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  Alpha’s Love

  Rocky Mountain Shifters:

  Book Three

  A Paranormal Romance

  By Jasmine Wylder

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Bonus Content (Limited Time Only)

  Paranormal Romance Collection

  Paranormal Menage Romance: Her Two Dragon Princes

  About Jasmine Wylder

  Chapter One

  Grayson

  Calero County Sheriff Grayson Anders bit out a bitter curse as he watched the county medical examiner’s staff pull the zipper closed on the black body bag outside the now-shuttered Zodiac bar.

  He scrubbed his palm over his mouth and felt the stubble growing. He’d been up nearly 36 hours now and hadn’t had time to shave when he was dispatched over to the Zodiac when his deputy had called for backup.

  Gray kicked a stone with the toe of his boot and cursed again.

  “Shit.”

  He had one dead mountain lion shifter on his hands and a pride full of his buddies that were going to come gunning for his department and his pack before the day was out.

  The dead man, a grizzled cat shifter who went by his motorcycle club name of Claws, had drawn and fired on his deputies first. He’d been aiming to kill, even after repeat warnings to put his weapon down. He’d beaten a human inside the bar minutes before on top of it all.

  Still, Gray never wanted anyone to die. Not after everything he’d seen in the Middle East for the decade he’d spent in the Rangers.

  He’d seen enough death and something told him, this dead member of the High Desert Kings was only the beginning.

  Chet, one of his human deputies who knew everything—that Gray was not only a wolf shifter, but also the Alpha of a small pack in Calero county—approached with a sad shake of his head.

  “Has it started?”

  Chet, along with Pax Carrigan, his pack Beta, had both served with Grayson in the same unit. Grayson had been their staff sergeant and trusted both men with his life and his pack.

  “Already posting threats online, trying to get their pride up in arms,” Chet said with a sigh.

  So, it begins.

  Gray returned the black felt Stetson to his head and dug the cellphone out of the back pocket of his jeans, dialing Pax.

  Pax had served as deputy for a few years but preferred sticking around the pack lands and consulting for huge tech companies remotely. He was good at it, and on top of the healthy salary Gray paid him for his Beta duties, he made a fortune.

  Hell, most of the Canyon Pack members had more money than they knew what to do with thanks to Roman Banks, a sentinel who invested their money just for fun.

  Yeah, money wasn’t a problem for the Canyon Pack, but it seemed like a pride full of motorcycle riding mountain lion shifters was about to be.

  ***

  An hour later, when the clock was nearing two entire days that Gray had been awake, the county dispatch was on the radio looking for him.

  “Sheriff Anders,” he barked into the radio, unable to hide his frustration. By the gods, he was tired.

  “We’ve got a situation out at the trailer park,” Ethel, the woman who’d worked as dispatch since the dawn of time, said plainly. She really didn’t need to elaborate. The trailer park was the only one in Calero County, Colorado and it was predominantly occupied by the wives and girlfriends of the very High Desert Kings that were currently stirred up and looking for blood at the moment. He wouldn’t be surprised if the majority of them had driven home and started roughing up their old ladies after a round of heavy drinking. It was their way of things, sadly.

  “What kind?” He humored the old woman.

  “That girl is out there again and the caller said she’s about to beat Duane Perkins with a garden spade if you don’t get out there,” Ethel said, the smile in her voice evident despite the seriousness of the situation.

  “Holy hell,” he bit out in frustration.

  Her.

  “I’ll be there in five,” he said and signed off. He wasn’t certain, but he thought he heard the old woman snicker before ending the dispatch.

  What a perfect way to end a shitty day. His only hope was that she wasn’t shredded to bits before he got out there—the female wolf shifter had a knack for trouble, a mouth to match it, and an apparent death wish each time she stepped off Boulder Pack lands.

  He’d really have to talk to her Alpha again one of these days. Brody McAllister had promised him that he would speak to Liesel about her methods of retrieving abused children for the county (methods which often included violence, mayhem, and chaos), but a fat lick of good it seemed to be doing.

  That was why Gray liked his pack the way it was—like an elite, disciplined military unit. He set down the expectations and his members followed them. Or they grew so uncomfortable with the way he did things, they left and joined a new pack.

  Brody was too soft with his crew and it was probably only going to get worse now that he had a mate and a kid.

  Gray chuckled and shook his head. Poor bastard, he thought to himself as he imagined Brody shouting orders that nobody listened to while knee deep in dirty diapers and a hormonal mate.

  No. Thank. You.

  Calero County was one of the larger counties in Western Colorado, but Gray happened to be within ten minutes of the trailer court—he only hoped she didn’t shoot somebody in that span of time. Knowing her Alpha needed to know what was happening, he reluctantly pulled his phone out and dialed Brody. He picked up on the second ring.

  “It’s Liesel, isn’t it?” He sounded tired. Really tired.

  “Yep,” Gray said.

  “Is she in danger?” He asked. It sounded like he was moving away from a cacophony of noise to find a quiet spot. Gray imagined the big, bad Boulder Alpha hiding in his own closet for a little peace and quiet. “Do I need to come?”

  “Don’t know and probably not,” he said. “Unless she gets arrested. But I’m not there yet, so I can’t tell you. I’ll let you know if we need you. Again.”

  On the other end of the line, he heard Brody blow out a frustrated breath.

  “I’m sorry, man. I don’t know what to say,” he said. “She went through a lot last year. She’s seeing a counselor. She’s doing better. She’s just obviously still working through some anger and aggression issues.”

 
Those anger issues had landed her in the town of Plinket’s tiny jail for three hours after a rather messy barfight Liesel had found herself in after talking trash to some unfortunate roughneck who’d made the mistake of offering to buy her a drink.

  In less than three minutes, all hell had managed to break loose and the small-town cop who’d arrested her said he had three women with busted faces he’d had to take to the urgent care clinic at the edge of town. It was only because Gray knew the cop personally that he’d released Liesel to him.

  She hadn’t done much apologizing that morning as Gray drove her back to Boulder Pack lands. She’d folded her arms across her chest and stared out the window for the entire 45-minute ride home. Didn’t even thank him for getting her out of that jam, either.

  Sad story or not, the girl was a hot head and a disaster waiting to happen and the further she and her brand of chaos stayed away from his pack, the better.

  Trouble was, he was the county sheriff and the more trouble she got herself into, the more their paths seemed to keep crossing.

  “No worries,” Gray finally said. “I’ll take care of it and give you a call when we get it sorted out. Keep your phone handy.”

  “Will do,” Brody said. “Thanks, Anders.”

  With another pained sigh, he ended the call and sped his truck up, pushing past the speed limit he was paid to enforce. For good measure, he even flicked on the annoying siren and lights he hated so much. The faster he got there, the faster he’d be done with Liesel Gaytan.

  Four minutes later, he was turning off the smooth pavement and onto the rocky gravel road leading to 45 run-down, depressing trailer homes overrun with the High Desert Kings and their brood. Gray took a swig from his water bottle and rolled his neck.

  He really needed to get the girl and get the hell out of this place with tensions as high as they were right now. The majority of the cat shifters were probably at their clubhouse across the county line, but there was a possibility that a few lingered around with bad hangovers or busted up faces from last night’s fight.

  He glanced down at the address he’d scrawled from Ethel’s instructions and slowed his truck down to try to catch a glimpse of trailer lot numbers—which there were none of.

  “Dammit,” he cursed for the third time as he got no closer to his destination.

  Changing tactics, he rolled his window down and used a stronger sense. It didn’t take long before he heard the very clear sound of agitation, disagreement, and a hot temper.

  He swung his truck in the direction of the arguing and moments later pulled up in front of one of the most run-down, squalid trailers he’d ever had the pleasure of witnessing. The roof was caved in on one section and two of the front windows were missing—flimsy shopping bags had been haphazardly taped across the open windows in a poor attempt to keep the elements out.

  The yard was littered with beer cans, dog shit, and about 3,000 shredded and half-dead tires. A few bags of trash that had been ripped through and shredded by rodents were tossed around the yard for good measure.

  His eyes were first drawn to a man in his 30s in nothing but a pair of ill-fitting basketball shorts on swaying in the center of the yard, one of his bare feet inside one of the half-open bags of rotting trash. He was a chubby fellow with a beer can open in his hand and one hell of a knot forming on his forehead. He was spitting mad, too, and directing his rage to a corner of the yard he was apparently blocking off.

  Then he saw her.

  And without Gray’s consent, his wolf pushed to the surface to be let out. His wolf raged at the sight he saw, forcing Gray to rely on his legendary control to keep from shifting on the spot and ripping the drunk’s throat out for the way he was threatening Liesel and the obviously terrified half-naked toddler in her arms.

  Chapter Two

  Liesel

  Sheriff Blow Hard was here.

  Fantastic.

  Her wolf, surprisingly, was happy to see the stuffy bastard. Liesel hated to admit how handsome he was in his dark jeans, tailored blue button down and dark Stetson atop his precision-buzz sandy blonde hair. He was downright yummy, she’d often thought to herself during their numerous run ins over the past ten months. Too bad he had the personality of a wet mop. A stale wet mop.

  The entire day had gone to hell within minutes of her arriving at the trailer park. This uncle character was supposed to be at the hospital with his biker buddies tending to their wounded—the assholes who’d tried to take on every law enforcement officer within 20 miles and had come out worse for the wear.

  But when she got out of her truck, she knew right away that this charmer of a man, one Arnie Rockhold, was very much home, very much drunk, and already beating up his old lady and his nephew.

  The sharp rap on the trailer door she’d given had broken up the latest scuffle and as soon as Arnie was distracted, his wife or girlfriend or whoever the woman was had made a beeline for her own vehicle and sped out of the trailer park, leaving Liesel alone. She’d moved quickly at that point. Walking straight into the trailer while the asshat-in-charge had gone to the back to find a pair of shorts. Apparently, drunk asshole mountain lion shifters liked to beat on women and children in their tightie-whities. She’d struggled not to barf when she took in the hair, paunchy belly and the sour, grayish-yellow Fruit of the Looms.

  Once Liesel cleared the door of the trailer with little Bo in her arms, she’d nearly made it to her car. Unfortunately, the boy’s asshole uncle swung for her and she’d had to run right instead of left to her car. Now she was pinned into the corner of the yard with just a rusty piece of crap garden tool, a little boy who was so scared of the monster in front of him that he’d wet his pants almost immediately, and a piece of paper from the county that said she had the authority to take the boy to a foster family who’d give him the proper care (and hopefully love) he deserved.

  Her wolf was raging, too. The animal hadn’t done well in captivity and now was closer to the surface than ever. Liesel felt her yanking toward the wavering drunk with a ferocity that wasn’t too surprising anymore. Ever since the Kodiak shifters had wandered into the Boulder nightclub that she and her friends had claimed for their girl’s night out spot, her life had been upended and neither she nor her wolf had been the same.

  Her therapist said that was normal, but nothing felt normal to Liesel. Except the fear that gnawed at the edge of her subconscious. So, to avoid the fear, she chased the adrenaline. She chased the thrills. And she sure as shit didn’t let other people’s opinions dictate her life anymore. In fact, she preferred it when people were dismayed, annoyed, or disappointed in her. Let them feel all the things for once. She wanted to feel nothing for as long as possible.

  Yeah, she was action-packed with issues now, but she went with it.

  Arnie, the douchebag in the droopy basketball shorts who’d threatened to kill her and the boy at least four times now took another staggering step towards them and she let out a low, menacing growl from deep within her. The mountain shifter in the drunk man reacted and she saw his eyes flash feline. Was he seriously trying to intimidate her?

  Liesel chuffed a laugh at him, letting him know that his efforts had fallen flat.

  “I’m actually going to enjoy beating the shit out of you, I think,” he slurred. “Sticking your damn bitch nose in my business. That boy is my kin. Those sluts at the county are lying about me. I ain’t done nothing but take care of the little bastard since my sister died.”

  Behind him, Liesel watched the sheriff moving closer, cautious and silent. Good. He could deal with the drunk idiot and she would make a dash for her car with the kid. Technically, Liesel was a part-time admin assistant down at the county building, but she’d earned herself a bit of a reputation with the social workers as a hard ass who’d venture into the toughest shifter enclaves to rescue abused children. They weren’t common, but when shifter kids were mistreated, the county had the same responsibilities to take care of them—they just lacked social workers who could stare down
dominant males with violent tendencies.

  “Keep talking, idiot,” Liesel murmured, sidestepping another busted tire as she eyed her car.

  The sheriff looked up right when she spoke and snapped a twig.

  Well, there went the element of surprise. Arnie looked over his shoulder and saw that his options were just limited even further. He must have decided time was no longer on his side, so instead of talking more trash to Liesel, he decided to rush her and the boy in an effort to get his dirty hands on both.

  Gray shouted just as Arnie lurched forward at them. He was clumsy on his feet and slow—so slow it almost wasn’t fair. Moving fast, Liesel set the whimpering Bo behind her and met Arnie’s charge. He was a drunk moron, so his hands were down as he moved forward. Liesel shot her weight forward quickly and met the man with a perfectly timed overhand right to the sensitive spot where his jaw met the bones of his skull. She didn’t hit him hard enough for a clean knockout, but she definitely knocked him silly as his legs wobbled and he went to his hands and knees.

  “You stupid asshole,” she spat as she grabbed the back of his head with a hand and brought her knee up to his face for a quick, devastating blow right to the mouth. “Should’ve just let us leave in the first place—now you’ve pissed me off!”

  The man howled and rolled to his back as he clutched at his bleeding mouth and nose. For good measure and because she’d already seen the dark bruises on the little boy’s body, Liesel gave him a swift kick to the rib cage and heard a bone break with a sick sense of pleasure.

  Fuck him. He was a shifter and even shifters as drunk as him healed moderately quickly.

  “Enough,” Sheriff Anders barked as Liesel drew her boot back for another one.

  “I know who you fucking are you dumb bitch,” the bleeding, howling man on the ground between them spat out. “We’ll fucking kill you.”

  Without waiting for permission, Liesel kicked him again. When the sheriff protested, she stuck her tongue out and picked the boy up, hoisting him onto her hip. As she walked around the still cursing mountain lion, she whipped out a folded piece of paper and shoved it at the sheriff.