“That’s why we’re organizing a game night.” Original Jack rolled up the cuffs of his long-sleeved flannel shirt—he almost always wore flannel. I’d seen him walk around with flop flops, shorts, and a long-sleeved flannel shirt in temperatures so hot they had me jumping in a lake. “Would you like to join us?” He gave a kind but craggy smile—one that took me years back.
Original Jack was an adoptive father to all the humans connected to the Northern Lakes Pack.
Although his wife was a werewolf, he’d opted not to become one, and as a result he typically took charge of all the children and teenagers the wolves left behind when they went hunting—like Rory and Young Jack, who was named after Original Jack—or left for other Pack activities.
He also arranged housing for the humans connected to the Pack—whether they married a werewolf like he had, or they were adult children of the Pack who had opted not to become werewolves, like Young Jack had decided—and was the human contact to go to.
I didn’t quite fall under his wings like the rest of the humans—I was too much of a supernatural for that. But I’d always thought of him as an uncle, and I was grateful he extended invitations to join in with the rest of the humans. His never-ending patience and kindness made him a great favorite of everyone, Pack and human alike.
(Young Jack was not the only werewolf-born child named after him. Old Young Jack, who was off at college, was also named for him, as was Jackie, who had moved to Boston but still flew back to see her parents at holidays.)
“Monopoly has been banned for tonight’s game night,” Rory told me with great seriousness. “But we’re going to play Clue, Mousetrap, and Ticket to Ride. Unless there’s a game you wanna play?”
I smiled down at Rory and fought the impulse to pat his head like the wolves did to me—he was just too cute with his buzzed haircut and his green wolf shirt! “Aw, thank you for the invite, but I have to pass.”
“Going to join the Pack tonight?” Olivia asked with a hint of snideness to her tone.
Original Jack gave Olivia a side eye that promised he was going to talk to her later about this, but I didn’t let it bother me.
Some of the humans, whether it was the children of werewolves like Olivia, or the significant others like Noah—had a hard time accepting that I was included in a lot of Pack activities they were not.
I’d gotten mad about it as a teenager, but Papa Santos had sat me down and explained to me that it wasn’t really me they were mad at. Rather they were upset with themselves that they couldn’t connect with their loved ones, and as a supernatural I could.
“It’s why the supernaturals have to take care with our human relationships,” he’d said. “It is hard on us, to watch them grow old and die before we do, but it is equally hard on them to watch us go places they cannot join us in.”
His words held extra weight since I’d known all of Mama Dulce and Papa Santos’s kids had chosen to live as humans, and had died before they’d adopted me.
So I tried to be patient with the humans, for their sake.
I smiled and kept my tone light. “Nope—I never join the Pack for hunts. But I have to get back to feed the Bedevilments.”
I held Olivia’s gaze until she nodded in acceptance.
Original Jack relaxed slightly at the lowering tension. “Ahh, yes. How are your cats?”
I made a face. “As overweight as ever.”
Young Jack frowned. “Really? Didn’t you start feeding them diet food from the vet’s months ago?”
“Yeah. I don’t know how they’re doing it. I have them on a regimented schedule, and they stay inside most days, so it’s not like they’re finding mice to snack on.” I pushed a strand of my white hair out of my face. Now that it had started drying, it was frizzing up so it resembled a cloud.
“We’d best let you go, then. If I recall, Prince and Princess can be destructive when hungry,” Original Jack said.
I winced. “Yeah. They shredded some curtains two weeks ago. You all have fun at game night!” I peeled off my socks, then darted inside, padding over to the laundry room where all the more active members of the Pack had lockers to store their weapons/gear.
I grabbed my backpack, but by the time I’d returned to the front door Young Jack, Original Jack, Rory, and Olivia were all gone.
I stuffed my feet back in my shoes and glanced at the rapidly darkening sky—it wasn’t totally black yet, but a smattering of stars were starting to appear—as I trundled down the stairs.
Three hunters walked the edge of the meadow. With my night vision kicked in, I was able to make out a bush hat and craggy nose—Amos Fletching—leading two hunters who had to be a year or two younger than I was.
The two younger hunters were watching me with interest as they obediently tramped behind Amos, who was rambling in his coarse voice at a tone too hushed for me to make out what he was saying.
I frowned as I watched them disappear into the forest.
They shouldn’t be out here this late at night. I’m pretty sure Greyson told him the lodge area was off limits in the evening.
I dug my cellphone out of my backpack and started sending out messages, starting with Ember as I hadn’t seen her among the wolves, which hopefully meant she hadn’t transformed and would be in a position to read her phone, and quickly adding Original Jack into the message so he’d know what was going on.
“Hunters on the prowl, seen near the lodge.”
My phone dinged as Original Jack and then—thankfully—Ember acknowledged my text.
But as I started off in the direction of my cottage, it was Ember’s follow up message that made me grimace.
“Understood. Be careful—Amos has made it clear he considers your part in the Low Marsh wolf’s death a crime.”
Great. Whatever happened to an easy, open-and-shut case?
Chapter 8
Greyson
I was ready to maim something, but I knew if I decked Amos Fletching like I wanted to, there’d be too much paperwork to make it worth the momentary satisfaction.
Paperwork is the worst thing to happen to this world.
“—we are sent by the Regional Committee of Magic, means we are freely able to travel where we choose for observation,” Amos rattled on.
I stared down at the paperwork the state needed me to fill out for the multiple businesses that operated under the Northern Lakes Pack LLC. I’d gotten remarkably fluent in paperwork-speak since I’d taken the position as Alpha, but having to fill out the same paperwork for the various businesses we owned was monotonous at best.
Match it with a windbag hunter who was on a power trip and smelled as if he’d been chewing on raw onions that morning, and it ratcheted the experience from tedious to physically provoking.
“Which is why we are not required to observe any of your rules, boy,” Amos sneered. He adjusted his bush hat as he peered down on me.
Though his manners would have stirred up any wolf—much less an Alpha—I kept my seething powers locked down.
That was the difference between a real Alpha worth his power, and one that was petty, greedy, and a terrible leader: the ability to control our instincts and the power that comes with being an Alpha.
Only a bad Alpha would fall for such manipulations—or give in to instinct and snap like a starving wolf over table scraps.