes went wide with shock, like she was afraid I was going to rip her throat out. Maybe in the darkness of the cold stairwell, she could sense the wolf clawing its way through me, threatening to escape my body and unleash its protective rage. The wolf who would kill a human like her in the blink of an eye rather than reveal the long-held secrets of New Orleans shifters.

  After a moment, she let out a laugh. “Hell, no,” she said, her body seeming to relax. “I’m a writer. I’m just writing a book about the unseen parts of New Orleans.”

  “Yeah? Well, it had better be fiction,” I grumbled, turning around to proceed the rest of the way down the steep stairs. “I don’t want anyone writing about me or my people.”

  “Um, well, given that you and I just met, I can say that I have no interest in writing about you. And I don’t know what you mean by your people.” Sierra paused for a second and looked around, her gaze slipping over the walls, the flickering torches, the long shadows on the arched ceiling above us. “I’m more interested in this place. I mean, what is it? I’d always heard that nothing could be built underground in the Big Easy.”

  “Nothing can, not usually,” I replied. “No basements. No tunnels. No subways. And no underground graves. But things in New Orleans aren’t always as they seem. Not everything plays by the same set of rules. This place is…special. It’s ancient. Some say it’s got magical properties.” I figured there was no real harm in telling her that much; she wouldn’t believe it anyhow. If she wanted to publish a book about some magical underground tomb, she could be my guest.

  “Magical?” she asked, her voice rising inquisitively. “More like impossible. This place shouldn’t even exist.”

  “Then welcome to the impossible,” I growled, my foot landing on the tiled floor of the cavernous chamber at the base of the stairs. In front of us, a throng of Bash attendees was milling around a few feet away, their bodies packed tight in the underground chamber. The music came at us in rhythmic pulses that vibrated through the floor, sending a sort of sensory overload shooting through my muscles. “Listen, you’re in now. Have fun. Collect your little stories for your book. I’ll see ya around.”

  I was set to tear myself away from the far-too-attractive woman staring at me when she stopped me.

  “Hey,” she said, reaching for my forearm. The touch of her delicate fingers against my skin sent another paralyzing jolt through my bloodstream.

  “What?” I asked, avoiding her gaze. She had a set of big blue eyes that were just a little too appealing, not to mention a set of perfect, full pink lips glistening with some kind of lip gloss that made them look like ripe berries. Looking at her was like staring into the sun. After a few seconds I’d do irreparable damage to some part of myself or other.

  “What’s your deal?” she asked.

  I managed to look at her then. “My deal?”

  She nodded. “I mean, why are you so hostile to me? You invite me inside, then act like I’m carrying the plague. Did I offend you in some way?”

  “No, blondie,” I chuckled. “You did the opposite.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Now she just looked frustrated. A frustrated, pretty blond in a pretty dress, her cleavage glowing with beads of perspiration that I wanted to lick off. My jeans were fighting with my dick in a battle to see which would prove the stronger of the two. I couldn’t look at any part of her without thinking about sex. And she thought I disliked her?

  “It means…it’s complicated,” I said over the noise of the crowd in the large chamber. “That’s all. Have a good night.”

  With that, I finally slipped away from her, disappearing without another word into the mass of black-clad party-goers.

  Chapter 3

  Sierra

  After Trick’s abrupt departure, I wandered around the crowded underground chamber until I spotted a series of liquor bottles set up on top of a broad stone sarcophagus positioned in a far corner. A tall, friendly-looking man stood behind the makeshift bar. He looked like his job for the evening was to pour drinks for guests, though at the moment he seemed unoccupied. Apparently, the Annual Bash’s guests weren’t much into getting drunk. At least not yet.

  But whether they were into booze or not, a shot of something cold and refreshing was exactly what I needed. So, without so much as a second thought, I let my feet transport me through the crowd and towards the corner. Apparently the bartender was a magnet, and I was a paperclip in desperate need of a home.

  “Hey, there,” he said when I’d gotten close. “Can I get you something?”

  Like Trick, the guy was big, broad, and impossibly handsome. The difference, of course, was his friendly smile, which immediately distinguished him from the sexy, unapproachable giant who’d gotten me past the bouncer and escorted me down those treacherous stairs.

  “Oh, thank God,” I said, leaning in close so he could hear me over the music and the loud, overlapping conversations going on around us. “You don’t know how desperate I am for a drink.”

  “Well, I can provide you with one. Two, even. By the way, the name’s Louis,” he said, pronouncing it in the French way. Loo-ee. “And you are…?” He talked loudly enough for me to hear him, but I found myself trying to read his lips anyway…which only made me think about how much I’d wanted to kiss Trick’s.

  “Beer, please,” I said at last.

  “That’s a hell of a name.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m Sierra. Sorry, I got excited about the prospect of alcohol.”

  “Totally understandable,” Louis said with a sympathetic chuckle as he reached under the counter to grab a cold bottle of some foreign IPA. After he’d snapped off the cap, he handed the bottle over. “Let me guess. You’re finding this place overwhelming.”

  I shuddered at how right he was as I took my first sip of the refreshing ale. “You might say that, yeah.”

  “You’re an outsider,” he said, eyeing me with a scrutiny that reminded me of the defiant face of the bouncer upstairs. But after a second, he pulled his gaze away as though he was worried that he was being too invasive. “It’s no wonder you’re not feeling totally at ease here,” he added. “We don’t see many of your kind in the Undercroft.”

  “My kind?” I asked. Again, he was reminding me just a little too much of Mr. Hostile upstairs. The difference was that he wasn’t giving me a fuck off vibe. “I assume you mean someone who’s not from New Orleans?”

  He nodded slowly, giving me a look that I couldn’t quite decipher. “Sure,” he said. “If that’s what you want me to mean.”

  I pulled up a decrepit wooden stool and sat down, pressing my forearms onto the cool stone lid of the sarc
ophagus before I realized what I was doing. “Oh, crap!” I blurted out, pulling my arms away. “Please tell me there’s not a dead body inside this thing. I feel totally disrespectful.”

  Louis shook his head and snickered. “Don’t worry, there haven’t been any bodies down here in ages. This place gets flooded from time to time, so they emptied out the corpses decades ago.”

  “I see. Well, I don’t envy whoever got that job.” Tentatively, I crossed my hands on top of the stone once again, relieved to feel its cold surface on my skin, which was still glistening from the sweltering southern heat. I would have guessed that an underground chamber like this would be less stifling than the humid world above, but the throng of people seemed to be giving off enough heat to melt solid stone. “Does this city ever cool off?” I asked.

  “Sure. In January, for about three days,” Louis said with another chuckle. He leaned on the bar and stared into my eyes, once again looking a little too much like he was trying to read me. “Something tells me you didn’t come down here looking for fun,” he said. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a forbidden underground crypt like this?”

  I laughed, recalling that Trick had asked almost the same question earlier. “I found a flyer in a café,” I told him. “I wanted to check this place out, which in retrospect was probably a really stupid thing to do. But I’m a naturally curious person, and I’m here now, so...”

  I spun around and perused the room behind me, eyeing the dense crowd that was packed into the Undercroft like sardines. Most of them were dressed in some combination of all black or black and white, as Trick was. Leather, tank tops, ripped t-shirts, and dark jeans all seemed to be part of the evening’s dress code. Many of the women wore white makeup and heavy dark eye shadow that gave them the appearance of witchy ghouls. It felt like a monochromatic costume ball for wanna-be goths.

  The Undercroft’s denizens weren’t all beautiful like Trick, but they were certainly interesting-looking. Captivating, even.

  Meanwhile, all I could do was remind myself that I definitely didn’t fit in.

  “So? What do you think of the Undercroft’s shady guests?” Louis asked, pouring himself a beer as I swung back to face him. Apparently, this bartender was allowed to drink on the job. Given his size it probably took about eighteen beers for him to even feel a buzz anyhow, so it didn’t seem like he was doing any harm.

  “Well, to be honest…” I began, “I think they’re a little odd. But then again, that’s just what I’m after. Odd is kind of my wheelhouse these days. I didn’t come to New Orleans for the same old types I knew up north. Besides which, it seems like I’m the freak in this joint.”

  “Well, as long as you’re not freaked out.”

  “Only a little,” I replied. Clutching my beer like a security blanket, I pressed forward and lowered my voice. “Hey, listen—maybe you can help me. I’m curious to know who comes to a place like this.”

  “What do you mean?” Louis asked, suddenly tightening up, his face going serious.

  “You know,” I said, “I mean, who are these people?”

  “Well now, that’s a loaded question if I ever heard one.” Louis went silent for a moment, like he was assessing his words carefully before setting them free. “They’re a pretty private bunch. To be honest, I’m kind of surprised that Karl let you in.” He paused again, then blurted out, “I mean, given that you’re from up north. Let me guess—New York?”

  “Not bad,” I said. “Boston, actually.”

  “That was my second guess.”

  “So, apparently that’s a sin around here to be from so far away.”

  “Sort of.” All of a sudden Louis seemed nervous, like I’d put him on the spot. He ground his jaw for a second, his neck going tense like he was trying to sort out how much he could safely tell me. His gaze moved around the chamber. “Anyhow, let’s see. You’ve got your average New Orleans folks here, you know, the ones who practice voodoo or witchcraft. Your fortune tellers and your aspiring psychics. And then there are the really special ones.” He leaned in close and half-whispered, “The ones who shall remain nameless.”

  “Special? Nameless?” I asked. “What does that mean? I feel like you’re telling me Voldemort’s come as a guest.” I couldn’t help but wonder if he was talking about the people who were like Trick. The ones who were indecipherable, unapproachable, alluring and off-putting all at once. Scalding hot and icy cold.

  “If you’re meant to find out, you’ll find out,” Louis said. “I can’t really tell you more. Bartender’s code.” He crossed his fingers over his heart in a rapid X pattern.

  “Tease,” I scolded. “And here I thought bartenders told everyone all the town’s secrets.”

  “No, silly. It’s the other way around. People come to me with their crazy problems and I listen, pour them a drink, listen some more, give them a piece of shitty, pointless advice, and send them on their way. I’m basically the world’s worst therapist, but at least you get shit-faced out of the deal.”

  “Fair enough,” I snickered. When I’d taken another swig of beer, I chewed the inside of my cheek for a second, hesitant to ask the question I really wanted answered. “But maybe you could help me with just one little thing?”

  “Oh, all right.” Louis shot me a million-dollar smile, surrendering all too readily to my plea. “Shoot.”

  I turned around again, searching the room until I spotted Trick in the distance, towering over a woman who seemed locked in some intense conversation with him. Not surprisingly, he looked like he was teetering on the verge of anger. I got the impression that quasi-rage was his default setting. “What can you tell me about him?” I asked, nodding in his direction. There had to be a hundred people milling around or dancing between us, but something told me Louis would know exactly who I was talking about.

  “Trick?” he asked. “That’s easy. He’s the king around here. He pretty much runs this city.”

  “Okay, I know you’re not saying he’s the mayor of New Orleans,” I replied. “There’s no way that guy’s a politician. He’s not nearly diplomatic enough.”

  “No, he’s definitely not a politician. He owns a fan-boat business in the bayou, so let’s just say his leadership is more…symbolic.”

  “Now I’m really intrigued,” I said. “What does that mean?”

  “The guy has eyes and ears on everything. If New Orleans has an unofficial underground boss, he’s it. Every person in this room respects and trusts him—even the ones who don’t like him. And believe me, there are a fair number of those.” Louis spoke with a kind of understated pride and reverence that made me think there was something more to Trick than met the eye. I turned and glanced across the room, only to realize how much he towered over every single person in the place. Something about him reminded me of my old-fashioned ideas of what a king should look like. Bigger, brighter, stronger than everyone around him.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not entirely surprised that he can see everything that goes on in New Orleans. The guy’s taller than most buildings I know,” I said, my eyes still fixed on the sexy man holding court with the leather-wearing, vampire-looking woman across the room.

  As I stared at him Trick turned my way, his gaze meeting my own. Even from this distance and over the heads of everyone who stood between us, I could still see his blazing irises flashing with the same sort of twinkling brightness that I’d seen outside. A delicious shudder worked its way through my body, as if he’d reached out and touched some intimate part of me despite the distance between us.

  I turned away and told myself not to enjoy him too much.

  He’s not yours.

  No matter how much you want him.

  Chapter 4

  Trick

  The closely packed bodies in the Undercroft moved like one energized unit, jostling and throbbing together like a living organism in rhythm with the music. As I eyed the sensual gyrating of hips and the casual contact between couples, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander back to tho
ughts of Sierra.

  The truth was that all I wanted was to move closer to the golden-haired goddess. To breathe in her scent, to get my hands on her again. But this time I wanted to wrap her up in my arms, to taste her lips, her tongue. I wanted to press the tip of my nose to her pussy and inhale deep, to get drunk on that pure, unfiltered sexuality that swarmed in the air around that perfect, feminine body of hers.

  The trouble was, my desire for her meant that she was dangerous. Not to mention the fact that she was way too inquisitive.

  Which was precisely why I had to get away from her. A woman like that was exactly what I didn’t need, a disaster in the making.

  She was a distraction, and I already had too much to think about, too much to prepare for, to get wrapped up in thoughts of what I wanted to do to a sexy woman’s body. The last thing I needed with the Alpha Trials approaching was a distraction.

  Even one with perfect tits.

  Music thumped up through the floor, the stone walls throbbing to its hard, thunderous beat. The Undercroft had been turned into a sensual wonderland, as it was for one night every summer. This was a night when New Orleans’ most secretive dwellers gathered in one place to enjoy each other’s company, to breathe in one another’s scents, uninhibited and unrestrained. Face to face. Body to body. Nearly anything was acceptable, so long as clothes stayed—mostly—on.

  The only bona fide rule was No Shifting. Not only because of the occasional human who slipped inside as a guest, but because fights invariably broke out when shifters got intoxicated and set their inner animals free.

  Wild beasts and cramped, crowded spaces didn’t mix.

  As for me, I wasn’t here to get drunk, party, or to pick any fights. I was here strictly for business, to get a read on what had been going down in my city in the last few weeks. Which meant talking to one of the Bash’s less appealing guests—specifically, one who hated me.