When Greg was in charge, the ranch had felt busy but structured. Orderly. Organized.
Faythe was an entirely different kind of Alpha, and under her leadership, chaos reigned. But it was a cheerful chaos, and that was actually a nice change.
A rocking horse sat in the entryway, still draped with a little boy’s Batman cape in place of a saddle. Down the hall, one of the kids was crying, and behind the last closed door on the left, fast-paced, half-synthesized music blared from the room that had once belonged to Michael, Faythe’s oldest brother. Kaci had moved into it more than four years before, after the South-Central Pride had taken her in as a lost and traumatized thirteen-year-old.
From the kitchen came the hum of both coffee pots running at once, along with the soft growl of the dishwasher and the clank of heavy pots. Faythe’s mother was cooking chili, based on the scent. At ten P.M. Because a shifter’s appetite knew no schedule.
Before I could absorb all the other nostalgic sights and sounds, the back door flew open and three large, broad enforcers came in, debating the benefits of one video game sniper rifle over another. Victor Di Carlo led the group and the moment he saw me, a smile took over his face.
He jogged down the hall, arms already open, and a second later, he was thumping me on the back. “Three years, you selfish son of a bitch! When we said don’t be a stranger, we meant it!”
“Sorry, man.” I gave his back an affectionate whack. “Things have been busy.”
“I bet.” He studied my face while his subordinate enforcers gave me a nod of respect, then filed into the kitchen for what could only be dinner, part two. “Responsibility looks good on you.”
“Thanks.” But my next thought trailed into oblivion when I saw Brian Taylor coming down the hall, his gaze trained on Abby as if no one else existed.
“Abby.” Brian’s heartbeat spiked and he dared a brief glance down the length of her body, obviously caught between the desire to look and the enforcer’s imperative to remain respectful, especially to his psychologically fragile fiancée. “You look amazing. Really beautiful.”
Her cheeks turned pink and she smiled.
Irritation shot up my spine in a white-hot blaze. I’d never seen the two of them together and I hadn’t spoken to Brian in at least a couple of years, yet I was suddenly certain that he wasn’t right for her.
He wasn’t good enough.
If Brian were truly Alpha material, shouldn’t I feel threatened by him, on some level? Shouldn’t my respect for his power and leadership potential be at constant war with my instinct to stomp them both right out of him?
I mean, sure, I wanted to shove him facedown on the floor and make him lick up the dirt I’d tracked in on my boots, but where was the admiration that was supposed to temper the demand for Alpha dominance coursing through my veins? If I pushed Brian down, he would stay there. I could feel that, just like my inner cat felt the call of the woods.
Abby needed a man who would get up. Who would push back.
She needed a man who couldn’t be knocked down in the first place.
Don’t start, I thought as I choked back an instinctive growl in Brian’s direction. She is not yours.
But she was mine, at least on some level, and she had been since the day she’d joined my Pride. And that wouldn’t end until…
Until she swore she would have Brian as a husband, then later let him take her as his wife.
The thought of him touching Abby made every muscle in my body clench with rage.
Vic’s brows rose in my direction and I realized he’d caught some small, revealing twitch. Or maybe he could sense fresh pheromones rolling from my body like smoke from a fire. He would have questions for me later.
Fortunately, both Brian and Abby seemed oblivious.
“Are you hungry?” he asked her. “Can I get you…”
“No, thanks, I’m…” Abby shrugged, absently twisting the ring on her left hand.
Could neither of them finish a sentence?
A door on the left side of the hall opened and Owen stepped out, mercifully drawing my attention from the poor junior enforcer who’d unwittingly inspired my disdain. Cradled in the crook of his right arm was a tiny bundle wrapped in a pale pink blanket. “Abby!” The new father’s eyes lit up when he saw her. “Come meet your new cousin!”
“Oh, let me see! Letmeseeletmesee!” She brushed past Brian on her way to view the new arrival, and his obvious disappointment soothed me. “I’ve seen a million pictures of her, but that’s not as good as holding the real thing!”
Owen’s baby was the first tabby born in the US in more than a decade—we’d all seen the pictures. But few outside of the immediate family had actually held her.