Silver Wolf Clan (3 page)

Dean dropped his gaze right along with the others. Interesting. How invigorating, that he outranked the alpha of this pack without so much as a fight about it.

“Why didn’t you come to us?” Dean asked. “Why didn’t you come to register with the pack when you moved here?”

“I didn’t know there was a pack,” he said, growling. “I didn’t know there was anyone like me besides the monster that chomped on my arm. I know nothing about this. I can’t control Wolf. I can’t even function anymore! No one ever told me anything. I woke up in the woods, changed by myself, and have been this way since. Never found my werewolf handbook. Sorry.”

“Alexis, can you fix Mr. Crawford a real meal, please?” Dean asked as he sat across from him at the table. “Okay, so to begin, you have no idea who your maker is. This isn’t normal in our community. We rarely ever turn a human because the instinct to kill prey is too great. If we do decide to, it has to be something we’ve considered for a long time, and then we mentor the new wolf if he makes it through the change. There are rules in our society to keep us under human radar. No man-eating. Animals only unless it’s for the good of the pack. Man-eaters are put down quickly. You’re dangerous because you don’t have control, and that gets people killed. Do you hunt?”

“I hunted when I was human, but try to stay inside now. When I know I have to Change, I go out in the woods, somewhere remote to avoid killing someone.”

“That’s not good enough. You’re both human and wolf now. You have to balance good food when you are human with meat hunted and killed as a wolf to satisfy both of you. And you need to eat real food when you’re in this form. No more granola bars. Part of your responsibility to yourself and the safety of others is to remain well fed. It may help with your control as well. You look thin and weak. Nothing is more dangerous than a hungry wolf.”

Grey stifled the constant growl trying desperately to rattle his throat. Wolf didn’t like to be taught lessons—he liked to teach them.

Alexis brought over a reheated plate of leftover pot-roast, carrots, potatoes, okra, and gravy. She let her hand linger on his shoulder and Wolf snarled, “Get your hand off me.” She wasn’t his mate. Only his mate would touch him possessively like that.

The woman backed away slowly, and under the layers of her disappointment, a slight challenge hummed.

“Sorry,” he said in a softer voice that sounded a little more human.

Alexis was a pretty girl with long blond hair, blue eyes, a slim figure, and the pout to her lips said she always got her way. He pined for a brunette he’d met once under extreme circumstances, though. Back when life had fallen apart. He yearned for the last person who’d seen him human.

He forked up the beef and as the rich flavors exploded in his mouth, stifled a groan. It’d been a long time since he’d had a home cooked meal. He wasn’t great in the kitchen, and when hunger pangs hit, there wasn’t much time to plan a meal.

Other than someone occasionally adjusting their shoe against the carpet or the rustle of fabric as they crossed and uncrossed their arms, silence filled the dining room. As he moved on to the okra, Brent began to gather leftovers on a plate and eventually, when he’d warmed it in the microwave, joined him at the other end of the table. Grey slowed as, one by one, the pack members reheated food and ate around him. The sounds of eating replaced the quietness and, by the time he’d finished the last bite, the soft murmur of conversation surrounded him. Talk of day jobs and an upcoming hunt. Marissa sat glued to her corner, but the rest ate beside him as if he wasn’t a lion among the flock of sheep. He worried less about the color of his eyes or the ready snarl in his throat. It was pleasant just to sit and be. To be around others he didn’t have to hide from. He had no fear of them judging his new crazy, split-personality, dangerous, rabbit-eating self. They were the same. Eating with others of his kind made Wolf happier; still ready to fight, but he was coming to realize wolves weren’t solitary creatures. The tension between his shoulders eased slightly.

As Grey folded his napkin and placed it carefully over the empty plate in front of him, Dean began again. “Greyson, you’re a dominant, and even if you aren’t in control right now, your wolf was made to lead. To have pack under him. I need to know what your intentions are. Will you issue a challenge for my pack?”

Rachel rushed to his side. “No! Please, Dean. Don’t do this.”

“Quiet,” Dean snapped.

She tensed, waiting. There was no doubt she’d defend her mate if called to, but Dean didn’t seem the type to ask.

A preternatural silence came over the house as Dean looked expectantly at him with bright, inhuman eyes. The tension of dominance between them was so thick, the other wolves flared their nostrils as if they could smell it.

He finished chewing his last bite and crossed his arms. The chair creaked noisily as he leaned back and relaxed his legs, drawing out his answer to let them squirm.

This pack could be ours
, Wolf said.

We’d destroy this pack in a week
, Grey argued.

So?

So, they seem like nice people.

Wolf was unconcerned with such sentiments but did, however, concede that he didn’t want the responsibility. Not now, at least.

“I don’t want your pack, Dean,” Grey said at last. “I just want to be left alone.”

A subtle sigh of relief filled the room. His dominance might be unquestionably higher than Dean’s, but this pack loved and respected their leader. Let them keep their alpha.

“Okay, then you will remain a rogue wolf?” Dean asked. “You’ll have our permission to do so without any problem from us unless you threaten to expose our kind. I’d like to offer an invitation for you to join us on occasion, if we can put our dominance issues aside. A wolf needs community. We do a Full Moon Hunt every month, and I would like to mentor you to help you gain control over your wolf. Hopefully, that’ll make it easier for you to work together so you’ll be less of a danger to your neighbors.”

Grey nodded. He wasn’t ready to shake hands quite yet, but if the alpha could try, so could he. It didn’t matter that he felt like attacking every last one of them. The new strained and tentative alliance signified the beginning of a less tortured existence. He wasn’t alone anymore and suddenly, a great bulk of the weight he’d been dragging lifted.

He could breathe again.

Six months with Dean and still, Wolf hadn’t given an inch of control. The Dallas pack members had sworn up and down he’d eventually learn to compromise with the beast dwelling inside, but so far, all of their pants were in serious jeopardy of catching on fire. Small things had improved. He growled less at passing strangers. And he didn’t imagine ways to kill people quite as much, so that was a plus. It was still Wolf’s favorite past time by a lot, but Full Moon Hunts satisfied him a little. Half a year in, any improvement deserved a freaking werewolf achievement trophy. These days, his life revolved around Full Moon Hunts. Wolf would let him feel in control of himself sometimes for two whole days afterward.

The downfall to his new social life? Alexis.

He pulled the hem of his jeans over the top of his work boot and sighed as he leaned back into his couch. The woman was incorrigible. He knew, because he’d discouraged every attempt she made at molesting him, each time with more fervor than the last. In his old life, he would have been flattered by such an attractive woman’s attentions. She wasn’t interested in him, though, as much as she was drawn to the power Wolf presented. It didn’t take an intelligent man to figure out she saw him as a stepping stone to something more. What, he hadn’t a guess.

Alexis stopped by his place unexpectedly and often now. He hated it, and Wolf screamed for blood, making it difficult to be polite. A hollow, unexplainable loneliness crept into his life. Grey hadn’t been this desolate the first six months, so why was he feeling this way after meeting the pack? It didn’t make any sense.

Wolf only grew more intensely moody with time, but Alexis didn’t seem to care. She came by almost every day just to be rebuffed. Such a baffling woman. Brandon was obviously into her, so why wouldn’t she pester a wolf she actually had a chance with?

He couldn’t stand her. She was entitled and prissy, like Princess Werewolf out to get what she wanted. Dean admitted he’d rarely seen a wolf more naturally dominant than him, and certain women liked power. He got that. But why couldn’t she just realize that dominance made him half crazy, enough to have to lock himself away from the world for their safety? Dominance didn’t mean power for him. He could just as easily kill her as kiss her. If that wasn’t clear as crystal, the woman lacked common sense.

The entire week had been an experiment in self-control. Wolf had grown bored and begun to think of new and different ways to kill things. Unsettling to say the least, to dip back into insanity, all of the progress he’d made going out the window. If a man walked home alone from the bar down the street late at night, Wolf would map out where they would chase him and how they would kill him. If they were man-eaters, of course. Wolf needed a hobby.

At a loud knock on the door, he opened it. Alexis leaned against the frame. She stank of perfume and her bright red lipstick was caked on. Obviously, she’d grown impatient with waiting.

Flatly, he said, “Go away.”

She pushed past him into the apartment. At the invasion to his territory, Wolf clawed his way to the surface. She turned around, ignoring his furious gaze, and sauntered over to him with purpose. Her predatory smile oozed with self-confidence. He held himself perfectly still. The she-wolf didn’t know it yet, but she was living on borrowed time.

“You can’t turn down a female. It’s not in your nature,” she said as she leaned slowly forward and brushed her lips seductively against his.

The wolf within his mind plummeted into silence at the shock, but the human side of Grey kissed her back. The loneliness was debilitating, and if kissing her would make the pain go away for even a minute, it was worth it. He grabbed her neck and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss.

When he wrapped his fingers roughly into the blond hair gathered at her nape, she gave a groan that turned into a growl. The small noise of pleasure and pain snapped Wolf from his silence. Wolf’s rage filled everything, and his hands went from the back of her head to around her throat. She wisely stopped kissing him. He could break her neck so easily and then she’d leave him alone forever. So tempting, but not enough. “Get out. Never come back here.”

She spun and ran for the door. Hopefully he’d finally scared her enough to leave him alone. His level of loathing would only fuel the wolf if she kept visiting. She needed to stay away for her safety.

Aggravated and caged, he grabbed the apartment keys. With a loose hoodie to cover his face, he locked the door behind him and headed out for a cool down walk. Stupid kiss. He hated himself for having liked it.

Five blocks of turmoil later, a faintly familiar smell drifted to him on the breeze that stopped him in his tracks. It couldn’t be. No, he had to be wrong. He inhaled again.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Laughing humorlessly, he shook his head at such pathetic desperation and kept walking, taking a right so he could make a wide loop around to the apartment.

Old buildings of differing shades of gray jutted up from cracked sidewalks against the overcast sky. Pungent garbage bins dotted dirty alleys, and the homeless huddled under sheets of cardboard and tattered blankets as they caught afternoon naps. A stumbling woman in a much too short skirt tried to get his attention, and he crossed the street to avoid her. He emptied the change from his pocket into the cup a scruffy looking youth held out, and made a clucking sound against his teeth at the woman who screamed profanities from a second floor window at her apparently unfaithful boyfriend begging forgiveness below. He’d seen this little show before. It seemed to be a weekly thing for that couple. A mangy tabby cat hissed from the shattered window of an abandoned building, and he threw it a withering look just to feel the satisfaction of hearing it scream and bolt away.

He smelled it again—faintly, but it was there—and skidded to a stop. There one second and gone the next, as wind warning of an upcoming storm whipped around him. There it was again. He tried to follow the familiar scent but got turned around and lost it once more in the confusion of the alleyway scents. Then turned back the way he’d come and found it. He pulled his hands from his pockets, jogged after it. Another six blocks, and it got stronger and more concentrated. People threw him concerned glances as he sniffed the air every few seconds, but he didn’t care. He rounded a corner and buckled his legs against the forward motion.

There she was.

Her. Morgan. The one he’d thought about so much after that night when everything had changed. He’d wondered if she was even still alive. Had the beast come back to finish them off without him there to defend them? Had she made it back home safely? If so, where was home? Surely he’d never see her again. Armed with only a first name, tracking her down had been impossible. He knew because he’d tried.

She headed into a rundown building across the street from where he stood.

What was she doing on this side of town? Didn’t she know how dangerous it was?

Her long, dark hair swung in a ponytail like a pendulum, and she wore yoga pants and a purple tank top. A gym bag hung from her shoulder. As she opened the door to the building across the street, she glanced back enough for him to see her face. He looked away, stung. He didn’t want to see her expression like that. Her eyes held a sadness that should never be on his Morgan.

His Morgan?

A sign over the door read
Boxing Classes
. The wall facing him was made of large, dirty windows. With a little luck, she’d pick a heavy bag near the back of the workout room so he could get a glimpse of her again.

Disappointingly, she picked a spot near the middle and he only saw part of her between rows of hanging bags. She cloaked her hands with purple hand wraps as she made conversation with someone.