Fangs of Anarchy-Forbidden Alpha (Part 5) Revelation: A Werewolf Vampire Shifter Romance Read online

  Fangs of Anarchy—Forbidden Alpha Part Five: Revelation

  Copyright ©2014 Dakota Cassidy

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the copyright holder. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then purchase your own copy from appropriate distributor. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Any 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.

  Text copyright © Dakota Cassidy 2014 All Right Reserved

  Cover Art: Renee George

  Other works by Dakota Cassidy

  Paranormal Novels

  The Wolf Mates Series:

  An American Werewolf in Hoboken—Book 1

  Fangs of Anarchy—Forbidden Alpha:

  Part 1—Alpha Down

  Part 2—Girl Most Lycan

  Part 3—Were in the World is Gannon Dodd?

  Part 4—In the Zone

  Part 5—Revelation

  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 Accidental Dragon—Book 9 Coming February 2015

  The Hell Series:

  Kiss & Hell—Book 1

  My Way to Hell—Book 2

  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 Five—Revelation is the fifth and final installment of a multi-part serial. This is the conclusion of an episodic paranormal romance, and is not intended as a stand-alone read.

  If you haven’t read parts one, two, three and four, you can find them here:

  Part 1—Alpha Down

  Part 2—Girl Most Lycan

  Part 3—Were in the World is Gannon Dodd?

  Part 4—In the Zone

  I hope you enjoyed this, and look for Freya and Liam’s story in the coming months in the Fangs of Anarchy—Forbidden Alpha’s second installment!

  Table of Contents

  Books by Dakota Cassidy

  Letter to the Reader

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Epilogue

  About Dakota Cassidy

  Join the Tiara Diaries

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Aren’t. You. Deliciousss?” a male voice hissed in Claire’s face while what sounded like chairs rustled and feet scuffed.

  Claire stood stock-still, unable to open her eyes due to the blindfold secured tightly around her head. But she knew they were swollen from the dull, burning throb, oh, and the punch to her face when she put up a fight.

  And she was weak, as weak as a newborn kitten.

  Still, she tilted her chin up at his words—in defiance, in unspeakable rage at being held captive this way. Even after the crack over her head and the beating she’d taken when her abductors had dragged her across the concrete garage, the rage still thrummed a hearty rhythm.

  A distant humming, a sound that had kept her company all while she’d wavered between consciousness and unconsciousness, droned on, oddly soothing that rage, muting it until just now, upon the entry of this man who was surely here to kill her.

  She would die here. Wherever here was. She would die painfully, of that she was almost certain.

  A finger, long and softly padded, scraped under her chin then flicked her nose, making her bite back a groan behind the tape covering her mouth. Blood, dried and cracked, had begun to form a hardened barrier over her nostrils, making it increasingly difficult to breathe. But Claire recognized the oily, dirty stench of a demon even as her senses dulled.

  The man came closer; she knew he had when she smelled his hot and minty yet somehow strangely rancid breath waft over her face. “You know, Claire Montgomery, werewolf librarian from Rock Cove, Maine, you’re delectable. A vision of plump, creamy softness with hair the color of fiery mahogany. A rare coup in the circles I travel. Oh, the money I could garner from your brand of saucy charm. But you know what the trouble here is? You’re too—what’s the word I’m looking for here, boys?”

  He paused before his voice rose. “Wait. I know. Old. Yes, that’s it. You’re too stinkin-blinkin’ old!” he screamed, so loud, so full of hideous anger, the air from his lungs blew her sweat-soaked hair away from her face.

  Claire’s stomach sank, the bile in her throat rising up, forcing her to swallow it back or choke on her own vomit.

  It was true. What she’d heard that night with Gannon was real. There really was someone he’d provided paranormals girls for. Disgust swept along her spine.

  Claire fought her rising hysteria, shoved the awful images that sprang to mind to another place in her head. A place she’d explore in therapy if she lived.

  The man pressed his body to hers, the lanky length of him crushing her against the wall she was chained to. A damp, cold concrete wall. He dragged a finger down her shirtfront, stopping at the hollow between her breasts.

  Don’t move. Don’t react. Think, Claire. Think! All that matters is Sarah. Find Sarah.

  He sighed as though put out. “You do realize what you’ve done, don’t you, Claire? By sticking that pert little nose in my beeswax? By asking questions better left unasked?” Now his voice was silky, trickling into her ears like warm oil.

  She fought a shiver of revulsion. Fought it with every ounce of willpower she had. The hell she’d let him see her fear—whoever he was.

  He chuckled, a high-pitched twitter laced with bone-chilling evil. “Are you afraid, Claire? Are you afraid you’ve gone too far, Fancy Pants? Isn’t that what your mate Gannon called you?”

  Now more than ever, she was sure this was the man who’d been on the phone with Gannon that night. Was this the Angus Sweeten? The man for which the mere mention of his name sent people running, cowering in fear?

  Did it matter who this man was when Sarah was missing, and the text Claire had gotten just before she’d been cold-cocked was from an eyewitness to her abduction. An eyewitness convinced Sarah had been taken here to the Zone.

  Nothing mattered but finding Sarah. Claire would do whatever it took to stay alive long enough to see to Sarah’s safety. Whatever game this nutbag wanted to play, she was grabbing her playing piece and jump
ing on board.

  Leaning close, the man put his lips to her ear—they were cold, worm-like, and greasy against her flesh. “Claire, the moment I met you, I swear.” He sang the old Gilbert O’Sullivan tune softly, his breath whistling on its way out.

  Madness. He was a tangled ball of twisted madness.

  The men in the room, at least three if she was hearing right, laughed their approval.

  “Shut. Up!” he screamed, clenching the front of her sweater, hoisting her upward, making the chains her hands were bound with rattle. “All of you shut up!”

  Please, God, let them all shut up.

  He took a breath, almost as though he were gathering his patience with a group of toddlers on a sugar rush. The body pressed to hers tensed then relaxed. “Can you believe the insolence of these baboons, Claire? The sheer gall of them? Laughing while I’m serenading you as though they were privy to some ‘man’ secret. Like we’re all one big band of dandies, slapping each other on the backs at our cleverness. Not. True. Not true at all. But in this day and age, it’s hard to buy good muscle. So I take what I can get. You understand, don’t you?” He let go of her shirt and wrapped a hand around her throat, applying just a bit of pressure, enough that her heartbeat raced.

  “Anyway, where were we?” He paused for a moment, and when she sniffed the air, she realized he was pondering something.

  Claire held her breath as her heart pounded against her ribs, one of which she was sure was cracked.

  “I know! I know!” he singsonged, his boyish face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Gannon. Your mate. Your luvah. Your in-ten-ded. Ugh! Loathsome—worse than any caged animal. So deplorable, smelling of cheap beer and perspiration. Do you know what it’s like to do business with the likes of Gannon Dodd?”

  Well, if they had nothing else in common, they had their hatred of Gannon to stew in together.

  He clucked his tongue. “How unaccommodating of me. You can’t share my Gannon tale of woe if you can’t talk, can you, Claire? Let me help.” With a swift motion, he tore the tape from her mouth, taking bits of her flesh with it, the ripping sound echoing around the room.

  She fought again. Fought not to wince. Fought not to show her almost immobilizing fear.

  Licking her lips, Claire ran her tongue over her teeth, knowing the effort to shift was futile. He’d done something to the chains that held her captive, something that left her as weak as a newborn calf—essentially incapacitated.

  “That’s wolfsbane,” he drawled. “I had my goonie-goons dredge the chains in ground-up wolfsbane because you, pretty-pretty Claire, are saucy and need restraints. It’ll keep you immobilized until I can gut you. The boys told me you fought them like a wildcat, so it had to be done. But see what I mean when I say you’re delicious?”

  Claire thought for a moment about interacting with him and whether it would benefit her. He certainly enjoyed a big production—his wild, almost theatrical rants, his pleasure at her fear were all very clear, but he was no fool.

  This wasn’t a man who’d engage for any other reason than to play the game, and when he was done cat and mouse-ing her, she’d be done, too.

  So, Claire, go down in a blaze of glory or keep your oftentimes snarky mouth shut?

  “Now, werewolf librarian from Rock Cove, Maine, why do you suppose you’re here?” he cooed against her neck.

  She licked her bleeding lips, relishing the salty taste, the stinging pain. It meant she was still alive. In that moment, she decided to shoot straight. “Because I know something I’m not supposed to know.” Claire croaked her reply, her throat dry, her stomach heaving.

  “Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding! You win the kewpie doll!” he purred, stroking her cheek with a knuckle. “That’s exactly right, Claire. Now that you know Gannon was talking to me on the phone that night, well, I just can’t have that, Bookworm. Not even a teensy-weensy hint of my existence can be leaked. You’ve done a lot of snooping around, Claire, bandying my name about the Zone. That’s bad. So very bad. It draws attention I absolutely do not want.”

  Her heart began that thrashing again. When she’d heard Gannon on the phone with his talk of trafficking paranormal children, when she’d confronted him about it, he’d screamed at her to mind her own business. Gannon had called her “Claire”. If that phone had still been on while she and Gannon fought, that meant this man heard everything. Everything.

  Her breathing grew harsh. Still cloaked in darkness by the blindfold, Claire felt her terror ratchet up a notch.

  Twisting a length of her hair around his finger, he yanked it as though he were tugging her pigtails playfully. “Aw, Claire, you do know I can see your big, beautiful brain racing, hmm? You want to know if I know what you know. You want to know if I heard who really killed Gannon Dodd that night, don’t you, Bibliophile?”

  Oh God. He knew. He really did know everything.

  You know what that means, Claire, right?

  That meant Angus Sweeten was a witness.

  That meant he had to die, too.

  Huh. How did one kill a demon?

  * * *

  Irish paced the length of Mathias’s parking garage while he waited for Liam and the rest of the Fangs to show up. His white-hot anger, his spiking rage had him wanting to chew a hole in Angus Sweeten’s neck, watch while his blood gurgled in hot crimson gushes from his throat.

  It had to be Sweeten who had Claire. If he knew Claire, her impulsive nature prevented her from asking questions around the Zone about Angus with as much caution as was necessary. She was a damn librarian. What did she know about laying low?

  Someone had tipped Sweeten off about Claire and her poking around, and he was eliminating all possible evidence of his existence. Who else would care enough about a harmless werewolf to kidnap her in the Zone?

  But what if it wasn’t Sweeten at all?

  He was the only clue they had at this point.

  One thing he knew for sure, if Angus was the one who had Claire and Sarah, he had plenty of backup. Cold-blooded killers, the lot of them, just waiting to do Sweeten’s bidding.

  Irish knew with a certainty he couldn’t even explain to himself, Sarah was here in the Zone—and wherever she was, likely, so was Claire. It was the only thing that made sense.

  Claire had found out about this Angus Sweeten, and he’d found out about her finding out about him. She’d gotten too damn close, and now she was going to get herself killed. If this Sweeten was even half as much of a freaky fuck as Mathias said in his texts, he had to find her. Soon.

  He would damn well find her.

  Fuck.

  And then there was Sarah. She had to be connected to this. Claire hadn’t mentioned overhearing Gannon say anything about the girls in town. For Gannon to take a risk like that was insane in a town full of vampires just waiting for him to make one wrong move.

  But Gannon wasn’t big on brains, and according to Mathias, young vampire girls Brought especially high prices on the black market. Had Courtland picked up where Gannon left off? Maybe he’d had Sarah abducted in Gannon’s stead? Maybe he’d promised to deliver the goods his brother couldn’t?

  Revulsion twisted Irish’s gut. A sick wave of disgust made him clench his fists to keep from punching holes in the garage walls. Claire had been right. Gannon had deserved to die. Now he understood all the blood from one end of Boomer’s to the other, the mess Gannon’s death had left in its wake.

  He understood why Gannon’s corpse was missing its heart and a vital organ or two. Claire had clearly lost control and ripped him to shreds, ensuring the werewolf would never be capable of self-healing. Which was merciful in his opinion, and far kinder than what would have happened had he been the one to snuff Dodd’s slimy lights out.

  Whatever it took, when he found Claire and Sarah, he would see to it they had the evidence Claire needed to clear herself with her council.

  If you find her, Irish. She’s not answering your mind invasions…

  He’d tried several times to call out to her
with his mind, but he’d come up against a roadblock—one he felt pushing back at him as if Claire had the palms of her hands on his chest.

  The roar of bike engines tore Irish away from his dark thoughts. Someone would die tonight. He smelled it. Felt it, tasted the coppery, thick blood on his tongue as surely as if he’d drank from the poor fool’s neck.

  And he’d relish drinking from Sweeten’s henchmen—relish real blood for the first time in more than eighty years. And while he drank the bastards dry, he’d rip their guts from their bellies—and slice their heads off afterward to ensure they’d never return to this world.

  Liam was the first to approach, hauling into the interior of the garage, followed by ten of their best men.

  “Are you sure we’re safe here, Irish?” Liam asked, craning his neck as he scanned the garage and noted the two dead security guards in puddles of blood.

  Irish’s nod was curt. Even if they were at odds, seeing his brother was a relief. “One of the crew can stay here and keep watch. We’ll leave the bikes parked and go on foot. It’s quieter,” he said, pulling on his gloves. “Speaking of the bikes, how the hell did you get them across the border without getting caught by the Zone guards?”

  Stone Gallagher, a one-time stockbroker, slapped him on the arm, his broad shoulders blocking Irish’s view of the rest of the Fangs. “Probably the same way you did, dipshit. We ate our Wheaties then carried them in through the forest and skipped the guards altogether.”

  Irish brought him in for a shoulder bump. “I appreciate you coming—all of you.”

  Liam yanked his sunglasses off, dropping them in the pocket of his leather jacket then crossing his arms over his chest, his face hard.

  Irish approached him, knowing his brother was still angry over his involvement with Claire. “Who’s with Hadley?”

  “She’s with Bleaker and Rory, all locked up tighter than a drum for the night.”

  “Sarah’s parents? Did you speak with them about whether she’d mentioned anyone bothering her—anything that would help us?” Irish asked.