Page 4 of Sold to the Alpha Wolf

Chapter 2 - Jet

Current day

An ache pounded through the back of my skull. It crawled up through my scalp and pooled behind my eyes. I’d been staring at the supply reports for hours now, and I’d made zero progress on the quantity revisions. I was just…fucking tired of all of this.

“What are we going to do?”

Staring down at the rows and rows of numbers in the ledger, I couldn’t help but notice that the supply-demand was far less than it should be. Yeah, I’d kill for a supply chain issue in the other direction right now. The pack could always hunt more and take to the woods for a variety of game and vegetation, but there was no need. Our numbers were dwindling, and another round of miscarriages and failed breedings had filled our winter.

Sickness, death, low numbers. What are we becoming? What’s happening to the wolves?

But it was pointless. These were the same questions and concerns I’d had for years now, and I still couldn’t figure out a way to help my pack, help all of us.

Useless. I felt useless in the face of such a massive issue, and the only inkling I’d had for some type of plan was entirely out of the question right now. Wolves didn’t intermingle. We stayed away, remained with our own packs, and didn’t look outside those numbers for potential mates.

It was a fucking terrible idea. The others had to know this. But what change could I make on my own? I needed the other alphas to go along with this if we wanted to see any results.

“Not going to happen,” I mumbled, shaking my head.

I reached for the rocks glass at my left. My whiskey was running low, and I downed the rest of it in a single gulp. The burn washed down my throat, doing nothing to ease the strain behind my eyes, but I could hope, right?

The pungent, distinct flavor of good scotch coated my tongue. I could pick out each note of caramel and peat and barley. I only had the good stuff in the compound, and I shouldn’t be abusing it like this, but desperate times and all that. Besides, it wasn’t like traditional painkillers did anything, either.

It’s booze or bust.

The hard clink of the glass on my table was loud in the otherwise quiet study, and I looked up at the fire dancing in the woodstove across from me. The orange glow filled the space with a subtle tint, sunset bottled into an iron belly that needed to be cleaned. Still, it was warm, and the winters in the Rocky Mountains were not kind.

On cue, the wind howled outside my window, and my wolf itched to go running through the snowy valley. It had been some time since I’d let him out properly, and my nerves were itchy and tense as a result.

I looked at the scenery, abruptly standing up and walking to the glass. I laid my fingers against the cold surface, the bite of the chill hitting my palm like a kiss. The snow was really coming down, and in the morning, many of us would be needed to dig out the cars and tools we used to keep the compound stocked and comfortable.

Rumbling low in that invisible place inside me, my wolf paced, impatient and hungry.

“You want to go outside.”

My wolf silently growled, a noise only I could hear, and I scoffed. I knew what the bastard wanted, that animal part of me that was as much of me as it wasn’t.

He wanted freedom. He wanted to run. He wanted to run…to her.

“Put a leash on it, buddy. That’s not an option.”

Stalking back over to my desk, I sat down in my chair with a humph. I picked up my glass, even though it was empty, and just held the thing. I gripped it tightly, doing everything I could to ignore that omnipresent need to go out there, which had been especially strong as of late.

There was no going to that omega, though. She didn’t belong to us, no matter how my wolf felt about her, how I felt about her. She was a Collins, for fuck’s sake. I was all for inter-pack connection, but not them. Not the Collins pack.

That damned pack was responsible for nearly all the trouble we had in this damn mountain. Aside from the humans, they were the most significant threat to our survival. They hunted right next to our territory, they vied for the same resources, and they were royal pricks when it came to cooperation.

My wolf didn’t seem to care, however; even just remembering that tasty, blonde omega was enough to get me twitching.

I’d never felt the mate bond before her, and I was well into my forties now. Sure, we lived a bit longer, and there was no science to this thing. Still, I had started to think that I’d be one of the many wolves destined to be without a true mate, simply choosing someone to fill the time with if the compulsion arose, which, of course, it never did.

But life was a dick most of the time, so I shouldn’t have been surprised that it partnered me with a Collins for a mate. Just like she happened to be one of the few destined to go without a wolf. Maybe if she wasn’t…if she wasn’t a Collins…

“Fuck. Stop this, Jet.”

Wallowing about our shitty situation wasn’t going to change anything. Wolfless shifters happened, fulfilling a different purpose. Wolves without mates happened—quite frequently, in fact. It was just a part of this stupid existence we enjoyed. Nothing made concrete sense, and I was really starting to believe that there truly was no rhyme or reason for any of this.

And still…

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