Alpha Betrayed: A Dark Shifter

Juliet

Aside from her tendency to drive without watching the road, Natalie seems like a perfectly decent person.

So, why do I hate her so much?

Is it simply because she swept in, steamrolling us into going along with her plans? Or is my gut, sharpened by years of exposure to the worst humanity has to offer, trying to warn me that Natalie isn’t the warm, yet impossibly classy woman she’s pretending to be.

Or maybe you’re just jealous that Ford found someone new to flirt with…

The thought makes me choke on my lemonade, drawing the attention of Natalie and Ford, who were deep in shared laughter over a mutual love of bawdy 1960s beat poetry. Who knew Ford had that in his back pocket?

“Are you all right?” Natalie’s brow knits.

“I’m fine,” I say, clearing my throat and thumping a fist to my chest. “Just remembered you can’t breathe lemonade.”

Natalie laughs like I’ve made the funniest joke ever, and I hate myself for playing into her hands. I don’t want to be this woman’s buddy. I don’t want to talk about my favorite subjects at school or gossip about all the exciting traditions waiting to be enjoyed during summer orientation at Lost Moon.

But I also don’t want to be the cold, distant person I’ve been since joining the circus, either.

I don’t like this person, but I don’t know how to be anyone else. For years, staying detached from my emotions and holding reality at arm’s length was the only way I survived. My mind never would have been able to manage the trauma of being murdered every Friday night if I hadn’t.

And telling my brain that isn’t going to happen ever again, that Friday nights are for pizza and study time from now on, isn’t enough to shut down my protective mechanisms. Especially not after all the danger Ford and I have faced in the past two days.

But maybe at Lost Moon I can be different…

Maybe becoming a student for a little while wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

Something feral inside me growls at the thought and my stomach clenches around my last bite of grilled chicken. We had “first dinner” on the road, but Natalie insisted on making us “second dinner” when we arrived at the little farmhouse outside Sudbury around ten. She said I’d need more “meat on my bones” before the testing begins.

“Is food deprivation part of the testing?” I ask, circling back around to the subject now that Natalie’s had a glass of wine and seems a little more relaxed. She blew me off the first time I asked, like I was making a joke.

This time, she smiles, but concedes, “No, not at all. But you’ll be pulling some long nights and at least one of the trials is usually based on physical and psychological endurance. You’ll fare better with both if you’re not dealing with the strain being underweight puts on the body. I know it’s still the fashion in Hollywood, but a shifter woman can’t afford to embrace the waif look.”

“I’m not embracing the waif look,” I say, my tone going artic again. “I’m thin because I was starved by the people holding me prisoner.”

“I understand,” she says, what looks like real compassion in her gaze. “I just meant that we ladies need muscle and power to hold our own against the boys, that’s all.”

“So, the testing is co-ed?” Ford asks.

Natalie takes another sip of her Chardonnay. “It is.”

Ford frowns for the first time since meeting his new crush. “But isn’t that unfair? Particularly for women like Juliet who are small to begin with and haven’t been raised to fight?”

“There’s no hand-to-hand combat involved,” Natalie says. “And the tests are well-balanced. For example, a strength component might be followed by a memory component, which tends to be better in females.”

“Still doesn’t seem fair,” Ford says.

Natalie sets her wine back on the glass table with a soft clink. “Well, we’ve never had any complaints from the female students, and it’s not as if there are a fixed number of places available. It isn’t a competition. Everyone who passes three out of four trials will be accepted for the fall semester.” She glances my way with a smile. “And I’m determined to help Juliet pass with flying colors. I can’t give any specifics away—the tests change every year, and everything’s kept top secret—but I can give you a few best practice tips while we’re driving tomorrow. Might help the time pass faster than that death metal station Ford was so keen on this afternoon.”

“It wasn’t death metal; it was hard rock. And not even that hard,” Ford says, already grinning again, proving he’s no better than a puppy, desperate to be petted by the pretty woman in the thousand-dollar sweater.

I have no idea why Natalie’s wearing a designer cashmere sweater to bed. I’m just grateful it’s finally my turn to shower. She went first, so she could get the chicken ready, and I insisted Ford take second shift. I wanted some time alone with Natalie to see what she knew about my father and the current status of the Zion pack.

I peppered her with questions as she rubbed the chicken, she’d purchased at the small country market down the lane with olive oil and various herbs.

Who’s in charge? Is my father still clinging to power or has he named a successor? How many people in the upper circle know what happened to Ford and me, and what story has he sold the rest of the pack?

Unfortunately, Natalie didn’t know those sorts of details.

Or, rather, she pretended not to know.

There’s something this woman isn’t telling us. And I, for one, intend to figure out what that something is before we pass through Lost Moon’s gates, where, from what I’ve heard today, wards and a small army could make it impossible to get back out again.

But I’ll resume my quest for answers tomorrow. Right now, a shower and a full night’s sleep are calling my name.

“Thank you for the meal. It was really good,” I say, rising from my chair with my plate and glass. Ford and Natalie are sharing a bottle of Chardonnay, but I stuck with lemonade. I wasn’t much of a drinker at college. I didn’t like fuzzy thoughts or feeling sleepy on the walk home from the party and having clouded senses doesn’t seem like a good idea right now.

Natalie says we’re safe now that my tracking device is neutralized, but Ford had killers on his a*s all the way from California. Maybe he has a tracking device implanted somewhere we don’t know about, too, like Natalie said. Or maybe the assassins are just really good at their jobs.

Either way, putting myself at a potential disadvantage for a few hours of alcohol-induced numbness wasn’t appealing.

“Of course, so glad you enjoyed it,” Natalie says. “I can teach you my chicken roasting tricks tomorrow, too, if you’d like. Every fashionable young twenty-something should have a good roast chicken recipe in his or her back pocket. A lovely piece of meat elevates any dinner party and chicken is affordable on a college student’s budget. Room, board, and tuition are provided by the Lost Moon endowment, but any extras you’ll have to pay for on your own.” She c***s her head, sipping her wine thoughtfully as her blue eyes rake up and down my frame. “Though I might have a few hand-me-downs that would fit you, Juliet. At least sweaters and a winter coat. I’ll look once we’re back on campus. Could save you a good chunk when it comes to completing your wardrobe. Good winter things can be pricey.”

“Thanks,” I say. “But you might want to wait on that. If I don’t pass the trials, I might not need winter clothes.”

“You’ll pass,” she says, but I can see the flicker of doubt in her expression before she forces a wide smile. “You both will, and Lost Moon will be all the richer for it.”

“Fingers crossed, I guess,” I say, nodding to both of them. “Good night. I’m going to head to bed after my shower. The past few days are catching up with me.”

“Me, too,” Ford says, pushing his chair back. “I’ll help you clean up, Natalie, and turn in, too.”

I load my dishes into the small dishwasher in the farmhouse kitchen and escape down the hall to the bedrooms before Ford and Natalie finish gathering their things. I need to be alone for a while. I need silence and space to sort out why that feral part of me is so determined not to end up at Lost Moon.

Is there evidence to support my reticence?

Or is this a case of an old defense mechanism causing more problems than it’s solving, now that I’m no longer a psychopath’s prisoner?

If only I had that cell phone Ford and I were planning to buy today.

As I wash my hair and scrub the dirt and sweat from my skin, I fantasize about all the research I could be doing. I imagine pages filled with notes and a killer “pro and con” list like I used to make in high school. After all, a pro and con list was how I picked my school and major the first time I went to college.

It feels wrong not to do it now.

But then…everything is wrong now.

And I don’t know when that might change. Even if we commit to studying at Lost Moon and get in, Hammer isn’t going to stop being Hammer. If Natalie is wrong, and now isn’t the time to hold bad Alphas accountable for their crimes, he’ll be waiting for us when we get out.

And he will have had years to plan his next move.

I dress in a much too large pair of flannel pajama pants and t-shirt I liberated from Mr. Loomis’s place and pad into the small, simply furnished room I was told was mine for the night to find Ford sitting on my new bed, reading a book.

“So, you do know how to read,” I observe dryly.

“I really do like the beat poets,” he says, slowly flipping a page. “That wasn’t just bullshit to make conversation with Natalie.”

“I’m thrilled for you,” I say. “Now you just need to learn your right from your left. Your room is on the other side of the hall.”

He looks up with a smile. “Be nice or I won’t give you your surprise.”

Tossing my circus dress in the small trash can by the nightstand—I never want to wear it or anything remotely like it again—I cross my arms over my chest. “And what’s that? If you say your p***s, I’ll barf, and then, once again, direct you down the hall. Natalie seems much more interested in it than I am.”

His grin widens. “You think so? I mean, she’s older, but not that much older, I guess. And shifter men date younger women all the time. Why not switch it up for once, right?”

“Knock yourself out,” I say, ignoring the increased growling and spitting from my feral side and the sharp clench in my stomach.

I don’t care if Natalie and Ford f**k all the way to Lost Moon and end up getting married and having a pack of wolf babies. That could be great for them. A real pack-approved union.

She’s a wolf shifter, too, though her scent is different than ours, lighter with more citrus and eucalyptus. Zion shifters smell like evergreen and a sweet, clean ocean breeze. It’s one of the things I loved about my pack as a kid, how much we smelled like our home by the sea and all the mountain trees I loved in the wintertime.

Now, even that is tainted. Spoiled.

I motion toward the door. “But in the meantime, some of us would like to sleep, so…”

“Fine, I’ll scram.” He rises from the bed, closing the book around one thick finger. “But if I know you, you won’t be sleeping for a while. That big brain of yours will be too busy plotting and scheming.”

“What do you—” I break off as he stops in front of me and opens the book, revealing a small cell phone. It’s old and one side of the screen is cracked, but it looks like it’s connected to the farmhouse’s internet signal. I glance sharply up, eyes wide as I hiss, “Does she know you have this?”

“I’m betting she does,” he whispers back. “I found it in the junk drawer in the kitchen while we were cleaning up and popped into the living room to get the internet password. I wasn’t subtle about it, but she didn’t ask any questions so…maybe it’s a plausible deniability thing. If she doesn’t make it obvious that she saw me nicking a cell phone, she can’t get in trouble for it later.” He takes the phone and drops it into my hand. “But we should leave it here when we head out tomorrow, so get your research on Lost Moon done tonight. I already loaded the dark web app so you should be ready to go.”

“Thank you,” I say, a different kind of tightness in my stomach.

I think it’s gratitude—not just for the phone, but for the fact that Ford realized how much I wanted it without being told—but I can’t be sure. It’s been so long since I experienced gratitude on a regular basis that it feels strange and unfamiliar in my body.

“Do you think we’ll ever be able to trust people again?” I blurt out, surprising myself. “Will it ever feel normal to relax and not expect the worst all the time?”

He’s quiet for a moment and when I look up, the haunted look in his eyes makes me sorry I said anything. Ford is obnoxious and deluded about the chances of us being anything but siblings and maybe friends if he keeps being a decent person, but I don’t want to hurt him or reopen old wounds.

“I don’t know,” he finally says, his voice soft and rough. “I hope so. But it will take time and a lot of exposure to good people to make up for the bad.”

“And you think we’ll find that at Lost Moon?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. But I hope so. I don’t see a way forward without them or someone like them to help us. We can’t take down your dad alone, Juliet. He has too many allies.” He taps his finger to the phone screen before sliding it up to touch my thumb. “But if you decide to bail, do what Natalie said. Get the implant removed. I think she’s telling the truth about that.”

I discreetly pull my hand away from his, ignoring the tingling feeling prickling at my skin as I whisper, “But you think she’s lying about something, though, right? My gut says there’s something she’s not telling us.”

“Mine too,” he agrees, making my heart lift a little. Maybe this is my new normal, only feeling warm feelings toward people who are as suspicious and untrusting as I am. “But I’m not sure it’s anything malicious. Let’s see what we can get out of her tomorrow. Maybe play it a little more friendly, okay? Less glaring and icing her out; more laughing at her jokes? Natalie seems like the kind of person who responds to connection more than attitude.”

I grunt. “Is that why you were penetrating her with your eyes over dinner? Looking for a connection later tonight?”

He leans in, towering over me as he braces one hand on the wall above my head. “That wasn’t penetration,” he murmurs. “That was just a little foreplay. When I get to the penetrating stage, you’ll know it. I promise.”

I huff out a breath, pretending my skin isn’t buzzing as I tip my chin up, meeting his gaze head on. “Fine. F**k her secrets out of her. I don’t care.”

“No?” His lips curve and for some reason I can’t look away from them. How have I never realized how beautiful they are? That top l*p curved like a heart and the bottom full and plush, the perfect size to catch between your teeth and nibble as you’re kissing. “So, if you hear me making her scream tonight you won’t be jealous? You won’t wish it were you all hot and wet and wiggling on my d**k instead of her?”

“You’re so gross,” I spit, and he is.

Everything he said is gross and my brain is completely turned off by his crassness. But my stupid body is humming again, sparking and tingling and sending slickness trickling down my thighs.

Which means I have to get Ford out of here before he smells how pathetically easy it is to turn me on.

I shove his arm. “Goodbye, good night, thank you for the cell phone, and good luck. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

He steps into the hall, chuckling like he has my number, and I shut the door and lock it. Then I stand there, staring at the deadbolt. It’s been so long since I had the choice to lock other people out. For years, locks didn’t work that way for me. They were used to keep me captive, not keep me safe.

But the lock was the same. It was just who had control of the tool that made the difference.

Maybe the rest of my defense mechanisms are the same way. Maybe I can learn to use them to keep the people who haven’t earned my trust out, but let some of the world in.

Unfortunately, as I lay down and pull up the dark web app on the cell, only one face flits through my head. Ford, the stepbrother I loathed as a kid—who loathed me in return—is the only person anywhere close to getting on my “You can come in” list.

It doesn’t bode well for keeping him at arm’s length or staying away from that stupid d**k he’s so proud of. Ignoring the inner voice’s whisper that his d**k did feel pretty impressive back there in the forest when he was rubbing all over me, I dive into my research.

I hit gold in the first five minutes.

By midnight I have so much dirt on Lost Moon and Natalie, I’m tempted to go take another shower, but I don’t. I roll onto my side and will myself to sleep. Whether I decide to run or not, I’ll need rest to face tomorrow, and this woman who isn’t who she seems.