Chapter Six #2
They are too valuable, either as breeding stock or an asset to be sold. Both are vile options, but still our sad reality.
My beast growls in my chest, snarling at the thought of her being in danger, not to mention being touched by anyone else. While everything in me wants to come to her aid, claim her for our own, we have nothing to offer her but a future that will slowly kill her.
I refuse to doom her to that fate.
My wolf thrashes in my chest in denial, doing everything in his power to break free of my influence, but I refuse to relent, mentally wrapping him in silver chains.
As much as I want to rush her out the door, the territory isn’t safe for a female alone.
The least we can do is return her to her guards.
We just have to contact them to come and collect her.
When I open my mouth to demand names, the fire alarm blares in the silence. The girl jolts, her golden eyes brightening until they shimmer with her wolf. Black claws tip the ends of her fingers, and her muscles coil, ready to leap into action.
The change takes less than a second, which means she’s incredibly strong.
It also means she’s been trained—a rarity for a woman.
It’s a male’s job to protect a female.
That she felt the need to be trained breaks my heart.
It also means she’s probably been on her own for a while now—no guards, no family or friends, no pack.
Females are supposed to be protected and cherished. They shouldn’t have to worry about their safety, forage for their next meal, or stress about where they will find shelter. That’s why males exist. It pisses me off that there is no one to protect her the way she deserves.
“Shit!” Tyler dashes toward the stove almost faster than the eye can track.
He hisses when he grabs the hot pan and tosses it into the sink.
Steam billows in the air as he turns on the water.
Used to his antics, neither Dante nor I move, but the girl grabs his wrist before he can shove his burned hand under the faucet.
“Don’t do that,” she chides, angling his hand into the light to see the injury better. “Never run water over a burn.”
A nasty scorch mark is seared across his palm. Thanks to his shifter genetics, he heals even as we watch. The girl runs a single finger over the repaired flesh, and Tyler shivers at the sensation, his lovesick eyes locked on her face.
Claws slice through my fingertips. I’m jealous of the fucker for such a simple touch, still remembering what her fingers felt like in my fur. It’s all I can do not to cross the room, shove him aside, and demand she touch me instead.
“You need to be more careful.” She clicks her tongue in admonishment and shakes her head. I almost think she’s talking to me until she glances up at Tyler from under her lashes. “We just fixed you up. Your fox needs more rest, or you’re going to end up right back where you started.”
He nods dutifully, flexing his hand as if shocked the injury is gone, glancing between her and his healed flesh with awe. “I haven’t healed that fast in years. How did you do that?”
Avoiding eye contact, the girl shrugs and turns away to pick up her bag that got kicked into the corner during the scuffle. “Oh, you know, I picked up a few things here and there.”
Shifters who are part of a pack are always stronger.
Healing, strength, and speed all increase when you can tap into pack bonds.
The stronger the alpha, the stronger the pack.
Whatever potion she poured into his wound stimulated his healing abilities.
Magic that works on a shifter is practically unheard of.
“You just happened to pick up magic?” I stand but keep my distance, not wanting to intimidate her with my size. Normally, shifters only have enough magic to shift. The stronger the bloodlines, the faster they can shift.
Using any other type of magic is like breathing water—it’s just not possible.
As the mysteries around her deepen, so does my curiosity.
Her golden eyes darken slightly at my question, her expression calculating, and I already know whatever comes out of her mouth next will be a lie.
“You can find a lot of things if you know where to look for them.” She shoulders her bag, like she thinks she’s going to leave.
Tyler holds up both of his hands. “I promised you a home-cooked meal. Give me thirty minutes, and I’ll have a whole feast ready. Please?”
Her expression softens at his pleading, regret darkening her eyes, but before she can refuse, her stomach growls in complaint, as if to remind her it’s empty.
Tyler doesn’t wait for her response. He whirls back toward the fridge, his fox undoubtedly panicked at the thought of her going hungry. As an alpha, the urge to offer food to a female is a compulsion. Our need to provide for them is built into our DNA.
“Foxy—”
“Tyler,” he interrupts, his voice muffled from where his head is stuck in the fridge. When he draws back, I swear the whole contents of the fridge dangle precariously in his arms. “My name is Tyler.”
We all glance at the girl, waiting to see if she offers her name. He’s the charmer of our group. If anyone can convince her to stay, it would be him. Females see his tragic smile, his earnest expression, and fawn all over him.
It’s not an act, but the wily fox knows how to play it up when the occasion calls for it.
In truth, the sneaky fox is as ruthless as the rest of us, he’s just better at hiding it.
A true trickster.
The girl shoots him an exasperated look, obviously seeing right through his antics, and I have to squash my smile at seeing him being called out.
“How about a rare steak?” He drops the packages onto the counter, quickly organizing the items. “I bet you and your wolf would like a big, fat piece of meat.”
He shoots her a sly wink, a smirk dancing on his face, and she snorts at his horrible flirting.
“O, please, don’t encourage him,” Dante chides, reaching out to grab more beers…and offers her one as well. He wrapped a towel around his hand, the white cloth spotted with blood, the fucker wearing it like a badge of honor or some shit.
I gape at him in shock that he can actually be nice, but he avoids my gaze.
Dante is a bastard, born and bred.
I didn’t think he knew how to act any other way, yet he’s tolerating her.
No, he more than tolerates her.
That he would willingly offer her anything is a clear indication of his interest…or maybe a sign of the apocalypse?
It’s hard to tell.
Even my feral wolf is hanging on to her every word, sniffing at her almost compulsively, like he can’t get enough.
It’s been decades since he’s been even remotely sane for more than a few minutes at a time.
Despite my mental instability, the instant she touched him, he pranced around like a pup begging for attention.
It’s unsettling as fuck.
Even now, he’s more alert, paying attention to our surroundings for the first time in years.
That he’s not trying to take over leaves me suspicious.
I’m more beast than man at this point, spending so much time as my wolf that my human body feels alien and unwieldy.
Each month, it’s harder and harder to remain on two legs, and it’s only a matter of time before any illusion of humanity is stripped away.
That changed when she touched him, when she asked him to retreat and allow me to be in charge. He hesitated only a second before doing as instructed, preening under her praise.
I need to know how she was able to manipulate him so effortlessly.
It’s my only hope for the future.
I tap my finger against my leg—one, two, three.
One, two, three.
One, two, three.
The cadence helps me concentrate and prevent the constant flood of rage from taking over.
The incessant struggle is exhausting. Even a hint of violence is enough to trigger me, so I’ve been staying at the house, afraid to step foot outside.
I’m ashamed to admit I was so self-absorbed in my own problems that I was completely unaware of what was happening to Tyler.
I’m supposed to be his alpha, I’m supposed to take care of him, and I failed to see he was struggling. He’s been taking regular beatings, keeping quiet about it so as not to trigger me, and I’ve been letting him, willfully ignoring the smell of pain lingering under his normal scent.
No more.
We can’t keep surviving like this.
I casually claim the island seat closest to the door, unwilling to let the captivating girl leave without some answers.
If she has the power to change our fate, we can’t let the opportunity slip by without at least trying.
Even if I’m beyond saving, the other two deserve a chance at a different future.
And if she is in trouble, like I suspect, the least I can do is put my feral ass to good use and protect her. Once my beast is on the hunt, nothing will stop him but death. Keeping her safe is a better ending than I deserve, and I would consider it an honor.
On the off chance that this is some sort of trick, I relish the opportunity to make her pay.
It would mean I could claim her for my own without an ounce of guilt.
I almost hope that she’s lying.
Trying to remember how to act normal, I grab the beer, take a swig, and glance at the girl. “What brings you to Cedar Falls?”