Page 205 of The Alpha

Kwaku and Dallan eyed her.

“I was wrong,” she said as she straightened. “I… judged the situation poorly and overreacted,” she said. “I apologize.”

Dallan arched an eyebrow. “Aye, that’s putting it mildly.”

“I am sorry. My mate, he was upset with me and…” she hung her head. “Put me in my place.”

Kwaku walked a circle around her. “And how do you propose to make amends, Timmohn?”

“I want to help with the bond. I hear it is… precarious.”

Kwaku sighed and looked at Dallan. “Archer.”

Dallan rolled his eyes. “He’s here, is he no?”

“Yes,” Kwaku said. “Seems you have ears everywhere, Timmohn. Archer was to report to de king and him alone.”

“I keep myself informed for the good of our people,” she shot back. “Now can I help? Melvale is my grandnephew, and I don’t want anything to hinder the merging. It’s too hard on him and will be too hard on his mate.”

Kwaku sighed and looked at Dallan. “We will discuss it. Right now, I am hungry, as is Time Master Dallan.” He took Zara in his arms. “Come, Beloved, let us go to our quarters.” They left, leaving Dallan and Shona. The latter was already in her mate’s arms. “Schedule a meeting, Timmohn,” Dallan ordered. “I want your mate and Melvale’s parents there as well.” He steered Shona toward the door. “Coming?”

Timmohn, her back to them, smiled. “Of course, Time Master.”

Horace Peabody wasno spring chicken, and by no means a rich man. So when his faithful tenant Mrs. Kohler (hisonly tenantas he was renovating the other apartments) phoned him for the third time in two weeks that someone had once again tampered with the doors of the building, he almost blew a gasket.

He parked his beat-up work truck in the driveway of the brownstone he owned, grabbed his toolbox, and went inside. Sure enough, his beautiful leaded glass front and vestibule doors of the building had been broken. He’d have to replace the entire doorknob assemblies and locks. Again! At least someone had left him some money the second time he’d had to replace everything. They’d shoved an envelope full of cash under Mrs. Kohler’s door. He wasn’t sure if he’d be as lucky this time.

He shoved his glasses up his nose, ran a hand through his curly white hair, and headed for the basement door. “Doggone it!” It too was broken. Poor Mrs. Kohler was too old to make it down the basement steps to investigate, so didn’t see what sort of mischief had gone on down there. Well, Horace was not of the same delicate constitution as his tenant and returned to his truck for his baseball bat.

Once back in the building, he crept to the basement door and shoved it open. It creaked as it swung, and he blew out a sharp breath. “Hello?”

Silence. No… wait… therewasa sound, but he couldn’t make it out. Horace slowly descended the stairs, his bat at the ready. When he reached the bottom, he fumbled around in the dark for the light chain and, “Uff! What the?” He’d run into something! Horace pulled the chain, and the light came on to reveal at least a dozen or more men passed out on his basement floor!

His jaw dropped. Some had blood on their clothes, and some had more than a few bite marks. “Jumpin’ Jehosaphat, what happened here?!”

The men littering his floor were all softly snoring.

He poked one with the bat. “You there, wake up!” Horace turned a full circle. “You bunch of squatters! I said wake up!”

A man at his feet opened one bleary eye, looked at him, then closed it and went back to snoring.

Horace took a closer look at them. Some were wearing what could only be described as tactical gear. Others were in normal dress. And what was with all the bite marks? Had they fallen victim to a huge rabid dog?

“I said, WAKE UP!”

Nothing. Except more snoring.

Horace tossed a hand in the air, then tossed his bat and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. He punched in a number.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

He frowned. “This is Horace A. Peabody. I’d like to report a group of drunken reprobates in my basement!”

THE END