What if I never see Blake again?
My wolf recoils at the thought and pain flares in the back of my neck. I stop, close my eyes, and grit my teeth until the feeling passes, going right back to my pacing once it does.
I’m so wrapped up in my agitated spiraling, I don’t hear the door unlock, and I jolt when it swings open, hitting the wall with a loud bang. The two praetorians from earlier stride into the room. The one who did the talking last time approaches me, a glint of wariness in his eyes as he walks closer.
“You remember what you’re supposed to say, right?” he asks.
I glare at him. “Yeah.”
“And you’re going to come quietly?” He detaches a pair of shifter handcuffs from his belt. “Or do I need to use these?”
“I’ll come quietly,” I say stiffly. The handcuffs might be good for optics—poor helpless Neil at Doyle’s mercy—but getting out of the damn things can be a real pain in the ass, so I’m going to skip them.
The praetorian takes hold of my upper arm and pulls me toward the door, his silent buddy falling in beside me as we exit the house and start along a narrow path through the trees. About five minutes later, the path widens and dumps us out in a circular clearing with a single structure in the center: an oversized cabin with an entire wall of windows, a porch, and a deck.
The two praetorians march me right up to the front door. A female praetorian I haven’t met answers their knock and gestures for us to enter. She flashes me a tight smile then leads us toward the back of the house. We pass through a living room decorated withwhat you might expect to find featured inLumberjack Monthly. The focal point is a massive stone fireplace, and the rest of the room is made up with lots of wood grain and earth tones. Thankfully no animal heads, though.
The woman who let us in stops by a closed door and taps her knuckles on it. A gruff voice bids us to enter, and we file inside what I’m assuming is the Alpha’s office. There’s a dark wooden desk set in front of another large window that looks out into the trees, and behind the desk sits a man who must be Solomon.
The Rockcastle Alpha has dark skin and golden eyes. His presence is both imposing and somehow calming. It’s certainly not hard to see why Taylor has the hots for him. Solomon briefly meets my eyes and dips his chin maybe half a millimeter. He returns his attention to Doyle, who’s lounging in a chair opposite, seemingly without a care in the world.
Doyle doesn’t even bother acknowledging our entrance. His lips are curled in a smug smile, and he has an air of easy confidence as he continues telling Solomon about his casino. “It’s really a lovely building. If you’re ever in Vegas, you should come by sometime. I’ll have my people comp you a room, one indicative of your status.” He smirks. “And our new friendship.”
I swallow, anxiety tightening my throat. This whole buddy-buddy routine is not doing my nerves any favors.
“Perhaps once I’ve gotten the remaining issues straightened out and the triumvirate no longer requires my services here,” replies Solomon, his tone bland but pleasant enough.
“Well, the offer is open anytime,” says Doyle. His gaze slides to me and his expression grows even more smug. “It appears my wayward pack member has finally arrived. Now, as I was saying earlier, there’s no need to wait for an official magistrate. I’m perfectly content for you to hear my case.”
Solomon nods to the praetorians who escorted me here and tilts his head toward the empty chair to Doyle's left. The praetorians maneuver me closer, shoving me down in the indicated chair before moving back to position themselves on either side of the doorway.
“You’re dismissed,” says Solomon, waving at the praetorians. The two of them exchange a look, then file out of the room. Once they’re gone, Solomon returns his attention to Doyle. “If you waive your right to have a magistrate hear your case, you must agree to accept my judgment, no matter the outcome. Do I have your agreement?”
“Of course,” says Doyle, ignoring the formality of the question. “You seem like a reasonable man, and this matter is simple enough.”
Face blank, Solomon says, “Very well then. Please explain why you believe this young man should be given into your custody.”
“Don’t I get a say in this?” I blurt out, the words escaping before I have a chance to hold them back.
Both Alphas glance at me, the intensity of their attention almost a physical weight on my shoulders. Doyle barely holds back a sneer, but Solomon only gives me an impassive look. Either the guy’s a really good actor or I’m about to get screwed here. I’m crossing my fingers it’s option one.
“No,” says Solomon. There’s no inflection in his voice, but he meets my eyes for a second before he returns his focus to Doyle. “Go ahead.”
Doyle lets out a soft chuckle. “Thank you for your consideration, Solomon. Neil here has spent too much time in the company of a feral for me to be confident that he can make his own decisions.” Solomon doesn’t respond, so Doyle keeps talking. “As I explained when I called the other day, a feral shifter passing through my territory kidnapped the boy, and I’m simply requesting he be returned to me as is proper under shifter law.”
I bite back a growl. This “boy” is twenty-two years old.
Solomon shifts in his chair, his gaze flicking to me, then back to Doyle. “The feral is another issue we need to discuss,” he says, a bit of his impassive facade falling away as his eyes narrow. “Underwhose authority did you utilize triumvirate officers on Rockcastle territory to capture and retrieve the feral? It certainly wasn’t mine.”
Doyle coughs. “Ah, well, I knew you had enough on your plate getting Rockcastle back in shape, so I didn’t want to bother you. I thought I’d save you the hassle by dealing with the feral myself.”
Solomon makes a humming noise and simply stares at Doyle with an indecipherable expression.
The edges of Doyle’s mouth twitch, his smile faltering for half a second. “Of course, I should’ve asked permission, and if you’d like me to, say, pay some sort of restitution for the slight, I’d be more than happy to. Just name your price.”
“That won’t be necessary,” says Solomon, waving his hand dismissively. “I do have one more question regarding the feral, though.” He pauses, letting the silence draw out. “How is it that you knew the feral was headed here?”
There’s a flicker of panic in Doyle’s eyes, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it appears. “I was fortunate in that I managed to put a tracker on it.”
