Chapter 49
RODERICK
Courtney pulls her audacious yellow truck into the empty space next to my bike. I chose to make the drive on two wheels because I wanted the freedom and alone time I could only find while running as a wolf and riding my Harley.
This meeting place is relatively central to all the packs involved, which means we had to travel three hours to get here.
I don’t like being so far from my territory, but it helps that this is neutral ground.
The warehouse appears abandoned. But I’ve been here before, and I know the forbidding exterior is one of the most appealing aspects of this building for the owner.
Said owner strides toward us now. Alistar, warlock of great power and provider of our safe meeting place.
The man has on a suit, and his hair is slicked back, showing off his sharp features. I’ve heard him called handsome before, but all I see is power. And cockiness.
“Ah, the pair from Pine Falls. Welcome to my humble abode.” The man spreads his arms wide, knowing this place is neither humble nor where he lives. “But this beta doesn’t look like your lovely mother.”
“You saying I don’t give off MILF vibes?” Courtney flicks her hair over her shoulder and cocks her hip while affecting a dramatic pout. “Damn, man, way to bruise my ego.”
His eyes widen.
“Alistar.” I nod, ignoring the snarky comments. “This is Courtney. My beta.”
At least until my mother earns her way out of her exile. Although who knows? Maybe the pack magic has forever shifted.
Neither Courtney nor I offer a hand to shake. We know better than to let a warlock touch us. Not that I expect any foul play from Alistar. But it’s best to be cautious.
And I don’t like how he’s still staring at my beta with an interested gleam in his eye.
“Courtney. Beta from Pine Falls. Lovely to meet you,” he purrs.
“Oh, Ally.” She gives him her cheekiest grin. “You’re just saying that ’cause you haven’t gotten to know me yet.”
He blinks, and if anything, the interest intensifies. But he turns to me.
“Come. Join the party.” He ushers us through the front door, and the illusion of decay fades to show a modern entryway that seems almost hotel-like. There are plenty of overnight rooms in this place, so the layout makes sense.
“Fancy.” Courtney doesn’t sound impressed, only curious.
“Your room key.” Alistar waves a hand, and a skeleton key appears on a low table to my left. “You’re in room thirteen.”
“Ooh, my favorite,” Courtney murmurs.
The warlock grins. “Don’t start feeling too special. Every guest is in room thirteen. It’s only that everyone’s thirteen is different.” He winks and then waves for us to follow him.
The massive amount of power it requires to run this place always astonishes me. I’ve never asked where he draws it all from. Partly because I doubt Alistar would reveal his secrets. But I’m also not sure I want to know the answer.
“Here we are. Meeting of the hounds. Remember, no dog fighting.”
With a flourish, two large metal doors swing open to reveal a spacious conference room.
Werewolves from the four corner states—Colorado, Utah, New Mexico, and Arizona—mill around at the edges, the center of the room taken up by a round conference table.
No head of the table here. We’re all on equal footing.
This is the third gathering of the packs I’ve attended.
They are held four days after the eleventh full moon of the year, every five years.
The thought process was that the time of year was long enough for the hype of the moon to have drained from our system while also being close enough to a good run that none of us would be on edge.
Or at least, no more on edge than can be expected in a room of powerful werewolves.
Holding the meeting every five years means each pack can provide a decent roundup of important events. Births, deaths, alliances, punishments, shifts in territory, and whatever else might influence wolves in other packs.
That’s the whole point of this meeting of the packs. To keep the peace.
The practice was established roughly thirty years ago. Before that, fights among packs had been much more common. But as technology advanced, risk of exposure grew with it. Fifteen pack leaders called a truce and established this meeting.
I’ve heard similar practices occur all over the country now, but I haven’t had time to explore. Not when I took on the leadership role at only eighteen. Since then, I’ve barely left Pine Falls. Even now, I feel as though my wolves are vulnerable.
At least I know that the same fact is true for all of the packs gathered.
I greet the leaders I’ve developed friendships with over the years, as well as the ones who rub me the wrong way. No good can come of playing favorites. Just because this meeting is meant to be conflict-free doesn’t mean that we’re all best friends.
Still, we can be assured that there will be no physical fights during the meeting.
The magic over this location makes it impossible for us to change into wolf form. One step taken against fights breaking out. Alistar is in charge of circumventing all types of violence. And he is being paid handsomely for the duty.
Glancing around the room, I perform a head count. Fifteen packs have grown to twenty-one. I count forty wolves. With an alpha and a beta from each pack, we’re only waiting on one more pair.
Isolde Smith walks in.
I know of the woman, but today is the first time I’m seeing her in person. The new leader of the Denver pack. She has the largest number of wolves under her protection.
And when she steps into the room, I’m not surprised in the slightest.
Isolde exudes power. Her red hair is a shade darker than my Juliet’s, and the pack leader has it braided in a circlet around the top of her head. The style might make a gentler woman look like a milkmaid.
Isolde looks like a queen with a crown.
When the old Denver pack leader died, most everyone expected the mantle to pass on to one of the man’s six sons. Pack leadership is not a monarchy, but for some reason, the magic tends to keep things in the family.
But then Isolde stepped forward, imbued with the power to lead the Denver wolves. A relatively obscure woman who, until that time, had existed on the perimeter of the pack.
Not the only female pack leader, with seven others at this gathering.
But arguably the most powerful in our group based on sheer numbers.
With the last wolves accounted for, we all settle in. Leaders take seats; seconds stand behind their chairs.
I never liked making my mom stand for hours on end while I took a load off, but when I brought it up, she told me to stop making a fuss or other packs might think she needed a chair to sit in and that it would be an indication of our pack’s weakening strength.
Courtney’s response was, “Standing gives me a better view to judge people. Don’t take that from me!”
So, I let the tradition stand without comment.
Responsibility of directing the meeting rotates each year, alphabetically by the city or town the pack is based in. I directed last year, which means this year is being lead by the leader of the pack from Rosebud, New Mexico.
He calls the meeting to order, lays out the series of events that’ll take place as a reminder to the veterans and to educate the new pack leaders. In addition to Isolde, there’s one other pack that’s under new governance.
The first order of business is sharing important happenings within each pack. This starts to the Rosebud leader’s left, then continues around the table. Everything is going smoothly until it’s Denver’s turn.
Isolde relates the death of their past pack leader, five matings, and other general news about the wolves in Denver. Her voice is steady, and if anything, her presence seems to grow as she talks.
“That summarizes it all. The transfer of power, while unexpected, has gone smoothly. No major areas of contention to report.” She finishes and gestures for the next pack to go.
Up until this point, there hasn’t been any commentary after a leader’s report. But one of the Utah leaders stands from his chair and plants his fists on the table.
“Sure your pack doesn’t have any issues? Because I’ve heard you’ve fielded multiple Challenges.” His words are a taunt, as if he expects her to bristle and defend herself.
Instead of appearing intimidated or embarrassed, Isolde stares at the man expressionless, letting his words fade to uncomfortable silence. Then she speaks.
“Weaker wolves have Challenged me and lost. I left them with their lives and a new understanding of my power.” She blinks slowly. “Are you in need of a lesson?”
“Now, now,” Alistar chides, stepping from the shadows, where he was lurking.
“While I do love watching a bloody showdown, you know the rules. No violence on the premises. Please sheathe your claws.” Even as the warlock circles the table with a placating smile, his eyes are hard and swirl with some mixture of color that is almost hypnotic.
Then, between one step and the next, he vanishes.
Alistar is an illusion warlock, first and foremost, so my guess is, he’s still in the room.
The Utah leader settles back in his chair, forcing a cocky smirk onto his face. But we all know who won that posturing match.
I can’t help thinking Juliet would like Isolde. I’m sure Courtney would have loved to see a fight.
When the turn comes to me, I lean forward and project my voice to fill the room.
“My brother plans to join with a mate. A human woman named Zoey Gunner. My mother, Rebecca Gunner, was unhappy about the union and committed crimes against the woman. As punishment, she has been exiled from Pine Falls territory for no shorter than a year.”
There are murmurs around the table. It’s a rare thing for a pack leader to punish a member of their own family.
“However, I still maintain my commitment of pack protection. If Rebecca is harmed by another wolf, it will be seen as an attack on Pine Falls. She is also free to align with a new pack if that is her choice.”
I list off less provocative news about other matings and pack interactions and deaths.
Once I have nothing else to report, I go quiet and nod for the next pack to speak their piece.
The sharing of news goes on for some time.
Many packs are larger than the Pine Falls pack and therefore have more to report.
When that segment of the meeting is complete, the floor opens for all other discussions.
Some packs air grievances or share information that might pertain to the safety of all present.
A handful of packs approaches matings as chances to build alliances and use this time to announce young single wolves looking for partners.
Ever since I gained pack leader status as an unmated male, I’ve had to deal with significant looks sent my way when the topic of matchmaking comes up.
Avoiding those searching eyes now, I let my gaze travel around the table. Across the way, I realize someone is staring at me. One of the seconds, standing just behind the chair of his leader, has his eyes locked on me.
The intensity of his focus breaks the moment my gaze meets his. He tilts his head toward the speaker, seeming to listen to the man, but for some reason, I feel like his focus is still on me.
When the clock tells us it is six in the evening, the Rosebud pack leader calls a pause to the meeting. Now is when individual leaders will have one-on-one interactions. This is the time that true movement is made. Announcements of items discussed will happen tomorrow morning.
Standing from my chair, I twist side to side, cracking my back. Alistar appears, pushing open another set of metal doors and filling the room with delicious smells. Dinner is served.
Just as Courtney and I are about to join the stream of wolves walking toward the next room, I’m waylaid by an unknown wolf.
“Hey, Roderick Jameson, right? From Pine Falls?” He steps up to me, but not close enough to fully invade my personal space.
It’s the beta I caught staring at me earlier. He’s a big man, though not as large as me and a few inches shorter. Dirty-blond hair falls in a styled mess over his forehead, and he has a set of striking blue eyes. He’s got that all-American look going on.
My silent nod is the only response I offer.
The wolf gives a grin that most people would be charmed by. But he has nothing on Warner, so I’m not moved.
“I wanted to introduce myself because”—he lowers his voice with a glance around the room—“a couple of years ago, a member of my pack left to join yours. His name is Thad Flannery.”
Again, I nod, wondering if I’m going to have to get violent with this man. If he starts talking shit about my pack member, I will.
But he looks up at me with a questioning tilt to his brows. “I just wanted to know, how’s he doing?”
For a moment, I don’t speak, thinking over the question. And the beta’s purpose for asking it.
“Fine,” I say. “Better.”
His grin goes wide, and the wolf appears relieved.
“Good. That’s great to hear.” Again, the stranger lowers his voice, and I realize the furtive glance he’s throwing out is aimed at Mick, the leader of the Bear Valley, Utah, pack.
“He didn’t have an easy time with us, I’m sorry to say. But I always counted him as a friend.”
“Good to know he had one,” I respond.
“Is that something your pack does a lot? Take in strays?”
If his tone were slightly different, I’d think the man was insulting my pack. But he only seems curious. Maybe Bear Valley will soon have another deserter.
“Sometimes.”
The wolf breathes in deep, as if bracing himself for his next words. But he only nods and says, “Good of you all to do.”
He turns to stride into the dining hall.
“Your name?” I ask, wanting to know who is interested in my people.
The wolf turns back, his head cocked, half smile playing around his mouth.
“Cory.”