I glance at Leisel who’s staring at the mansion with wary eyes. I can practically feel her urge to run home and have dinner just the two of us, as always, and it breaks my heart that I can’t accommodate that. This situation makes me feel like I’ve failed in my role as her protector.
Even Chip, curled up on her shoulder, looks slightly unnerved, his small nose sniffing the air for signs of danger.
I reluctantly follow the shifter inside with Leisel in tow, hating everything about our current predicament. Hating that I can’t refuse, even though I won my duel, and therefore have no legal ties to the Rockwell Pack.
The interior of the mansion is also made of stone, lit by dim lamps etched into the walls, with candles providing additional light to the entrance hall.
“You okay?” I murmur to Leisel, peering down at her.
Her big golden eyes turn to me, and she slowly shakes her head. I know the shifters in front of us and behind us can hear me, but they thankfully don’t interfere in the conversation.
“I’ll be right by your side,” I quietly vow. “We’ll leave as soon as we can, alright?”
Her voice trembles when she responds, “Okay. I trust you.”
Our quiet exchange is abruptly cut off as we come to a stop in front of a floor-to-ceiling set of double doors, both of which are open to reveal a formal dining room.
A long gray polished-stone table takes up the majority of the space, with at least thirty shifters seated at it, talking animatedly with each other. I assume that more pack members arrived today since there weren’t nearly as many shifters present at the duel. As soon as my eyes find the elaborate spread of food on the table, rows of overflowing dishes and bowls covering the entire length, my stomach begins to churn with nausea.
As beautiful as the setup is, it’s built on the pain, death, and humiliation of countless human lives. This entire mansion screams of blood money and it makes me sick. The dinner spread alone could feed my entire village for a week—instead, it’s being wasted on the invaders who took our planet from us.
The entire table falls silent, and I suddenly find myself the center of attention under thirty scrutinizing stares. Although a few shifters flick Leisel glances of interest, their primary focus seems to be me. I can’t help the self-consciousness that ignites inside of me, making my cheeks and neck heat. Unfortunately, being a redhead, blushes are impossible to hide.
I lift my chin and run a gaze that I know is brimming with disdain over every person seated at the table before my eyes land on Camden who’s seated at the head. Wyatt is seated to the left of him, and the seat beside Wyatt is vacant, as is the one to the right of Camden.
The Alpha offers me a charming smile that drips with charisma, displaying pearly-white teeth.
He motions to the seat beside him. “Sierra, Leisel,” he purrs, “I’m so glad you accepted my invitation—”
“We weren’t given a choice,” I interject.
He’s not put off, and his smile doesn’t waver in the slightest. “Joinus.”
The only way out is through. My father would always tell me that when I was a child. He’d reiterate again and again that whatever obstacle I was facingwasthe solution—that avoiding difficulties was pointless, whereas overcoming them head-on was the true objective.
Outside of the loss of my parents, this is one of the most difficult obstacles I’ve ever faced, a dinner with a room full of shifters.
Knowing that my options are limited, I slowly walk to where Camden is sitting.
Once I’m next to the vacant seat to his right, I ask Leisel, “Would you prefer to sit with me or by the Beta?”
I don’t use beta as an honorific title—I use it to avoid personifying Wyatt, which he catches onto.
With a bristle, he says, “My name is Wyatt.”
I don’t look away from my sister when I respond. “Which is irrelevant to me, but thank you for the information.”
To my surprise, a few laughs sound in the room, and I see Camden’s lips tilt up at the corners. Wyatt, however, glowers at me, clearly not finding my comment amusing. He’ll soon come to understand that I could not give less of a shit what shifters think or don’t think about me.
Leisel, with mirth dancing in her eyes, says, “With you.”
I nod, sink into the seat, and then perch her on my lap. I sift my fingers through her hair, ignoring the shifters surrounding us.
After a moment of tense silence, Camden tells the pack members, “You may begin.”
With that, everyone begins loading food onto their plates and filling silver goblets with assorted drinks. Chatter starts up again, and Camden takes the liberty of sliding an extra plate for Leisel beside mine and loading both dishes with exotic-looking foods; spiced grilled meatsand fishes, roasted vegetables, and colorful side dishes I’ve never seen before.
I don’t have any intention of partaking in the offered meal. Even accepting food from Camden could send a signal of acceptance, and that’s thelastthing I want. I intend to whip up a proper family meal once Leisel and I are back home, not indulge the Rockwell Pack.
