Trinity (The TriAlpha Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  Laura, instead of laughing, nodded. Her features were set into stern lines, ones he usually saw when she was informing his nephew that no, he couldn’t stay up past seven because it was a full moon. "Yes. I think you should do that."

  "Are you being serious? The TriAlpha doesn't give a damn about Gammas. The clue is in the title—TriAlpha. They’re all on the side of the top ranks. And why wouldn’t they be?" he asked on a sigh. “Who fights for the underdog in our goddamn world?”

  But Laura was shaking her head in disagreement. "Look at that segment from the news the other day; they're petitioning for equal education rights—regardless of rank."

  The Lyken way was to nurture the strongest and leave the weakest to fend for themselves. Rather atavistic, but it was how they'd lived and survived for such a long period of time. Despite himself, Rafe carefully maneuvered his way past the cuts and bruises to comb his hands through his hair as he pondered Laura’s suggestion.

  Could the TriAlpha help?

  Regardless of his care as he moved the sweat-slicked strands from his grimy forehead, agony whipped through his body as he felt more cuts and bruises from the kicks he’d sustained to the head. His voice was rougher than usual as he bit out, "That doesn't mean to say they're open to defending Gammas."

  "Of course, it does!" Laura retorted, slamming her hands down on the Formica table that had seen better days twenty years ago—why she wouldn’t let him give her money, he’d never know. They lived in a hovel, and it was totally unnecessary and prideful. "What the hell else does it mean, Rafe? Look at you, you're a prime example. You were at the bottom of the food chain at school and yet, you're a doctor—more than that, you’re a healer. But that's only because Mrs. Doherty saw potential in you and tutored you without anyone but you and me knowing! They're changing all that. They're willing to care for the underdog now."

  "But what can I do? I mean, for Gods’ sake, I can't just turn up in Oregon and say, ‘look, I'm sick and tired of being beaten by a dumb as pig shit Beta—do something about it. And, wait, you have to listen because, unlike every other Gamma, I’m rich and successful so you need to take note.’" He scoffed at the very idea.

  "Well, you don't have to say it like that, Mr. Bighead, but you could do something. Get together a petition from the other Gammas in the city. You know them all and knowing you, have treated their wounds from a run in with Torres without charging them. Get some case notes and take them to the TriAlpha council. What harm would it do?"

  "If it fails and let's be honest, when it fails, Torres will be after my blood like a leech. Plus the people who sign that petition—it would be like signing a death warrant. Gods, just getting some of the females to admit to what they’ve been through will be hard enough. Never mind actually trying to get through to the TriAlpha."

  "Torres is already after your blood, Rafe. And every other Gamma in the city." Laura shook her head sadly as she slumped into the seat at the dining table. He felt her weariness; it seemed to seep from her pores. "Surely you can see that he's not going to stop until it's too late. I’d rather it not be too late for you."

  Rafe sucked in a breath and turned away from his sister's sorrowful face. "I don't understand what his problem is, why he has such a vendetta against me. "

  Laura rapped her nails against the table in irritation. "Dammit, Rafe, you always were so blind sometimes. He's jealous. You're a Gamma, but you live in the Hills, in a gorgeous house that makes me envious! And where does he live? On Clifton Way. In a dump." She shot him a pointed look. "A Beta is supposed to have intelligence as well as brawn and a Gamma is supposed to be docile and easily led. Yet you're a doctor and he's a carpenter—an unemployed one at that. They’ve taken him on at the community center, but that’s only because it looks bad to have an unemployed council Beta.

  “Don't get me wrong, there's nothing bad about manual labor, but to a prick like Torres, he should be the doctor and not the carpenter... me entiendes?"

  Oh, he understood all right. But it wasn’t exactly his fault that being a healer was in his bones, was it?

  Rafe would have nodded, but it would have added to the hurricane whizzing through his brains. Christ, that had to be the only reason he was even considering Laura’s plan.

  “Do you really think it will work? Maybe if I took some Gammas with me and we all spoke up, then we’d have a louder voice. What do you think?” He’d ask her to come but a female’s voice, even that of a Beta, didn’t hold that much weight in the Summerford Pack, so why would it in the TriAlpha’s?

  "Are there ones that are still showing signs of their injury? Ones where the Lyken metabolism hasn't quickened the healing process?"

  He grimaced. "Quite a few. The ladies especially. Depression is slowing down their healing."

  "I'm not saying exploit them, Rafe, but take them with you. Tell those above of your plight."

  "Plight? Caelus, I feel ridiculous. A grown man, an adult Lyken and I'm running to the council like a kid runs to tattle tale to his teacher." Rafe sighed, the sound was a rasp—complete with bloody rattle.

  "You don’t have to like it. You just have to do it. This is more than bullying; it's a hate campaign! They might not defend you, but they sure as fuck will do something when the TriAlpha council knows that Gamma females are being raped. They don't come forward and admit they've been attacked, but you can enlighten the council, Rafe. You can show that this sort of abuse does happen and that it's wrong."

  Lifting a sore arm, Rafe scratched his forehead, and then grimaced as his fingers were coated with equal parts grime, sweat and blood. Gods, he needed to shower.

  Seeing that Rafe was weakening to her argument, Laura pressed the advantage home. "The Centennial festival is coming up next week, Rafe. You could go then. Enjoy the occasion and try and... I don't know, canvas support?"

  "This isn't me, Laura. You know that," Rafe said with a shake of his head. He was many things but a diplomat or politician he wasn’t.

  "No. But you've never fit into your ranking, Rafe, and it's time you realized that. You don't know who or what you are yet, and until you fight for your rights and fight for your safety, you won't know. This is a step forward. You might not get anywhere, but at least you've tried, dammit. And stop thinking of yourself. Think of the women you tend and how you could help them!"

  Rafe winced. "You make me sound selfish when I just don't want to make a bad situation worse by going so far up. There's nothing to say that they'll hear me out anyway."

  "Bullshit! You know for a fact that all Lykens are welcome at the council. Plus, there are the audiences with Her Highness—if she thinks your cause is worthwhile, she'll speak with the TriAlpha themselves!"

  Rafe heard the tenacity in his sister’s voice and sighed. "You won't shut up until I go, will you?"

  "No, I won't," Laura admitted. "I won't because I can't. Your life is on the line here, brother, and I, for one, don't want to see you hurt any more. And more than that, I don't want to see you dead, because some prick thinks he's one of the Gods, when he's not!"

  "When is the festival again?" he asked quietly.

  "A week on Thursday."

  "I'll have to reschedule my appointments."

  Laura tutted. "That's what your receptionist is for. Dammit, Rafe, that's why you pay her."

  He shrugged. "Jessie’s sick."

  "She takes advantage of you, that's what."

  "Maybe, but in this case, she really is."

  "Lykens can't be sick. They can be injured, but they can't be sick. I didn't have to train as a doctor to know that!" Laura muttered.

  “She's pregnant, Laura,” Rafe retorted, his voice dry. "You yourself know how bad morning sickness can be. Even the Lyken metabolism doesn’t halt the nausea in its tracks.” He paused. “Where is my nephew anyway?"

  She grimaced. “Yeah, okay, I'll give her that one. And only because it’s a real bitch. Eric is with his dad—they've gone bowling. And don't change the subject. You'd better be in Oregon by next week,
buddy, or you'll answer to me.”

  "I thought the idea was for me to fight for the Gamma's rights and to show the nation that they shouldn't bow down to the higher ranks’ tyranny...?"

  Laura stuck out her tongue and Rafe just laughed at her antics, and then pressed the bag of frozen peas harder against his shiner.

  “If you need me, I’ll come too.”

  Touched at her offer, he smiled. “Thanks, sis.”

  “It might add weight?” she said, but she was doubtful. For a reason. Sexism was inherent in the pack, after all.

  It was why, his very smart sister, was a housewife and not the fucking attorney she’d always dreamed of being as a child. It was why, the countless Gamma females who had been sexually abused by Torres, knew there was no point in coming forward.

  Females had no voice here. And that was the harsh reality.

  Caelus, the pack needed a short, sharp shock, and soon. He doubted he’d be the one to deliver it, and though his heading to Oregon might seem like an act of suicide, Laura was right.

  This situation wasn’t going to improve whatever he did. And at least this way, he might help stop the sexual abuse.

  If that’s all he achieved, then he’d consider it a job well done.

  And if Torres came after him, baying for his blood… well, there was no change there. Whether he died this week or next month, Torres would always be after his end. Better to do some good before it was too late.

  ****

  The wolves around the palace were growing antsy. Which in turn put Thalia Lyndhoven, ‘Princess’ of the North American Pack, on edge.

  The rest of the pack ignored the naturals. Deeming them weak and inferior to their own Lyken selves. Thalia heartily disagreed with such thinking, but considering she was also considered weak and inferior by the rest of the pack, maybe that was a given.

  Underdogs had to stick together until the tides turned in their favor... She refused to believe that day might never come.

  In her wolf skin, she sniffed around the base of the Willow where the majority of naturals congregated. In the distance, she heard the scrape of metal as a Ferris wheel was pieced together for the festival that would take place at the end of the week on the palace’s grounds. She also smelled the burning stench of the welding materials as well as the ripe sweat of males working in the heat, but she pushed that all aside, refusing to let the outside world intrude on her peace.

  This tree had taken root centuries ago; shamans and other practitioners of the ancient arts had used this as their shelter from the elements, imbuing the soil with magic. The soil in turn fed the roots, which nourished the tree, and gave the five-hundred-year-old Willow its aura of power.

  Usually, natural wolves shied away from such power. In truth, they were simple creatures. Relying solely on their instincts to fuck and procreate, to hunt and feed. Their instincts would ordinarily have told them to back the fuck away from a tree that literally throbbed with an untapped source of power, but in this instance, the magic was mostly elemental, and so, appealing to the naturals.

  Thalia often found them here, playing peekaboo under the swinging, swaying branches. Both sunning and shading themselves, especially on a day like today, when the heat and humidity seemed to pulse through the air, somehow giving it a tangible density.

  It was a day to relax beneath the branches, to move slowly and wait for night to fall before hunting. So why weren't the naturals here?

  In the eight years of her exile to the East Wing of the palace she called home, the naturals had been her only real companions. The only ones willing to commune with her.

  At first, they'd shied away from her, unused to her Lyken aura on a close setting, but when she'd made no bones about her desire to play nice, her need to simply be a part of a pack, they'd accepted her. Warily, but they'd allowed her to run with them.

  Then, when she proved herself to be the fastest and most successful hunter, they had soon welcomed her to the fold. Naturals were nothing if not sensible.

  Scenting the tree once more, she realized the wolves had been gone a good twelve hours or so. Maybe even more.

  She could have rested her sweating self beneath the Willow’s shade, rolled around in the mulch to shrug the sweat from her furry body, but instead, she ran back to the palace. There was plenty of shade in the gardens, but there wasn't the sense of companionship that she gained from being with the naturals.

  The run back to the compound was a lot harder than her journey there had been. The air seemed to be thick with heat and dampness, making each leap over fallen branches, each jolt as her paw hit the soil more sapping. Every movement had a price, and she was running low on dollars.

  Even the prey were silent. They too had taken to their shelters to shrug off the heat, making her return run a lot more boring as well.

  The sun peeked through the canopies of hundreds of trees, shining burning hot spotlights on the ground. She ducked and dove to avoid them, as the pads of her paws were tingling with the heat of the shaded soil, never mind sun-baked dirt.

  For the first time in a long while, it was a relief to reach the palace grounds. Home, to many, was always a relief. But not to her. Though she'd been born and would die here, even though she'd never left the palace for more than a handful of days in all her life, this place wasn't home.

  It was Purgatory.

  For the last twenty-six years, she'd played a waiting game. And she was still playing it.

  The Lyndhoven Palace had seen over twenty different Lyndhoven Regents. It was far older than the White House yet built on a similar design. Neoclassical, with a three-story portico that overlooked the huge gardens in the back yard that was as large as twenty basketball pitches, the only difference between the human's President's home, was the fact the sandstone hadn't and never would be painted white.

  Her paws were cooled by the brush of green grass; this lawn alone had its own team of specialists to keep it looking perfect. Had her fathers had any say in the matter, they'd probably request it be cut by hand. With nail scissors. To a uniform height. But then, they were jerks. Perfectionist jerks at that.

  As a result, the lawns were hand mown and specially tended to in order to keep the area as lush as possible.

  In fairness, the southern gardens were the main meeting point for the pack. And, as the leaders of the North American Lyken Pack, they couldn't exactly let the yard be unkempt. It would have portrayed the wrong image.

  Still, Thalia was sick of image.

  Maybe if they'd let her become a part of the ruling family instead of hiding her away like she was Frankenstein's monster, she might have accepted and embraced the need to maintain a strong front as a family.

  As it was, she didn't really have to bother.

  She ran around flower beds blooming with health; her fathers probably commanded the lilacs not to wilt in the heat. She wouldn't put it past them.

  Huffing as only a canine can, she showed her disapproval of the yard's perfection by squatting and pissing in the middle of the lawn. Even though it was forbidden. Then, calm as she liked, meandered over to the East Wing of the building, where her quarters were housed.

  She'd left the French doors open for easy access, so she ran up the few stairs and shifted as soon as her feet hit the thick carpeting.

  It took five seconds to shift; for her bones to be broken and reset, for her limbs to stretch and be rebalanced. Her muzzle shrank, her eyes turned from ice blue to navy, and the silvery white fur that sunk beneath her pores turned into butt-length white-blonde hair.

  She shivered as soon as she stood in her skin again, rubbing her hands over her arms to dispel the lingering sensitivity. While shifting ought to have been painful, the most uncomfortable part of it was the final moment, when fur retracted underneath her skin and was replaced with finer hair. It made her tingle and itch all over for a handful of moments until the feeling dispelled.

  Standing in her living room, she reached for the robe she'd discarded earlier on the sof
a and wrapped herself in the kimono. The silk slid against her skin, soothing the earlier irritation.

  With a sigh of discontent, she wandered over to the TV set and on the brink of switching it on, grumbled further as a knock at the door sounded.

  For a second, she contemplated ignoring it. Then, she decided against it. She rarely had visitors; and the few times anyone came to her door, she'd learned to regret the company because visits meant she'd misbehaved in some way and she had to be punished.

  In this instance, however, she wasn't too bothered by the idea of a punishment. After eight years of exile, there was little they could do to her that actually hurt anymore. Combine it with the natural wolves' absence—a rarity and a harbinger if she wasn’t mistaken—and Thalia's curiosity was peaked.

  She strode over to the door, opened it, and immediately cocked a brow at the sight of her fathers' newest addition to their Beta ranks. Lance Cadent.

  The man was a creep. A+ grade, disturbing freakazoid. Whenever she was close to him, he made her skin crawl. Mostly because he acted inappropriately around her.

  Considering she was weird herself, she didn't mind a few peculiar characteristics, but Betas in the TriAlpha court wielded a great amount of power... they shouldn't get off on being dominated.

  Yeah, Lykens just didn't work that way.

  Rank was everything. It went to the bone. It dictated your sexual preferences, your position at work, the role you'd take in your family.

  A high-ranking man like Lance shouldn't want her to make him submit.

  Yet he did, and even though she tried to stop herself, she couldn't help but make the demand of him when he did something inappropriate.

  "Eyes are up here, Jackass," was the only greeting she was capable of. She knew it spurred him on, but in the face of his peculiar behavior, both woman and wolf were in complete accord.

  He rubbed them up the wrong way.

  His eyes drifted back up to Thalia's, but they weren't filled with lewdness, like most of the looks she received from the council who verbally slated her, but visually drooled whenever she was in sight. There was an odd kind of adoration, only it wasn't flattering.