Claimed by the Alpha

Her hair was black and thick, glossed with a pretty sheen like a raven’s wing. His fingers already itched to be tangled in it at the nape of her neck, tilting her head back for his kiss. Those red velveteen lips would part with a shuddering exhale, she’d taste like sugar and rain. The ethereal glow unique to Gypsy blood made her flesh look like pristine, white silk and he knew it would be just as soft.

There was an aura of strength about her, though. For all of her softness, the lushness of her body, there was steel in her bones. The mark of the Abyss, the trial she’d faced to become a Guild cop. Necromancers ripped a hole in the world and cadets were flung back into the vast primordial darkness that spawned them all, a place that was equivalent to the mortal Hell. They had to fight their way back. Most failed, but those who succeeded were forever changed. A necessary thing to do the job required of them. It pleased him to sense such power in her. She’d need it to be mated to him. The mark of her people flashed with magical life on the back of her neck.

Obviously intelligent, highly educated, his mate collected samples from the dead man like a forensic tech—inspecting and labeling each item before filing it in its proper place inside a small, leather case she carried with her. Underneath her scent rippled sour currents of fear. She was afraid, but she did what was required of her anyway.

It was inherently wrong that his mate should ever know a single moment of fear. Fury ratcheted up another notch, like mercury in a thermometer.

It will be you she fears if you don’t control yourself.

The mark of her people flashed with magical life on the back of her neck and a string of profanity longer than the village charter flared just under his breath.

This cop wasn’t just any Guild. She wasn’t just any Gypsy.

She was Zoranna’s granddaughter.

In the same way that he was the Alpha of Alphas, the Adam of his kind—Zoranna was the Eve of Gypsies. There was no way she’d allow her granddaughter to be claimed by a wolf. Not even Luka.

Her daughter had been murdered by her wolf lover.

Luka’s ears perked to the chorus of unnatural howls still too far away for anyone to hear but him.

The beasts were coming.

And they were hungry.

Chapter Two

Blood never bothered Marijka Zolinski.

It was an intrinsic part of her culture, of stories handed down from Baba Zoranna around a crackling orange fire as it climbed high into the chill night air. A common thread to bind the secret ingredients of spells, curses and wise-woman cures. Blood could stain the ground for all eternity with a rage that anchored the past to the future. Or it could wipe the slate clean, a crimson blessing to wash away sins of the fathers.

No, blood was simply a tool. Like sage, a packet of peacock feathers, or a sacred stone pried from deep within the earth.

She could handle blood. Even if it belonged to her partner, Evan Van Brunt.

Evan had been out of contact for four days. Marijka had accepted he was dead after day one. Guild members lived hard and fast—their flames burned hot, but were extinguished quickly.

And horribly.

By even being at the scene, Marijka broke standard operating procedure, but she was the only Guild officer within two days of travel, and two days was much too long with the full moon occurring tomorrow night. Evan’s body had to be processed before then, or by the Guild’s treaty with the Aeternali, he’d be cursed.

Before his disappearance, he’d forwarded her recon he’d done in Nuremberg, evidence of a village outside of Ostrava where the villagers all suffered from a derivative of Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. At first, he’d thought it was Kuru, another form of spongiform encephalopathy—a disease that turned brain matter “spongy” with holes, contracted through cannibalism, but the protein behavior was different. Something similar to undead proteins; the Zombie Virus. Because the villagers were still walking around, functioning. Kuru and CJD were both fatal.

All thoughts of scientific study died when she’d first seen Evan.

The first thing she’d noticed was the stark, white pieces of his skull. The rest of his body had been ravaged—torn apart by animals with unnatural jaws and teeth. His chest cavity had been cracked open, his body gutted from throat to belly. His organs were gone.

Eaten.

Just as her mother’s body had been on that January night so long ago. She fought against the rising tide of memory that was never more than a breath away from her awareness. Marijka breathed in deep, the eucalyptus from the Vicks VapoRub she’d put on comforting her. It calmed her, soothed away the terrors as much as it blocked the stench of decayed and rotting flesh.

Marijka’s gaze was drawn unwillingly up to where Evan’s eyes were wide open and the terror of his last moment was still painted on what was left of his face. She didn’t want to look, afraid she’d see her own terror reflected there.

And it was, but not as she’d feared. It was the loss of him, her own inadequacies—the intrinsic knowing she should have done more for this man who’d been her partner for the last five years. He’d been her partner, her friend, her family—like a brother. Unheard for an outsider—one who was not Gypsy.

He’d died alone, in agony and terror.

Unshriven.

“Damn it, Van Brunt,” she cried in a broken whisper. “Why didn’t you wait for me?” Marijka brushed a finger down his ruined cheek. It was the only goodbye she’d give. From here on out, it had to be about the job or she wouldn’t do him or the Guild any good.

She swallowed hard, choked back her bile and looked at him again with the eye of a Gypsy wise woman and then again as the forensics expert she’d become. Some of his wounds healed as she watched. Whatever this was, she couldn’t let him rise.

“Ma’am?” A hard-edged voice startled her from her thoughts.

Shit. She had to be more aware of her surroundings. She fumbled with the samples she’d been collecting and managed to stow them in her bag before she dropped them.

Marijka looked up at the intruder. He was big, like most supernatural males. Marijka couldn’t pin down what race, but he was obviously a leader from the way he carried himself. The yellow illumination of the streetlamp washed over him, accentuating the gold of his hair and the hard planes of his face. His mouth was set in a grim slash and she found his rugged appearance beautiful—like she did the Pyrenees. Harsh, brutal and immovable. His eyes were what captured her—the deep blue-black depths were like the sea off the northern coast of Ireland. Just as cold and black—and they pulled her down into the frigid dark...pierced her, probed her deepest secrets. Held her in thrall.

Oh, hell no. She erected her mental shields and Marijka pushed back with her own power, ejected him from her consciousness with the force of an army. Those icy eyes widened, but then slanted with surprised pleasure.

“Guild?” he asked, not bothering to apologize for the intrusion.

“Officer Marijka Zolinski. You?”

“Luka Stanislav. Aeternali consultant.”

“The Aeternali is consulting on this?”

He appraised her coolly. “I’m a regular on scene. In this part of the world, any death that’s not obviously human-on-human requires a consultant. Things they would openly mock in the States are accepted here. Like processing his body in accordance with the treaty.”

Marijka knew plenty about what the locals believed. She’d grown up in a Gypsy caravan traveling the world in an enchanted vardo—a traditional horse-drawn wagon much like a camper. She’d been all over Europe, from the open steppes of Russia to dark forgotten villages in France. And she’d never seen a consultant on any murder she’d investigated. She’d let him sell her that bridge to nowhere, though—it suited her needs to keep him in the dark about her skills. At least until he accessed the Aeternali database. She had to find out who he really was and what he knew about the deaths and the strange virus Evan had talked about.

He was good; she’d give him that. So she made a point of keeping her attention on her job. On what she had to do to keep Evan from the curse. He was a master of manipulation, this Luka. She wouldn’t let him get away with it, though. Marijka had questions and knew he could answer them.

“Since you’re familiar with the practice, maybe you could give me a hand?” She raised a brow.

“Full moon isn’t until tomorrow.”

Marijka debated how much to reveal. “He’s been infected with something unknown. Regeneration is happening fast. Faster than what I’ve seen even with the Zombie Virus.”

“You worried about the ceremony or just getting it done?” Stanislav asked in a brusque tone.

“Getting it done.” It was what Evan would want. He’d never been much on ceremony or tradition. He’d been tapping his foot and inching toward the door with the last Guild member they’d processed together.

The consultant produced a small, black bottle from the folds of his long overcoat and removed the stopper. He splashed what appeared to be oil on Evan’s body with three flicks of his wrist. Supernatural fire incinerated flesh, blood and bone, reaching out in a hungry spiral to destroy any trace of Evan Van Brunt.

A lone wolf howled, his song echoing around them.