Alpha Betrayed: A Dark Shifter

Juliet

I stew in silence for the first hundred or so miles, refusing to respond to Ford’s attempts at conversation—I can’t believe my body betrayed me like that.

With him of all people.

But when we reach a town with several big box stores and a massive fishing outlet with a glowing green trout spinning on top, I point toward the exit, “Let’s stop. I need shoes and I’d slit your throat for a pair of jeans right now.”

He guides the car toward the exit without a fight. “That’s a shame. I like you in a dress. Easy access.”

Jaw clenched I grit out, “Remember the gas station hamburger?”

“I do,” he says, still smiling that shit-eating grin that’s been on his face since we left the cabin.

“That’s what you are. A gas station hamburger, appetizing only because I haven’t had one in years. But unlike my deprived, half-starved body, my mind knows there are better hamburgers out there. Not to mention rib eyes and seasoned flank steaks and filet mignon.”

He swipes at the edge of his lips with his thumb, a movement that’s weirdly sexy. “Stop it. You’re going to make me drool. I haven’t had a steak in so long. We got Hamburger Helper pasta the night before a fight, but nothing high class. It was about calories, protein, and carbs, not flavor. If we still have any money left by the time we hit Montreal, I’ll take you out somewhere nice. A fancy steakhouse with good wine and twenty-dollar side orders of broccoli.”

“Assuming we’ve found some money and ditched the hired killers by then?” I ask as he pulls into a spot in the middle of the trout store parking lot.

“Hopefully we’ve ditched them now. I haven’t seen anyone on our tail since we left the mountains. Maybe that detour of yours was a good thing, after all.”

I lean forward, staring through the miraculously unshattered windshield as I mutter, “Maybe. So, how’s this going to work? You give me your shoes and I go in alone? I can’t walk into a store barefoot. I’ll attract attention.”

“You’ll do the same in shoes four sizes too big,” he says. “I’ll go in and liberate a few things from the shelves. You can wait here with the gun. I will be taking the keys, however, and if you try to ditch me again, I’m spanking you the next time I catch you.”

I glare his way. “You wish.”

“You wish,” he counters. “A spanking can be hot, Jules. Imagine it. Your bare a*s under my hand, all that b***d flowing to your lower half, making your skin burn and your p***y ache before I take mercy on you and slide my fingers—”

“Gas station burger.”

“Cranky horndog,” he counters with another shit-eating grin. “That’s like a corn dog, but—”

I shove his shoulder. “I get it. I’m not an idiot. Now go. Size seven shoes this time, please, no open toe. Tennis shoes or hiking boots. Jeans or overalls and a t-shirt for underneath. And socks. I can get by with that and soap to rinse out my underwear every few days.”

He makes a low purring sound in his throat. “Every few days. Those are going to be some fragrant undies, but you’re in luck. I don’t mind a little funk when it comes to a lady’s—”

“If you don’t stop with the s*x stuff, I’m leaving. Seriously. And this time I’ll take all your shit and weapons and leave you with nothing but your d**k in your hand, since you seem to love it so much.”

“You’ll love it, too. If you give it a chance,” he says. I do my best to murder him with my eyeballs and he lifts his hands in surrender. “Fine. No s*x stuff. For now, but I reserve the right to flirt with you tomorrow.”

“And I reserve the right to punch you in the face,” I mutter as I cross my arms and sit back in the musty-smelling seat.

“What was that?”

“Just go, please. I’ll feel safer and more capable once I have shoes.”

He reaches over, opening the glove compartment, exposing the weapon I shoved there before we took off. “Got it. Keep your guard up and the gun close. Be back as fast as I can.”

I want to tell him not to hurry on my account but decide playing it cool isn’t worth it. Because I do want him to hurry. I don’t like being alone in a place like this, a crowded parking lot. After so many years being exposed to only the worst parts of humanity, I dread being surrounded by people.

Not that shifters and other supernatural creatures can’t be awful—my father proved that when he sold his children into slavery—but something like the Circus of the Strange couldn’t survive catering only to supernaturals. There aren’t enough f****d up members of our community to support it.

I’m pondering why so many humans are fascinated by the darkest parts of their nature, why true crime podcasts and shows about murderers are so popular and the circus sold out every night, when it suddenly hits me that I’m a murderer now.

Several times over, in fact.

It’s been such a chaotic twenty-four hours, I haven’t had time to let that settle, but now it does, and I feel…nothing.

All the people I killed were trying to kill or imprison me, but still, I would expect to feel some kind of way about it. Anger that they’ve dragged me down to their level, maybe. Or scared that I’m going to get caught and made to pay for my crimes. But all I feel is relief that I’m still here and they’re not.

My grandmother would be so disappointed.

The thought sends a pang of regret twisting through my insides, but before I can examine it further, a raised male voice draws my attention.

I shift around, peering through the cracked back window to see an older guy standing by a van parked across the aisle. He’s yelling at a younger man slumped against the side of the vehicle. I can’t hear exactly what he’s saying, but his red face and bulging eyes make it clear he’s pissed. The younger guy lifts his shaggy brown head and says something, trying to defend himself, but the older man shoves him against the van in response.

The kid tries again—after a closer look, the young guy can’t be more than twelve or thirteen. He’s tall, but still has that chubby babyface young teenagers can’t shake. This time, the man backhands him across the jaw for his trouble.

The boy hits the ground and I reach for the door handle.

I swing out, wincing as my already bruised bare feet make contact with the cold asphalt. I’m in no shape to kick a*s or take names, but there’s a chance simply knowing someone is paying attention and wants to know if the boy is okay will be enough to make the older guy back off.

I slam the door behind me and turn, but someone is already talking to the man.

Someone with impossibly broad shoulders in a gray hoodie…

It’s Ford and whatever he’s saying, it’s enough to make the dude’s red face drain of all color. Ford reaches down, helping the kid up and resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. The kid looks like he’s fighting tears, but nods at Ford and seems to answer a question. When Ford pulls a bill from his pocket and presses it into his hand, he takes off toward the store without a backwards glance.

The older guy scowls and starts to say something, but Ford cuts him off. He moves in close, until he’s towering over the other man, giving him a taste of what it feels like to the smaller, weaker creature in a situation like that.

I can’t hear what he says, but whatever it is, after only a few seconds, it has the man scurrying back to his van.

Ford spins, heading back to the car, his brows lifting when he sees me standing by the car. “Everything all right?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Does the kid have somewhere to go?”

Ford stops by the driver’s side, staring at me over the top of the battered car. “He’s going to call his mom. He’s supposed to be spending six weeks of the summer with his dad, but that isn’t working out so…” He opens the door. “He said his mom only lives a few miles away and should be able to pick him up soon.”

“Good.” I glance over as the van pulls out too fast, nearly causing an accident as a car headed up the aisle slams on its brakes. “Great dad and great driver.”

“He was drunk,” Ford says. “I could smell it on him. That’s why we’re going to follow him and take his van, do our part to protect the community from drunk drivers.” He grins as he slides a bag across the roof toward me. “Sound good? I grabbed a couple ski masks while I was in the fish store. Gotta love places that sell outdoor gear for all seasons.”

I smile. “You really do.”

I slide back into the car, lips still curved as I pull on new socks and plain brown hiking boots that are the best thing I’ve felt in ages. I leave the jeans and t-shirt in the bag, wanting to shower before I change, but the boots are enough to banish the naked, vulnerable feeling that’s haunted me since we fled Gorey’s tent.

“You should do that more often,” Ford says as he backs out and starts after the van, tailing it at a discreet distance as the drunk idiot takes a turn too fast and his wheels send up a squeal of protest.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Smile. Your real one. It’s pretty.”

My lips flatten instantly. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Gas Station Burger.”

“Are you going to call me that every time I give you a sincere compliment?”

“No,” I say, crossing my arms. “I’ll probably shorten it to GSB. Faster and easier. So, what’s the plan at this guy’s place, GSB? We tie him up and take his van, then call in an anonymous tip to the local police in a day or two?”

“Humans can live without water for three days,” he says, pulling out onto a dark side road behind the van that leads deeper into the sprawling suburban landscape. “But since he’s been drinking and will already be dehydrated, two seems fair. Just in case he’s a better dad sober than he is wasted, we should let him live.”

“We should,” I agree. “I don’t want to become one of the bad guys.”

“We’ll only be as bad as we need to be.”

Need to be…

We didn’t need to get involved with this man or his family drama. We didn’t need to worry about a human kid in trouble, but…we did.

Ford did, without even knowing I was watching.

Maybe he really has changed.

Or maybe he’s playing a long con, doing his best to get me to drop my guard so I’ll agree to his ludicrous marriage plan.

I guess only time will tell.

Meanwhile, I hope this dickhead has some good snacks at his place. I could really go for some peanut butter pretzels or anything chocolate. And if I’m lucky, maybe feeding my sweet tooth will take my mind off other appetites I refuse to indulge, no matter how good Ford looks when he’s defending the innocent.