Page 62 of The Thief

Montana was in charge of keeping the peace, and he would never shift just to break up a fight. So I did it for him.

My wolf jumped into the fray. Instinctually, most wolves wouldn’t go after females—it confused them. As soon as the interloper caught my scent, he circled and backed off, a low growl vibrating in his chest like a motor.

I joined Catcher’s side, keeping him calm, as I only had a few minutes before I would black out. Hamish wanted to draw us into a deadly battle with his packmate, which showed what little regard he had for his people.

The wolf trotted around the vehicle, out of sight. Concerned he might target Montana, I pivoted around to join the group.

Catcher was already at Montana’s side, so I stood between him and the other alpha.

Montana crossed his arms. “What do you want here? Trespassing is an offense.”

“And yet here I am,” Hamish replied with a sardonic smile, “doing no such thing.”

“You opened our gate.”

The vintage-looking alpha took another puff from his cigarette. “I was curious if you had a sensor on it. Quite the setup here. Quite. Is your Packmaster available for a little chat?”

“You can state your business with me.”

Hamish wagged his finger at Montana. “I remember you.”

Archer jogged up, huffing and puffing. A sheen of sweat glistened on his tan, his muscles taut as he held a gun at his side. He speared Hamish with a lethal stare, a restless wolf flickering behind his brown eyes. From my perspective, he was menacing.

But that’s not how Hamish saw him. My wolf detected his scent changing seconds before he wheezed out a laugh, his eyes fixed on Archer’s missing arm.

When my wolf growled at him, he snapped his attention to me.

“Call off your bitch.”

Archer raised the gun.

Hamish canted his head. “You’re not pulling a weapon on a Packmaster, are you, friend?”

Hamish’s packmate joined his right side, his bloodthirsty eyes watching us. My wolf bared her fangs and growled menacingly. Catcher advanced a step, his eyes locked on the other wolf.

“Lower your weapon,” Montana ordered, waving his hand at Archer.

Without hesitation, Archer complied.

Montana steered his attention back to Hamish, his voice cool and steady. “State your business, Macgregor.”

Hamish flicked the ash off his cigarette. “Are you the owner of that white mare I saw running on my territory?”

“The storm spooked her, and she got loose. We’ve got her now.”

“Yet she was trespassing.” Hamish leisurely took another drag of his cigarette, and the pungent odor irritated my wolf’s nose. “On my land.”

“She’s not a Shifter,” Montana pointed out, putting his hands on his hips. “The same rules don’t apply, and you know it. If you have an issue, go to the Council. I’m sure they’ll take our stance on the matter.”

I glanced back when Bear’s SUV headed our way.

Hamish dropped his cigarette in the dirt and mashed it beneath his leather shoe. “If I see that horse on my property again, she’s mine. I’m sure the Council will back my stance on the matter.”

My wolf snarled at him.

Hamish abruptly swung his arm and slapped me.

My wolf charged, and I fought with her internally to stop. Instead of attacking, she terrorized him with threatening snarls and lunges.

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