Tigers' Den: Reverse Harem Shifters Romance

         Roman Velazquez stood alone in the dark Hall of Alphas. Although he was in the center, his attention focused on the images of the two alphas on either end: Garcia, the first and most long-lived alpha of their streak, and Antonio, the most recent, now-deceased, alpha of their streak of tigers.

Garcia, with his long, silver hair, was the founder of the first San Antonio tiger streak. His reputation was as a fierce warrior and a wise leader, the standard all the streaks’ later alphas strived to emulate. Antonio had been charismatic and had died far too young. The Losoya Pack, from the southwest part of town, had waged an unprovoked war against his streak and too many shifters had died, on both sides—including Antonio.

Although Roman’s streak had eventually won, it was at great cost to both sides. Now, he stood in this room dedicated to his streak’s history and remembered that day, at the beginning of the war, when he was ambushed by some of the largest Losoyas and kidnapped, held for leverage.

He’d been taken in the middle of a battle in the early hours of the morning, deep in Losoya territory. He had been subdued in his hybrid form, as a tiger who walked on two feet, like a man—but he’d been forced to shift and tortured as a human. When he woke up, everything around him was hazy. He’d screamed only once, not when they’d hacked off his arm, but when he realized that the drugs they gave him were designed to keep him from shifting and repairing the damage.

When he’d finally escaped months later, he’d tracked down Jackson Hendrickson, Antonio’s second-in-command, at the small diner the other tiger-shifter owned.

Jackson’s eyes had rounded as he took in Roman’s battered form. “We thought you were dead.”

Roman snorted without any real amusement. “So did I.”

The alpha’s lieutenant glanced behind him into the kitchen. “We should get to the hotel. Come on. I’ll take you.”

As he and Jackson traveled to their streak’s intact home, Jackson caught him up on the fighting. “We lost too many of our own. But there are so few Losoyas left, we’re having trouble finding any.” Jackson relished the new information that Roman had killed five more of them on his way out. “Perhaps that was the last?” Jackson added hopefully.

Roman’s noncommittal grunt seemed answer enough, and the two men made their way through the San Antonio streets back to the building most of the streak called home.

The hotel hadn’t been discovered to be theirs before the Losoyas were wiped out, Roman was glad to learn. But when he and Jackson arrived, there weren’t many tiger-shifters left in residence, either.

Two years, Roman said to himself now. That’s how long they’d fought the savage streak so determined to take over their territory.

But the war was over now, and his streak had won. For all that it mattered. The battles over their territory had taken so many from them—and almost all the females of their streak had been killed in the fighting. Or worse, captured. And those who’d survived to be rescued bore psychological scars so intense that Roman had arranged to send them to another streak in upstate New York, a stable territory where they might eventually recover. He’d issued a general pardon to the remaining Losoyas, but so far none had responded.

We’ll be lucky if enough tiger-shifters remain in the city to support a complete streak.

Roman stood in human form, staring at the framed photographs of the alphas in a room with a name far too grand for the photos it held.

I’m not ready to be alpha—not even interim alpha.

His missing arm burned, phantom nerve impulses sending shooting pains up to his shoulder.

I’m half a man. Half a tiger. Not enough.

And suddenly he couldn’t stay here any longer.

He’d entered the Hall of the Alphas hoping some of the former alphas’ wisdom would be imparted to him. When that wisdom wasn’t forthcoming, he couldn’t take it any longer.

“I’m going to for a walk,” he told Jackson. “A long walk.”

“Should one of us go with you?” the other shifter—now his own second-in-command—asked.

“No. I’ll stay on the River Walk—I promise I’ll stick with the crowds.” With any luck, among the many businesses along the tourist-ridden San Antonio River Walk, his favorite restaurant would still be open for the night.