Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87771 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
The sliding glass door was open. Inside, the energy was tense. Dylan, Chris, Soren, and Raquel were huddled around something on the dining table. Yuni Walters, the matriarchal anchor of the pack and the only other shifter who would talk back to our alpha, paced around the carpet, furiously typing something on her phone. All attention seemed to shift to Emmy once he entered the room.
“Any new information?” he asked, not even a little bit out of breath after our run.
Three people tried to answer at once. Soren, the highest-ranking beta in the group, took the lead. Our pack had a simple hierarchy that kept things functioning smoothly. Emerson was our alpha; he made final decisions and kept everyone in check. Under him were the betas—Soren, Chris, Dyl, Myself, Yuni, and Raquel—each of us knowledgeable and skilled in different aspects of pack life but always adhering to the final word said by Emmy. To round out the family, there were the omegas. Our pack had three of them: Nicky, the baby of the group, her biological grandfather Fredrick, and Cody Richfield, who was Dylan’s younger cousin and a bit of a recluse. These were the ones in the pack who were more vulnerable and weren’t as involved when it came to big decisions or tense moments like these.
“The Savannah pack is threatening us,” Soren said. He wore a loose-fitting white button-up shirt with most of the top buttons undone. “Leaving this right underneath our noses. On our own home turf.” Soren moved aside and motioned at the iron collar on the table, lit by the harsh white overhead lighting. It was smooth and seemed to pull light toward it. There was a hinge and a lock that allowed it to open and then clamp shut. Through the center of the collar was a thread of tightly braided and woven rowan leaves underneath a slick-looking coating of resin to hold it in place.
My fists balled up tight. I instinctively fell into fight-or-flight mode, not wanting to get any closer to the collar. Touching it wouldn’t necessarily hurt me, but if that thing found its way around my neck, then I’d be incapacitated, rendered completely useless and at the whim of whoever managed to put it on me. It was one of a shifter’s biggest weaknesses.
“Fucking flea-ridden dickhead furry chucklefuck assholes,” Dyl said. That got a dry laugh out of Chris and Raquel.
“Who found it?” Yuni asked. She had no qualms about picking up the collar and examining it closely. I had the urge to smack it out of her grip.
“I did,” Dylan responded.
Chris looked as repulsed by the collar as I felt. His eyebrows pushed together, and his nose flared like he had picked up on the stench of rotten milk. “Where was it?”
“In the hallway. Outside of our training room. It was after the game and right by where the Sharks had to leave to get out of the arena. One of them left it there. Had to be. I think it was Viktor—I saw him lagging behind his entire team. He was talking to Harrison.”
“Why would Viktor be talking to our GM?” Chris asked.
“He might be wanting to poach him,” Dylan suggested. “Either way, I know Viktor was around that hallway during a time no one else was. He easily could have had that in his duffel bag and dropped it on his way out.”
“But why would they have that with them?” Raquel asked. “Couldn’t it backfire? Not like they’re immune to it, either.”
“Maybe they planned on taking one of us hostage? And thought it was wiser to threaten us instead?” Soren said. He glared at the collar as if it were seconds from growing legs and launching itself at his throat. “And their alpha has been vocal about pushing their pack in this direction. Viktor’s been wanting Burlington for years.”
They were right about Viktor. He had stepped into the alpha role after the previous alpha died suddenly in a car accident. He’d been next in line, determined by a vote from the pack. We’d never had issues with land grabs before, but Viktor came from an extremely well-connected and absolutely rotted political family, who taught him that the more he could bully into his hands, the better, no matter the consequence, no matter the pain inflicted.
But… still. Something wasn’t really adding up for me.
“It is interesting, though,” I said, following Raquel’s thread. “That’s not a typical way these pack wars are handled. That kind of move feels too dirty. Where’s the new moon treaty, the attempt at diplomacy first before a final faceoff is called?”
That would have been the correct way to handle territorial disputes in the shifter community. At least in the wolf subset. We had certain claims on land that meant no shifter could live or stay for too long without requesting approval first. If another pack found that an issue or if they simply wanted to make a power play and grab at more territory, then a formal faceoff was called. That was when the two alphas and a select group of betas met and fought in their were forms under a full moon. The fight was brutal and primal and went on until the death of an alpha. The winning pack claimed the territory and could either decide to kill the remaining members of the losing pack or let them live and relocate.