Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
“I mean, he is, but us scavengers bend the neck more to Rosie’s wolf than to him, but they’re mates, so, you know, potato, po-tah-to.”
“What’s up with Rosie’s wolf?”
“She’s a beast, man. Massive.”
I nod. It’s good for a female to have a big wolf. If you don’t have the killer instinct, size is a good advantage to have.
For whatever reason, my gaze shifts to Flora’s ass. She’s hustling now, like she’s excited to get where she’s going, so it’s swishing back and forth, bouncing with each step. I want to bite it, bury my face in it, grab it with both hands until she squeals.
I want her to look back at me.
She’s talking Nia’s ear off, though, completely ignoring me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her have so much to say. Nia’s laughing and carrying on like she’s known Flora forever.
I’m not jealous of a female. “We’ll only be here for a few days,” I tell Pritchard. “Until we work things out.”
“Sure thing, bud.”
I keep my eyes straight ahead until we reach the base of a slope and wend our way through waist high cairns to a gash in the rock that Nia ducks through, drawing Flora after.
If I don’t see Pritchard’s face, I won’t be tempted to punch the pity off of it.
Chapter 11
11
Chapter 11
FLORA
Even though the ceiling of the entrance tunnel is so low that I have to squat-walk into the Old Den Pack like a chimpanzee, I still have a good feeling about this place.
What are the odds of running into Nia Scurlock in the middle of the wilderness? Back in school, we used to sit next to each other in General Numeracy. On the days she decided to do work, she’d nap while I worked the problems, and then she’d trade me to let her copy. I got all kinds of things—cool marbles and brand-new pencils and those packages of cheese crackers that human pups eat.
I would’ve done it for nothing. No one messed with me when Nia was there. I vaguely remember her best friend, a sweet, quiet female named Rosie. She must be the Old Den alpha female. It’s hard to imagine. Rosie and Brenda aren’t just different types of alphas, they’re different species.
Luckily, the narrow entrance tunnel doesn’t go far. After about ten feet, it opens into a huge cavern and the cloying, condensed “other wolves” scent dissipates and my wolf settles a little.
Alec is right on my heels, and I don’t mind. My wolf wants to duck behind him, but I don’t go that far. When he comes to stand beside me, though, I shuffle close.
This place is wild. It’s easily the size of the stadium at Moon Lake, and the ceiling soars. Eerie stalactites dangle high overhead like the teeth of those freaky deepwater fish in the science magazines they made us read back in school.
Right in the middle of the cavern, there’s an opening that lets the sun in, and underneath the opening, naked folks are standing in a crystal blue pool, staring at us, water dripping from their hair, and in a few cases, fur.
Everyone’s staring. The females around a cooking pit or in crafting—or gossip—circles. The males clustered around folding tables laden with disassembled machinery or lounging in makeshift living room arrangements made with shabby, secondhand furniture. The pups hanging or crouched or perched in every nook and crevice and ledge in the place.
The first thing that strikes me is how you could easily sort everyone into two piles. There are the people like Nia wearing a motley assortment of patched shirts and mismatched bottoms, almost all in scuffed boots or barefoot, many with a bit more claw or fur or fang than is generally considered proper in human form.
The rest wear a uniform of khaki pants and collared shirts, although whoever’s been doing their laundry has no idea what they’re doing. The fabric has the dinginess of a rinse cycle that isn’t running clear, and I see more than a few tears and missing buttons. I recognize a few faces. These are the shifters that regular folk like Nia called nobs at school, the high-ranking Moon Lake wolves who lived like humans in buildings with elevators.
Salt Mountain wolves generally kept to our own as a rule, but I made a special effort to avoid them. They looked at me like they were offended by the sheer audacity of the size of my ass. Nia’s kind didn’t seem to notice, except their males tried to get me to smile if they could catch my eye, so I kept my head down.
Since everyone’s gawking now, I feel brave enough to check them out, too, and I begin to recognize faces. There’s Lowry Powell, a high-ranking female who was friends with the Moon Lake equivalents of Greer and Rhona. She’s greasing what looks like a bear trap.
I see Enid Wogan with Derwyn Collins. She always wore the best outfits, bright and random and very often polka-dotted. She’s got Derwyn standing on an overturned milk crate. It looks like she was in the middle of pinning the hems of his overalls, which match hers. They’re orange corduroy with purple star appliqu?s.
My wolf relaxes, dropping all her wariness, and she begins to prance and dash, whining for me to let her out to explore. There are amazing scents in here. Fresh water and cool earth and mellow sunshine, and layers upon layers of wolf. Old wolf. Ancestor wolf.
I look up at Alec. I don’t know why.
He’s already looking down at me, his face stern as usual, but I see his wolf in his eyes. He wants to dash around and roll on his back and poke his nose in corners, too.
I smile.
A flicker of something like pain flashes in those dark eyes, and it’s not his wolf. It’s gone in a split second. I don’t have a chance to wonder at it before a voice calls “ho!” and boots stomp in the entrance tunnel.
Alec pushes me behind him as he pivots toward the sound.
Two familiar males stride into the cavern. Well, one strides. The other struts, kind of like that cartoon tiger with the bouncy ears and the long chin. The striding one is Seth Rosser, Cadoc Collin’s right hand. The strutting, bouncy one is Bevan Nevitts, Nia and Rosie’s friend.
He’s grinning at me, flashing the same gold fronts he always used to wear. “Flora Ritchie! I knew I smelled you.”
He’s coming straight at me, smile shining, warm eyes crinkling, arms stretching. Is he going to hug me?
Alec’s chest erupts with muffled snarls, and he tries to step back into me to block me fully, except he can’t. My hips are wider than his, and my boobs show, too. My face burns. We must look ridiculous, and everyone’s still watching.
And then Alec opens his mouth, his voice mingled with his wolf’s, and it echoes off the ceiling, sending a shock down my spine as the fine, sweat-matted hairs on my neck rise.
“Back up,” Alec says, the words mangled by the rattling of his ribs.
Everyone near us in the cavern shuffles a step or two backward. Males edge in front of females. Females mutter, annoyed, and whack the males’ arms or elbow their sides.
Bevan stops in his tracks, but if he’s scared, he doesn’t let on. “Whoa, king. I just want to say hi to my girl. It’s been a few years. Hey, Flora.” He cranes his neck to peek past Alec, waggles his fingers, and winks.
“She’s not yours.” Alec’s wolf is still in his throat, so it comes out like he’s got a mouthful of rocks.
“Turn of phrase, my dude.” Bevan cocks his head and smirks, real dirty. “Though if Seth and I read your tracks correctly, the lady’s been trying to ditch you since you met up.”
Aggression blasts from Alec’s pores, stinging my nose, and my wolf bares her teeth. She remembers Bevan’s scent, and she remembers liking him back in school, but she’ll fight him, right here, right now. Without compunction.
I clear my throat and try to turn down the temperature. “Hi, Bevan.”
Alec’s rumble goes from loud to some point on the Richter scale. I swear the floor under our feet is vibrating. Clearly, that was not the thing to say to defuse the situation.
“‘Sup, girl,” Bevan replies, lifting his chin.
Alec’s claws snick from his fingertips.
“Quit baiting him,” Nia pipes from behind Pritchard. “We don’t do rank in the new pack, remember?”
“This isn’t about rank.” Bevan sneers at Alec, his lip curling. “You know, when our patrol caught your scent two days ago, Seth and I doubled back to make sure you aren’t some kind of Magnum Horse—“
“Trojan Horse,” Nia interjects.
“Whatever. We were making sure you came alone. Shit’s been weird lately. You can’t be too careful. Anyway, I saw that squirrel you caught her. And the sweet grassy patch you found for her heat.”
“Bevan,” Seth cautions, reaching for his arm. Bevan shakes him off.
“You’re a real provider, aren’t you? ‘Bout what I’d expect from the kind of shabby-ass motherfucker who didn’t even bother to walk his female back to class.”
Two things hit me at once, like a slap to the face and a punch to the gut. Bevan noticed me sneaking off with Alec in school, and if he noticed, he wasn’t the only one. My gaze darts around the cavern, from familiar face to familiar face. They knew. And if they knew, so did all of Salt Mountain.
I want to puke.
It can’t be true. If Greer or Rhona had known, they’d have used it. Called me a fat slut. Whore.
But not if they thought it’d piss Alec off. Or give me rank.
And if Salt Mountain knew, then Bram Blackburn knew. He didn’t come by the laundry because he had a stain he needed treated. He thought I’d put out. He figured I was cheap.
I was.
The awfulness rises in me, drowning the good feeling like a dumb rat on a sinking ship that stuck its nose out of its hole. I should have known, but I didn’t, and now I’m trapped. I can’t run. I already ran. Here.
While my brain whirls, Alec’s growls explode, and he draws himself up, his chest rising, his triceps tensing, his shoulder pulling back, his weight shifting. He’s going after Bevan. Any second.