Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
I type and then delete an order not to take pictures of her ass.
What is she doing?
He sends another picture. She’s squatting.
Idk, boss. This.
I put my phone down before I throw it, and Seth and I drive in silence until we cross into Moon Lake territory. I’m on edge, every nerve straining. For the first time in my life, I want to pound flesh, not because I have to for order and discipline, but because if I don’t let this energy out somehow, it’s going to claw through my skin.
Like my wolf in the dream.
“Seth.” He glances over. “Does my wolf have dead eyes?”
He blinks. “Uh. I don’t look your wolf in the eye, man. You’d have to ask your father.”
He’s dodging the question.
“Listen, you can’t let Killian Kelly get in your head. What does he know? The shifter circuit? How to be the alpha of a pack that would fit in one floor of the High Rise? He doesn’t know Moon Lake. He doesn’t know you.”
Do I know me? I know duty. I know what I’m supposed to become. I know the consequences if I fail.
I roll down the window, let the late afternoon air in and try to clear my brain. The foothills rise to the south, and the road is smooth with clear signage and fresh painted lines. The lake spreads in the distance, glittering silver.
A scent teases my nose. Nutmeg. Or cloves.
“Pull over.”
Seth eases onto the shoulder. I’m out before he rolls to a stop.
“We have a meeting with your father.” Seth keeps the engine running.
“It’s not until five.”
“You want me to come with?”
“No.” The Hummer’s exhaust is confusing the scent. “Go on. I’ll see you later.”
He waits a few seconds, maybe thinking I’ll change my mind, but I’m already following my nose. My wolf is awake. Alert.
I rarely let him out except for full moon runs. He comes when bidden, and surrenders our skin as soon as I call for it back.
My wolf might be silent, but he’s disciplined. I never had to fight to master him when I first shifted like some of the other males. Seth had a hard time getting his wolf in line. He’ll still race ahead and circle back at the end of a run like he’s got the zoomies.
My wolf is what he needs to be.
Seth pulls off, scattering asphalt. A crow caws. The wind carries a hint of coriander and orange peel, and it may as well be an arrow. A command.
I have no business being here on the outskirts of our territory, shirking my responsibilities. But since I am—
I strip, folding my shorts and shirt neatly and setting them on top of my sneakers by the side of the road. The brisk air buffets my body. I raise my arms, lean back, and let the weak November sunlight hit my face and chest and leave them cold.
I don’t summon my wolf.
I let go of my human skin, and I wonder for a moment, as the brown grass rustles by the side of the road, whether I’ll shift or fade into nothing.
My wolf scents spice in the distance.
He rips through bones and muscle, crashing into the world, his paws hitting the frozen ground mid-leap, his claws hacking furrows as he races into the field toward the woods.
Chapter 6
6
ROSIE
I
‘m foraging in G17, trying to ignore Derwyn, trying not to be annoyed that he’s been following me all day and done nothing but talk on his phone, piss upwind, and ask me “are you almost done yet” more times than my nieces when I’m in the bathroom. I’m trying—and failing.
It’s cold outside, but I’m sweating. I’m hungry but nauseous. I want to be alone, but I want Cadoc, and I hate that I want him here. I want to knock myself out with a frying pan like a cartoon character. I’d settle for drinking myself unconscious, but I can hardly keep water down.
If Derwyn says, “How ’bout this? You looking for this?” and points to a piece of human litter one more time, I’m going to shift and sit on him until he’s a pancake.
I’m kneeling in a thicket of low shrubs, combing gently with my fingers and calling on all the gods I’ve ever heard of to give me patience, when there’s a commotion—a growl, a yip, a submissive whine, and finally—blessedly—Derwyn’s dank, rotten oak stink begins to fade.
I don’t care if it’s a feral down from the hills. I don’t care if Derwyn’s been eaten, and I’m next. I inhale a deep breath for the first time all day, and sink back to rest my butt on my heels.
I smell fresh cut pine—and fur.
It takes me a second to find him because I’m scanning too high above the ground. It’s not Cadoc lurking in the sycamore trees surrounding the glade. It’s his wolf.
The wolf is utterly still and watchful. I’ve seen him before, but only in pictures in the Academy bulletin. I’ve never spied on the nobs during their full moon runs like most scavenger pups do.
The wolf is big. Not anywhere near my size, but definitely bigger than most wolves. He’s comparable in height to Madog’s wolf, but that’s where the comparison ends. Madog’s wolf can barely restrain himself from tearing you limb from limb, always pacing and lunging and snarling. He freaks me out.
Cadoc’s wolf is motionless. He’s so dark gray, he’s almost black, except for a streak of silver on his flank. His eyes are weird—like liquid mercury. There’s no expression in them. No reflection either. He freaks me out, too, but in a different way.
What is he doing standing there?
If he were Bevan or Pritchard, his tongue would be hanging out, or his tail would twitch, or his nose would flare. There are birds and squirrels and some kind of burrowing animal in the woods nearby, but Cadoc’s wolf doesn’t even flick his ears.
Should I be afraid?
It’s kind of an academic question, like our instructors say. I’m not scared. Even if Cadoc’s wolf is moon mad or feral or something, mine’s a freakin’ dinosaur, a big ol’ meat eatin’ one. Dinosaur trumps wolf.
I don’t even know if there’s something wrong with his wolf. Maybe he’s just, I don’t know,shy?
Whatever, I can’t do my thing with him standing there and staring. For lack of a better idea, I hold out my hand, palm up, not really expecting anything.
For a few seconds, nothing happens. He’s a statue, his silver eyes catching a ray of sun and flashing like a mirror.
Then, slowly, he stalks forward, graceful and sleek, across the dark green moss to where I’m kneeling in a tangle of ivy and undergrowth. My heart thuds. My extended arm shakes.
He lifts a paw and gingerly steps into the brush, considering my palm. His head tilts to the side. He blinks, cool and unhurried, and it’s like someone raised and lowered a window shade.
I wiggle my fingers. He lowers his snout to sniff them. At least his nose is cold and wet like a normal wolf’s. He darts out his tongue and manages to swipe my thumb before I can yank my hand back. It’s grainy like sandpaper.
“F-Fair warning, if you bite me, I’ll swallow you whole.” Even though I’m speaking in a normal tone of voice, it sounds too loud.
Cadoc’s wolf stares at me. I stare back. It’s a cheap thrill, meeting the alpha heir’s eye, but his wolf isn’t posturing for dominance. No bared fangs or low growl demanding submission.
My wolf is interested, but she’s content to loll back and observe. She doesn’t sense a threat.
I don’t think I do either.
I don’t know what to do, and the wolf isn’t making any moves, so I go back to foraging. This is a thick patch, and even if there aren’t any plants of value, it could hide stones or bones or any number of tradable things. I’ve been working it on my knees, using my wadded-up sweater for cushioning.
I go back to combing through the leaves and vines with my spread fingers, keeping my attention narrowed on the spot right in front of me.
It’s kind of hard to focus with a silent alpha wolf at my back.
I glance over my shoulder. “Are you just gonna watch, then?”
The wolf is rigid and still. I can’t tell if he even registers that I spoke to him.