The Alpha’s attention goes to the other two. “Did you see this as well?”
They shake their heads.
“Betas can’t partially shift and there’s no way he’s an alpha,” says Jake, narrowing his eyes at his friend. “I think Greg just missed the knife. He’s not always very observant.”
The color drains from Greg’s face as his buddy throws him under the bus. I’d feel bad for him if he wasn’t such an idiot and he hadn’t just thrown me under amuchbigger bus.
“No,” he says stubbornly. He tugs the bottom of his shirt forward. “The wound’s mostly healed, but no knife did that.”
The Alpha grabs the bottom of Greg’s shirt and runs his fingers over the four distinct holes in the fabric. He nods to himself, and his eyes go out of focus as if he’s thinking. After a moment, he drops Greg’s shirt, then takes a step backward, turning his attention to me.
“Show me,” he whispers. When I do nothing, he grabs my arm to turn my hand palm up, digging his fingers into my skin. “Show me!”
The command rolls over me and my hand shifts into fur and claws.
His gaze is glued to my hand, eyes practically glowing with avarice, as his mouth twists into a malicious smile. “Omega.”
Six
Keir
Iknowthebasicsof territories and pack hierarchies and all that, but I’m beginning to think I don’t know half as much as I thought I did. My pack—myformerpack—was fairly small and isolated. They could trace their bloodlines back to sometime in the 1800’s and we hadn’t had an outsider join in a couple decades.
No one who left came back. None of us went to human schools and there was no internet or other connections with the outside world.
Sure, we had books full of records and we met up with a couple of other nearby packs once or twice a year, but I wouldn’t exactly say we were up to date with the norms of shifter society. And, since I spent the last four yearsavoidingother shifters, I’ve never remedied that lack of knowledge.
Something tells me that was a bigger mistake that I thought. No one is reacting how I expect and that leaves me with no way of knowing how to navigate my situation.
For example, I expect murderous rage from the Chicago Alpha. After all, that’s how the last Alpha who found out what I am reacted and that’s what I was always taught a male omega would face. But this Alpha—whose name I still don’t know—goes weirdlypolite.
And I have no idea what to do with that.
He releases my arm and smiles. “I apologize for my zeal.”
“No problem,” I squeak out, taking a step backward as I rub my wrist with the opposite hand. The Alpha is no longer trying to crush me with the force of his power, which is nice, if a bit confusing. Whatever’s going on, he might still kill me, but it’s clearly not happening this second. “No, um, damage done.”
“Sir?” asks Jake, his brow furrowed as he glances from me to the Alpha. “Are we still taking him downstairs?”
“No.” The Alpha steps toward me, a strange, hungry expression on his face. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Me?” I say, pointing at my chest. “Don’t know what?”
“How valuable you are.”
Sounds like selling me is still on the agenda, just not maiming me. I force a bravado I don’t feel. “More valuablewithmy claws, I’m assuming.”
“You can keep them for now,” he says. “Provided—”
The phone sitting on the desk rings, interrupting whatever he’s about to say. He picks it up. “Yes?”
The person on the other end is frantic enough that I can hear them from where I stand.
“Matisse is here,” says the tinny voice.
“Alone?”
“Yes,” replies the voice on the phone.
