Alpha_ An Urban Fantasy Novel (War of the Alphas Book 3) - SM Reine Page 0,2
sign of nervousness she’d shown. “Be fast about it.”
“Fast as I can,” Mallory said.
She found the override in the software. She shut her eyes, whispered a prayer, and clicked it.
A quiet alarm chimed within the booth, alerting her to the fact that the doors were unlocked after hours.
Deirdre stiffened. “What’s that?”
“It’s just warning me the doors are unlocked,” Mallory said. “That’s all.”
“Does it call back to the OPA?”
“No, I think—I don’t know, I don’t think so. This program is new. I’m not sure. But I don’t think it does.”
Deirdre called over her shoulder. “Hey! Stark! We might have a problem.”
Everton Stark rounded on them. The shifters had finished changing and now two hulking wolves and a cougar sniffed around his feet. It said a lot about the man’s presence that standing between beasts of that size didn’t diminish him in the slightest.
“No, no, no we don’t, there’s no problem,” Mallory said. “I’m cooperating. I’m doing exactly what you said. I unlocked the doors.”
“What’s that alarm?” Stark asked.
Even through the window—enchanted glass meant to withstand physical assault from super-powered shifters—he was a terrifying man. Not tall, but broad and barrel-chested, with arms that looked like cabers.
“She unlocked the inside doors and it started going off,” Deirdre explained to Stark. “She says that it won’t call the OPA. At least, she thinks it won’t call the OPA, but she’s not sure.”
He pressed a hand against the window, as if to test it for strength. The glass groaned.
Mallory’s eyes flicked toward the charms hanging from the inside of the frame.
“Did you call them?” Stark asked.
“No,” she said.
He seemed to weigh his options, considering the woman, the shifters at his back, and the reporter filming it all. “Open the stairwell.”
“What?”
He stared at her, giving her the full weight of his golden-eyed stare. All shifters Mallory had met had golden eyes that were superficially identical to his, but something about Stark’s was impossible to look away from.
“Come on, Mallory,” Deirdre said. “Play ball with us.”
“It’s just—if I open the doors—”
Stark slammed a fist into the glass. Cracks spiderwebbed around his knuckles, spreading rapidly to the edges of the frame.
Mallory leaped back with a shriek, her office chair falling underneath her. She tripped over it. Caught herself on the wall.
“Open it,” Stark said.
She had already opened the doors to the cells underground. If she opened the stairs too, then she would release every temporary resident of the safe house: twenty-five moon-sickened shifters who were beyond Rylie Gresham’s control.
The wards surrounding the safe house’s parking lot were good, but not that good.
Stark slammed his hand into the glass again.
“Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll do it!” Mallory cried.
The lock for the main door was easy to find. Her hands shook as she deactivated it.
Stark punched the glass a third time. It didn’t stand a chance against him. His hand went through it. He ripped the glass away, smearing blood over the jagged edges as though it didn’t hurt him.
Mallory squeezed herself in the corner of the booth, screaming. But he reached her easily.
He yanked her through the window, and Mallory struggled to grab the defensive charms on her way out. The glass did hurt her. She wasn’t a shifter. She didn’t heal quickly like they did. Shards scraped down her arms, and she cried as he tossed her to the pavement.
The air was crisp and wet with the memory of rain. Stark and Deirdre towered over Mallory, backlit by January Lazar’s light.
“I did everything you asked,” Mallory said. “I’ve obeyed.”
“You did,” Deirdre said. “But if your alarm does summon the OPA…” She shrugged. “We’ll need a hostage to get out of here. Hang tight. I’ll get back to you in a minute.”
Hang tight? What else was Mallory supposed to do? She hugged a charm under her arm to hide it, dampness of the pavement soaking through her slacks, and she shivered. She’d managed to grab one charm from the booth but not one of the good ones—it was a spell to help her stay awake for the long night shift.
January’s camera focused on her, and Mallory could only imagine what she must have looked like: mascara streaking, face puffy with tears, bleeding freely from her arms.
Deirdre Tombs opened the door to the safe house stairs.
“No!” Mallory cried, curling into the smallest ball she could manage.
Nothing came out of the stairwell.
The shifters might not have realized that their rooms had unlocked yet. The doors didn’t open automatically.
“I’ll return shortly,” Stark said, and he vanished down the stairs.