Chapter 2
It took a knock at the door and a letter to pull me out of hiding. My shoulders heave in release as the overstuffed bag hits the dark hardwood floor. I’m not sure what I grabbed. I refuse to stay in this house for long, but it’s good enough to stay for a week or two.
Two days ago, four bullets changed my brother Pratt’s life.
And now mine.
Pain has radiated in my chest ever since. Humans and werewolves have often been in a balance between a truce and war, but there are always the few who refuse to let us—well, them—exist.
A shadow blocks the light from the hallway to my temporary bedroom. Stark fills the entire eight-foot doorframe. Werewolves are tall beyond just the Toridge pack line—six feet minimum, a side effect of wolf blood. The spirits wanted our human form intimidating too.
My height, on the other hand, remains lost to everyone’s knowledge. Except Pratt—he knows. Knew, damn it.
Nails digging into my opposite wrist. “Do you need something?” My eyes nearly betray me, but deep crescent moon shapes form in my skin to distract them from flowing. Crying in front of Stark is not an option. It would ruin my plan to get out of this house. His house.
“Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes, Aloka. There’s time to shower.” He exudes calmness, one hand in the pocket of his dark pants. No sign that this invasion of his home has affected him.
Me—I’m the invasion.
“Right.” I nod and move to grab the door handle to get the point across, as he steps back and walks away.
My head tips back against the hard surface of the closed door.
The bedroom is something I shouldn’t complain about—it’s the perfect balance of grand and cozy.
Bookshelves line the entire wall opposite the closet and bathroom, and deep wood-burnings of werewolves running wrap each post on the four-poster bed in the middle of the wide room.
A flannel blanket is thrown across the corner.
If it were my own, if it were in my home, there’s nothing I would change.
Sounds of water rushing onto the stone fill the bathroom as I strip my clothes off.
What Stark doesn’t know is I’ve practically lived in the shower for the past two days, washing my tears down the drain.
They expect me to be sad and weak, so I can’t give the pack more ammo than they already have to control me.
Bare, I step in and test the cool water on my arms, watching it splash onto the brown stones that line the floor and walls. My own soaps look back at me from the shelf indented into the layered stones, but I haven’t unpacked anything yet. Someone must happen to like what I use.
The pink rose soap fills my hand by habit, though there’s nothing to wash off. I haven’t had a moment alone besides the shower since the Elders of the Toridge pack came to tell me.
A pack’s bond might be strong, but a sibling’s . . . I never pictured a moment without him. Being the younger sibling, I have no memories without his existence, a comfort I can’t explain. Some brothers give everything they have, but Pratt gave everything he didn’t.
He was second-in-command in his cohort when it came to protecting the pack.
The pack has always sent out groups on patrol to keep an eye on the other humans, but even more so in the last while.
Though we look the same, the intense height and build usually give werewolves away, or maybe it’s that we live in the wilderness, a day trip away from human civilization, that does it.
Some manage to live with the humans—go to school, come back with knowledge. It depends on how well you can blend.
Fresh and clean again, I shake from head to toe before stepping out of the shower, nearly dry except for my hair.
Pulling the soft towel off the rack and patting down the dampness, I slide the towel across the fogged glass of the mirror, leaving just enough of a space to see myself.
You’d think loneliness would show, but my skin and face haven’t changed, minus the small puffs below my eyes from rubbing tears.
No one would know my brother, the only person left who loved me, isn’t here.
I dress in a casual pair of leggings and a white T-shirt, tucking it into the side of my waistband for dinner. My goal is to get approval to leave the house so I can get out of sight. The pack loves rules, and staying here makes it harder to ignore them.
Loud voices boom and echo down the hallway.
I am more out of it than expected. I didn’t even notice anyone arrive at the house.
I turn my ears down a notch so the noise quiets enough to not be overwhelming.
The hallway stretches down into the large center space that I passed walking in.
It’s designed to entertain or host informal meetings.
Eyes turn my way the second I step into it, and their thoughts amplify in my mind.
She looks better than expected.
Did you know she was so tiny?
No wonder Pratt liked to keep her away in that house.
I close the internal path to them. They think I can’t hear the pack’s thoughts. I understand, but it doesn’t mean I want to hear them all the time.
“Hi, Aloka.” Stark steps forward, away from one of the Elders next to him.
“Hey, um, did everyone have to be here?”
“They’re usually here.”
That same energy comes off him. Like he doesn’t care that I’m here, but that’s impossible.
Who would want to be responsible for a random girl they’ve never met, let alone a twenty-five-year-old.
Most drop their gazes when I come across them.
Cohorts spend a lot of time together, and Pratt does things differently for me. Did things.
Heat flickers across me. This is going to take a while to get used to.
I’ve met everyone in the pack before, but I couldn’t tell you who they are now.
The lead Elder who was talking with Stark steps up to us.
Graden’s hair is gray, like most Elders, with a clean-shaven face, and a slight hunch to his stance.
If he stood tall, he’d be close to Stark’s height.
“Aloka Tutten, it’s great to have you here.
” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes as he analyzes me—the mystery of Pratt’s sister.
“I didn’t have much of a choice. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
Graden looks over my head. “Let’s eat,” he announces to the room. Not shocking—they know what I want and it’s easy to ignore my wishes to leave. If only they respected me as much as Pratt and that damn letter.
Ten werewolves in human form head to the large table, seven of whom are men.
Stark sits on the side, while two Elders take the ends.
The others sit wherever there’s an empty seat.
Three of them look close to Stark’s and my brother’s age, and one seems to be a bit younger—maybe a teenager—who I assume turned early.
Then there’s Kiya, who I met two days ago, along with one other Elder woman.
Next to her, the last girl watches down the table; she looks like we’d be the same age.
I take the last empty seat with a place setting across from Stark, next to Graden.
Stark lifts a glass to his lips, giving me a clear view of his bare forearm, which is not what I expected. I need to focus on my goal, not on whether Stark is marked.
“So, as I was saying.” I angle my chair toward Graden.
The others stay quiet. Like it matters.
“We eat, then we talk,” he says in a hushed yet deep whisper to me.
I nod back out of politeness. It’s not that I don’t respect the Elders, I just hate their ways. Especially now that it’s affecting where I live.
The table is already filled with food. Family-style, everyone reaches and passes large dishes around.
Kiya and the other younger women start a conversation with everyone about the weather.
I keep my eyes on my plate, but the heat of others’ eyes on me never stops.
Not until Stark steps away from the table for a moment to go to the door.
When he comes back, three of the men and Kiya get up to talk off to the side. Pack business, I assume.
I refuse to listen to thoughts while I sit here, or I might break even more. I manage to eat the small amount of the salad I’ve taken; well-cooked meat never sits right in my stomach.
The Elder woman and the one next to her start to clear the table. I stand to pick up some of the plates. No need to feel useless here. I carry them into the large kitchen next to the table.
“Oh, thank you, dear. Don’t hurt your arms lifting all that,” the Elder lady—what is her name? I should know it—smiles down at me. Even the women in our pack are six feet tall.
I don’t say a thing as I place them down beside her.
The plate in her hand drops into the sink. All eyes in the room turn to us. Damn it. I have to stay relaxed. She shakes her head and picks it up again. I tune back in just in case.
Old hands. The water must be too hot.
I drown her out again and make my way to the table.
“Now, Aloka, what would you like to discuss?” Graden asks, his tone endearing.
“Thank you. I want to talk about going back to my home.” I keep my voice steady, though I want to yell at them. Tell them they can’t just take me from my home against my own wishes.
“I’m sure we can arrange for you to gather your things.” The other Elder down the long-ass table, Otis, steps into the conversation. He has the same gray hair, but his is longer, down to his shoulders, and a thick moustache hides his mouth.
“No.” The muscles in my legs tense on the chair. Stark’s blue eyes glow at me as he takes a seat again, but I focus on my task. “That would be appreciated, but I mean I’d like to live in my family’s home. Stark doesn’t need me in his space. I have no problem being on my own.”
“Stark? Do you have an issue with Aloka staying here?” Otis sits tall, and the words come across more as an order.
“Of course not, Elder.” Stark bows his head.
I roll my eyes at him. Like a puppy, he can’t even stand up for himself.
Who in the spirits would want a random woman dropped on their doorstep, let alone one they think is a risk to them all?
It’s not like he and my brother were close.
Pratt moved with the East pack’s cohort, and Stark runs the South.
Graden’s face softens. “Dear Aloka, why would you stay alone in that small cabin of yours? According to your brother’s letter, he requested for you to stay here with Stark Lamont in the event that anything were to happen to him.”
“As I said at the reading this morning, I’m certain that Pratt never would have written that.
” Beyond certain. He never mentioned anything about writing it.
I know Stark is thirty-one and an Alpha, but nothing more about him.
If Pratt were less protective, he would have let me be and maybe the pack would have left me alone.
“It is signed and marked; this is not up for discussion. If you want to gather the rest of your things, then we will make arrangements.” Graden’s voice makes all the necks in the room twist in our direction. I am all about creating attention tonight.
How a letter marked with blood can be considered a legal document to control my life is beyond me, but the Toridge pack laws don’t conform to what’s expected.
The laws are ancient, leaving men with all the power.
Unmated female members are required to live under a protector’s roof.
When Dad passed away, Pratt shifted early and kept the Elders off our doorstep.
But he’s gone now, and his last request sealed my fate.
Guess the softness was short-lived. Elders might be old, but they’re at the top for a reason—they didn’t just get chosen; they survived long enough to be chosen.
That’s enough socializing for me for a month. I excuse myself from the table and head back down the hallway. I pass a few other doors before reaching the end, where mine is on the left.
I don’t know where anything else is, and now I’m stuck living here.
I could run away, disappear, but Pratt would never forgive me.
Whatever twisted reason he had for making me stay here is beyond me.
How he thought this would be safer is absurd.
I have to find a way to let them let me leave. Stark won’t submit to them forever.