Page 24 of Pack Nightmare

“But-”

“We’ll have to table this conversation. We’re here,” Roxanne cuts me off as the car slows, and we pull into a wide, circular drive that curves around an ornate fountain.

When we hop out of the car, I can see the house is massive and covered in stone reminiscent of Harridan House. Of course, it’s much smaller, but I can tell there was deliberate intent in the design. This man seems to have been living in the past ever since my mom left two decades ago.

Swallowing down my nerves, I take my place beside Roxanne, and we march up the stone steps.

“Remember, you are the alpha,” she whispers. “The ideal solution is that everything goes smoothly, and he complies willingly. But as alpha, you must be willing to assert yourself and force him to comply, for the good of the pack.”

“Right, for the good of the pack.” I wipe sweaty palms on my pant legs, grateful that the fabric is dark. We’ve left my wild hair down, and it’s suddenly hot on my neck, despite the cool fall weather.

Roxanne gives me one more encouraging smile, then leans forward and pushes the doorbell. Through the frosted glass door, I can see a blurry approaching figure, who turns out to be a butler when the door opens.

“How may I-” he begins in a snooty tone with his nose in the air, then cuts himself off as soon as his eyes land first Roxanne, then me. He steps aside immediately, ushering us inside. “My apologies, alpha, please come in. Are you here to see Mr. Jean-Yves?”

My answer sticks in my throat and my eyes dart to Roxanne, who nods encouragingly. I lift my chin and stride forward. “Yes, I am.”

“Right this way to the parlor, and I’ll let him know you’re here. Can I bring you some refreshments?”

My panicked gaze once again darts to Roxanne. This time she answers for me. “Yes, refreshments would be lovely, thank you.”

We quickly reach a bright room with an enormous fireplace and over-the-top ornate furniture. All of it appears antique, with delicately embroidered cushions I’m terrified to sit on.

Roxanne is nonplussed and claims a seat on the couch, settling into the pillows and crossing her legs at the knees instead of demurely at her ankles like I’m used to. Everything about her exudes an air of power and control, and I try to mimic it. I choose a spot next to her and attempt to position myself comfortably, as if I own the place.

The butler hustles back into the room with a silver tray bearing two glasses of iced tea and some plain-looking shortbread cookies. “Mr. Jean-Yves will be down shortly,” he informs us with a grin. A small bead of sweat trails down the side of his bald head, soaking into the collar of his uniform.

Roxanne smiles warmly. “Thank you, Albert. If I may, do you have some of those frosted lemon cookies I had the last time I was here? They were delightful, and I’d love for our alpha to taste one.”

Albert positively beams in response. “Absolutely, I’ll be right back.”

When he bustles off, I glance at Roxanne with one eyebrow raised.

She grins. “His wife is the chef, and she’s very proud of those cookies. He is very proud of his wife. Part of the job is understanding the people of your pack, and how to make them all feel important and recognized. It doesn’t take much.”

My head swims. “How am I supposed to remember this stuff about everyone in the pack?”

Roxanne claims her glass and takes a sip, waving dismissively. “It’ll come naturally to you, I promise. But I’m always here, if you need my help. I’ve been doing this for a couple of decades now, so I feel pretty confident in saying I’ve got your back.”

Albert returns with a large plate of pale yellow cookies, topped with a thin layer of icing. “Here you are,” he places the plate in front of me, and I reach for one and take a bite immediately, trying to play up the experience of tasting it.

“You’re right, they really are delicious,” I try to infuse warmth in my praise even though I’m speaking to Roxanne. “Light and crisp, with just the right balance of tart and sweet.” Redirecting my attention to Albert, I smile widely. “Thank you, and my compliments to your chef.”

His chest puffs with pride. “Thank you, alpha, I will pass those along.”

When he leaves again, Roxanne leans in and whispers, “great job,” before grabbing a cookie.

“I used to watch a lot of baking shows with my mom,” I whisper back.

We munch in silence for a few moments, and I take a sip of the tea—realizing belatedly that its southern-style sweet tea and far too sugary for my taste.

Approaching footsteps reach my ears, and I know immediately this is not Albert. These footfalls are slow and deliberate, not the light quick step of the butler.

Nerves dance in my stomach—even though I assume he’s been at the full moon shifts, I’ve never met this man officially. After hearing so many things about him, I expect some kind of beast of a man. I try to remember his image in the photos of my mom from when they were young, but all I recall is four skinny kids on the beach, and then in the high school photo, the two boys flanking my mom and dad are complete blanks among the rest of the students.

When he enters, I’m shocked at his appearance. The heavy footfalls led me to believe he was a bigger man, but in fact he’s very lean, with an almost hungry look about his pinched face. He’s probably close to six feet, rather average looking, aside from the predatory air that surrounds him. He’s dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, open at the neck, that’s pressed neatly and screams ‘relaxed professional’ even though he’s anything but. The energy rolling off of him is dark red and incredibly hostile.

The bite of cookie I just took sticks in my throat, and I gulp down the too-sweet tea to wash it away before I choke. My every instinct warns me not to show weakness in front of this man.

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