Page 1 of The Alpha's Grave Secrets

Chapter 1

Elara

Dirt fills my nostrils. My throat. My lungs are threatening to explode as I try and try to no avail to take deep breaths, or any kind of breath, of oxygen. Panic prickles through my every cell—confusion infused along with panic.

Something wiggles in my mouth. I try to scream, but there is no sound. My tongue works to push the dirt out of my mouth, and I taste it—that wiggling thing—an earthworm—a slimy, mushy earthworm.Eww.I fight the lurching in my stomach that will almost certainly force my mouth to open wider and let more of Goddess only knows what in.

My heart is thundering so loud I can feel it in my ears as I start thrashing, like moving through a pit of hell, with a ton of weight on my body.Where the heck am I? Think Elara. Think.

Momentarily, I force everything to still, even the thunder in my heart seems to fall silent. Fogginess lingers in my limbs and thoughts as I search my mind to figure out how I’ve gotten myself into this predicament.

Kidnapped. Drugged. Held hostage, bound, and blindfolded. Cold, so dang cold.I start to recall, shivering even in my dark, earthen grave at the memories. The stillness ends as, once again, I begin to thrash with small movements, rocking just a bit side to side, bucking my hips even if just a half inch or so, wiggling my toes moving more dirt between them, pushing my feet just a bit back and forth, all the while trying to keep more dirt from entering my mouth, suffocating me, and clawing at the earth with my hands, pushing dirt to my sides, as my arms are pretty much pinned against my chest.

Thank the Goddess for my wolf, or I’d be dead already. Wolves have survived almost anything and everything over hundreds of years. They are creatures that adapt constantly, they are survivors.That affirmation plays in a loop as I pull, scrape, and force my way through the freshly packed dirt. Barely daring to breathe in sips,I must have a bit of an air pocket around meor my face, but not daring to open my eyes or mouth to confirm.

My lungs scream and ache. They plead for me to take a deep breath, just one,oh please,just one. I force the desperation away from my mind, willing my body to keep moving, even just a little, despite the agonizing pain, despite my body’s desire to shut down and let me waste away in this grave.

I don’t know how long it’s been since I awakened. I don’t know how long I’ve been gouging out pieces of earth, with my heart hammering and my lungs raw and battered by the thudding in my chest. Then suddenly,sweet mercyin the form of a cool night breeze brushing against my freed fingertips gives me renewed energy to work the dirt harder.

As soon as my head breaks the surface, my mouth opens, gasping for air like a fish caught on a fisherman’s hook. Sputtering, retching, and wheezing as swallows of dirt and bile are spewed from me, marking my grave like an honorary headstone.

A strong desire to survive lights up within me as I drag myself out of this hellish grave I have been put in. A horror I had never thought to fear until now; to dig myself out of my own grave, holding onto the flickering shreds of life I have left as I do.How long, how long had I been down there before I woke?

Finally, I drink in enough fresh air by taking several deep, nearly calm, breaths. My lungs are still screaming as I do but my shifter healing abilities are working overtime to soothe the abrasions deep within my lungs and throat. Slower, much slower than usual, but healing me all the same.

I paw at my eyes with the backs of my hands, nearly pointless, considering every bit of my body is covered with mud and grime. Mynakedbody. Shame blooms over me as the realization hits that I am not wearing any clothes. But then as I throw dirt off the rest of my body, I feel some crinkling material mixed in the dirt around me, there appears to have been some form of thin plastic loosely placed over my face and most of my torso,the air pocket?, that had torn or was moved away easily by my digging. And this grave must have been shallow—for me to be able to dig my way to the surface. My stomach rolls at the thought and I try not to let myself consider what tiny creatures might be lurking in more private places all over my body than my mouth where the earthworm had been earlier.

Curse the man who did this to meand curse the fact that I have no idea what exactly has been done to me. The dirt does not seem to clear from around my closed eyes no matter how much I try wiping off my face and eye sockets. So, despite the stinging, I slowly peel my eyes open. It takes a long time for the darkness around me to show any shred of light.

I suddenly realize there’s a watery pool forming along my bottom eyelash line. Blinking, blinking, blinking as the rattle in my lungs continues.Finally,the blurred shapes around me start to take form as my eyes are washed out by my tears that seem to be flowing on their own.

From the moonlight, I start to see trees, and tall prairie grasses swaying in the evening breeze. Then, mounds of earth all around me, cut outs throughout the dancing grass. No, not mounds,graves, so many graves.My whole-body trembles as I stare, blinking, finally comprehending the horrors before me.

A pang runs through my chest and on week hands and knees I find myself crawling toward the nearest grave. I claw away at the dirt and earth with my battered hands.Who else might be trapped, dying, in the depths below?

Ignoring the aches and screams of my muscles and body, I don’t stop. I do not care at that moment about me, as the blood from my hands and other wounds begins to seep into the ground beneath me. I dig and dig and dig, hoping to free whoever is imprisoned beneath me in this grave. My fingernails crack and tear, my tears fall from my eyes like rain.

No.It can’t be.My bleeding fingers brush against the half-decayed face of a woman with empty eye sockets staring back at me.

I don’t have the good sense to crawl backward from the grave, nor scramble to my feet and run away. My heart thunders in my chest, roaring like a captive lion trying to break free from its prison. I want to run. I want to run far, far away and pretend this never happened.

But how can I? My tears continue to spill from my burning eyes, in fat salty streaks clearing away the dirt from them and falling onto the face of the woman whose grave I can’t peel myself away from.Who had this woman been? Who is missing her? Who is missing all the others? And why haven’t they all been found?

I want to try digging out the other graves, but I already know what I will find. I knew it before I ever dug into this first one, but I didn’t want to let myself believe it. I had hoped that whatever drugs are in my system were dulling my wolf senses, so I can’t hear the sounds of heart beats, the struggles of the others trying to free themselves like I had. But the only signs of life within these graves are the earthworms and creepy crawlies.

Alone. Afraid. Overwhelmed.I can’t help myself. I throw my head back and let my wolf howl into the night. My sorrow echoing through the woods startling the rabbits, squirrels, bats, and the little birds hidden in their nests until morning. And maybe some humans.

I can’t stop howling, gripping chunks of mud and half rotted leaves in my bloody fists as I do. I don’t count the graves. I can’t bring myself to do anything but wail for all those who are rotting in this field and for myself who almost rotted alongside them.

After a while I can hear someone shouting in the distance, but I don’t know or care what is being said. I don’t know if it’s my kidnapper coming back to finish the job, a lone camper running scared, or perhaps a hero come to rescue me. I’m too spent to react.

Only the panicked scream of my name from the one calling my name, stops me from my sorrowful wailing, “Elara?!” Footsteps growing nearer on the soft ground.I know that voice, but how?

My stomach flutters despite itself and my body seems to know who it is before my brain can process what is happening. The effects of the drugs still tugging at my consciousness, at my sanity, makes me foggy.

The voice calls my name again, this time closer. This time it might be a whisper but I’m not certain. I do not cringe away as a pair of strong arms pull me to my feet and wrap me up in them. Warm, safe, protective.

Strong and familiar. I sniff, still staring at the woman’s rotting face in the grave beneath me, and through the earth still coating my nostrils and the rot in the grounds around us, I smell something familiar.Someone familiar. Leather, whiskey, rain, and…home?

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