Southern Alpha Book Two (Southern Alpha Serial 2) Page 5

  I needed to hate, and the bigger and uglier my opponent, the better.

  By the time I finished with him, maybe I’d get over the sexy woman I’d left behind.

  Chapter 6

  Sierra

  Sometime around three in the morning I found myself wide awake, wandering aimlessly around my second-story apartment in a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt.

  The small pad wasn’t very impressive, just a living room, a bedroom, a bathroom and a small kitchenette. The best part of it was the balcony that hung off the front, just big enough for a small table and two chairs. I liked to sit out there in the mornings, drink my coffee and watch the world go by.

  Right now, though, the apartment felt like a prison. I wanted to escape, to find a place that would take away my heartache. The problem was that no such place existed.

  The only thing that could heal my heart was time.

  My leg, on the other hand, was almost as good as new. Aside from a patch of reddish skin and a dull ache, all evidence of the hideous burn that had marred my flesh earlier was gone.

  I stared down at the fading wound, my mind wandering to the balm that Trick had applied. How was there something in existence that could make burns go away like that? How had I never heard of it? Maybe New Orleans really was a place of magic. Everything around me seemed to confirm it. The Undercroft. The blue fire. Those wild dogs…

  Then there was the fortune teller, who’d been way too accurate in her predictions. She’d told me there would be danger, and soon. It was almost like she’d orchestrated the whole evening for her own amusement. Hell, maybe she was the one who had invited that crew of crazies to lob fire at us.

  If she was, I definitely had some choice words for her.

  But something told me the situation was more complicated—and even darker—than that. There were things that Trick hadn’t wanted to tell me. Secrets that he didn’t want me to know, about who he and the other people in the Undercroft really were. He’d talking about his “people,” like they somehow stood apart from the rest of humanity.

  If they did, what were they?

  As for the sensual, exciting giant of a man who’d set my head spinning more times than I could count, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I found myself wishing I’d relented and just stayed at his place. Even if we hadn’t slept together, at least he would have been close by, and this hollow, awful feeling of loneliness wouldn’t have set into the pit of my stomach quite so soon.

  I hated how things had ended between us. They’d gone from amazing and beautiful to closed off and ugly so quickly that it had sent my mind and body into a state of shock for the second time in one night. Maybe I’d dealt with it poorly. I could have gotten him to talk, to open up. To tell me what was in his heart.

  No, I couldn’t have. The man’s heart was sealed up behind an iron vault.

  I let out a sigh, realizing with a feeling of defeat that I was still craving him. I’d become an addict in the few short hours since we’d met, and the truth was that I didn’t want to get over it. I didn’t want rehabilitation. I only wanted him.

  Worse still, I needed him.

  I walked over to my coffee table and reached into my purse, my fingers searching out the business card that Louis had given me.

  Trick’s Boat Tours

  53 Harper’s Road, Credence Parish.

  “I shouldn’t even be looking at this,” I mumbled, setting the card down next to my keys. “He made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want to see me.”

  I sauntered back towards my bedroom, my feet dragging, and told myself that tomorrow I should try something new to get my mind off him. Go to a museum, or head out to hear some live music. Anything but lock eyes or lips with the mysterious sex-god again.

  But when I crawled into bed and found myself lying there with my eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling fan’s blades turning in lazy circles above me, all I could think was that I needed another chance to talk to him.

  I couldn’t leave things the way they’d ended.

  Not if I ever wanted to sleep again.

  Chapter 7

  Trick

  In the late morning, exhausted after the flurry of events that had assaulted my brain over the last few hours, I navigated my pickup down the lane that led to my fan boat business. The place was hidden away in another part of the bayou, only visible from the road because of a small sign at the lane’s end, hand-painted on an old piece of driftwood.

  The concealment was intentional. I welcomed business—after all, cash was nice—but I didn’t want too many clients. Over my long life I’d saved enough to live comfortably, but I kept that money in reserve for the pack or for any future children that I might have…though that particular idea was seeming more and more of a stretch these days. Dead shifters don’t become fathers.

  My steps were as heavy as my over-worked mind as I walked up to the swinging screen door of the squat, two-room building that served as the office and workshop for my tour company. Too many things on my mind. Death and love were a shitty mix. The image of Sierra’s big blue eyes had flashed through my mind so many times since I’d dropped her off last night that I felt like they were etched on my brain. Those pleading eyes, that beautiful face of hers, trying to understand what it was between us that didn’t work.

  I would have liked the chance to sit her down and explain everything. If I was going to crash and burn in the Trials, I may as well go down swinging.

  When I walked into the shop, Louis was already inside, his head down as he worked on sculpting the finishing touches for a fiberglass patch for one of the boats in our fleet. On the table next to him was a large carbon fiber propeller, which he’d already fixed up and polished to a like-new shine. I immediately felt guilty for not having my head in the game. I may have owned the business, but right now Louis was carrying it.

  He raised his head and swung around on his stool as I stepped into the room, the screen door shuddering shut behind me.

  “Hard morning already?” he asked.

  “Hard night,” I replied. “Hard life, for that matter.”

  “So what happened? Did you manage to shake of your nagging case of the hornies?”

  I shot him a sideways glare. “I managed to find a…distraction.”

  “Let me guess. Gator?”

  “Fifteen-footer,” I nodded, my chest puffing out boastfully. “Not to mention that he was fast as lighting, mean as thunder. The moment our eyes locked, we both knew we were in for a good fight. The bastard smelled like pure death, too.”

  “No one ever said they were supposed to smell like cherry pie,” he said as he stepped into the small kitchen and returned with two steaming mugs of coffee. I was grateful when he handed one over.

  With a grunt, I sat down on the old couch, Louis sitting back down on the swivel stool at his work table just across from me. He blew on his coffee and took a sip. “Tell me about your battle, oh great sexually repressed wolf shifter.”

  “Well,” I said, shooting him a shut the fuck up look, “swamp-land isn’t exactly my favorite environment for a fight. It’s hard to get traction while you’re slogging through thick muddy water.”

  “True. You were on his turf. But that’s the challenge you wanted, right?”

  “More like the challenge I needed. I’m assuming we’ll be in the swamp for the Trials. Anyhow,” I said, putting down the coffee so I could act out a puppet show version of the fight with my hands, “the gator lunged, and I side-stepped. He snapped at me with his razor-teeth, but as far as I was concerned, he was moving in slow-motion. Plus, I was pissed off. Bad combo for him. I lured him in a couple of times and he finally took the bait. But he got sloppy. He lunged one last time, and I leapt at him and clamped his big ugly jaws shut between my teeth. I let him thrash around until his energy drained. It was almost too easy.” When I’d finished, I picked up the coffee again and took a triumphant swig.

  “Wait—this was in your wolf form, right? You weren’t chewing on
gators with people-teeth, I assume.”

  I chuckled. “I’ll give you one guess, you douche-baguette.”

  “So in the end, did you—?”

  “Kill him? No. I never kill anything that doesn’t deserve to die. I’m not the Marquis, for fuck’s sake.”

  I all but shuddered when I thought about the shifter I was going to fight in a few days. The guy love to torture for sport—not to mention that his wolf was far from a mindless gator. He’d fought and beaten countless enemies over the years. To take him on would feel like walking into a trap, one that would probably end with my throat torn out.

  I pushed myself to my feet and headed over to my desk, the fingers on my left hand balling into a tense fist. I dropped myself into my office chair, took a long sip of coffee, and let out a groan.

  “So, I’ve been thinking,” Louis said. I spun the chair around and pulled my eyes to his only to see that he was staring at me with a mischievous grin on his lips.

  “Uh-huh,” I replied. “I know that tone. This can’t be good.”

  “I’ve decided you should definitely tell Sierra about us.”

  My spine tightened. Louis’ words woke me up more than any gator—or seventeen gallons of coffee, for that matter—ever could.

  “What?” I spat out. “Are you nuts, man?”

  “You know perfectly well that I am, but that’s not what we’re talking about here. Look—you’ve got the Trials coming up. Some guys like resting beforehand, so they can focus. But you’re not good at just sitting around and contemplating the universe when a storm’s coming.”

  “So you think that spilling my guts to a human who’s practically a stranger is the solution here? Even though she might freak out and run down Bourbon Street, screaming about werewolves and Valks?”

  Louis nodded enthusiastically. “Yup. That’s exactly what I think.”

  God, he could be a knob.

  Even when he was onto something.

  “I’d be breaking ancient rules,” I said, shuffling some papers around and pushing a stack of crumpled invoices into an old file folder.

  “So? Since when does anyone care about rules around here? This place has been every man for himself for ages. It’s not like the Marquis follows the rules. Why should you?”

  “The Marquis is a double shit-burger with extra cheese. I don’t exactly aspire to his level of assholery.”

  “Well, you should start. You should also consider the fact that there are plenty of humans in New Orleans who know we exist. Don’t forget, Sierra has a curious streak in her. She asks questions, and she doesn’t strike me as someone who walks away without some answers. If she doesn’t hear the truth from you, I guarantee she’ll get it from someone else. Is that really what you want?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Now you’re just manipulating me.”

  “Is it working?”

  “Yes,” I griped, landing my coffee cup hard on top of a stack of meaningless papers so it sloshed a spray of brown liquid over their surface. “But it doesn’t matter. I won’t be seeing her again.”

  “Uh-huh,” Louis said, pulling himself up from his chair and wandering in the other direction to peer out the window. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, future Alpha.”

  I stared at his back for a second, my heart threatening to take off like it was competing in the Kentucky Derby. “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just…I think I caught a whiff of something sweet heading this way. And I don’t think it’s your fifteen-foot gator back for a re-match.”

  To be continued in Part Three…

  Coming soon!

  Part Three is up for pre-order here: Southern Alpha Part Three

  Sierra and Trick are miserable apart. But with the Trials coming up so soon, is the answer to see each other again, or will that just complicate things?

  (Spoiler alert: You know perfectly well what’s about to happen…)

  Also by Carina Wilder

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