Read Online Her Alphas by Gabrielle Holly - Free Book Online Page A

out an exasperated breath. “Focus.”
    “All right. So in the dream I’m out in the woods, feasting
on some sweet rabbit meat and Old Man Chaney comes limping out of the trees. He
looks fine except his leg is torn to shit like he’s been in a dog fight…oh,
fuck, no disrespect intended, dude.”
    “None taken. Go on.”
    “Right, so John comes up to me and he goes, ‘The line has
been compromised. The progeny is in danger. Beware the yellow dog.’ Then he
turns around and heads back into the forest, except it isn’t him anymore; it’s
a fucking snake—a rattler I think.”
    Alex kept his eyes on the road but inclined his head to the
right, waiting for Tommy to go on. When the Cat King didn’t elaborate, Alex
said, “That’s it? That’s why you shifted, went charging through the
forest and took a hellacious swipe at some powder-puff golden retriever?”
    “Like I said man, my bad. Dream omens aren’t like telepathy.
They’re symbols, not literal signs. And they aren’t time-sensitive. The dream
could have been referring to something in the past, the present, or even the
future. It’s an art, dude, not a science.”
    “Fuck,” Alex muttered. “So what you’re telling me is that
you have no real idea what dreams mean, and if they mean anything at all, you
can’t pinpoint when shit is—or isn’t—going to happen? Real fuckin’ helpful,
Tommy.”
    “Aw c’mon, McKenzie, don’t be like that. Here, let me
scratch your tummy.”
    Alex glanced at the stringer of fish leaving a smelly puddle
of slime on the floor of his cherry Corvette. “Fuck you, Longtree.”
    Tommy chuckled, then laid a big hand on Alex’s shoulder.
“Seriously, Doc, tell me what you saw.”

Chapter Five
     
    As nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking
chairs.
    That had been one of John Chaney’s favorite sayings, but
until recently, Gwen hadn’t really gotten its meaning.
    She rarely drank coffee after noon, but the morning’s events
just seemed to call for it. She sat at the kitchen table, sipping at her mug
and watching the seven-foot-tall Russian werewolf pace around the cabin. He
paused at the bedroom door, peeked in at the sleeping Jenny, then resumed his
rounds.
    “Sergei, for chrissakes, would you please sit down?
You’re freaking me out,” Gwen said.
    Sergei Markov stopped and smiled at Gwen. His expression
seemed forced and his smile looked more like a snarl. “There is no reason for
the freaking out, little friend. I am only occupied with my own thoughts.
Nothing for your worries about.”
    “Mmmhmm,” Gwen said, then crossed her arms under her
breasts, sat back in her chair and squinted at him. “Spill it, big guy.”
    He spread out his arms, palms up and shrugged. “What? I do
not have the idea what you’re steering about.”
    “I think you mean, what I’m ‘driving at’,” Gwen offered.
    Sergei winked and pointed at her. “Ah, yes, ‘driving at’.
You are so smart. I knew from the first time I laid down eyes on you that you were
the one for the wisdom.”
    Gwen raised an eyebrow. “Enough of the smoke and mirrors,
Markov. What’s going on?”
    “Smoke and mirrors?” Sergei muttered. “I do not know this
thing, ‘Smoke and—’”
    “SIT DOWN, Sergei!” Gwen demanded.
    He made one more pass by the front door, drew back the
gingham curtain to peer out, then flopped down on the chair opposite her. “Cribbage?”
he offered.
    Gwen rolled her head from side to side, trying to work out
the gathering kinks in her muscles, then slapped her palms against the
tabletop. “No, Sergei, I do not want to play cribbage or chess or
twenty-fucking-questions. I want you to quit skulking around here—and DO NOT
ask me what ‘skulking’ means. Look it up in your English-to-Russian
dictionary—and tell me what’s got you and Alex so wound up.”
    Sergei surprised her by reaching across the table and
scooping up her hand in both of his. Gwen thought she would never get used to
the