Lycan Alpha Claim (#1): (BBW Shifter Romance) (Brief-Bites Novelette) Read Free Page B

only
female. She will want to transition just like the dozens I've
helped before her.
    I slow to a jog as Talyn draws nearer to her
vehicle.
    Counselors must make good money.
    She pulses her lock to open, and slides into
her fully loaded beamer. I watch her car buckle her as she pulses
the engine to life.
    The soft purr is impressive. My acute
hearing, made even more so by my wolfen form, tells me she's a
regular at getting her ride serviced.
    So many little details about Talyn
Phisher.
    None of which matter right now.
    I follow her departure until her car is a
bright red dot in the last of the early summer twilight.
     
    *
     
    I'm not winded as I sprint through the
forest. Leaves churn with my passing, branches appear to lift and I
recognize it for what it is—velocity. I'm sure there's an
explanation of physics somewhere in there, but I never was a school
boy.
    Rather, I've been self-taught through the
school of hard knocks.
    Talyn Phisher's probably never had the
challenge like a Lycan of the pack would. Of beating—and being
beaten—until your life hangs in the balance of forfeit to
another.
    Females do not fight for Alpha status. They
are born Alpha—or not. Males must prove their Alpha role.
    I proudly wear the scars of my position. It
was an even fiercer test within the warrior ranks of Changers.
Lycan Changers must be ready for the challenges that present in
acquisition, in transition. And the very real possibility of
aggressors who would take who we seek to change.
    I hunker down, grabbing a low-lying branch
in a rare patch of conifers. In Sioux Falls, there's not sufficient
forests to cloak me. It's an urban oasis. Islands of trees, mostly
deciduous, rather than true swaths of trees allow a sort of
complicated stealth.
    I manage.
    Near Talyn's small craftsman bungalow, great
trees stand in a vacant lot, and I use those as habit. They dance
above my head, a testimony to the plains wind, sweeping without
obstacle of mountain or sea to stop its assailment of everything in
its path.
    Her sleek luxury BMW creeps along the
antique cobblestone alley and the garage door lifts. The car slowly
rolls inside. I hear the muted click as she slides the gear into
park and the shuffling descent of the garage door.
    An exhale of relief slides out of me.
    My change is safe.
    I've already been through her home. It is
scentless. Absent of danger.
    That is—if you're looking for threats. Her
house is filled with the exotic scent that is Talyn.
    Her house cat stays on the top of the fridge
during my illicit visits. Long tail shaking high above its head
like a snake shaking its rattles.
    Still my disquiet is not completely put to
bed. My talons are full of bark from nervous motion. I've made a
bare spot on the trunk of the tree I lean against.
    My eyes see nothing.
    I shut them and let my sense of smell do its
job. I scent the pine needles beneath my feet. Below that, the
decay of last autumn's leaves reek of earth and musk. Further away,
blacktop from five years ago still smells like it was laid
yesterday, fresh rain slicking the surface like oily water.
    Further I smell Talyn.
    My eyes open as I suck in a deep breath. It
expands my lungs, and I hold the many scents that present
themselves inside me. Engaging, identifying and cataloging
    I exhale slowly.
    I'm pleased she's finally degrading. I'm not
thrilled with what I think I'm scenting.
    It's rare, but not unheard of
that a female hybrid can transition and go into heat at the same time.
    But it's not a good development. It's
calling the dinner bell for any werewolf within a hundred
miles.
    Lycan Changers hunt their hybrid females in
secret.
    Humans are already a problem. But they're
not the number one problem.
    My own kind is the real threat.

6
    Talyn
     
    I slop to the bathroom—do my business.
    Then do the worst thing I've done since
getting up at six a.m.
    I look in the mirror.
    Oh shit— I look like roadkill.
    My face is flushed red like I have a
sunburn. My normally clear