Rocked by her Alpha Read online

  Rocked by her Alpha

  Lyric Hounds: Book 1

  Mina Carter

  New York Times & USA TODAY Bestselling Author

  Copyright © 2017 by Mina Carter

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Also by Mina Carter

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Sifting through garwulf—werewolf guard dog—shit on a Friday night. Melody Simmons chuckled to herself. Never let it be said that she didn’t know how to party.

  In her defense though, the garwulf shit in question was at least fifth century and thankfully well fossilized. It was also the best lead she’d had in weeks that her latest dig site was onto something. If she was right, it could be the most significant find of its type in recent years, confirming the existence of werewolf clans in the area at least four hundred years earlier than previously thought.

  Better than that, the settlement they’d painstakingly uncovered on the Claremont Estate was looking more like it was a Viking werewolf settlement rather than the Anglo-Saxon one they’d expected.

  For anyone else, it would have been tomatoes, tomahtoes—a find was a find—but for a nonhuman cultural archeologist like Mel, it was gold dust. That, and if she could prove the werewolf connection, Lord Claremont, who was funding the dig, had promised the staff a bonus.

  She blew her bangs out of her face as she sorted the fossilized turds into different groups. Really, she hadn’t been sure what the guy was on when he’d offered a monetary incentive if they found evidence of werewolves. It wasn’t like they could just pull a lycanthrope presence out of thin air… she knew that some less scrupulous members of her profession might have colored the truth a little. Found evidence that “might suggest” and strung the guy along to get the money, but Mel wasn’t like that.

  Never had been. Never would be.

  Her honesty and due diligence paid dividends. A few times she’d been called in on other digs to verify her peers’ findings as correct. It seemed she was a benchmark. Which was nice, but it didn’t pay the bills. And since her car, Betty, was on her last legs, a bonus would be nice and, really, couldn’t come quickly enough.

  “…and I wanna ride…that sttttooooooorrrrrmmm!”

  Loud music blared behind her, making her jump and almost lose the tray of samples she’d just picked up. Turning to load them into the carrier, she cast an annoyed glance over at the second section of the tent behind her.

  Her research assistant, Tasha, was hunched over pot samples, her brush flicking and swishing as she carefully cleaned dirt away. Huge headphones were clamped down over her ears, but, for the fourth time today, the wireless had reset, routing the sound through the speakers on all the equipment in the dig’s main tent .

  “Tash… TASH!” She was forced to yell to get the girl’s attention, but Tash didn’t move, focused on the pot in her hands as she warbled along to whatever rock band was playing. Lyric Dogs or something, Mel had no idea. Unlike Tash, she didn’t follow the latest trends. In music or anything else. If it hadn’t been dead and buried at least two hundred years, preferably longer, she wasn’t interested. Period.

  “Oh for heaven’s sake…” Striding over, she lifted an earpiece off Tash’s head. “Switch settings, hon. You’re deafening me!”

  “Oh my god, I’m sorry!” Tash grimaced, reaching for her phone instantly. “I swear I need to send these back. The wireless is so glitchy!”

  “That’s what you get when you go for all these newfangled things.” Mel flicked a gesture at the phone / headphones combo and then patted her pocket. A small media player was clipped to it, nestled neatly next to a row of pens, the in-ear headphones looped around her neck ready for when she needed them.

  “Yeah, well,” Tash shot back with a grin, “some of us don’t just work with the past, we live in the past… Wired headphones? Com’on, that’s positively back in the Dark Ages!”

  Mel chuckled as she turned back to her own table, the racket cutting off abruptly as Tash reset the link and it routed back solely through her headset. Dark Ages, really? When she’d been Tasha’s age, they’d only had…

  Yeah, right, and that was enough of that. She wasn’t that much older than Tasha, only around ten years. But, hell did it feel like a lifetime sometimes. Especially in a chilly tent with the damp creeping into her bones. She eyed the pile of trays to go through. One more and then she’d bag up and head to the hotel, perhaps call her brother, Barrett. A personal protection specialist, he’d been traveling to a new assignment today, and…

  She checked her watch. Yes, he should have arrived by now so his cell would be back on. If she was lucky, she might grab a five-minute conversation with him before he had to rush off.

  Pulling another tray toward her, she set about studying another section of dirt. More shit. Great. But, if she was right, some of this would yield the evidence she needed. Because of the shape-shifting nature of lycanthropes, it was difficult to work out when a village or settlement was actually a werewolf one.

  The best, and most reliable, way was if there was evidence of garwulf . Like werewolves, they shifted form, to something almost humanoid but not. The stories said they were originally the reverse of a werewolf—a wolf who turned into a man—but over the years they’d degenerated until their shifted form was something far more animalistic.

  Whatever, she didn’t know about the ins and outs of genetic devolution. All that mattered to Mel was that werewolf shit looked like plain old humanity’s while garwulf shit… that she could identify without a shadow of a doubt.

  Carefully breaking apart a clump of dirt, she grinned, her eyes already picking out the telltale markers she was looking for.

  “Yes!” she breathed, unable to resist a little fist pump. Undignified for a doctor but she didn’t care. Looked like Betty was getting her new tires for the winter.

  “That looks promising,” a voice announced from the entrance of the tent.

  She looked up as Lord Claremont, Dustin as he’d told her many times to call him, ducked through the semi-open flap. Average height with a softness around the midriff that spoke of easy living, the fluffy tuft of blond hair on the top of his head reminded her of a baby chick. Not that she’d ever dare tell him that. She’d needed this job before she realized what was here. Now… she wanted to see it through to the end and dig up whatever secrets were still buried.

  If she was lucky, she might even prove there had been a Viking werewolf king present in the British Isles…

  “Yes, very promising,” she replied with a smile, her find still in her gloved hands. Carefully, she sectioned it off from the rest and put it in its own box. “It needs verification, but I’m fairly certain we’ve found garwulf droppings.”

  “Really?” Dustin’s hopeful but blank look told her he had no idea what she meant.

  “They’re really rare now,” she explained. “They’re bigger than natural wolves, but not as big as weres in their animal forms. Werewolf packs used them as companions and like we would guard dogs. Usually, only the bigger packs though. From what we know, they were a marker of rank and social status. So the more garwulf a pack had, the more influential it was.”

  “Oh?” Dustin’s eyes lit up. “So, could we be looking at something, or someone…m
ore important?”

  She shrugged a little. “Hard to say at the moment because it could be the presence of a lone garwulf, but if there were a lot, then yes, definitely. From the size of the settlement and the preliminary survey, we could be looking at an Alpha Chief.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she had to bite back a grimace. A look of glee crossed Dustin’s face. The moment she’d met him it had been apparent the guy had a hard-on to prove that the Claremont line was descended from werewolves. Obviously it wasn’t enough to be the landed gentry . He wanted paranormal blood as well.

  “Of course,” he said, his dry, slightly nasal voice so archetypal of the British upper class that Mel suspected they must clone them somewhere. “I’d always had my suspicions. The Claremont line have always been that little bit…you know…more than even the other nobility. An Alpha Chief… that’s like werewolf royalty, isn’t it? That would explain everything.”

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It seemed everyone wanted to be descended from something these days—be it werewolves, gargoyles or the fae. No one was content to be plain old human anymore. Why, she had no clue. She had the markers for werewolf ancestry in her blood, but all it had ever given her was problems donating.

  “Well, werewolves didn’t have royalty as such, not truly. An alpha’s line could be considered royalty, so females were often considered pack princesses, but an Alpha Chief was something different. He, or she,” she couldn’t help sliding in, “was the most powerful of the alphas, the one the others all swore fealty to.”

  “Uh-huh. Yes, that makes complete sense.” Dustin nodded, but his eyes were a little glazed over. Obviously, her words were just adding fuel to the fires of his imagination so she gave up.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I want to get this,” she tapped the box in her hands meaningfully and packed it into her carrier, “off to the labs for testing. Once the results are back, I’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” Instantly, Dustin stepped back. “The sooner the better.”

  “Thanks. You have a great weekend.”

  With a smile she hurried past him, carrier looped over her shoulder, and headed out of the tent to Betty.

  Safely tucked away in her hotel room with her laptop open, Mel flicked through specimen images taken in the lab earlier while on the phone to her cousin and best friend, Tiffany.

  “A one-night stand?” A flush blossomed over Mel’s cheeks. “Wait. You mean like…I have to have sex with the guy? No way!”

  Tucking her cell between her jaw and shoulder, she carried on flicking through images, starring any she thought were promising to further her werewolf pack theory. Anything to keep her hands busy during the uncomfortable conversation with Tiff. A totally unsolicited conversation.

  “Yes, Mel. I mean ‘as in sex.’ The horizontal tango. Doing the dirty. Knocking boots. Whatever name you want to call it.” Tiff chuckled, amusement in her voice. “I’m not surprised that you can’t remember. It’s been what…two years since you last had a date?”

  Mel crossed her eyes. Just like Tiff to mention that. She knew what a disaster Mel’s last relationship had turned out to be. A pro-football player, turned out he was more interested in breasts than brains and had ditched Mel and her doctorate for a cheerleader with some very visual credentials.

  “Yeah, well. Plenty more fish in the sea,” she grumbled, keeping her voice noncommittal.

  “To catch them though, love, you need to be in the sea with a bloody net. Not avoiding the water like you’ve just seen Jaws.”

  Temptation got the better of her. She hummed the theme tune from the film. “Duurrr…duh. Duurrr…duh…Durrr…duh… durduhdurduhdurduh.”

  “Melody Jane Simmons! Will you be sensible for a moment?”

  Uh-oh. My full name. That meant trouble.

  “Sensible? You’re one to talk, Tiffany Jean Simmons.” She threw Tiff’s hated full name back at her. “You’ve not exactly been out there with your line in the water, have you?”

  “Pffft, with this ass? Public service, darling. Gotta let the other girls have a shot, now don’t I?”

  There was the sound of gum smacking from the other end of the line and Mel smiled. Born within months of each other, she and Tiff couldn’t have been more different. Whereas Mel had always been quiet and studious, pursuing her passion for archeology until she had a string of letters after her name, Tiffany had let her hands do all the talking. An interest in fashion and an old sewing machine had taken her from a job at a fashion house to her own line. A small one, admittedly, but she was gaining ground slowly.

  “Yeah, but sex? That sounds like… well…” She dropped her voice, flicking a glance to the closed door of her room. Why, she didn’t know. It wasn’t like anyone would be hovering outside to eavesdrop on her conversation. “Prostitution.”

  Tiff’s answer was a bark of laughter. “Hon, believe me, you are so not hooker material. And no, it’s not like that at all. The one-night stand thing? It’s just a marketing angle. You’re not expected to sleep with the guy. Although… it is an overnight date.”

  “Huh?” Mel blinked. “What do you mean ‘overnight date’?”

  “As in, the service expects that you’ll probably be drinking so a hotel room, one for each of you,” Tiff added loudly as Mel objected, “is included in the price.”

  Shit. A hotel room. She knew Tiff couldn’t afford that.

  “I appreciate it… but that’s too much. You shouldn’t spend that on me, not even for my birthday present.”

  “Wellll… it was late.” Tiff laughed. “I know, I know, as usual. And don’t worry, I kinda got it in a deal…”

  That worried Mel even more. “Define ‘deal,’ young lady!”

  “Nothing weird. I promise. I just…may have signed Barr and myself up as well.”

  At her brother’s name, Mel went still. A war veteran, Barr had come home from his tours injured, but in one piece. Not whole though. He’d left part of his soul out there on the sands where many of his squad had died…where his lover, Sax, had died…and brought back nightmares in its place. A medical discharge had forced him to leave the only job he knew—one he couldn’t do anymore. Within weeks, his whole life had changed and he hadn’t been the same since.

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?” she asked quietly, knowing her cousin would do nothing to hurt Barrett. Not in any way, shape or form.

  Tiff’s voice was solemn as she answered. “I think it will be good for him, yeah. Not meet another woman and fall head over heels in love kind of good, but hook up, shag like bunnies good. First step of healing and all that, you know?”

  “Yeah.” Mel nodded and sighed. “So tell me more about this one-night stand thing.”

  “Well,” Tiff’s voice was bright and breezy again. “I thought at least one of us should break this drought we’re in, so when a friend of mine mentioned this service…I checked it out and thought it sounded perfect. You should be getting a parcel delivered to you shortly. Me? I’d have had you kidnapped and taken to the hotel, but the lady I booked with was most insistent that you have all the details and be totally comfortable with everything before you left.”

  “I like her already.” Mel decided on the spot to make all the right noises of agreement to Tiff’s madcap scheme. With how batshit crazy the woman was, she would be more than capable of carrying out her threat. “When does this parcel arrive?”

  Her laptop pinged, the chirpy “you’ve got mail” sound invading the silence of the room.

  “I believe it just did. Lacey said with the late booking she would send everything over via email rather than snail mail. Read, do as you’re told, and enjoy,” Tiff ordered, doing her best impression of Barr’s “officer in command” voice.

  Mel smirked and snapped a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am!”

  Tiff chuckled. “Read the email. And Mel?”

  “Yes, hon?”

  “Chance meetings. You never know
.”

  She held the phone to her ear long after Tiffany cut the connection. Chance meetings. Since they were kids, that’s what they’d always called the good things that happened to them. A chance meeting for her parents had led to a lifelong love that never left their children feeling left out. A chance meeting with her aunt and uncle had led to Tiffany spending the day with them rather than being in the car accident that had killed both her parents.

  Barrett had called Saxon his chance meeting and had planned to ask her to marry him. Before… Mel shook her head and set the phone on the counter without a sound before turning to the PC. She’d gotten the message.

  Live. Enjoy life. Take a chance. Love, if only for a night.

  Because the world could change in a heartbeat.

  Chapter 2

  “…and I wanna ride…that sttttooooooorrrrrmmm!”

  Aaron belted the last line of the song, cradling the microphone and dragging out the final note to make it his bitch with the kind of lung power human singers could only dream of.

  The music built and crashed to a close, the stage lights snapping off, leaving a single beam that highlighted him in bright white to rival the moon above the stadium. At the last moment, he spread his arms wide, threw his head back, and turned the word into a howl. He let rip with his wolf side, arching his spine as his damp hair slid off his shoulders.

  The eerie sound echoed around the packed stadium, the note dying away to leave silence. For a perfect moment he stood, eyes closed, body slick with sweat, and savored the silence.

  A packed silence. A loaded silence. Silence that rang with the energy he and the band had expended on stage. Rang with need and lust and sex and wildness; all the things the Lyric Hounds, the most famous werewolf band…shit, the most famous band ever…were known for.