Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71067 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
It is rare for me to do this in the city, but there are advantages to being in wolf form when you are dealing with shifters in any state. I walked into the Runaway warehouse building as a man, and though they may have felt my energy, they did not understand what it meant to be in the presence of an alpha.
These whelps have not been handled well. From observations, I know that many of them have been so outcast from their packs that even the males don’t know how to shift. The females who are still unmated have never shifted, but that is normal. When I was around the rest of them, even for that brief time, I got the sense that most of the males are not properly conditioned and would be maimed if they tried.
Being a shifter is one thing. Many are born with the capacity. Being able to take the full wolf form is something different. Historical documents that show a werewolf, a figure upright with a snout like a wolf, claws and feet like a wolf, and a furred body, are showing a partial and incomplete transformation. An embarrassment by modern standards. To shift well and properly, a wolf needs to be taught. Usually this happens naturally when young males are taken out with the pack, and again, after a female shifter’s first mating, she will likewise be transformed. It is supposed to be a guided process.
At some point, we are going to have to take the lot of them under our wing, as it were. They’re going to have to be taught how to behave. But I’m going to start with my mate.
I pad down the fire escape. They’ve left the windows open, and the scent of revelry is floating in the still night air. I pad down through the window and stand among them.
I was prepared to encounter them in their wakeful states, but there is almost no motion on this room at all. The whole pack of Runaway wolves are asleep after what must have been a raucous evening. They are all wearing matching footsie pajamas, a fact I note with some amusement and fondness.
They have made a mess of everything, including themselves. The place smells of sweet liquor and vape smoke. Empty glasses litter every surface, and passed-out whelps do the same.
It is a mess. Fescue would be traumatized with despair if he were to set eyes on this scene. No order to speak of, litter left to lie where it was dropped, pajamas soaked in spilled liqueurs. It feels as though I am padding through a frat house.
I want to think they should know better, but should they? I can smell the negligence on them. I doubt even one of them has known the shelter of a true pack. They have obviously not experienced the discipline or the education. These shifters act like humans, but they are not humans. It will end badly for all of them if they do not submit to our pack and assimilate into it.
They think they’re doing something new. They think they can break away from pack dynamics and establish themselves as individuals in a world full of humans who are fundamentally different creatures from them. I already know that Nicky doesn’t consider herself an alpha. Instead, she acts like a kind of older sister at best, and bad example at worst. She thinks the others don’t need strong leadership, but I know that sooner or later, these cute little alcohol-addled whelps are going to turn into full blown monsters.
They don’t understand that yet. They think that the limited success they’ve had means they’ll be able to keep expanding. They won’t. Not without the discipline and structure of the pack to keep them in check. Relying on Nicky is their first mistake.
I find her asleep in a tangle of limbs with the secretary, Laura, and several male members of the pack. My jealousy might be triggered, but for the fact they are all wearing those silly pajamas and it is quite obvious nothing intimate has happened.
As I pick my way toward them, I pad through the rest of the lost souls, my large paws finding the places between their slumbering bodies. They sleep well, deeper in the presence of an alpha wolf. I am not here to harm them, and they instinctively know that they are more protected in my orbit. Several of them make mewling noises in their sleep, little pup sounds that only serve to reinforce my understanding that they are still lost and are yet to be found.
When I reach Nicky, I shift into my human form and pick her up in my arms. She stirs in her sleep, but she does not wake. The deep pack somnolence affects her as much as it affects any of the rest of them. Judging by the smell coming from her, she’s drunk as much as the rest of the pack combined. Silly move considering she knew I’d be looking for her.