Carter’s wolf reared up at the suggestion of an interloping coming up and stealing the pack out from under him. There was simply no way he was letting that happen. Spencer was a decent fellow, and Carter had great respect for him, but he’d rip out his throat before he let him become his alpha.
“I’m not stalling,” Carter growled, his wolf bleeding into his voice.
“I believe you,” Tiller said. There was a pause. “You have nine weeks. If Grayson isn’t dead by then, we’re at war.”
“Understood.”
Tiller hung up, and Carter leaned back in his seat. He exhaled slowly.
The car behind him honked, and he realized that he was holding up the line. He drover forward, ordered a black coffee and a bagel, and started the drive home.
He couldn’t believe how much Grayson had fucked up. It was almost a relief. Now he had no excuse not to go forward with his plan.
***
