Alpha’s Claim (Bad Boy Bears #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

P aloma

The moment the deadbolt to my bedroom door clicks into place, I dash for the closet.

Black clothes, so I won’t be seen against the building at night. Flexible toe socks, so my toes can grip the rough-hewn stone of the mansion.

I quickly strip out of my “work” dress and into my escape gear.

I have an estimated three to eight minutes until they figure out how to get power back up, and in that time, I need to be out to the balcony, down the wall, and into the ocean where the security cameras won’t pick me up, and thermoscans won’t see my heat signature.

“You got this, you got this, you got this,” I whisper-chant to myself as my trembling fingers draw the lock-picking tools out of the pouch. I’d stowed them in the pocket of these black yoga pants weeks ago after I caught the gardener’s thirteen-year-old son picking a lock to the garage during one of my rare unguarded moments in the garden. Thom had sent me out for a walk after telling me I was overweight and needed more exercise. I’d been thrilled to be allowed outside.

The boy told me he hadn’t meant any harm and was just practicing his lock-picking skills. He’d shown me the instruction book and tool kit he ordered online. I said I would keep it between us, but I had to confiscate his instruction book and tools. Mean of me but necessary. I’ll leave them in the flowerbed below my window. Maybe he’ll find them someday.

I drop to my knees in front of the French doors to the balcony.

Slipping the slender tension wrench into the lock, I apply pressure to its plug. Then I slide in the pin. I close my eyes to concentrate. I’ve practiced this at least a hundred times. I already know how to find and set each pin, one at a time, until the lock fully disengages. With a little more pressure on the tension wrench, I turn the plug.

Click.

This is as far as I’ve ever gotten. I couldn’t open the doors before because the electronic monitor at the top would notify Thom’s security team that a door had been breached. Now, with the power cut to the property, I have a moment.

I let out an exhale, stow the tools in my pocket, and use both hands to pull the doors open.

They don’t budge.

I scan the door frame. Did I miss something? A second lock? A physical bar or barrier? I don’t see anything.

“Come on,” I growl in an undertone. I pull harder.

It’s not moving.

“ Juepucha ,” I mutter. “Come on, you bitch.” I yank with all my strength. The doors fly open, and a gust of ocean breeze fills the room, making the curtains flap.

Yes!

My days as the girl in the tower are over. I slip out and silently shut the doors behind me.

You’ve heard the stories about girls in towers, right? Some of them are supposedly fair maidens. Some are princesses. Some have long hair that princes use as a climbing rope to save them.

Me? I guess I’m a mage of sorts. I can see the future of a company just by looking at its numbers.

Hence, my usefulness as a day trader.

I am also technically a maiden if that means virgin. The jury’s out on the fair part. Does that mean good-looking or pale-skinned? I was never sure. Whatever. I’m Latinx, so I identify as BIPOC if anyone is wondering. And I’m not a size four. Not even close.

I throw a leg over the carved marble railing that brackets the balcony to straddle it, then the other, balancing my weight on the one-inch ledge that rims the outside.

Don’t look down , I whisper.

My particular fairytale lacks the trellis for me to climb down, but metal wires run horizontally along the building to support the ivy. I lean out, wrap my toes around one of them, and test it with my weight. It holds.

Holding my breath, I transfer one hand to another wire. It cuts into my hands but serves. I leave the safety of the ledge and feel with my free foot for a wire below. It’s farther than I expect, but I eventually catch it. Then I realize some of the ivy boughs might be thick enough to hold me.

That works better. I scale down, seeking the wires with my feet but sliding my hands along the thicker ivy cords. I’m three floors up, a distance that feels far higher and longer to scale now that I’m doing it. And I’ve already wasted too much time .

The lights could come back on any second now.

The branch I’m holding is too thin, and it breaks. I plunge downward, my fingers grasping for something else to hold and finally catching. My skin tears, and my fingers burn, but I barely notice. All my focus is on getting down.

I jump before I should, jarring my ankle and smacking my knee on the earth below. But it doesn’t matter–I’m out. I take off running for the ocean as fast as I can.

I’ve been training for this, too. I may be on the heavy side, but every day, I race on my treadmill that faces the ocean, whispering to my body that the day will come when we can make a break for it. My illness makes it harder, but the medicine seems to be working.

I wasn’t ready for it to be tonight. I wanted to locate Wren and make a plan to get her to safety before I escaped. Also, I need to figure out how to access the medicine keeping me alive. The last time I tried to escape, I collapsed before I could get far. But I’m feeling stronger now and don’t have a choice. I’m out of time.

Thom let me in on his disgusting plan tonight at dinner.

Tomorrow night, he arranged to auction me and my trading services off to the highest bidder. It’s not enough that I make him billions. He must sell me to one of his buddies to cement a high society merger. His twisted version of an arranged marriage.

Sorry, no. Not happening.

This time, my escape plan will work. It has to.

The mansion’s lights come back on in a sudden blaze.

Dammit.

Run, run, run. I put my head down and sprint as fast as I can. My feet hit sand.

An alarm goes off. It will still take them time to realize I’m gone, hopefully. So long as–

“Hold it right there!” a male voice shouts.

No! I’ve been spotted.

I might still make it. I can hide in the water. I reach the shore and run in, diving into the freezing water before it’s deep enough, so it’s more of a belly flop. I use my hands on the rocks below to propel me into the deeper water.

I don’t look behind me. I don’t want to see how close they are. Whether they’re coming for me. I squeeze my eyes closed and paddle hard, forgetting that I may not survive the ocean even if I’m not caught.

But I am caught.

A strong arm loops around my neck and shoves my head under, holding me down.

I struggle, kicking out, using my elbows, trying to duck out of his grasp. I need to take a breath.

Is this guy trying to kill me?

Clearly, he doesn’t know that I’m the golden goose.

Everything’s muffled by the sound of water around me, but I hear shouts above. Lights blaze in the periphery of my vision. Stars dance before my eyes.

And then I’m up. Held by my hair above water.

“What are you doing?” Thom rages from the shore.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Thompson. I thought she was an intruder.”

“ Get my daughter back to shore. ”

His daughter. Every time he calls me that I want to barf.

Chip, Thom’s head of security, and another guard grab me by the arms and drag me forward, out of the ocean, onto the beach where Thom slaps me hard across the face.

I figure this is my one chance. If there’s any man who works for Thom who has any conscience at all, I need to alert him. If he doesn’t disobey now, maybe he’ll raise a flag with the authorities.

“Let me go!” I scream. “You can’t auction me off. I’m not your property! You can’t keep me prisoner here forever!”

A needle jabs into the meaty part of my arm before I even see it coming. I stare into the eyes of the man who delivered it and detect a sadistic gleam of pleasure in them right before my vision goes dark, and my legs forget how to hold me.

Darius

Billionaires have a certain sort of smell. Not just clean human skin but the extra bouquet of expensive skin care products, rare perfumes, richer food.

That’s what my bear thinks, anyway. After years living in Manhattan, my poor animal’s nose has attuned to all sorts of city smells. It’s a relief to helicopter to the Hamptons for the weekend, even if it is to rub elbows with the crustiest of Wall Street’s upper crust. I step onto the tarmac and breathe my first clean lungful in months. The air tastes sweet with a tang of salt. Across a half-mile of manicured lawn, sunlight flashes on the wind-whipped sea.

The richer you are, the more land you can afford. My host, Thom Thompson, learned about my successful real estate investment firm, Medvedev Enterprises, and my new hedge fund, Mountain Top Investments, and invited me to this long weekend, so he can introduce me to potential clients. Thom owns a massive estate on the water between wildlife preserves.

Woods , my bear points out. He wants to strip off my human skin and lumber into the wild. Keeping him caged in has been the hardest part about living in Manhattan. These woods are nothing like the wilderness of Bad Bear Mountain where I grew up, but it’s enough to remind me of what I’m missing now that I’ve made New York City my home.

No, I tell him. I can’t release him here. He doesn’t get to go romping around in a pine forest like my brothers and I used to on Bad Bear Mountain. He doesn’t get to run wild at all. Not after what he did. He can’t be trusted.

I check my collar and shoot my cuffs. I’m in my best off-hours blazer, designed to look casual while still perfectly tailored. My loafers are handmade in a small village outside of Milan. I’m groomed head to toe to fit in with the humans I’ll be networking with all weekend, the one percent of the one percent.

My one unruly feature is my thick blond hair. I get it cut every week, but I swear my bear makes it grow faster to spite me. The wind tousles it as I stride from the helicopter.

“This way, sir.” An estate staff member in a navy blue uniform takes my suitcase and guides me towards a mansion that would make Great Gatsby turn green. I brace myself, expecting the place to smell old, like oiled wood and ancient horsehair furniture, but the inside is modern.

The owner and the man who invited me is waiting in the foyer to greet all his guests. “Darius, welcome.”

“Mr. Thompson.” I shake his hand, careful not to use too much pressure. A firm handshake from a bear shifter would crush a human’s bones.

“Please, call me Thom,” he says in a reedy voice. He’s casually dressed in an outfit that costs more than a new car.

“Thanks for inviting me.”

“Of course, my boy.” Thom and I have met a handful of times, but he’s the sort who fancies himself a mentor. He makes a show of taking younger men under his wing, giving himself credit for their success, and discarding them the second they fall from grace. “I’m sure you’ll find this weekend instructive.” He doesn’t let me get a word in, so I settle for murmuring my appreciation as he continues. “Lockepoint has several pools and tennis courts. And the golf course. I hope we’ll be able to get a few rounds in tomorrow. They tell me it might rain.” He frowns as if the weather is an employee who needs a reprimand. Wealth can insulate a person from any inconvenience, but nature is nature.

“I’m just happy to be out of the city.”

“Yes, I’m so glad you could come to my humble abode.” The humble abode he’s talking about has almost thirty bedrooms. It’s over a hundred thousand square feet, not including the guest and pool houses. “Nester will show you to your room, but don’t linger. Cocktails will be served here until six, and then we will sit down for dinner.”

More guests arrive, so I thank him and move on, following Nester up two flights of stairs and down a long hallway to a room with windows that overlook the ocean.

Let me out.

My bear is still clamoring to get out into the woods.

I placate him by opening the windows to clear the smell of billionaire. I throw each of them open and breathe in the ocean air. A breeze ruffles my hair. I swear it grows another centimeter as I stand there.

My phone buzzes, and I check the screen. It’s Teddy, my twin. “Fuck off,” I mutter and send it to voicemail. We may be identical, but we’re as different as two brothers could be. He joined the military at age eighteen, a special ops unit for shifters, and embraces his base animal nature. I stuffed my bear away and moved to New York.

Someone had to earn the money to support our family on Bad Bear Mountain .

My phone buzzes again. This time it’s Lana, my brother’s human mate. I frown. Maybe something’s wrong. When I answer, though, it’s Teddy’s voice on the other side.

“What the fuck, D-bag. You answer for her but not me?” he accuses me without a greeting.

“Teddy,” Lana admonishes from somewhere close by. She’s the sunshine to his grump. “He might be working.”

“I am working, actually.” I would cuss Teddy out, but Lana’s on the call. I like Lana. She’s nice. “What do you want?”

“We’re wondering if you’re coming to the mountain for Thanksgiving.”

“Aww, Medvezhonok ,” I use my nickname for my brother. He hates it almost as much as he hates his full name, Theodore. “Miss me?”

“Not at all, asshole. This is about Lana. She’s planning a big family dinner. You need to come home.”

“Bad Bear Mountain is not my home. New York is.” Last time I visited Bad Bear Mountain, I vowed I’d never return. It brings out my bear urges, and I can’t afford the danger that creates.

Teddy scoffs. “Come home.”

I frown. My bear twists and turns inside me, struggling to get free. I shove him down. “I don’t think I can make it.”

“Give me the phone,” Lana orders. Teddy grumbles something, but she’s got him wrapped around her finger, so the next thing I hear is Lana’s sweet voice. “Okay, that wasn’t going well. Let’s try this again. Hi, Darius!”

My lips quirk at my sister-in-law’s infinite cheeriness. I’m not attracted to Lana, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m jealous as hell that my idiot brother found his mate.

Even if I moved in circles with other bears or if? fate matched me with a human and I managed to find her, I couldn’t possibly mate. My bear is too unstable. He destroys everything he touches. I can’t let him out.

“Hi, Lana.”

“Listen, will you please, please, please, please come home for Thanksgiving? It’s really important to me.”

“Why?” It’s a dick thing to say, and Lana doesn’t deserve me being an asshole to her, especially not when it’s her company’s wealth that ended up saving Bad Bear Mountain before I got Mountain Top and its real estate investment subsidiary, Medvedev Investments, to a nine-figure company.

“We have some news if you must know.” Her voice softens.

I don’t know why it hits me like a punch to the gut.

Teddy’s going to have a cub.

The news ignites a thread of loneliness deep inside me. The pull of family and the mountain competing with my drive to succeed here.

Except there’s no need for me to earn billions anymore. The need disappeared when Teddy mated Lana. I was doing everything to save the mountain, including trying to develop it so we could keep it from falling into the hands of another cutthroat hedge fund. Teddy sees me as another evil hedge fund bro, but I was going to use my powers for good, dammit.

But Lana’s money kept the outsiders out. Without development.

I’m useless to the family I alienated myself from and worked so hard to rescue.

“That’s great,” I find myself saying hollowly. “Congratulations.” I want to end the conversation. “Yeah, I’ll try to be there, Lana.”

“Don’t just try,” Lana shows a hint of steel that makes her a successful businesswoman in her own right. “Make it happen, Darius.”

“Okay, Lana.” I know when I’ve been out-negotiated. “I have to go. But I’ll keep you posted.”

“Make it happen,” she repeats. I end the call and sigh.

I look in the mirror and grumble at my hair, which grew another centimeter while I was on the call. My bear’s protest at me refusing to go home.

I have to go back downstairs. I’m here to network, and that bullshit takes place over cocktails and dinner.

I head down to the reception room where a server takes my drink order, and I carry my whiskey on the rocks over to the fireplace.

There's a massive oil painting of Thom over the mantel. He’s in a striking pose, with a younger woman seated by his side. My eyes are immediately drawn to her perfect oval face. Dark hair, dark eyes, plump lips. Her skin is a few shades darker than Thom’s pasty complexion.

Maybe it’s just my longing for a mate like Lana, but I’m drawn to the portrait. She’s the most stunning female I’ve ever seen. The painter must have been a little in love with her. She’s too beautiful to be real.

I did my research on the host before coming here and didn’t find any evidence that Thom was ever married. The woman is probably his partner, but she’s young enough to be his daughter. She doesn’t look old enough to be out of college, but I’ve met plenty of men who prefer trophy wives in their twenties.

No , my bear makes his displeasure known. I ignore him. He’s been increasingly unhappy with everyone and everything. Living in the city around so many people is hard on him. I work over a hundred hours a week. He misses my brothers and the mountain. He wants freedom .

But I don’t dare let him out. Every time I do, it’s been a disaster.

The grand receiving room fills with people. There are a few older men who look like Thom plus a fresh crop of frat boy-types with weak chins, strong cologne, and expensive watches bought with Daddy’s money. The room reeks of entitlement.

These are the people I’m supposed to schmooze with all weekend. For most people, a few days lounging in a mansion with the ultra rich would be a dream come true but not for me. There’s nothing relaxing about glad-handing humans all day and convincing them to invest in my company.

But I didn’t build Mountain Top Investments from nothing without sacrifice. Thom Thompson owns the most successful hedge fund in the world. I’m here to learn his secrets and see if he was serious about partnering with my investment firm for a real estate deal.

I toss back my drink and prepare to wade into the fray. Before I do, the scent of hothouse flowers catches my attention. It’s coming from the nearby hall. I wander that way and stop short at the sight of a woman descending the grand staircase. She’s short and curvy with pillowy lips and shining hair.

It’s the young woman from the painting. I was wrong. The painter didn’t exaggerate the flawless balance of her features. She’s fifty times as stunning in real life. My bear surges under my skin.

She descends slowly, scanning the room. She’s dressed in a modest white dress that makes her golden skin glow. Halfway down, she catches me staring, and her lovely dark eyes narrow with a glare. Her scent blooms for me, orchids and gardenias, with a bitter undertone .

My chest rumbles as my bear tries to voice his opinions. He’s as transfixed as I am, but unhappy with the medicinal edge of her scent. I step back, grunting to cover my bear’s growl, and rub my breastbone to settle him. For one millisecond, he gets control. I almost spontaneously shift the way I did as a child–far too young and completely out of control. I shove him back down with ferocious will.

Damn.

The momentary loss of control must be a combination of being out here in the woods and seeing the first female I’ve been attracted to in a long time. I will have to be careful this weekend. I can’t have my bear fighting me every time I get a hard-on for a pretty female.

The woman reaches the bottom step, and two hulking men in black suits and clear earpieces step forward to flank her. She lifts her chin to a haughty angle and heads the direction they point. Two more men fall into step behind them.

She looks and acts like a spoiled socialite, but something about the way her bodyguards hover upsets my bear.

No.

He doesn’t like those men near her. He’s never been so vocal. Once again, he wrestles me for control, and only years of subduing him allow me to keep the upper hand.

What the fuck is happening?

I stalk through the doorway, keeping the woman in my sights. This settles my bear. She’s standing beside Thompson now, silent and pouting. They had a tiff, perhaps. Her sugar daddy didn’t give her the Mercedes she wanted.

When we all head to the dining room for dinner, the bodyguards surround her again. One of them holds the chair out for her, like he’s a combination bodyguard / butler, and she sinks into the seat opposite the head of the table.

Something makes me slide into the seat beside her, and she gives me another cold look. She smells wrong–like medicine. Is she sick? Up close, I note the dark circles under her eyes. They’re not enough to diminish her beauty but could be a sign of poor sleep. Perhaps a headache. That would explain the bad temper.

Thompson stands at the head of the table and clears his throat. “Thank you all for coming.” He paces around the table, like he’s our school master teaching us a lesson. “This will be a weekend to remember.”

Everyone murmurs their assent.

He stops behind the young woman's chair. “And I’m so pleased to present my daughter, Paloma, to you all.” He places a hand on her shoulder.

Daughter. My research didn’t tell me Thom had any children. He must have worked hard to keep that information under the radar.

I study Paloma’s face for any hint that she’s related to Thom but can’t find any. Her mother must have been a rare beauty with dominant genes.

“She’s been working hard at her trader position with Thompson Capital, but I convinced her to take some time off,” Thom continues. “She’s done great things at the firm, and I’m so proud of her.” There’s a smattering of polite applause.

Paloma doesn’t appear moved by his praise. If anything, it seems to deaden her.

Thompson picks up his daughter’s hand and kisses it. Her expression never changes. She stares straight ahead as if in silent protest.

If Thompson notices her attitude, he doesn’t seem to care. “By the end of the weekend, I might have another announcement regarding a merger of a more personal variety.”

More applause, this time louder, with an eager edge. A few of the older businessmen lean in and whisper something to their younger counterparts. “...bidding…tomorrow night…” I hear one say. My shifter hearing is sharp enough to pick up on the words, but they make no sense.

What did Thompson mean by a merger of a more personal variety? Something’s going on.

Thompson proposes a toast to his daughter. We all raise our glasses. Paloma doesn’t move to take her glass, and one bodyguard leans over her and prods her arm.

That’s when I notice the purple marks marring her skin between shoulder and elbow. They look like someone grabbed her arm and gripped hard. She lifts her wine glass, and her dress sleeve falls away, revealing more bruises.

My bear rears up. Once more, I almost spontaneously shift. My bear’s going crazy, wanting to burst from my skin. Damn, after all these years living in New York City, I thought I’d learned to suppress that wildness. I blink at my plate, hoping to hide any brightness in my eyes. My fangs sharpen, and I grit my teeth, forcing my bear to retreat. Stay back , I tell him.

I force myself to focus on eating, but it’s a struggle not to watch Paloma. Three courses in, I dare to look at her again. She’s sitting with that hardened look on her beautiful face. If I hadn’t seen the bruises, I might think her snobbish.

But now I think it’s a result of abuse.

Her head bodyguard leans forward again. “Eat,” he orders her. She subtly shakes her head, but he reaches over her and cuts her steak like she’s a child. He forks a piece of meat and holds it in front of her lips .

A muscle clenches in her jaw. “No,” she mutters. “I’m not hungry.”

“ Stop .” There’s bear in my growl. My outburst attracts the table’s attention.

Paloma’s gaze jerks to me.

Thom and his conversation partners go silent. I half rise out of my chair before I know what’s going on. I face off with the bodyguard. “The lady said no.”

Paloma locks eyes with me and a current of energy runs between us. “I did say no.” She sounds surprised that I heard and heeded her no. Which is fucked up. Thom must be a controlling bastard.

“It’s getting late. Perhaps you’re tired,” Thom says to his daughter. He doesn’t wait for her to respond. “Take her to her room.” He gestures to her bodyguards. The same asshole who was trying to feed her draws her chair back and takes her limp arm to guide her away. She glances back at me over her shoulder as she walks out.

Does she want me to intercede? My bear roars to life. He is apparently ready to kill on her behalf. Not a normal reaction for the animal I have kept caged since I was a teenager.

I forcibly keep him down, tightening my muscles to keep from jumping from my chair to follow her.

My alarm bells clang. No one else seems to think it was odd, but I am weirded out by the whole interaction between Thom’s unhappy daughter and her controlling bodyguards.

Something rotten is going on in this mansion, and I intend to figure out what.