Alpha’s Mission: A Special Forces Shifter Romance (Bad Boy Alphas Book 8)

Charlie

Blood in my mouth… not mine.

Tastes… so good.

No. Not good. Wrong.

Change back, dammit.

Shift.

When nothing happens, I tear up the mountainside, through the trees, leaping over fallen logs and boulders. My white paws are huge on the soft pine needles.

What’s that? Movement in the bushes. I leap and twist in the air, take off after the running jackrabbit.

It doesn’t stand a chance. I’m too fast. Too ferocious.

More blood fills my mouth, hot and thick. I gobble down the rabbit’s flesh like a starved dog.

Then I trot down to the creek and drink from it.

When I see my reflection in the water, I bite at the big, silver and white wolf.

Shift, you monster. Shift.

I don’t even know where the fuck I am. How to get back. My brain doesn’t work right. I have no control over my body. My… urges.

I turn and trot in the direction I’m pulled and somehow, miraculously, end up in front of my truck.

The desire to get in that truck and drive off this mountain, away from what happened here is so strong, I sit and whine at the door handle.

Shift back.

What did Jared say to make me change back in Honduras? Just shift back. I cast my mind to that moment, seeing my white paws for the first time, the heat and rearranging of my cells, and suddenly, I’m on my side, naked, panting.

Human.

Thank fuck.

I’m human again. Eighteen hours I’ve been roaming this mountain trying to figure out how to change back.

Coming here and letting the monster out was a mistake. I wipe my mouth, disgusted by the taste of blood. When the memory of what I ate comes flooding back, I heave behind the car.

Christ. It’s not like me to not have my own body under control. This sack of bones has been a machine for me from the moment I entered the Army and got out of Kentucky at age eighteen. I can kill with my bare hands, escape any danger. I work best under pressure.

This is no time to get sensitive.

I just can’t stand feeling out of control, not knowing what I’m going to do next. The way I succumbed to the animal’s need to hunt—I couldn’t control it. The way the waxing moon brought me out here last night.

Shit. What time is it?

I grab the keys I hid on top of the driver’s side wheel and open the truck.

Twelve-fucking-thirty. I missed a meeting with my handler. I’m so fucked.

I yank on my jeans while I call Agent Annabel Gray.

“Dune, what happened to you? You’ve been off the grid for twenty hours.” She’d checked my tracking device. I only keep it on when I’m on an active mission.

Do I hear relief in her voice? Was Ann Gray worried about me? It’s an odd thought, but my relationship with her changed last month when I asked her for help tracking the… werewolves. Now, I know what they are.

What I am.

Anyway, there’s trust between us. She did me a favor, said I owe her one in return.

That piece of information has had me mulling over what I know about her. What could she possibly need from me?

“I’m sorry,” I say, pulling on my shirt and getting behind the wheel. “I missed our meeting.”

“Is everything okay?” There’s an awkward hesitation in her voice. It is personal.

“I’m not hurt.” That much is true. For some reason, I don’t want to lie to her, and I’m definitely not okay.

Finding out I’m a werewolf—having my werewolf genes triggered or activated by seeing others of… my kind—definitely threw me for a loop. I question my sanity on a daily basis. But more importantly, I question my efficacy. My senses are in overdrive. I hear too much, smell too many scents, crave meat like I’m going to die if I don’t kill something. If I can’t control my animalistic urges, what’s going to happen when I’m on a job? When lives are at risk?

“I spent the night… out of the city. I can meet in ninety minutes. Give me a location.”

She blows out an impatient breath. “Venice Beach, 1430 hours.”

“I’ll find you there.”

I hang up my phone and step on the gas. I don’t usually give a shit about pissed off handlers. My job performance isn’t graded on how well I interface with others, it’s how well I complete my missions. But for some reason—maybe because she sounded like she cared—I’m in a hurry to see Agent Gray face to face.

Maybe even to apologize.

Annabel

I buy an ice cream cone and sit on the wall at Venice Beach, blending in with the hordes of beachgoers. I dressed to fit in—I’m wearing a halter top and shorts with wrap-around sandals I can run in if I need to.

I can’t believe I’m upset Charlie Dune hooked up with someone last night. Why in the hell would I care?

We don’t have a relationship.

I’m his handler, for God’s sake.

Yeah, he’s hot. All the field agents I’ve met appeal to me. I mean what’s not enthralling about highly intelligent men whose bodies are trained weapons? Agents who supposedly can single-handedly bring down governments or start wars? Agents who can rescue hostages or—rumor has it—execute a kill order? I know I’ve never passed along orders like that, but my clearance level isn’t high.

Dune, like all field agents, is built of chiseled muscle. He’s not huge or tall, they never are. They need to be able to slip in and out of places unnoticed—blend in.

I have a thing for spies, I guess, particularly Dune. Something happened last month between us. Actually, it’s probably all in my head. Which is why I’m an intelligence analyst, not a field agent—I over-emotionalize, get personal with people and situations. I care too deeply. Despite my basic combat training, I’d never be able to pull the trigger on anyone even if my life depended on it.

I bent some rules and put my own job on the line to get some information last month for Dune. He said he lost someone involved with the lab fires. And I probably over-personalized that. Because I know what it’s like to investigate our government’s dirty secrets when it involves a loved one.

“Chocolate—my favorite,” a deep voice rumbles behind me.

I don’t jump. I’m used to him appearing out of thin air. What I’m not used to is how close he comes in. If I didn’t think it was crazy, I’d swear he leaned in to inhale my scent.

I turn and find his face too near to mine, and the green of his eyes appears to change to ice blue in the sunlight.

Damn.

Yeah, he’s hotter than I remembered. In a tight black t-shirt—the kind that stretches over his hard muscles—and a ball cap pulled low over his green eyes, he looks the perfect hunky, California surfer.

He steals the ice cream cone from me and takes a big lick. Well, this is definitely different. We’re practically sharing spit.

Is he flirting?

Oh, that’s ripe. After he missed our morning meeting because of some hook-up he had. I never knew Dune was such a player, but it fits. Field agents can’t have permanent relationships, so they become man-whores, getting it whenever and wherever they want.

Asshole.

I turn to face him and watch as he completely demolishes the ice cream cone. I mean, I didn’t know you could eat a cone that fast.

So, I guess we’re not sharing spit.

He has the grace to look shame-faced as he licks the last bit off his fingers.

“I’ll buy you another one.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t bother. I only bought it for cover.”

“What’s the assignment?”

I can’t stop my annoyance from surfacing even though he’s always all-business.

“Your no-show this morning may have cost us the mission.”

His face remains impassive, and under the ballcap, his eyes keep roving the landscape like he’s taking in every person who passes, everything about our surroundings. He’s so damn alert.

“I’ll fix it. What’s the mission?”

The thing is—I believe him. I’m sure he’ll fix it. He’s the kind of agent who gets results which is why he gets paid the big bucks.

Still, I’m not over feeling pissy. I flick on my tablet and share the screen with him. “Target is Lucius Frangelico. He lives in Hollywood. Occupation, unknown. Possible mafia, possible drug kingpin. Definitely into something. They want him bugged and tracked.”

“Why is this a CIA job rather than FBI?”

“He has ties to Al Qaeda. Travels internationally. May be selling weaponry. This is a preliminary investigation.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Yeah, well, he left California this afternoon on a private plane. So, now you have to find him.”

He nods, sober. “I will.”

I’m sure he’s right. I have complete faith in him. And I still feel like he owes me an apology for no-showing to our meeting earlier.

As if he reads minds, too, he meets my gaze. “I’m sorry about this morning. It won’t happen again.”

“Dune, I don’t care what you do on your off-time, but when I call you in, you show up.” I can pull a bitch when the occasion calls for it.

He rubs a hand across his stubbled jaw, still subtly glancing in all directions without moving his head. “Yeah. I was… incapacitated.”

I arch a brow. “Was she that good?”

His head draws back, and his brows slam down. “What?” His laugh is unexpected—maybe to both of us. I detect relief in it which I file away to examine later. “No, it wasn’t a woman—I wish.” He gives his head a quick shake. “I mean—” He stops, his jade eyes meeting mine.

For a second neither of us speaks, gazes tangled, locked. Something flutters in my belly. His nostrils flare, and I watch the same trick of the light make his eyes flash blue. My lips part in surprise, and his gaze dips there.

“It wasn’t a woman.” His voice is deeper than I remember.

“What was it, then?” My voice has lost all authority—it sounds pathetically breathy to my ears.

He shakes his head. “Something else.” He suddenly looks tired, almost defeated.

I’m shocked by a need to soothe him, a need to know what demons haunt this brave warrior. What does he hide under that impenetrable mask of deadly capability?

“Listen.” He touches my nape, just under where the halter top ties. Energy shoots through me at the light contact, tingles of pleasure racing across my skin. I know this is just for show—we’re playing the part of a flirty beach couple, but the thrumming that starts between my legs doesn’t understand that. “I want to thank you for the help you gave me last month. You helped save a kidnapped child, so… it made a difference.”

My mind wants to run down the path of figuring out whose child he was saving—his, a friend’s—but all I can focus on is the light circles he traces on my skin. My breath hitches.

“I’m glad it helped.”

“I owe you one. Call it in when you need it.”

My nipples tighten. “Oh, I will.” The confidence returns to my voice, but for some inexplicable reason, I choose this moment to blush. Maybe because of his penetrating stare as if he’s trying to decipher what possible reason I might have for requesting a favor from him.

I hope to God I’ll never need to. But the file I extracted for him isn’t the only redacted data I’ve hacked. And considering which department of the government I work for, consequences could be more than a slap on the wrist. You never know.

So, having a friend capable of protecting my life could come in handy.

“You’ve uploaded the information to me?” he asks, tapping my tablet, back to business.

“Yes.” I nod. “Let me know when it’s done.”

“Of course.” He starts to step away, then turns back. “Annabel.”

He’s never called me by my first name before. It has an effect on me like he has me by the throat—but in a good way. He commands my full attention—my stiff nipples throb, tingles race over my skin.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?”

I hesitate, then shake my head. Not yet.

He nods. “You’ll tell me when I need to know.”

Then he’s gone, blending into the crowd of people, and disappearing as quickly as he appeared.

Right. I’ll tell him when he needs to know.

I truly hope that time won’t come.

Why, then, does the idea of not sharing my secret with him disappoint me?