Page 52 of Alpha Hunt

“I think that’s wise. I have the feeling that this might be the big one. The hour of reckoning.” It’s a thought that’s suddenly starting to take root. And my instincts seldom fail me.

Except when it comes to revealing my darkest secrets. I could kick myself for fucking that up so royally. But there’s no time for self-pity now.

“Right.” Jagger is on his feet. “I’ll get Barrett on the line.” As he says it, he frowns at me. “You know, you’d make life a crap-ton easier if you’d learn to use a fucking phone.”

“Not my thing. Besides, I have a comms unit. It’s not like I’m off the radar or anything.”

“Sure…except you haven’t used the thing in the past couple of weeks, you ass.”

“I told you; when I move as my wolf, I can’t keep it on me, anyway.” I shrug. I’m not afraid of human technology. I’ve just never felt comfortable with the feeling of being tethered. Maybe it’s time to bite the bullet and get connected. Now that I’ve found a pack I want to bond with, it makes sense.

That’s if they’ll still want me once they find out what I am. Because I have no doubt that Casey’s going to tell them.

“Yeah…about that. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to be doing that so much. You’ll draw attention to yourself. Humans freak out when they see wolves around here.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” I’m just saying this to appease him. Sometimes, I simply feel more at home in my wolf form. Probably all the years of being on the run. I thought that could be over now, but I can feel my hopes slipping away with every passing moment.

Jagger is on the line, speaking in clipped tones to Barrett. He looks up at me. “He says he can meet you at some place called the Greased Nipple?” He raises an eyebrow.

“I know where it is.” I nod. “Tell him I’ll be there by noon.”

Jagger speaks some more, then ends the call and turns back to me. “You planning to tool up for this?” He runs an eye over me. I’m in a T-shirt, jeans, and boots – easy for blending in pretty much anywhere. If you don’t take my size into account.

“No. If I go in armed, I’ll draw attention. With any luck, I won’t need anything, anyway. I’m hoping it’ll be a matter of staking out the place to see where the entry points are. Although I’m pretty sure Barrett will have a fair idea already.”

“Good.” Jagger’s still standing. “We’ll be ready. The team has been itching for some contact, so they’ll be raring to go.” He stops for a moment, and I can feel something building in his thoughts. “You’re not going to give us any trouble about having Casey going in, are you?”

“What?”

“I know how I’d feel about my mate heading into danger…”

“Would you try to stop her?” I level a stare at him.

“Fuck no! I just want to be clear that you’re not going to compromise a mission because you’re letting emotions cloud your judgment.”

“I think I can handle it.” At least, I hope I can.

“If it’s any consolation, Casey’s one of our best. Knows her way around pretty much any situation. She’s had my back more than once.”

“Good to know.” I nod. I wouldn’t have expected anything less.

“Right then. We’ll wait to hear from you.” Jagger nods to his door, effectively dismissing me. It’s a relief. I need to be alone with my thoughts for a while.

The trip to Sweetwaters serves that purpose for me. By the time I face the battered door of the seedy bar, I’m feeling focused again.

I walk into the Greased Nipple, my senses on high alert. The air is laced with the stench of stale liquor and cigarette smoke. I scan the room, taking in the rough-looking patrons scattered around the bar.

There’s a group of bikers clustered in one corner, their leather cuts adorned with patches and their faces etched with hard living. I recognize a few of them from my last visit – the man with the jagged scar running down his cheek and the intricate tattoos snaking up his neck. They’re a bad sort, the kind you wouldn’t want to cross…if you were human. As it is, I plan to give them a wide berth. There’s no sense in calling attention to myself. I just hope they don’t remember me. With any luck, booze and disinterest will have clouded their memories.

My eyes land on Barrett, tucked away in a booth at the back of the bar. I make my way there, sliding into the seat across from him. The vinyl creaks under my weight. He’s dressed in a faded leather jacket, a black bandana tied around his neck. His dark hair, shot through with gray, is slicked back, and his craggy features are set in a neutral expression. He looks like he belongs here, just another rough-edged biker seeking a drink and a bit of trouble.

But I know better.

“What have you got?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

Barrett leans in, his elbows resting on the table. “Like I told you yesterday, I’ve been watching the sanctuary. During the day, it looks like a regular operation. Conservation officers going about their business, taking care of the wolves. Ferrying visitors around the place. It’s something of a tourist destination. Which is how they seem to be getting away with what they’re doing. They’re operating in full view – nobody would question them about moving wolves in and out of the place, right?”

“Makes sense,” I agree. Sometimes, being brazenly overt is the best way to disguise yourself.

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