Alpha Betrayed: A Dark Shifter Romance

Catherine

I'm sure my papa wouldn't be happy to learn that swimming through rancid sewer water reminds me of him but...it does.

As I paddle along, keeping an eye out for rats or feral squirrels or anything else large enough to do my hedgehog damage, I'm so homesick for my father's arms that my heart feels like it's about to explode. I tell myself it's just the walkie-talkie strap digging into chest as it drags through the mucky water, but better.

I miss Papa's warm, but always tired eyes, the pipe smoke that clings to his beard, and the way he kne seconds for the tension to seep from my limbs and all the love to soak into my bones.

My father is a fearless, ruthless warrior, but he's also the sweetest man in the world. He loves my brot actually did.

to let me go too soon. Papa's hugs always lasted too long. Weirdly long, Alexander used to tease him, but that's what I needed. I needed those extra thirty

d I with unparalleled devotion and patience and kept my mother's memory so beautifully alive that I feel like I had her with me for so much longer than I

I feel her with me now, hovering over my shoulder, assuring me I can do anything I set my mind to. I may be small, but you should never judge a person, or anything else, by their physical size. We all contain multitudes, entire universes of possibility.

I can be both the smallest Variant at Lost Moon and braver than half the wolves who so easily took me captive. I can keep a cool, steady head in a crisis and still be scared out of my mind. It would be stupid not to be scared-this is a strange and dangerous place and I'm headed directly int but that we have to keep going. I would want to take this risk for Juliet, anyway, but in light of what my I push the thought away and pull harder toward the ladder up ahead, the one I'm nearly one-hundred I can't think of Alexander's betrayal, or of how little faith he had in me or our ability to work together Or I'll start to cry.

hy territory-but that's okay. I can carry this fearful Catherine with me into the dark. I can promise her that I hear her and that it's okay for her to be scared, er did...

I don't have time for either. The rift with my brother is going to take time and sustained effort on both pinkie finger he broke when we were seven.

nt sure will take me up into the Montreal pack's compound.

am, or my blood will start to boil all over again.

arts to repair. But if I make it out of here alive, we'll repair it. I have no doubt about that. Alex is as much a part of me as my skin and bones and the crooked

He shoved me to the ground and covered my body with his just as a pipe bomb went off outside our old home. He caught so much shrapnel that his back is still scarred. I got away with a crooked pinkie finger. Because he's a hero. A flawed hero, but aren't we all?

There are no perfect people, no perfect places, no perfect situations.

That's why I could still love Lost Moon and hate how easily ugly attitudes were allowed to flourish at the same time. Especially when the good so vastly outweighed the bad. I loved my friends and my classes and my ballet club. I loved parties on the quad and late- night study sessions at the café, where the baristas gave out tiny cups of free espresso beans at ten p.m., and swims in my secret cave of wonders. And I hated Beck and his Variant-hating a*****e friends.

As I leave the walkie-talkie at the base of the ladder and scurry up one side to scout the situation up above, I wonder what kind of wolves live here.

Are they all like Beck? Full of hatred for anything different than themselves? Or are they like so many of the New Lupine Brotherhood, going along with the path of least resistance, hoping things will get better without them having to stick their necks out? But that's the thing about "better"-it doesn't happen on its own. It's something we have to do our part to make happen every day. Better is an ongoing act of energy and sacrifice and action. Better happens because we choose to do the kind thing, even when it isn't easy or in our own best interest.

So, twenty minutes later, once I've skittered through a truly miserable-looking dungeon, filled with glassy-eyed, suffering, starving people, and emerged into the entryway of an impressive mansion just in time to see Juliet whisked away to a car waiting out front, I don't immediately head back to the sewer.

I sneak past what appears to be a small office in one corner of the dungeon, waiting until I'm past the window set into the door before I shift and press myself back into the shadows.

A sharp inhalation from the cells draws my gaze to a middle-aged woman with filthy blond hair and wide blue eyes. I put a finger to my lips, and she nods before moving to the bed in the corner where another woman is sleeping. She bends to whisper in the other woman's ear, and I turn back to my mark.

Peeking in through the glass, I see a bored-looking man in a khaki uniform watching some French game show I don't recognize while shoving deeply orange popcorn into his face.

There's a gun at his hip and several other weapons hanging on the wall to his right, many of which look more like instruments of t*****e than anything else, but he's deeply off his guard, this guard. His jaw is slack in between bites, he's rocked back on the rear legs of his chair, and his legs hang limply toward the floor.

If I move quickly, I'll have him taken care of before he can swallow that next bite of popcorn, let alone call for help or sound an alarm.

Taking a deep breath and pulling on my ballet training and every bit of stealth my expert tracker of a father taught me as a child, I whip open the door and disarm the man in one smooth motion. He pulls in a breath, but before it can emerge, I bring the side of my hand into his neck with as much force as I can, striking his vagus nerve.

His intended shout emerges as a whimper as his eyes flutter to half-mast. Before he can recover from the stunning sensation, I have my elbow locked around his neck from behind. I squeeze until he stops struggling and then squeeze for another thirty seconds just to be safe.

I don't want to kill him, but I don't want him coming to before I figure out how to open the cells doors, either.

Luckily, the locking mechanism is simple, almost primitive. The electrical board below his still warbling television looks like it hasn't been updated since the 1980s. All the buttons are large and plainly marked. Once my mark is out, I turn the key set into one side of the board to "armed" and hit "open all" and every cell door slides open with a dull clanking sound.

The blond woman is already at the exit to her cell waiting, the arm of an older woman slung around her neck, but she freezes when I hold up a hand.

I narrow my eyes and prick my ears, straining for any sign of movement from the building above. But after a few adrenaline-charged seconds, it becomes clear no one is coming down the stairs.

Which means it's time to move. Fast. With the condition so many of these people are in, it could take time to get them down into the tunnel.

"This way, everyone," I whisper. "Quickly and quietly after me. If you need help on the ladder, put a hand on your head and I'll carry you down one at a time."

"I can help my mother down," the blond woman says as I shift the large grate covering the sewer out of the way. "Thank you so much. You're the answer to a prayer."

"Quickly," I say, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Then head north through the water as fast as you can."

Two teenage girls with glassy eyes go down first, followed by my new friend and her mother. I carry a lovely, frail young man with an infected leg down next and start back up to help the older man with the white beard. But he's already on his way down, followed by two more middle-aged women so gaunt that it hurts to look at them.

"That's the last of us," the final woman wheezes, her pulse leaping in her thin throat from just that much physical exertion. She and her friend move to either side of the man with the infected leg, something in the way they touch making me think they're all family. "Okay, good, head that way," I say, motioning to my left. "I'll follow up the rear and help anyone who's having trouble."

I'm not sure if any of these poor souls will be able to make it the six blocks to the extraction point, but we have to try. One naked woman crawling out of a manhole directly across the street from the Montreal pack's fortress would attract attention, let alone an entire posse of n**e folks, and none of these people have the energy to shift.

I'm not sure I do, either. Not so soon after shifting into my human form.

That's part of the reason we selected a second extraction point in the first place. No matter what I ran into inside the compound, chances were, I'd have to shift in order to communicate with Juliet-or to contact Layla and Ford-and I'd be too tapped out to shift back. But I wasn't worried about the extra distance. I figured I'd be able to make quick work of six blocks with my human legs versus paddling through the water with tiny hedgehog feet. Now, I'm cursing myself, wishing we'd had a backup plan.

I wait until we're several hundred feet from the ladder leading into the dungeon before I press the button on the side of the walkie-talkie and whisper, "It's Catherine. I'm on my way back. I couldn't get to Juliet, but I did manage to liberate eight prisoners from the dungeon. They're weak and starved and no one has clothes. I suggest you run and grab a stack of beach towels from a store. We can pretend we've been swimming while we get the hell of out of here as quickly as possible. I disabled the dungeon guard, but I don't know how much time we'll have before the empty cells are discovered. Over."

"Holy shit," Layla says, her voice cracking. "F**k. Okay. Ford's here with me. He's going to run to the grocery store on the corner and try to find something. I'll order two cars to pick us up here, behind the bowling alley. What's your ETA? Over."

I bite my lip, silently estimating how long it's going to take my crew of injured people to limp another four and a half blocks. "Fifteen. Maybe twenty minutes. Over."

"Got it," Layla says. "I'm ordering the car now. Hang in there and let me know if anything changes. Over."

"Will do. Over." I loop the walkie-talkie's strap around my wrist and move to help with the guy with the injured leg. Scooping him up like a bride in my arms, I engage my core muscles and stride to the front of the group. "Come on, loves. Let's see if we can move a little faster. The more distance we can put between them and us before they realize you're gone, the better."

"I think we'll be okay," the old man wheezes, making excellent time near the front of the pack despite his clearly aching lungs. "They're working with a reduced staff today. About half the house guards were shifted to a different detail for the wedding. Rafe was complaining about pulling a double on guard duty."

Cursing silently, I ask, "The wedding is today?"

"Tonight," the woman I initially locked eyes with supplies from my other side. "The entire pack will be there. Rafe was even going to go. They hired a man from Quebec City to take over for him at six. They want everyone there to absorb the power of the ritual." Her lip curls as she adjusts her grip on her pale mother's waist. "Jean-Paul knows his pack. If some of them get to be bigger and stronger and some don't, the people who missed the ritual will be dead in a few weeks. Montreal wolves don't tolerate weakness. Even in people they care about."

I frown, but before I can ask why witnessing a wedding would make someone bigger or stronger, the young guy in my arms says, "It's not a normal wedding. He's not going to marry the phoenix girl. It's a trick. He's going to marry the other one and sacrifice the phoenix girl. Daphne, Jean-Paul's witch, is going to work a spell that will make everyone in the church almost impossible to kill. Not immortal like a phoenix, but close." He pulls in a shaky breath. "It's the same thing his buddy, Zion's Alpha, is doing at the school with the other phoenix woman."

Only about half of that made sense, but I get the gist. I'm about to assure them nothing's happening at the school because Maxim's forces ousted the New Lupine Brotherhood and Hammer along with them but check myself at the last moment. My gut says these suffering people aren't my enemies, but I'm not sure they're my friends, either. They seem awfully well-informed for starved prisoners. "The guards told you all this?"

"No. Jean-Paul," the old man says, sadness coloring his words. "He comes down to the dungeon most mornings. He likes to remind us how far we've fallen. He's my great-nephew."

"And my cousin," the first woman adds. "Most of us here are related to him in one way or another. He's imprisoned or killed all dissidents and potential challengers to his throne except his half-brother. His mother would annihilate him if he touched Griffin." "And Griffin isn't a threat," the man I'm carrying says. "He's simple. In the head." The man winces. "But strong. He's the one who broke my leg, but I don't blame him. Jean-Paul made him do it. Poor guy cried the whole time."

"Chastain is Jean-Paul's from his first marriage," the first woman says, nodding toward the man in my arms. "His mother came out of hiding a few months ago. She thought enough time had passed that Jean-Paul might be happy to learn he had an heir, especially a big, strong boy nearly old enough to marry and help expand his father's kingdom."

"He wasn't happy," the boy-Chastain-says softly. "And now my mother is dead."

"I'm sorry," I say, meaning it, but knowing we don't have much time to spare for compassion. "Do you know where they're holding the wedding? Somewhere on the compound?"

"No," the old man says. "At an abandoned church Jean-Paul likes to use for black magic. Perverting a place of worship amuses him. I can show you where it is on a map."

"But you'll need an army," the first woman says. "Jean-Paul will have guards everywhere. He'd never admit it, but I think he's afraid of the Zion Alpha and what he'll do if he finds out Jean-Paul plans to sacrifice his daughter instead of marrying her."

I nod. "All right. That could be something we can use to our advantage," I say, deciding not to tell them that an army is off the table. Even if we could convince Maxim to divide his force, we only have a few hours before the wedding. There isn't time to get an army to Montreal, let alone plan and organize an attack on the church.

Seeing the extraction point ladder ahead, I start to shift the man in my arms to the ground so I can contact Layla on the walkie-talkie when the sewer grate above the ladder is suddenly shifted to one side. A moment later, Layla's curly head pops into sight, "There you are! The two vans are almost here, and Ford has beach towels."

Ford also has two straw sun hats, a few pairs of flip-flops, and two extra-large t-shirts that I help the two thinnest women pull on as dresses. Hopefully the fabric will keep their protruding collarbones from attracting too much attention...wherever we're headed. "Where are we going?" I whisper to Layla as she and I load into one van with four of the refugees and Ford rides with the rest of them in the other.

"To the landing pad by the river," she whispers back. "Maxim is sending a bigger helicopter with a strike force unit and a medic. The strike force is going to stay with us while the medic takes these people back to Lost Moon. Ford convinced him that something fishy is going on and we're going to need backup. Looks like Jean-Paul might not be marrying Juliet, after all. Or if he is, he's already creepin' on her. Ford saw him making out with their cousin Bethany in the botanical garden about an hour ago."

I nod. "That's what the prisoners said. That he's marrying someone else and is going to sacrifice Juliet as part of some spell to make his pack stronger than other shifters."

Layla's eyes go wide. "F**k."

"Exactly. Good thing we have reinforcements on the way," I say. "We're going to need them. And someone should find the Zion Alpha ASAP. I think I know why he took President Benoit with him when he ran."

I explain everything I learned to Layla and then again to Ford when we're at the landing pad, waiting for the chopper to arrive in the small waiting room.

"But President Benoit is a wolf," he says. "You could smell it on her."

I shrug. "I know. But maybe Hammer is confused? But it had to be President Benoit that Jean-Paul was talking about to the prisoners. That's who Hammer was going to sacrifice tonight if you guys hadn't retaken the campus."

The old man, now with a bright red-and-white-striped towel wrapped around his torso, lifts his head from the box of crackers Ford was also thoughtful enough to acquire, and says, "Did you say Benoit?"

After a brief hesitation, Ford says, "Yes."

The old man's eyes widen. "Coralie Benoit? Hammer's ex-wife? We all thought she was dead. I'm pretty sure he did, too."

"I think he did," Ford says, as I pick my jaw up off the floor and Layla shoots some serious side-eye Ford's way from her seat by the door. What in the world? We just out that Hammer is Juliet's dad this morning. Ford came clean about that after the entire debacle with Alexander. And now we're learning that Juliet's dad was married to President Benoit? "Until recently, anyway," Ford adds. "She was hiding at Lost Moon University."

The old man's forehead furrows. "She should have hidden better. She has phoenix in her bloodline. That's how the daughter inherited it. And in the bloodline is enough for the spell."

"So, you're saying Juliet is Benoit's daughter?" Layla pipes up, anger creeping into her tone. "And when were you guys going to share that with the rest of the class? I guess I can understand keeping the Zion thing secret as long as you did, but this was right under our damned noses."

"Agreed," I say, arching a brow Ford's way.

Ford clears his throat, looking uncomfortable as he says, "I told you; Natalie didn't want us to tell anyone about Hammer. For our own safety as well as the school's. And Juliet didn't know her mother was alive until we arrived at Lost Moon. There's no love lost between them. Honestly, it seemed like President Benoit didn't care what happened to Juliet as long as she kept the connection between them quiet."

"Coralie wasn't a happy bride," the old man says. "When the wedding was announced, I remember there were rumors that her pack forced her into the marriage in exchange for a payout from Hammer. They basically sold the girl."

"A lot of us have been sold on the marriage market," the first woman-Vivian she said her name was on the drive over-pipes up. "That isn't the child's fault. Children are innocent."

"I don't know why her mom did what she did," Ford says, adding in a softer voice, "But I'm sorry I didn't tell you guys. I wanted to, but that was Juliet's call, and she wasn't ready. You know how she is when she's hurting. Finding out her mom abandoned her as a baby to be raised by a psychopath hurt her. A lot."

"As it should," Vivian mutters around another cracker. "Poor kid."

"I'm sure that was terribly painful," I agree, "but now isn't the time for secrets, Ford. Not between us. If we're going to have a shot at saving Juliet, we need to know everything. Quickly."

"Agreed," Ford says. "But let's step outside."

"You should," Vivian agrees. "We're not traitors, but you never know with strangers. That's why you keep your good friends close and treat them like family. Or, better than family, if you treat your family like Jean-Paul treats his. Thank you for what you've done for us, by the way. When we take back our pack, you'll have always have family in Montreal."

"For life," Chastain agrees. "Anything you need, all you'll have to do is ask." His piercing blue gaze connects with mine. "Especially you, Catherine. I can't ever repay the debt I owe you, but I'm sure as hell going to try."Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

Surprised to find myself blushing a little-compliments from beautiful boys, even starved, weak, damaged boys, aren't something I'm used to as "Variant scum"-I nod. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat. And I wish all of you well."

Breaking eye contact with Chastain, I follow Ford outside and around to the side of the waiting room with Layla close behind me.

There, he proceeds to give us such an earful-growing up in the Zion pack with Juliet as her stepbrother, both of them being sold into slavery and told the other one was to blame, their escape and eventual reconciliation and learning that they have another secret sibling who was trapped in our world when the portals to the Parallel collapsed-that by the time our backup arrives, my head is spinning faster than the blades whirring atop the chopper.

But there's no time to slow down and process all Ford's confessions.

The strike force is ready to move, and we have to move with them. Fast. Before Juliet ends up another casualty of this unexpected war.