Fangs of Anarchy: Forbidden Alpha (Part 4) In the Zone: A Werewolf Vampire Shifter Romance
Authors: Dakota Cassidy
Fangs of Anarchy—Forbidden Alpha—Part Four
Copyright ©2014 Dakota Cassidy
Other works by Dakota Cassidy
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Text copyright © Dakota Cassidy 2014
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Paranormal
Novels
The Accidental Series:
The Accidental
Werewolf—Book 1
Accidentally
Dead—Book 2
The Accidental
Human—Book 3
The Accidental
Demon—Book 4
Accidentally
Catty—Book 5
Accidentally Dead
Again—Book 6
The Accidental
Genie—Book 7
The Accidental
Werewolf 2: Something About Harry—Book 8
The Accidental
Dragon—Book 9 Coming February 2015
The Hell Series:
Kiss &
Hell—Book 1
My Way to
Hell—Book 2
The Wolf Mates Series:
An American Werewolf in Hoboken—Book
1
Fangs of Anarchy—Forbidden Alpha:
Part 1—
Alpha Down
Part 2—
Girl Most
Lycan
Part 3—
Were
in the
World is Gannon Dodd?
Part 4—In the
Zone
Contemporary
Novels
The Call Girls Series:
Talk This
Way—Prequel Novella
Talk Dirty to
Me—Book 1
Something to Talk
About—
Book 2
Talking
After
Midnight—Book 3
The Ex-Trophy Wives Series:
You Dropped a
Blonde on Me—Book 1
Burning Down the
Spouse—Book 2
Waltz This
Way—Book 3
Dear readers,
Please note:
Fangs of Anarchy—Forbidden Alpha Part Four—In the Zone
is the
fourth installment of a multi-part serial. If you haven’t read parts one, two
and three, you can find them here— Part 1—
Alpha Down
, Part 2—
Girl Most
Lycan
,
Part 3—
Were in the World is
Gannon
Dodd?
This is an episodic paranormal
romance with new releases approximately every two to three weeks. These
are not intended
as stand-alone reads, and there will be
cliffhangers. Not big ones. Just little ones. Swear it. So no throwing stuff at
me.
J
But
I hope you’ll look for the conclusion of
Fangs of Anarchy—Forbidden Alpha
Part Five
in the next couple of weeks!
A hand grabbed Claire from behind, clamping over her mouth
and securing her body against the hand’s owner. The hand was strong, cool, the
body firm, rigid with muscle and pressed against hers without an inch to spare
between them. Her backpack, full of her clothing and what little food she’d
been able to
buy,
fell to the ground.
Her heart crashed in her chest, her instinct to rip the son
of a bitch to shreds hindered only by the fact that she had to be very careful
not to make too much noise. She was so damn close. After three days, she was
too close to finding real evidence to screw this up.
The air, rife with sweat and darkness, the kind of evil
darkness only found in the Zone, clung to her overstimulated nostrils like
grease on a hamburger, thick and oily. The alleyway, littered with used needles
and garbage, might have choked her with its stench if not for the fact that she
had one purpose.
Get inside this damn condemned building and find the
motherfucker who’d unknowingly set her on the path to murder.
Her assailant pulled her farther into the depths of the
alley, dragging her over the strewn litter, the crunch from the soles of her
sneakers scattering disposed needles.
He pulled her so fast, so hard, she had little time to
assess what exactly he was, but
he
certainly wasn’t
human. She’d found a human or two in the filth of the Zone—those who thought it
exotic to hook up with a werewolf hooker or a succubus madam.
The thrill-seekers, the scourge of humanity, they all came
to the Zone, located in a small, locked-down portion of Quebec, to get their
perverted kicks by doing a paranormal.
So
they could
go home and slap their equally human buddies on the back as they retold the
story of having a vampire suck them off.
It made her gag when she’d discovered it wasn’t just her
kind who came to the Zone; choke on the bile that rose in her throat when she’d
discovered how valuable a clean, healthy paranormal was to some humans. Worth
thousands of dollars in some cases.
Learning that made Claire more determined to keep the
innocent as far away as possible, and in order to do that, she had to get this
big lug off her.
Just as she raised an arm to wrap around his neck, ready to
pull his head down in order to gouge his eyes out, he snatched her hand, and
whispered, “Oh, Librarian, you are a handful.
So
here’s how this is
gonna
go.
“First, I’m going to put you over my knee and give you the
spanking you so richly deserve for scaring the undead right out of me. It’ll
hurt.
But
it’ll hurt you more than it’s going to hurt
me.
And
yes, before you correct me, I meant it’ll hurt
you
more than
me.
“Second, I’m going to throw you down on any available
surface and make love to you without an ounce of mercy.
But
not before you take a shower. You smell like dead fish.” There was a sniffing
noise near her ear. “And
Funyuns
. Is that
Funyuns
? Anyway, when I’m done with you, Librarian, you’ll
never leave my side again.”
Irish.
All the fight seeped right out of her, replaced by those
stupid butterflies and relief. So much relief. Irish was here and all the fear,
every sleepless night propped up under a bridge or causeway, watching her kind
fall prey to drugs and helplessness, caught up with her.
Claire twisted around, launching herself at him, throwing
her arms around his neck and burying her face in it. “You’re here!” He was
here. She loved so much that he was here.
Instantly, Irish wrapped his arms around her, hauling her
close, pressing his lips to her forehead almost as though he were relieved,
too. “I am.
But
don’t you even think for one second
I’m going to let you distract me.
So
before I run
roughshod over you, before I give you the come-to-Jesus talk, I’m going to try
to be fair and hear you out first. I want to know what’s going on and I want to
know
now
. Do we have a deal?”
“No,” she whispered against the cool skin of his neck,
clinging tighter, thinking that he was wrong. She didn’t smell like
Funyuns
. It was stale tortilla chips. There’d definitely
been some of those in the Dumpster she’d hidden in last night while two
cracked-out men fought with their equally cracked-out dealer.
Irish unwound her arms from his neck, placing her hands on
his chest, and gave her that Irish look of reproach. “Now, now, Librarian. No
is not the answer I’m looking for.”
She pressed her cheek to his broad chest, so happy to see
him. “Remember when I asked you to trust me?” she mumbled, inhaling his scent,
reveling in his strength, needing to be near someone good, someone with
integrity.
“I do. That was three days and three nights ago, and at
least three hundred years off my life ago. You’ve gotten all the trust you’re
getting from me.”
Claire gripped the collar of his jacket. “I can’t, Irish. If
I do, bad things will happen. Please believe me.” Bad things she wouldn’t be
able to control. A race war to end all race wars.
“Bad things are going to happen if you don’t, Claire-Bear,
because I’m going to tie you to a bedpost and leave you there until you tell me
what the hell is going on. Now, I know you think I’m Mr. Pussycat these days,
and you can wrap me around your little finger with the bat of those gorgeous
eyelashes and the swish of your damn fine ass.
But
I’m
here to tell you, I deal with some downright unsavory assholes all the time.
You, infuriating lady, are cake. So,
what the hell
made you come to the Zone? Alone?”
She walked her fingers up his chest, ran one along his
granite cheek and smiled. “Do you really like my eyelashes and my ass, Irish
McConnell?”
“I’ll like them as much, if not more, tied to a bedpost.
Talk to me, Claire. Let me help you. Something—something much bigger than
you—is going on, and I want to help. You just have to let me.”
Claire swallowed hard. She wanted to share. She wanted to
see the person responsible for this snowball from hell pay. Pay hard.
But
she needed proof this thing she was hunting for, this
heinous pig she’d mutilate given half the chance, really existed. She needed
proof for council—solid, irrefutable proof.
Maybe she could tell him some of it—just a piece of it,
enough to keep him from browbeating her. She
was beaten
down enough. If Irish put the screws to her after three solid days of no food
and showers, she’d likely cave if he looked at her cross-eyed.
He held up a finger under her nose. “But wait. You smell
like the breath of a thousand rotting souls. How about we go somewhere and get
you cleaned up? Maybe some food?”
“Do you mean real food?
Or
someone’s leftover food from a garbage bin? Because I just don’t know if I can
stomach
Abuelito’s
cheesy nachos another day.” Her
stomach responded by rolling in wonky fashion.
His coal eyes went concerned. “You haven’t been eating? I
know it’s the Zone, but there are plenty of places to eat, Claire. The depraved
eat, too.”
She wrapped her arms back around his neck and sighed. “I had
limited funds, vampire. I didn’t want to use my credit card in case someone
tracked it. You know the government keeps a close eye on how and where we spend
our money. It was my estimation that Claire the Librarian frequenting an
establishment in the Zone would inspire suspicion. We, as a civilized race,
aren’t allowed
in the Zone, if you’ll recall rule number
eleventy
-billion from the government. And I only took a
little cash from the bank before I left so as not to raise eyebrows.”
Cupping her jaw, he surprised her by grinning. “You thought
of everything, didn’t you?”
She sighed, her shoulders aching from the tension of the
past three days. “Well, everything but where I’d sleep for three days…or
shower…or use the facilities.”
His chuckle was light and breezy. “Get on that bike, and
don’t give me a hard time about it, Claire Montgomery.”
She began to back away, shaking her greasy hair. “Oh, no.
I’m not leaving the Zone, Irish. I can’t. I’m close. I can feel it.”
He cracked his knuckles. “Close to what, is the question?
Are you so close now that you can’t leave?” Irish’s eyes scanned the worn brick
building, cracked and in disrepair, his gaze followed the length of it to the
top floor.
“Well, not as close as I could have been, because now you’ve
blown my cover.”
He gave her his deadpan stare. “Your cover?
Lookit
you, little Miss Alias. I could hear you from a mile
away, Claire. How do you suppose I knew where you were? How I found you? The
Zone is pretty vast. You need to work harder, ninja.”
He was right. She’d stumbled through this entire stay in The
Zone like a two-year old in her mother’s high-heels.
But
she wasn’t going to tell him that. “That’s only because you’re a vampire and
you have good nostrils.”
He pointed to the brick before crossing his arms over his
chest. “And this building doesn’t house vampires? What if the undead lives here
and they smelled you?”
Points. He had so many.
Okay, so she didn’t know what it housed. It was only a hint
of a hint from some drifter demon, but it was all she had after skulking about
the scum of the Zone and coming up dry. Of the four people she’d summoned the
nerve to talk to, four people she’d carefully scoped out by watching and
waiting, none would even entertain her when she asked about the name she’d been
given in that text. They either cringed and ran away, or clammed up.
“I don’t know what it houses, Irish. You didn’t give me time
to find out,” she hissed, frustrated with herself for not using her nose to her
advantage. She knew Irish’s scent, but she’d let fear and adrenaline overpower
common sense.
Footsteps crunched behind them, stilling their words. Her
heart jumped to her throat, clogging it with the fear of ending up caught.
Neither of them
could be caught
here. She wasn’t sure
if it would be worse to end up caught by the people who frequented the Zone,
like the rumored murderer or two in hiding, or the authorities who did sweeps
from time to time to check identifications and passports. Jail or death by
mutilation? Hmmm…
Irish put his finger to his lips as raucous male laughter
and slurred words filled the rank air in a putrid cloud of profanity.
Claire held her breath, praying whoever they
were,
they wouldn’t round the corner and find them in the
alleyway.
As the hard
thunk
of boots on
concrete grew closer, her pulse quickened. She readied her stance. She might
not look like much, but she was no slouch when it came to defending herself,
and she’d do so if pressed.
Because if the person who she thought lived in this building
really
lived in this building, and
the feet she heard belonged to him, things were going to get ugly—fast.