Alpha Trio 3: A Special Taste by Ana Vela

~ Volume Three: A Special Taste~
    The attack was his own fault. Grigore Lupei knew better than to walk the streets of this area alone these days. Especially three sheets to the wind.
     
    He spun, tried to bring his hand up to block a blow aimed for his collarbone, and ended up whiffing air.
     
    Okay, maybe more like five sheets to the wind.
     
    The vamp’s fisted hand was right on target, smashing into his shoulder. Grig felt the bone splinter, tear through the skin, and growled as hot pain crackled through him. The blow drove him to his knees, blood pattering to the dirty pavement like red rain. His wolf prowled beneath his skin, but he held it back with the last vestiges of his power.
     
    Too close to civilians. Mundanes. He’d only made it a few blocks from 5tM, the hardcore club where he and his brothers – and now his brother’s Mates – spent their nights off, before the five vamps jumped him. He couldn’t chance shifting. At this point, any human stumbling on the scene could write it off as a bunch of guys fighting, chalking any oddities up to the alcohol they’d most likely consumed if they were hanging out in this area at this time of night.
     
    But if he let his wolf out... well, a wolf in the middle of a city was odd enough, but a wolf fighting a pack of pale, skinny guys? Too big a risk. Not that the fucking bloodsuckers seemed to care.
     
    Roaring, Grig sprang to his feet, gritting his teeth at the throbbing pain in his busted collarbone. It didn’t stop him using both arms. He tore at their pale white flesh with sharp nails, shredding their skin and shedding some of their blood too. Gouts of it, in fact. Vampires bled like stuck pigs, but only for the few seconds it took them to heal.
     
    The blood that splashed the pavement was bright red. These weren’t Specials, at least. The vamps with the extra upgrades bled a thick, black, oily substance that had just as much in common with blood as it did with crude.
     
    Normally, Grig wouldn’t even be phased by a couple of garden-variety bloodsuckers.
     
    This wasn’t normally. For one thing, there were 5 of them and only 1 of him. He’d gone off on his own, having reached his absolute limit of kissy-face, lovey-dovey cooing and moaning for one fucking day.
     
    He was happy for both Em and Drei. Finding a Mate was what every Shifter dreamed of, meeting that one person that completed you and made your life have meaning. And they’d lucked out; their surprisingly human Mates were both gorgeous, funny, intelligent, amazing women.
     
    Which left Grig often feeling like the fifth wheel lately. Which resulted in the other reason this particular fight wasn’t normal.
     
    Grig was drunk. It took a lot to get a Shifter even buzzed, and he’d consumed about six times that amount in an attempt to not think about how ridiculously happy his brothers were with their Mates. The amount of liquor he’d consumed would float an armada. And cost a fortune. Or, it would have if he’d paid for all of it. There were upsides to having a sister-in-law who was a bartender at your favorite club.
     
    Downsides too, clearly.
     
    One of the vamps, a short guy with lank brown hair and pudgy features, leapt onto Grig’s back, his arms, stronger than their wiry appearance alluded to, wrapping tight around Grig’s throat, cutting off his air. Fuck, he hated bloodsuckers.
     
    His wolf bristled, pushing for him to release it. But even through the fog of alcohol and the darkness creeping in from lack of air, he remembered that was a bad idea.
     
    If only Cassandra’s range was wider, he thought fleetingly. Normally, he wished the opposite. It unnerved him that Drei’s willowy red-haired Mate could hear his thoughts. He worked hard to maintain the impression that everything was a joke to him, that his life was all about having fun, drinking, and fucking.
     
    Cassandra’s ability to hear what he actually thought about was disconcerting most of the time. Now, he just