Page 8 of The Renegade Mate

Mai nodded and I got out, looking up at an impressive two-story structure that sprawled across a generous lot near the town center. It was a modern building that had a welcoming air, its walls of glass and steel softened by landscaped gardens. This wasn’t the secluded, fortress-like compound of Three Rivers. It was right in the heart of things, a clear message of its importance to the community.

I moved over to Mai and placed my hand on her back.

The grand entrance of the Alpha house swung open, and standing there was Michael, a familiar face in this unfamiliar territory. There was First Nations blood in his heritage, and it showed strongly in Michael with his height, lean frame, and sharp features. Beside him stood a petite woman in a dark, knee-length skirt and navy blouse. She had chestnut hair that was knotted neatly at the nape of her neck, and her lips were set in a thin line. She radiated a silent command that prickled my senses even from a distance.

“Ryan, Mai,” Michael began, “this is my mate, Camille.”

She nodded at us, her gaze unflinching, appraising. “It’s unfortunate we meet under these circumstances,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of steel.

“Indeed,” I replied, “but we appreciate your hospitality.”

A sudden flurry of movement stole my focus. Two figures, one a towering beanpole of a teen and the other a whirlwind of energy, bounded into view from behind Michael and Camille. The taller boy couldn’t be more than seventeen, a spitting image of Michael, but with watchful eyes that were a reflection of his mother. The other boy looked about seven years old and wore a happy, playful smile.

“This is Henry,” Michael said, his rough voice turning unexpectedly tender. “And this vivacious firecracker,” he gestured to the younger boy, “is Tucker.”

Henry offered a polite nod in response, his eyes never still, taking in everything. Tucker, on the other hand, flashed us a brilliant, cheeky grin that showed he was missing his two front teeth.

Henry and Tucker’s eyes darted toward the two cars behind us. A gasp escaped Tucker’s lips as he saw the last passenger get out of the car.

“Shya!” he whooped, his voice cracking with youthful delight. He took off, sprinting across the lawn and cannonballing into his older sister. Shya, surprised by the little human missile, staggered back a step, then laughed, her worry lines softening for a moment. Henry hung back, his gaze watchful and protective, before walking over to join the reunion. His greeting was more restrained, a warm hug and soft words exchanged between siblings.

As Tucker disentangled himself from Shya, his eyes danced with mischief. He turned to his parents, his grin growing wider. “Dad, did you know wolves run faster than cars?” he blurted out. Michael chuckled, a soft rumbling sound, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Camille, suppressing a smile, quickly feigned a stern look. “Tucker, manners.”

“What?” He frowned. “It’s true! Can I prove it, Dad? Can I? We can race now. You Shift, and I’ll drive the car!”

Michael laughed out loud, turning to us. “He’s been trying to drive a car for the last six months, ever since he saw a Formula One race on the TV. He keeps coming up with new ways for us to allow it.”

“It hasn’t worked yet,” Camille said sternly. “And this one isn’t going to work, either.”

“Aw, Mom!” Tucker whined, still in Shya’s arms.

“Aw, Mom, nothing. It’s time for your bed. I said you could stay up to see your sister. Now, scoot, young man.”

Henry stepped forward and held out his arms to his sister. “Here, let me. I’ll put him to bed. You get caught up with Mom and Dad.”

Shya smiled at Henry, passing the struggling Tucker over to him.

“I’ll come and read you a story in a bit, okay, Tucker? Promise.”

Tucker stopped struggling, but stuck his tongue out at his older brother.

Camille sighed as they walked past. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with that one.”

“Go-karting,” I said. “Lots of fun and works a charm for kids who want to drive. I did it with my younger brother Sam, and it shut him up about driving a car for years.”

Camille tilted her head to one side. “Good idea. I’ll try it.”

Behind Camille, a tall, wiry woman with frizzy brown hair stepped forward. Her sharp, foxlike features softened in a polite smile. “I’m Danni, the new Beta here in Bridgetown,” she introduced herself, extending a hand to me. Her grip was firm—a fighter’s grip.

“Nice to meet you, Danni.”

Then came two others, a pair who could only be the enforcers. The man was broad, with a deep-set scar running down his cheek. The woman next to him had a lean, almost wolfish figure, her eyes alert and wary.

“This is Ivan,” Michael introduced the man. He offered a curt nod, but didn’t say anything. “And Elise,” he continued, gesturing toward the woman.

“Hello, pleased to meet you all,” Elise said, her gaze sharp and assessing.

Mai was silent, taking it all in. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I felt a faint current of tension running beneath the polite introductions and forced smiles. I guessed not everyone was happy we were here.

---