He chuckles. “You could say that. We have a territory that’s led and protected by an alpha, who’s in charge of all the wolf shifters. You met Alpha Morgan yesterday.”
This time, my eyes are the ones widening in surprise. “Ellery’s dad?”
“Yeah, we call him Alpha Morgan, but most of the pack calls him Alpha or Alpha Arcan out of respect.”
My brow furrows in thought. “You know, the Alpha Wolf theory was debunked over fifty years ago,” I point out, thinking of the researcher who made the term popular and then was haunted by it for the rest of his career.
Ruger snorts out a laugh, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Damn, he’s pretty.”
His gaze drops down to the floor for a second as he bites back a grin. Then he looks up, takes his hands from his pockets, and leans forward conspiratorially. “I’m not saying that Dr. Mech had a colleague who discussed a pack of wolves he’d stumbled upon. A pack of wolves he didn’t realize were shifters. Shifters who didn’t immediately notice they were being watched. I’m guessing it was near Hunt time because the aggression kicks in.”
A fly could buzz into my mouth right now. Holy crap.
“It could’ve been a whole disaster if he’d seen anyone shifting. Thank fuck he didn’t. Anyway, that’s where the alpha dynamic was first discovered. Dr. Dave Mech listened to his friend and ran with it—until he realized it was wrong for natural wolves. Like I said, I’m not saying shifters are to blame for that whole misconception, but I’m not not saying that either,” he tells me cheekily.
I grin and shake my head as I try to digest this new reality. Younger me would have thought this was a dream. Present-day me is fascinated and freaked the fuck out. “So, alphas don’t exist in natural wolf packs, but they exist for shifters. Got it.” Dammit all, if I’d seen this in some animal documentary, I would have rolled my eyes and cursed them for going downhill and pandering. Now? Well, fuck. I have to believe those kooks on TV who track ghosts and stuff.
He continues, because apparently the revelations aren’t done. “Other kinds of shifters have different titles but, typically, we all have a leader. The alpha and his den are mated to the luna, who also helps lead and guide the pack. And then there’s the celestial, which is the wolf next in line to become alpha, an alpha-in-training, so to speak.”
Well, if that isn’t drinking information from a firehose…
I lean against the wall, crossing my arms in front of me as I absorb everything Ruger is saying. “And who’s the celestial here?”
“Ellery, uh…the sheriff,” he clarifies, his gaze searching mine when he reveals that tidbit.
I reel back a little in surprise. But I guess I should have seen that coming based on the interactions yesterday in the sheriff’s office and what I know of animal dynamics. Strong parents yield strong offspring.
“Do you want me to keep going, or is it getting overwhelming?” Ruger questions, and I nod, offering him a small encouraging smile.
His face lights up a little, and at first I don’t understand why. His eyes drop to my lips, and as soon as I realize I’m still grinning at him, I wipe the expression off my face. This is an information-gathering session only.
His eyes drop, and when they meet mine again, they’re sadder.
Immediately, I hate that. I don’t want to dim the flash of happiness he just had. But my regret makes zero sense, because I don’t know this big warrior-looking wolf shifter in front of me. I shouldn’t care if he’s disappointed. We’re neighbor-level—I know your name and accidentally-saw-your-ass-through-the-window-when-you-were-changing—acquaintances. Nothing more.
That thought carries the taint of bullshit, but I wave the imagined reek away.
I don’t care if he had his hands on my body and I woke up really liking that. I have too much other life-altering crap to deal with. I’m at maximum chaos capacity.
“No, keep going,” I tell him. Despite my internal confusion, my need to know has me feeling like a dry, brittle plant that’s finally getting water and is eager to drink it all up.
“Under the alpha, luna, and celestial, there is a group of shifters who help manage the pack. We call them betas. They take on various tasks: protection, infrastructure, pack relations, et cetera. Under the betas are gammas. They are more like ambassadors who strengthen relationships with other packs and territories, and help secure resources as needed.”
“Sounds like a really intense frat,” I razz lightly.
Ruger shrugs and gives a grin. “We definitely party and fight like one.”
“And the dens, how do those factor in?”
“Dens are chosen family units that make up the pack. We’re really social by nature. Shifters will group off with people when they feel a strong bond. Dens also have a leader that’s called an alpha. It goes to the most dominant wolf in the group. They’re basically a team captain for lack of a better description. Outside of the den, all positions revert back to the hierarchy of the pack.”
“And are all dens male?” I question.
“No, some are female. Or a mix. But it’s less common. In general, there are fewer female shifters. That’s why you’ll see more matings with one female to a den of males than the other way around. There are female alphas and male lunas in other territories, and same sex alphas and lunas. It’s a big hodgepodge. Shifters will follow instinct and strength. Always.”
I nod, my eyes far away as I think through everything he just told me. The word instinct has set my spine tingling. It’s the same word Ellery used when he said his den claimed me and that they’d stand by that claim. I don’t know how I feel about that word.
One thing is clear though. The celestial for this pack—the celestial and his den—want to claim me. I feel like a cartoon character strolling down the street, the innocent one who gets a piano dropped onto her head.
Fuck. This is a lot.
I step back into my room.
“Uh…thanks,” I offer, stilted and a little awkward.
Ruger doesn’t protest or say anything else as I close the door on him again.
“Fuck off, butterflies. You show up for new starts only. Not men. Not…shifters.”
This time when I stand on tiptoe to watch him through the peephole, he has a small smile on his face. One I definitely don’t find adorable on the big beast of a man.
I watch him disappear down the hall, only to reappear dragging the chair that was next to the window. He sets it off to the side, not directly in front of my door, but close enough I can see it. That goofy little grin is still wide across his cheeks as if he’s perfectly content to be here.
I sigh and step away from the peephole as he sits down. Slowly I back up, my thoughts spinning once again, because why does him sitting out there make me feel better?