Alpha’s War (Bad Boy Alphas Book 7)
Alpha’s War: Chapter 2

Nash

This time of day, The Pit is mostly deserted, which is a good thing, my lion is riled up enough at the lingering smell of shifters. I let him out and prowl around the grounds. We’re far enough in a run-down industrial district that no one will see a lion pacing the perimeter of a dingy warehouse. No one comes back here but shifters, and the shifters who come here will recognize me. This is my territory. My kingdom. I let my mad lion mark his territory, slinking along the chain link fence that surrounds the parking lot, then I shift and put my clothes back on. I head inside for a drink, trying not to think of how pathetic I’ve become.

A few minutes later, a blond man steps inside, sniffing the air. At the bar, I raise my glass in invitation. He nods and steps back, allowing his companion to enter before him. A striking, young Asian woman with long dark hair approaches. She stares right at me. I meet her gaze in mild challenge. She’s a new shifter—one of the more successful creations of Dr. Smyth’s, and dominant. My lion normally would challenge her boldness, but right now he doesn’t see her as a threat. This is a meeting of allies, and he knows he’s about to get what he wants.

Sam sits. Without a word, he lays his phone on the bar, screen up. There’s a picture of a woman leaving a house, her face half shuttered behind the screen door.

My chest tightens. Denali. The room blurs, turning red.

Sam puts a finger on the screen and swipes to show me the rest. Denali headed down the drive, entering a car. Long legs in cutoff shorts, a plain white tee showcasing lean taut arms. “My contact took them this morning. Confirmed the address of the house. She seems to be living there.” Sam slides a piece of paper to me, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the picture. In every photo, there’s a serious expression on her face—not quite sad. Distant.

“Is this her?” Layne asks.

“Yes.” I replace my voice. “It’s her.” Denali. Mine, my lion roars, shaking the bars of his cage. He wants to come out and go on the hunt. Find Denali, make his claim. Mine.

Crimson clouds my vision. I blink, and everything goes black.

I raise my head, realizing I’ve been silent for a few minutes. The air is thick with tension. Layne’s eyes are shifter bright. They know I’m unhinged. Hell, I could’ve killed Sam last year when he decided the best way to enlist my aid in replaceing Dr. Smyth was to go a round in the ring with me. He brought up Denali and I partially shifted right there in the cage. Put my claws right through him. But he survived, and we got Smyth. And this is what he promised me in return—replaceing my mate.

“Sorry it took so long,” Sam says. The hair on his arms stands on end, but his voice is calm. He might not be the biggest shifter, but he’s a cool head under pressure. Unlike the rest of us. “I thought for sure we had her last time.”

My fist clenches and I have to work to relax it. “She probably moves around a lot.” She’ll be hiding like we are. Always looking over her shoulder. Never knowing if someone who wants to do more testing will show up.

“She seems to have settled. The landlady of this place wouldn’t say when she moved in or give any information about her.” Sam flicks the paper bearing the address. “But we better move fast. Layne and I can—”

“No.” I pocket the paper. “Just me. Alone.”

“With all due respect—” Sam eases off the barstool a second after me. He doesn’t try to get in my way, but he steps too close. Color explodes behind my eyes. Darkness dances at the corners, then takes over.

A second later, I come to. My hands are fisted in Sam’s shirt. I’ve slammed him against the bar. He shows his neck, a wolf’s signal of yielding. His hands go up, spread in surrender, but my lion doesn’t care. My canines ache as they grow, a growl blasting from my throat.

A second later pain explodes in my back.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” A purr in my ear, soft and sibilant. The claws in my skin flex and tighten, ten points of agony, needle sharp. “Be a good kitty and let him go.”

Wrenching hold of my lion, I release Sam’s shirt, and snarl as the claws bite deeper.

“Layne,” Sam murmurs. A half purr, half growl and the weight leaves my back abruptly. I stretch, ignoring the shriek of pain along my spine, and turn slowly. The woman stares straight at me with almond-shaped cat eyes. If she were male, my lion would want to have a round with her, even though I’m the asshole here. But I admire her strength. Her grace. And I appreciate what she and Sam are doing for me.

Still, my lion can’t stop me from posturing. “Most wouldn’t provoke the king of the beasts in his territory.”

Layne meets my challenge with a glare. Sam slips to her side and she takes his hand without breaking her gaze. Don’t threaten my mate, she seems to say. My lion grudgingly approves.

“Maybe it’s best if you do go alone, Nash.” Sam tugs Layne to the door.

As soon as they step outside, I cover my face with a hand. My forehead is clammy with effort from keep my lion on a chain. He’s violent, lashing out at friend and foe. I’m dangerous. Desperate. I’m dying, and there’s only one cure.

Denali.

The paper in my pocket nudges my palm. I crumple it and fight the rising red tide that threatens my vision. It hurts, but I push it back.

“Well, boss? You gonna get her?” Parker stands in front of me.

I didn’t realize the gang had followed me to The Pit from my house, but it figures. They’re omnipresent. “I can’t.” I force the words out, ignoring my lion’s howl of loss.

“Ya must,” Declan says at my side. “Your lion can’t hold on any longer.”

“I know.” I close my eyes. I was supposed to replace Denali, go to her. Apologize. Make sure she’s safe.

It’s too late. My lion is out of control, and I need to replace someone to kill him. To kill me.

“If someone was able to kill you, they would’ve by now,” Parker points out and I realize I spoke aloud. “You fight every day—and win. The biggest, baddest shifters, the half deranged—anyone who will step into the ring. Sometimes two at a time.”

“Ya can’t stop fighting,” Declan murmurs. “Not that I’m complaining. Business is good. Bets are up. The cops stopped sniffing around, and the Shifter Fight Club in Tucson only made us more famous.” He swirls his drink. “The Pit. Home of the King of the Beasts.”

Right. And what happens if one day my lion kills someone in the ring?

If I end up like my father, a murderer?

Aw, who am I kidding? I’ve been a murderer since the first day I shifted in the middle of an engagement in Afghanistan. I thought Smyth could help me control my lion. All he did was make it worse.

I snarl. I’m tempted to walk out, to drive to Denali’s house and tell her everything. She might forgive me, once she gets over the shock.

But I can’t. Between the flashbacks, the violence, and my lion’s insanity, I’ve built a cage stronger than any Data-X used to hold me.

Nash

Later that night, I head into the ring. The crowd cheers, but all I hear are screams. How many did I kill as a soldier? They’re here, ghostlike faces turned vicious, ready to drag me to death.

My vision goes blood red, then black.

Next thing I know, I’m in the ring and Parker signals the start of the match. The bruin turns, and his profile reminds me of one of the Data-X guards. A sadistic fuck who liked to strap down small shifters and pump them full of juice until they smoked. Snack-sized, he said.

Red. Black. The bruin falls, his face a bloody mask. The bouncers enter, drag him out. Another fighter takes his place. Young. Cocky. Like me and the other prisoners when we voluntarily entered testing, thinking we were part of a grand experiment. A master race.

“We’ll replace the best for you Nash,” Dr. Smyth said. “I’ll help you control your lion. Keep him from killing again. And then you’ll breed the master race.”

Red. Black. Another fighter in the ring. Two this time. They rush me together and their fists fall. Pain washes me clean.

I’m back strapped onto the chair, sides bruised. Mouth parched, body smoking. “Not so strong now?” the guard asks, raising the shock stick.

I roar and two startled faces blur in front of me. I reach through the red haze, grab both by the scruff of their necks and slam their skulls together. Two for one.

The crowd screams. My head rings. Declan stands in front of me, offering water.

“How many fights do I have left?”

“One more.” He sounds worried. “But you don’t need the fight. We can—”

“No.” I climb to my feet as a mean-looking fighter lumbers into the ring. My lion won’t be deprived his prey.

“We need to stop it,” Declan says to Parker, who nods. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

Parker turns and raises his megaphone. “That’s all for tonight, folks—”

The crowd boos. They want blood. I’ll give it to them.

I rise to my feet and plod to the center of the ring, the crowd’s cries washing over my bruised flesh. “Nash. Nash,” they chant. “King of the Beasts.”

My opponent turns with a mean smile. I grin back and let loose my lion.

Red. Black. Black. Black.

“Nash, stop, stop!” A grey head flashes in front of me. Parker, shouting, mouth open and wild. “You won. He’s down. Stop before you kill him.” The air is heavy with the scent of blood. My lion approves.

“You won,” Parker repeats. I try to take a step and stagger under the weight of several bouncers. Panic rises, and I thrash to throw them off. No use. The prison guards have shock sticks.

“Let him go,” Parker cries and the men release me, jumping back. But I run, claws out. I’m blind, blood streaming into my eyes. I reach the fence. It’s not electric. Someone turned the power off. This is my chance.

“Nash—” Declan is on the other side of the fence.

I raise my hands—now tipped with black claws—and swipe through the metal.

My claws tear and I howl but don’t stop until there’s a hole big enough for a lion to rush through.

Then I run. My lion is out, people are screaming, scrambling out of my way. Red claws at my eyes, black lurking in the corners, threatening. One final burst of speed and I’m outside. Falling to all fours, I let the darkness consume me.

I wake naked in the car, my mouth full of blood. I cough on the tang and almost spatter the wrinkled piece of paper lying on the dash. Denali’s address. The lion found it and put it there.

“All right. All right.”

Every inch of my body screams. My hands are swollen, bloody. Over the past few months, the shifter healing has slowed, and that can only mean one thing: I’m dying. It’s only a matter of time. It’s only a question of how many I take with me.

I can’t risk Denali. But the next time I black out, my lion might take me to her door. There’s no telling what he’d do.

He’s made it clear, if I let him die, he’ll take everyone he can down with him. I have no choice. I have to go to Denali now, when I’m in control.

I replace a change of clothes in my trunk and get dressed. I put the car in gear and drive, not sure if I’m a dying man headed for the gallows, or a cure.