Chapter 11 #3
“That’s hardly a crime,” Ryker mutters, stabbing a piece of meat with more aggression than necessary.
“Not a crime, my ass,” Lyra fires back. “You tried to stage a coup at age nine because someone told you pups didn’t have to bathe and yet there you were every night, being forced into a bath against your will.”
A chorus of laughter bubbles around the table.
“Did it work?” I ask, grinning at Ryker.
“Temporarily,” Lyra deadpans. “Until he got tackled into the river.”
“I was making a point,” Ryker says, biting into the venison like it personally offended him.
“A stinking point,” Lyra adds, patting his arm fondly.
The tension in my chest loosens. But it’s replaced by a new ache, one that wishes I could be part of this easy history and laughter someday.
You already are, my wolf tells me.
I don’t correct her. Her concept of pack dynamics is vastly different than my own.
As the meal continues, I observe how Ryker’s presence changes the dynamics. Sara becomes more formal, Elias more deferential. But the others are at ease, treating Ryker with respect but easy familiarity.
His interaction with his pack is so different from my experience that I find it hard to reconcile that he is the alpha. He’s not obeyed out of fear, but followed out of respect. My mate is well-liked. He doesn’t command loyalty. He earns it.
We chose well, my wolf tells me.
We had no say in our choosing, I answer her dryly.
The one dark spot on my meal is Levi. I notice him watching from across the hall, his expression unreadable. When our eyes meet briefly, he doesn’t look away. Instead, he inclines his head fractionally, acknowledgment without submission.
Remember his face, my wolf whispers. Remember his scent, his manner, his place in the pack.
I file the impression away carefully, uncertain why it’s important but trusting her intuition nonetheless.
As the meal winds down, Ryker’s hand settles at the small of my back, warm and possessive. “Training continues tomorrow,” he says, his voice pitched for my ears alone. “Tonight, you rest.”
I glance at him. “Do you have a busy afternoon?”
He tangles his fingers in my hair. “Back-to-back meetings with packs who weren’t represented at the Claiming—they’re also not fans of Thaddeus. I’m optimistic we might come to some kind of allied agreement.”
“Do you want me there?”
“Not today. I’d rather you familiarize yourself with the pack before I throw you into the political mess that is pack dynamics.”
I chuckle, rising with him. “You’d be surprised what I know about pack dynamics. Varick was a particular fan of me spying during important meetings. He thought it would help my vision.”
“Did it?” Ryker asks, gathering cutlery and plates. I help him, collecting my own ensemble of items.
“When my visions showed political discussions I wouldn’t have otherwise understood.”
He chuckles. “Are they meant to be understood? Sometimes it feels like I’m speaking in circles.”
I lift my pile of plates and follow him toward the kitchens, acutely aware of the eyes following our departure. This has been my first real introduction to the pack and its complex web of relationships and power dynamics that will shape my life here.
“In my experience good leadership isn’t about who speaks the loudest,” I say as we stack the plates near the wash bins. “It’s about who listens best. Most alphas I’ve watched treat politics like a performance. They posture and puff, and forget the fundamental reason they’re in the room together.”
“And that is?” Ryker asks, sliding cutlery into a standing basket.
“Their role is to be a service to the pack.”
He hums his agreement. “And that is the hardest part of my role—knowing what will be best for the pack.”
I lay a hand on his arm. “From what I’ve seen, you’re doing an excellent job.”
His gaze meets mine, and in a flash a vision hits me—this one isn’t of a future or a past, it’s of a desire unspoken.
Ryker doesn’t want a mate. He wants a partner.
The vision releases me, and I blink, shaking my head.
“Are you okay?” he asks, balancing me with one hand on my shoulder.
“Yeah, I just…” I don’t know what to say. I want to be what he desires—more than anything. But I know in my heart I can’t. I’m in all ways his inferior. “It’s nothing,” I lie, forcing a bright smile. “Shall we go?”
He hesitates, and I tense, wondering if he’ll push. Instead, he captures my hand in his, intertwining our fingers.
As we walk back toward our chambers, Ryker’s hand remains in mine, his presence both protection and possession.
“Your thoughts are loud,” he murmurs. “Tell me what troubles you, Kitara.”
“I’m just processing,” I reply honestly. “This place is so different to where I grew up.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
I laugh. “Not at all. Back there no one wanted to hear from me unless I had a vision to share. Here, all you seem to want me to do is share.”
His growl is low, barely audible but vibrating through his entire chest. “That life is over. No one silences you.”
“Not even you?” I can’t help asking.
His laugh is dark and rich. “Especially not me.” He glances at me and the heat in his gaze makes my cheeks flush. “Though I might ask your silence for other reasons sometimes.”
A thought slips through the bond between us—me crouched before him, staring up at him, as I lean forward, my mouth open and ready for his—
“Sorry,” he mutters, shutting down the thought. “I didn’t mean for you to see that.”
I swallow, fighting the drag of desire his thoughts sparked in me. “That’s okay. I…” I don’t know what else to say, but I’m saved from saying anything by a man calling Ryker’s name.
“Alpha,” the young wolf interrupts. “We need you urgently. It seems Genop and Rue are at it again.”
With a sigh, Ryker presses a kiss to my temple and lets me go.
“Rest,” he orders over his shoulder. “I’ll see you tonight.”
I watch him go, my fingers absently brushing the spot where his lips touched my temple.
What have I gotten myself into?