Chapter 13
What the Fuck?
Raff
I have no idea what's going on, but I'm really starting to lose my patience with Cliff.
What the hell is he actually doing inside that tent?
Twenty minutes ago, Perrin came tearing through the camp, racing right for me like something was chasing him. He grabbed me and Adam by the arms, and told us that Cliff was in a storage tent with an omega in heat, then he dragged us here.
While Perrin seemed dead serious, I’m starting to think it was all bullshit.
I don’t smell anyone in heat.
I pull air through my nose for the hundredth time.
Diesel. Pine. Sun-baked canvas. I can also smell the distant, restless musk of alphas milling around the auction stage on the other side of the meadow.
And underneath all of that, drifting from the holding tents, I pull the dull, flattened sweetness of suppressed omegas.
Their muted scents barely register, like flowers sealed under glass.
But there’s no omega pheromones or slick. Not one trace of it.
Nobody in this camp is cycling, let alone in full-blown heat.
I’m two seconds from marching into that tent and dragging Cliff out myself.
"So yeah, the drive was brutal," Perrin keeps chatting with two very annoyed guards. My beta’s hands moving while he talks, painting pictures in the air for men who clearly don't give a shit.
"Like, over an hour on a logging road. You guys ever drive a cargo van on a logging road?
It's like riding a mechanical bull, except the bull hates you and there's no prize at the end.
" He lets out a quick laugh. "Well, I guess the prize is getting here, which, you know.
" He gestures vaguely at the camp. "Anyway, my alpha gets carsick sometimes.
Not like, a lot, but when it's hot, and the road is bad and he hasn't eaten.
The man goes green. I'm talking green, green. Like —"
The guard with a buzz cut holds up a hand and shakes his head once. "I really don't care. We need him to come out here now."
"Right, totally, yeah." Perrin nods then pushes his hands into his pockets. "I’m sure he’s almost done." He glances back at me, his eyes widening as they flicker from the tent and back again, silently telling me that he’s not sure what’s going on either.
"Where the fuck is Connor?" The second guard, a short fucker with a patchy red beard, spins around scanning the path. I assume Connor is the first asshole who threatened to go get Angelica.
"He said he'd be right back," buzz cut mutters, crossing his arms.
A roar erupts from the far side of the camp.
Deep and collective, the sound of hundreds of alpha voices rising at once.
The PA system crackles to life, a sharp whine of feedback cutting through the noise, and then a man's voice booms across the meadow, smooth and polished and dripping with showmanship.
Every head turns. The guards, Perrin, even me. The sound pulls our focus like a gunshot.
"Gentlemen, welcome to this evening's selections. We'll be getting started shortly, so please make your way to the viewing platform."
Through the gaps between the tents, I can see movement on the auction side of the camp. Alphas shifting toward the stage, jostling, a restless tide of bodies pressing forward.
“Hey, man.” A firm hand lands on my shoulder and I spin, ready to knock the fucker out. "Easy, Raff. It's me." An alpha with dark brown hair and familiar eyes laughs as he holds up his hands as if to surrender.
Anton?
“Holy shit.” My mouth falls open into a wide smile.
Anton grins, happy that I recognize him.
“I can’t believe it.” I clasp his hand and pull him into a one-armed hug, clapping his back once.
He looks different. Older, obviously.
I mean, the last time I saw him we were seventeen, maybe eighteen, running around the yard in whatever junker we were supposed to be stripping, grease under our nails and my mother yelling at us from the office window.
He's taller now. Broader. His dark hair is trimmed short and clean, and he carries himself like a man who's been in charge of things for a while.
But his grin is the same. Easy and crooked, pulling harder on the left side than the right.
"How the fuck are you?" I pat his back one more time. "It's been a long time, brother."
"Too long." He squeezes my shoulder before letting go, his eyes warm. "Didn't expect to see you out here."
"That makes two of us."
Behind him, the first guard is standing with his arms folded and his mouth set in a hard line. He looks like a man who went to fetch backup and was given a babysitter instead.
And it might work in my favor.
Following my gaze, Anton glances back at the guard. “He in there, Connor?” Anton jerks his head toward the only supply tent near us, and the fucker nods.
“Yup.” Connor jabs a finger toward the flap, his face tight with indignation, like a kid pointing at the classmate who started it.
"Okay." Anton nods once before turning back to me. "So, it sounds like your boy is causing some excitement." His tone is casual, but his eyes narrow slightly as they cut to Perrin, then back to me. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”
“It’s nothing,” I start, but I’m saved from having to say anything else when Cliff finally steps out into the warm evening air and every pair of eyes lands on him.
It’s about fucking time.
But Cliff looks a little…different.
His black hair is a mess, standing up in about a dozen different directions, and there's a faint impression of teeth on his neck that he's not even trying to hide. My gaze drops lower, taking in his stretched-out collar and the flush riding high on his cheekbones.
My pack alpha looks freshly fucked, and my dick responds immediately.
That territorial satisfaction rolls off him, and god help me, I want to taste it. If we weren't standing in the middle of the fucking market surrounded by suspicious guards, I'd probably be dragging him behind the nearest tent myself.
But we are, and he left me out here dealing with Anton while he was getting his dick wet. The thought pisses me off almost as much as it turns me on.
"Hey, Cliff," I try like hell to sound casual, but there's a bite in my tone. "We were about to send in a search party."
“Yeah.” He steps up next to me. Shoulder to shoulder.
I can smell sex on him, and something vaguely sweet underneath it. It's faint, making it hard to pinpoint.
"Apologies for the trouble." Cliff's voice is flat as he turns to Anton, not an ounce of sorry in it. He’s clearly saying whatever he needs to in order to leave. "We'll be out of your way."
"Whoever you have in there needs to come out too.
" Anton jerks his chin toward the tent. “Do you hear me?” His voice rises, pitched past Cliff, aimed at the canvas walls.
"If you work for this operation, you'd better show your face right now.
Because when I find out who you are, and I will find out, you're done here. Pack your shit."
“No problem,” Cliff says. “She’s leaving with us.”
The tent flap moves again, and Adam steps out, shirtless and squinting against the sun.
And pressed against his chest is some random woman.
She's small with dark hair that's tangled and damp against her neck.
She's drowning in Adam's T-shirt, the hem hitting her mid-thigh, and she's curled against him like she's trying to disappear inside his ribcage.
I try to get a look at her face, but it's hidden behind a curtain of hair, her head tucked low against Adam's shoulder.
She's trembling so hard I can see it from here.
Who the hell is she?
"Let's go." Cliff holds out his arm, beckoning Perrin to him.
Perrin moves immediately, falling into step at Cliff's side. Then Cliff lifts two fingers and points them forward, directing Adam to walk ahead of them.
Adam adjusts the woman against his chest and moves, keeping his head down and angling her face away from the guards.
Is there blood on her shoulder?
"Again, I apologize for the disruption," Cliff says over his shoulder, but Anton doesn’t say anything.
He's too busy staring at the woman.
Taking a single step forward, Anton's eyes sharpen and his chin drops. His head tilts as his gaze narrows at the girl. "Pérez?"
Her head lifts from Adam's shoulder a fraction of an inch, but it’s enough to show her face through the mess of damp hair. Her eyes are glassy and unfocused, her skin flushed with sweat.
"What the fuck?" Anton surges forward to cut past me, but Cliff is ready.
My pack alpha explodes in a blur of movement, cutting the distance to Anton in a single, aggressive lunge.
The impact is a dull, heavy thud of bodies colliding, two forces of nature meeting in the middle of a dusty clearing.
They grab each other simultaneously, fists twisting into the fabric of their shirts, yanking each other chest to chest until not an inch of space remains. They are a matched set of raw power. Their knuckles are white, the fabric stretched taut across their bunched shoulders.
"You don't touch her," Cliff snarls, his voice a low, guttural rasp I've only heard a handful of times.
His face is inches from Anton's, his dark brown eyes burning with a pure, animal rage.
Anton's own snarl is just as vicious, his lips peeled back from his teeth. "She works for me, motherfucker. I have every right to know what you did to her."
"I didn't do shit," Cliff shoots back, his grip tightening, the muscles in his forearms cording like steel cables. "Back the fuck off before I make you regret even looking at her." His voice drops even lower, a promise of violence so absolute it makes the air around them crackle. “She’s mine.”
My knuckles crack as I curl my fists, the sound loud enough to hear. I take half a step forward, my weight settling low, and that's when I hear it behind me.
The click of safeties being switched off.