What’s most concerning is the lifelessness in her eyes, sunken from obvious lack of sleep, circles bearing the brunt of unrest and mental disarray. Her eyes are blue, but not the ferocious, lively blue eyes I’ve been searching for. My heart skips a light beat at the thought—perhaps a flicker of disappointment—but it passes when I remember that Willow isn’t even a properly developed wolf, let alone a witch. She may not be the one I’m searching for, but she’s a former Snehvolk pack member, and I can’t stand here and accept that all of this is happening to someone who was a part of my pack.
Someone who was once important to me.
Gulping to stop the intrusive thoughts, I cling to the most important thing—getting Willow out of this situation.
She’s a Snehvolk wolf, even if she fled the pack years ago.
The ginger wolf—Sam, judging by the way the others chant his name—smirks at me like he’s daring me to challenge his claim, but also driving determination to help the damsel in distress.
“She’s lucky,” he sneers, puffing his chest out as he continues to list the reasons why Willow should feel honored tobe his breeding slave. “Could’ve been any of us. Alpha says she owes Blood Claw her body, and I’m the one who gets to collect.”
Something savage lurches inside me, something innate and beastly, but I clamp it down hard. This isn’t Snehvolk. One wrong move here and I’ll be outnumbered before I can get Willow to safety. I need to keep my head level, do this meticulously, calculatedly, so I can save both of our necks.
I tip my chin at Sam, schooling my tone to remain casual. “Sounds like the kind of thing your alpha has put a lot of thought into. I’m already expected by Grant. Perhaps I should go ahead and meet with him.”
That earns me a few suspicious glares, but it makes it appear as if I have no real interest in the breeding slave anymore. Name-dropping their alpha like he’s an old friend makes them uneasy, their bravado shrinking under the weight of their own hierarchy.
“Fine,” Sam grunts, jerking his head in a crooked nod. “You wanna see Grant? Then let’s go. Don’t expect him to be impressed with some outsider sniffin’ around about this, though,” he adds like a warning as he points to Willow.
“I don’t think it’s your place to decide what the alphas discuss,” I remind him with a condescending smirk that puts him right in his place. Right on cue, the chestnut-brown werewolf shifts into human form as he joins us, revealing himself as Grant’s beta.
Perfect. Exactly where I needed this to go.
“Is this how all of your wolves are treated in Blood Claw, Beta Warren?” I ask in a measured tone, casually nodding toward Willow while stealing a worried glance at her.
“Only the ones who need to prove themselves worthy of being in this pack,” the beta replies. “This one was as good as a rogue when we found her. It’s just the way things are around here. She must pay her way through her life in Seward.”
I nod thoughtfully as I catch a glimpse of Willow’s wide, bewildered eyes when they meet mine for a single heartbeat. Neither of us brings up that she’s actually from my pack, and I keep that information to myself on purpose, noting the startled, broken, furious blue in her eyes before she drops her gaze again, as if the dirt is safer to look at than my face.
My throat tightens, but I force myself to follow Beta Warren when he leads me to the pack den.
Later.
I’ll get her out later.
Grant Franklin is every rumor that’s been circling in the flesh. Young, smug, his dark hair slicked back like oil keeps the strands perfect, his posture too lazy to be anything but arrogance. The den reeks of beer and unwashed bodies, his men lounging nearby like dogs waiting for scraps. Those who’d been badgering Willow have also returned to the den with their tails between their legs, and Grant, Warren, and I have left them to proceed with our private meeting in Grant’s office.
The chair he sits on makes him look like a child, but it’s mostly the rumors that form an auric field around him, making him appear that way.
Immature and unworthy of his position.
Those rumors must be true.
“Thane Savage,” he drawls, not bothering to rise from his chair. “From Girdwood, right? Heard you’ve been sniffing around for allies. What’s the occasion?”
A frown flits over my face. Is he living under a rock? Didn’t he get the memo that was sent over by e-mail when I first asked to set up a meeting?
He’s so incompetent that he probably didn’t read through it all.
I match his casualness with my own, though every instinct screams to rip his throat out. A man like him has no right being an alpha. A boy. “The occasion is simple. The demon threat is real. A united front is smart. I came to see if Blood Claw understands that.”
Grant snorts, waving a hand as though brushing away a fly. “Smart, maybe. But I’m not the charitable type. What’s in it for me?”
My teeth grind, but I keep my smile sharp, stifling the urge to remind him that an alpha’s duty is protecting his people first and foremost. “Depends on what you value.” I let my gaze slide deliberately toward Warren, who’s watching me with keen interest. He was there when I interrupted the rowdy group troubling Willow. He knows this is about her.
I turn back to Grant. “I noticed you’ve got an omega you’re wasting on laundry and scraps.”
Grant chuckles, leaning back. “Willow? That wolfless little mutt? Barely worth the clothes on her back.”
