Fangs of Anarchy - Forbidden Alpha (Part 2) Girl Most Lycan: A Werewolf Vampire Shifter Romance
Authors: Dakota Cassidy
Fangs of Anarchy—Forbidden Alpha
Part 2—Girl Most
Lycan
Copyright ©2014 Dakota Cassidy
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reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
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trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be
the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There
is no implied endorsement from the author of this work.
Copyright © Dakota Cassidy 2014 All
Right Reserve
Cover Art:
Renee George
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 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
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 Two—Girl Most
Lycan
is
the second installment of a multi-part serial. If you haven’t read book one,
please read it first:
Fangs
of Anarchy—Forbidden Alpha
Part 1—Alpha Down
.
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
Fangs of
Anarchy—Forbidden Alpha
Part Three
—
Were
in the World is Gannon Dodd
coming
soon!
Six
The silence in the library was deafening. No one moved. Not
a single Road Dog breathed, but their eyes zeroed in on Irish and Claire,
narrowed with ugly suspicion.
The stench of alcohol was rife amongst the Dogs, invading
her nose with the putrid mix of booze and sweat.
Irish’s gaze locked with Courtland’s while the werewolf
processed Irish’s admission.
Do not pass out,
Claire. Do. Not
. She fought the urge to allow the black void of
unconsciousness to swallow her up, the aching throb in her temple an incessant
pounding. She gripped Irish’s arm as he faced off with Courtland. “Stop, Irish!”
she managed, swaying on buttery knees, her head light.
Claire took a long, ragged breath, focusing on inner
healing, forcing herself to hurry the process along so she remained coherent
enough to keep Irish from confessing to something he didn’t do.
As her head began to clear, Claire remained between the two
men, moving her hand to Irish’s chest and appealing to Courtland, hoping her
voice didn’t tremble. “He’s lying. All vampires are liars. You know that,
Courtland. You say it all the time.
I
killed your vile, piece-of-shit brother.” She held out her hands, wrists turned
up, without even a second thought. “So lock me up and throw away the key.”
Courtland looked at them both, his eyes darting between
Irish and Claire’s faces. “What the hell kind of bullshit is this? Is this some
kind of trick?”
Irish shoved her around him, wrapping an arm behind his body
to hold her firmly against his back. “She’s lying. I killed your brother.”
Claire dug into his back, using her knuckle to drive between
his shoulder blades. Standing on tiptoe, she whispered in his ear. “Um,
vampire?”
“Yes, werewolf?” Irish said out of the side of his mouth,
his eyes still pinned on Courtland.
“This was not part of the plan.
Ixnay
on taking the
ame-blay
.”
“The
what-ay
?”
“Don’t you know pig Latin?”
“No. But I do speak Russian and French. A little Italian.
Very little Spanish and some Vietnamese. Though, the last time I spoke
Vietnamese, I ended up in a rice paddy with someone named Miss Precious-Lou.
Don’t want to freak you out with details, but let’s just leave it at it’s been
twenty years and I’m still afraid of rice paddies.” He mock shuddered,
amusement in his coal eyes.
Claire yanked on his ponytail, jerking his head back. “In
the immortal words of you—not a time to joke. I won’t let you do this, Irish,”
she whispered in his ear with a hiss. “What about Hadley? Didn’t you just give
me that whole speech about her safety?”
“Yep. And then I remembered you’d be much better at child
rearing. There’s no rule that says
a were
can’t
raise
a vampire. Just that we can’t mate
with one another. She needs a woman in her life, and I need some rest. Do you
have any idea the kind of garbage she listens to on Pandora? And let’s not
forget the makeup she wants to wear or the clothes she seems to always need
even though she hasn’t changed a size in five years. The teenager-in-perpetuity
thing is exhausting since we
age
so slowly. Jail
would probably be a lot less tiring. Anyway, I’ve been thinking, she needs a
solid female influence. Tag, you’re it.”
“A murderer is hardly a solid influence, Irish.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Wouldn’t you be a murderess,
Librarian? You know, you being a female and all? And okay, so there’s a blight
on your squeaky-clean record. It’s just one. We all make mistakes. Some bigger
than others.”
A quick glimpse at Courtland and the Dogs and the utter
confusion on their faces as she and Irish argued made Claire roll her eyes and
yank harder on his hair, giving it a good jerk until his neck arched and he
winced from the angle. “You won’t just end up in the clink, Dracula. They’ll
kill
you, Irish. Knock
if
off.”
“Or?”
Dragging him backward by his hair, she gave him a good shove
and turned back to face a stunned Courtland. “I killed Gannon. You said you had
a witness, right? Case closed. So let’s get this over with. Do whatever it is
you do with alpha-murdering werewolves, and let’s be done.”
Irish stepped back in front of her, pushing her aside once
more. “Your witness is wrong, not to mention blind. It was me. Now giddy-up,
pardner
.” Irish turned, putting his hands behind his back to
indicate his submission to Courtland, but only after he winked at her and
smiled.
Claire narrowed her eyes just before shoving him out of the
way with an elbow to his ribs, smiling in satisfaction when she heard Irish
grunt. “If your witness says he saw me, don’t you at least have to question me,
Courtland? What kind of show are you running here, amateur? Gannon’s dead. That
leaves you as alpha in charge, and it’s your responsibility to check out any
and all leads. I’d say a witness is a pretty big one, wouldn’t you? So, pony
up,
alpha
,” she taunted, knowing full
well it would get his goat.
His sibling rivalry with Gannon was legendary amongst the
pack. Courtland had always looked up to Gannon as some sort of bizarre mentor,
only to hate him for the mentoring.
As if on cue, Courtland leaned in, his upper lip covered in
a film of perspiration, his face red with rage. “Is my brother’s death a joke
to you two?”
Claire let her eyes go wide with mock horror. “Hah! Don’t be
such a goose. I didn’t laugh at the time, if that’s what you’re asking. I mean,
there was a lot of blood. He ruined a perfectly nice dress and a pair of shoes,
he bled so much. Believe you me, I was not laughing.”
“
Claire
…” Irish
warned, his voice gravelly and sinister.
She flapped a hand over her shoulder in Irish’s general
direction. “And don’t listen to Doom and Gloom. He’s delusional. I killed
Gannon, and I can prove it.”
Courtland’s meaty paws grabbed the front of her dress,
yanking her up until her feet dangled. “I’ll kill you, you stupid fucking cunt!”
Irish became a blur of leather and fists when he snatched
Claire right out of Courtland’s hands as though he were plucking daisies from a
garden, and handed her over to his brother Liam.
He flashed his fangs, hissing his anger at Courtland before
moving in on him, cold menace in his eyes, his jaw clenched tight.
Irish was only taller than Courtland by an inch or so, but
that inch, coupled with his ability to loom with fierce intimidation, made him
appear ten feet taller. “You touch her again, and I’ll eat my way through your
intestines. And if I ever hear you address a woman like that in my presence, no
matter what you’re accusing her of, I’ll kill you, Courtland.”
He gave the werewolf a hard shove, knocking him into the
Road Dogs while the Fangs laughed.
“Now—
I
killed
Gannon, and I have the proof. Your witness is full of shit. So, you want proof
she’s lying or do you just want to manhandle her ’til I have to show your crew
here a little lesson in respect?”
Proof? No. He hadn’t actually
buried
Gannon, had he? He’d left behind proof? Somewhere, in the
dark recesses of Claire’s muddled mind, she’d expected that Irish would leave
no evidence behind—not even a hint of Gannon’s
scent
, let alone his body.
Of all the damn foolhardy things to do.
No more foolhardy than
you forgetting to look for your intended’s ride, Genius.
Okay, so she and Irish were both a couple of complete morons
when it came to lies and deception, but at least
she
would have taken measures to ensure Gannon was never found.
Claire struggled to break the hold Liam had on her, but he
kept a tight grip around her wrists, his hands like bands of steel, his hissed
words at her ear. “Stop fighting me, Claire! Just let this play out, and trust.”
Trust? No-no. Irish knew where Gannon was because he’d done
the body dumping. He had all the proof he needed. Oh God, she couldn’t believe
she hadn’t asked him what he’d done with Gannon’s corpse.
She couldn’t let him do this. Why was he doing this? “Let me
go, Liam, or I’ll shift and tear your throat out!”
Liam’s lips were suddenly at her neck, his hands tightening
as he held them behind her back. “But probably not before I drain you. Don’t
make me do that, Claire. Please. I like you. The crew likes you. Hadley likes
you. Irish would probably make me swallow a gallon of holy water for it, and he
said to protect you at all costs. I’m just doing my job as his right hand—don’t
screw that up, okay?”
Claire didn’t have time to process Liam’s words, or
comprehend that they were laced with Irish’s desire to protect her. Raw fear—so
real, so bone-deep—cut through her like a knife at what Irish was about to do.
Irish was going to take the blame for her and they would
make Claire watch as they killed him.
Her stomach heaved just as everyone began to file out of the
library, Irish moving in front of Courtland willingly, while the Dogs
sandwiched them. Her mind raced. Panic began to shut her brain down, but she
fought the haze and tried to think while Liam held her in his grasp.
The roar of motorcycle engines gunning drifted to her ears,
spiking her anxiety.
And then an idea hit her out of the blue.
Never let it be said that when she’d played Pilgrim Number
One in her fifth-grade play, she damn well didn’t deserve an Oscar for her
amazing ability to portray a woman shucking corn. Because surely phrases like “uncanny”
and “eerily true to life” had been used when referring to her performance.