Accidental Surrogate for Alpha novel Chapter 203

3rd Person

When James started transporting refugees from the embattled continent to the hidden territories, his job had seemed simple – dangerous, but simple. He would land his plane on the coast and hide it as best he could, taxiing into the forest and covering the aircraft with tarps and plantlife. He would then travel inland on foot. It was twenty miles to the nearest village, so James would often trek through the night until he came to the modest inn where Sinclair’s network of spies were ferrying hunted shifters to safety. Once they were handed over into James’s care, the spies would disappear back whence they came, and James would lead his new charges to the coast.

On a few occasions things had gotten dicey, like with Sadie’s parents. They had unknowingly been followed by Damon’s agents, forcing the entire group to scatter while James and some of the abler men stayed to fight. When Sadie’s father fell, her mother hadn’t been able to stay away, and the decision cost her life. Thankfully that sort of drama was a rarity, though every refugee was consumed by near constant adrenaline on their journey, only able to relax once the plane landed in the hidden territories. At least, that’s the way things started, back when he’d had the time to learn every face and name, hear every harrowing escape story.

Everything changed when the humans learned about shifters. Now the once-empty coast was crowded with bodies as far as the eye could see. There was no longer any need to travel to the village, because the refugees came straight to him. Landing had become something of a gauntlet, as the terrified people were too busy clambering to the front of the queue to clear an adequate landing strip. James was terrified that he was going to hit someone one of these days. Even with the extra planes and pilots Gabriel had provided to make these runs, there was never enough space for everyone. At best they could take a hundred people a day, but thousands were gathered – exhausted, starving, and injured.

James was also well aware that the operation was growing too large to stay secret, and he lived in constant fear of the day that Damon would send his army to slaughter the fleeing shifters. The only silver lining– if it could be called such a thing – was that his forces were so busy trying to manage the havoc they’d wreaked across the land, that there weren’t any soldiers to spare.

So as he helped the most urgently injured shifters and families with the youngest children board the plane, he was so distracted answering the pleas and cries from those who wouldn’t be able to travel this day, that he didn’t notice an extra man sneak onto the plane. He didn’t catch the way the shifty character slunk to the very back and huddled on the ground, wrapped in an emergency blanket. James didn’t see the dangerous glint in his eye as he surveyed the quaking passengers, and when they eventually landed in the hidden territories, he didn’t realize that one of his passengers hadn’t thanked him for his rescue.

The man prowled off into the triage tents, his hungry gaze taking in every detail, listening to every word spoken by his relieved companions. When he reached the intake tables, he gave a false name, accepted his tent assignment, and disappeared into the camp– as silent as a ghost.

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“They’re here.”

Damon – now better known as Emperor Damon (as he insisted everyone call him) or the Usurper (for which he threatened to kill anyone caught calling him) or His Royal Fuckwit (his least favorite name of all) – swore violently, smashing his fist into his desk. “I knew it! That bastard Gabriel must be hiding them.” He complained, speaking so loudly into the phone receiver that the man on the other end of the line flinched. “Have you seen them?”

“No, I’m still in the refugee camp.” His spy replied. “But I have plenty to tell you regardless. This entire place is abuzz with intel, the idealistic fools never saw me coming.”

“Well get on with it then.” Damon ordered gruffly, pacing in his rooms.

“To start, Sinclair is apparently traveling around the Vanaran territories building alliances with the Alphas here, and the rest of his delegation stayed behind. Word is that the old man and Sinclair’s Luna visit the camp most days, and the King and that traitor Roger are busy trying to find local families to host the refugees.” The spy reported, derision heavy on his tongue.

“What else?” Damon growled, becoming more and more furious with every moment that passed. “Do you know if the alliances are successful? Are they building an army?”

“I don’t know, but there’s going to be a huge political summit next week. Every Alpha on the continent is going to gather in the Capital to either pledge or deny their support.” He answered. “They’ve made it into quite a lavish affair, with excursions, opportunities to hear from the survivors of the conflict, feasts and even a grand ball.”

“Trust Sinclair to wine and dine grown men like one of his fucking girlfriends. Does he understand nothing about war?” Even as he said it, Damon was grinding his teeth with barely contained worry. If Sinclair succeeded in his efforts, there was no telling the damage he and the Vanarans could inflict. With their next-generation technologies, they could probably wipe out his armies in a single stroke. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner. I thought they’d just gone to ground. I should have remembered how far back he and Gabriel go!”

“Well the Vanarans aren’t your only problem.” His spy remarked reluctantly. “They might not even be your biggest.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Damon hissed.