Alpha Mate: BBW Paranormal Shifter Romance (6 page)

Lucas gritted his teeth.

He was an assessor on the field. That was a duo of
trainees who had endured and survived the grueling basic and advanced
training, and was so close to graduating. Would he be the one to
disqualify them, and have them fail the Final test through his own
possessive meddling?

Funny. Possessive and meddling had never been words
associated with him. He was anything but. Cool and detached. Aloof
and inscrutable. Those were the words most frequently associated
with him.

Cursing, he stabbed the button on his watch.

“
Yes,” Jett's voice crackled with static.

“
Jett. The rookie team split up. I'm going after
the human. You have to shadow the vamp. She's headed down
Sixty-eighth Street, in chase of a demon!”

“
Yes, Alpha!”

Lucas clicked off, and sprinted after Charlotte. A
waiter balancing a tray laden with food and drink came barreling out
of a cafe, stumbling straight into his path. As the tray flew out of
the waiter's hands, Lucas twisted to the side in a flash, narrowly
missing the shower of chips, dips and sips. Screams and curses
erupted in Lucas's wake, but he didn't stay for the mayhem and the
mess.

The overpowering smells of corn chips, salsa sauce and
latte almost drowned out the scent of his mate and the rogue shifter.
He straightened up, his eyes darting furiously through the crowd.

Charlotte and the rogue shifter were nowhere to be seen.

He fought the urge to shift into wolf right there and
then. In wolf form, his senses were sharper, fiercer, more feral.
But a little spilled food and drink already had the civilian humans
and paranormals screaming and swearing like it was the end of the
world. The appearance of a large wolf would just add to the chaos
and attract more rogues out of the woodwork to take advantage of the
mayhem and snare more panicking victims without anyone noticing.

In the distance, he could hear sirens blaring.

Someone had called the police.

But the New Moon City Police Department was staffed
entirely by humans. And they weren't selected and trained by the
PAC. They policed the city, investigated and solved crimes, and
apprehended your run of the mill criminals. Granted, some of these
criminals were not so run of the mill. Some were dangerous
psychopaths and serial killers. But even their most hardened and
violent killers couldn't compare with the rogues.

Rogues were in a league of their own.

And his mate was going after one of these—what did
she call them?—monsters.

Where was she?

Shaking his senses clear of the cloying smell of sweat,
alcohol, spice, and flavored blood from the blood bars, he tried in
vain to scent his mate again.

How could she have run so fast?

She went through the training program, you idiot.
She made it through the basic and advanced levels. She's a fighter,
an Enforcer. She's no sitting duck.

Of course not. But...what if she got hurt?

His claws and fangs lengthened at the thought.

He would never allow that.

An animal roar tore from his human throat, and he knew
that glowing wolf eyes were now staring out of his human face. His
beast was very near the surface, clawing and striving for release.
His animal instincts and hunger were flaring and just about to burn
out of control.

Both wolf and man would never allow his mate to be hurt.
But his wolf would kill first, and kill without compunction and
conscience. His wolf would simply kill anyone who threatened his
mate, or caused his mate to be in danger. And that included the
rogue's human victim, which the rogue shifter had been hauling over
his shoulder like a sack of potatoes as he loped down the street.

His wolf might not distinguish between the rogue and its
human victim. To his wolf, the human was the cause. The hapless
human had caused his mate to be in danger, and so should be killed.
Human or rogue—it didn't matter to his wolf.

Whoever put his mate in danger would be taken out.

The brain of the beast saw everything in black, white
and red.

If only everything was so simple.

Charlotte turned and saw Bryn take off after the rogue
demon. The slim, petite vampire bulldozed her way through the throng
of revelers, almost mowing down a group of beer-guzzling, burly men
who all looked like linebackers. Some reeled back and whistled at
the pretty vampire as she sprinted past. Charlotte almost rolled her
eyes.
Men.

She frowned, realizing that she never saw men as
men
anymore. There was just no attraction or desire. Sure she had
dated, but that was before she woke up in that hospital. Was it that
Potion of Promise that the witch doctor had poured down her throat?
Did the Potion also promise celibacy?

Charlotte shivered, but it wasn't from cold or
revulsion. No sex, no desire, no dates were good in her case. She
had no time or energy for anything other than training. The training
for Enforcers was not for the faint-hearted. Those with weak bodies
and minds shouldn't bother applying to the training program.
Charlotte had signed up to be an Enforcer immediately upon her
discharge from the hospital. It had been both her choice, and not
her choice. After what happened to Charlene, she was seething with
pent up frustration and hatred. Frustration that she hadn't been
able to save her sister, and hatred for the monsters that still
prowled the streets, infesting the city and killing innocent victims.
But at the same time, she had no choice. She had to be an Enforcer.
That was the Promise she gave, in exchange for this life. She would
kill these monsters, and avenge Charlene. It had taken her almost a
year to reach this stage, a year of sore, aching muscles, fractured
bones, torn ligaments and sheer, steely stubbornness.

“
You're not going to escape,” she snarled at
the rogue wolf who was fast disappearing into the distance. Her feet
pounded the pavement even harder, but she was beginning to pant. Her
training had vastly increased her speed and stamina, and the Potion
had also given her a leg up, so to speak. She had left the hospital
feeling revived and renewed. She felt stronger and fitter. She
hadn't lost any weight though. Her body was still round and curvy,
and she knew that no matter how she exercised, or trained, or
dieted—not that she was inclined to deprive herself of
anything, she would never have that same stick-thin figure as Bryn.
Bryn had complained that no matter how much she ate, she was still
going to have to wear push-ups. “Nothing will make these
puppies grow bigger, save plastic surgery and body spell. And I am
not going to a witch for a body spell.” Bryn had made a face
as she sank her fangs into a bloody burger and slurped her O positive
flavored milk shake with extra cream.

Legs and arms pumping hard, Charlotte snapped her focus
back to the rogue she was chasing. The rogue wolf had a drunk, blond
woman over his shoulder, who was hiccuping and giggling inanely in
the face of death. She had even started to sing, waving her hands
in the air to keep time. Charlotte tightened her grip on her silver
dagger. She had to bury the blade into the werewolf's heart before
he killed the woman.

A sudden commotion behind her made her turn her head to
the side. From her peripheral vision, she saw a small, stuttering
waiter skidding and slamming into a towering wall of a man.
Charlotte let out a gasp.

That man was...gorgeous. He was a towering, glowering,
tanned male with dark brown hair and hazel eyes which suddenly
flashed golden when he looked up and pinned her with his gaze. His
gaze was scorching, fierce, angry. His features were chiseled, and
his handsome face was all hard angles and lines. He was wearing a
black shirt and black jeans, and as he moved she could see those
broad, muscular shoulders ripple under his shirt. Charlotte blinked
as he thundered towards her, his gaze intense and possessive. He
looked like he wanted to...take her.

She stumbled as a jolt of adrenaline and panic shot
through her.

Why was a smoking hot male coming after her?

And why did that make her tingle all over, especially in
all her female bits?

Her panties were wet. She could feel the moisture
pooling between her thighs.

Shit.

She was chasing a rogue through New Moon City in soaking
wet undies.

What the...?

The instant their eyes clashed, his eyes had turned
golden, smoldering with fire and desire. And her body had come
alive, just from his one look. If he kept on looking and coming at
her, she was going to spontaneously orgasm right in the middle of the
street, in the middle of a chase.

She hadn't felt any sexual stirrings or urges since she
made that Promise. She had promised to hunt rogues, and her body and
mind had been honed and sharpened to lethal perfection. She was a
killing machine. Not a woman, at least not for the longest time.

She wasn't going to over-think this. She couldn't
afford to.

She had to get away from him. Period. He was trouble.
He was all male, all hunger, all sex, wrapped up in a tall, dark and
deadly package. And judging from the bulge in his pants, his package
was pretty impressive too.

Eyes on the prize, Charlotte.

She couldn't afford to be distracted. She had a job to
do, a Final test to ace. The rookies had been told that their
performance on their first patrol would be reviewed through
surveillance images and some eye-witness accounts. That eye in the
sky could be anywhere. On lampposts, street signs, traffic lights,
everything was connected.

And if her trainers saw her ogling her sexy stalker
instead of trying to lose him and concentrate on snaring her target,
she was going to fail her Finals. But according to Bryn, who had
heard it from another rookie, the eye in the sky was just an urban
myth. They were being assessed not through the surveillance cameras,
but in some other way. What that other way was, Bryn didn't say.

As corn chips were launched like shrapnel from the
hapless waiter's spinning tray and coffee rained down on shrieking
customers, that sinful specimen of a man simply twisted cleanly out
of the way and kept coming towards her. There was not a single drop
of sauce or coffee on him as he continued his chase without even
slowing down a beat.

He moved with animal grace and speed, his golden eyes
locked on her.

She gulped.

He wants...me.

The hunter had become the hunted.

Charlotte's palms suddenly became cold and clammy as she
turned and ran, for her life and for the life of that blond woman,
whose warbling singing she could still hear in the distance.

For once, she was thankful for that singing. It was
like a beacon, drawing her to her target, and reminding her of what
was really at stake.

Not her sanity.

Not her freakin' libido, which had chosen the worst time
to wake up and ride her.

She cursed her own traitorous body as she ran harder.
The friction of her leather pants, rubbing against the inside of her
thighs as she ran, made her groan and every bounce of her heavy
breasts made her aching nipples rub wantonly against her bra.

She was one horny hunter all right.

And her humiliation would be complete if she let the
target get away.

With her heart thundering in her ears, Charlotte wiped
her sweaty palms down her coat. She clenched her jaw and her fists.

Lose the tail. Catch the target.

She could do that.

She was gaining on the rogue wolf when he turned a
corner suddenly and vanished from her view. Charlotte swore under
her breath and frantically pushed people out of her way, not
bothering to slow down and apologize. Swatting away exclamations and
expletives, she turned the corner at a run and stared into the
shadows.

Where was that rogue? And the woman?

The back of her neck began to prickle, and she knew that
he hadn't gone far. She could sense the tension, the danger, hanging
heavily in the air. Time swayed ponderously like a noose over her
head, her hammering heartbeats measuring the passing seconds.

A scream erupted from the end of the street. A woman's
terrified, agonized scream.

No!

Charlotte jerked into action. The scream had come from
the large, abandoned warehouse sitting at the very end of the street.
It was a rambling, old building, awaiting demolition. There was a
rusty wire-mesh fence surrounding the warehouse, and a lopsided gate
which was padlocked. Charlotte pulled out her dagger and sliced at
the lock. The old, rusty lock fell apart, dropping to the ground
with a clang. She slammed through the gate, and raced for the broken
entrance of the warehouse. The woman's high-pitched screams were now
interlaced with sobs and whimpered pleas. The rogue had not killed
her outright. He probably wanted to hear her beg, see the stark
terror and fading hope in her eyes, feel the final desperate beats of
her heart before he ripped her heart out of her chest.