Page 3 of Dawn of the Pack

I’m fairly certain that if Dom and Roxanne knew Derrek is my fated mate, there would be much less deliberation and much more action in the rescue mission. But I’m not ready to tell the rest of my fated, and I’m uncertain how the pack would react if they found out. As annoying as it is, Dom’s insistence on caution makes sense. Even though my heart is bleeding for him and my wolf would like nothing more than to tear out a few throats to get him back, I know I can’t put my pack at risk without first considering all the information carefully.

I have no way to be certain, but it sure feels like the Montrose alpha knew what he was doing when he ripped Derrek from my hands. I don’t know what exactly is tipping me off, but I can’t shake the feeling that lingered when he left: a deep, malignant hatred, the intent to injure so intensely that it goes well beyond simply acknowledging his own child.

Something is telling me knew it would hurt me, and he did it expressly for that purpose.

But the question remains: How did he know before I even knew myself?

It’s like every answer I get in Smoky Falls just leads to five more questions. A heavy feeling of despair wars with my innate need to keep moving forward for the protection of the pack. Now that I’ve connected with it, it’s become second nature to tap into the energy of the people across my pack territory. Scanning their collective emotional color map for problems is almost a calming activity for me now, reassuring me that my people are mostly safe, content, and happy.

If only I felt the same way.

I don’t know how long I can keep the truth of what Derrek means to me from my family, and particularly Milo, Jared, and Landon. It seems impossible to feel content and relaxed in their presence now, knowing that I’m still not whole. Never mind that now the tables have turned and I’m the one keeping secrets from all of them.

I finally reach the clearing, and march straight to the center where a pile of browning leaves is bathed in sunlight. I sit with crossed legs and release another deep sigh, letting the warm glow heat my cheeks.

Despite knowing how they’ve wronged me, I can almost sympathize with Peter Jean-Yves and my mother’s other rejected mate. This feeling could almost drive me mad, if I let it. And I didn’t grow up knowing Derrek was meant to be my mate, then face the aftermath of him leaving by choice. At least in my case, he had no say in the matter.

If my situation were different, I could imagine the bitterness settling in; hardening like a shell around the hurt, trying to protect me from this deep wound so I might find a way to keep on living.

Would I grow to resent the rejection so much I projected that hatred onto his offspring? There’s no way of knowing. My eyes continue to leak, and I’ve done nothing to wipe the tracks from my face as they make their way down to my chin and soak into my scarf.

I’ll sit here as long as it takes for the pressure to dissipate and my eyes to dry. Then I’ll head back into the house and start again on finding a solution to this mess.

Chapter Two

Derrek

“So, this is what a freak in a cage looks like. I always wondered what it was like to go to one of those traveling shows. You know what I’m talking about? The dog-faced boy, the bearded lady?” Azalea drawls from the exterior of my magically fortified prison.

I ignore her attempts to goad me. I may be locked up, but at least I have some freedom—namely to pretend she doesn’t exist. It beats my previous circumstances, when I lay on the cold cement floor for hours last night, hog-tied with my mouth taped shut, while she worked the spell. I don’t honestly know how long it was. I dozed off at some point.

It’s maddening to know that I finally tapped into my power and could do nothing to stop her. By preventing me from using my hands or my voice, a simple roll of duct tape effectively cut off my magic. I hadn’t yet learned to work spells without them, and even if I could, there were limits on that kind of power.

So, even though I now find myself stuck in a ten-by-ten cell with nothing but four walls, a drain, and an empty bucket, I’m not tied up; it’s an improvement on my position from before. I have my back to the corner, arms crossed, while I wait for whatever comes next.

As soon as they pushed me through the opening in the bars and Azalea finished the spell, I tried to test my strength against hers. Turns out she’s really been doing her homework. When I recovered from the breathtaking agony of the invisible shield, she treated me to a one-hour lecture on how to combine a variety of spells in order to create such an impenetrable prison.

Truly fascinating.

However, it did nothing to help my situation. Now I have no recourse but to listen to her ramble on and on like a cartoon villain explaining how she got the better of me. After she tired of throwing her advanced magical skill in my face, she switched to school-yard insults, and that’s where we’ve been for quite a while. I continue to stare blankly ahead, watching her through my peripheral vision just in case she tries something; as she already explained, just because nothing can go out of my cell doesn’t mean something can’t go in. And I wouldn’t put anything past her at this point.

“I mean, I’ve just never heard of a hybrid before. Didn’t they used to kill them? I’ll have to ask Granny if she remembers. I suppose it’s not something that comes up often, is it?” She lounges casually on the seat she had the wolves drag in for her. It’s a wheeled office chair, padded, the type that has a hydraulic handle on the base to go up and down. She eventually tired of playing with it and has draped herself across the armrests like the queen of Sheeba.

My eyes track the silver knife that hasn’t left her hands since I arrived. It’s not the same one I had; obviously, since that one is locked up somewhere in Smoky Falls territory. But it’s similar, with a wickedly curved blade featuring runes etched into the metal on both sides.

Currently, Azalea is using it to clean her fingernails, her leather-clad legs swinging off the armrest like a bored five-year-old while she babbles on. “Or maybe you never hear of them because they’re like mules. You know what I mean, right? Since mules are a cross between a donkey and a horse, they’re sterile, so they can’t breed. So maybe there have been some in the past, but they were considered freaks of nature, and since they couldn’t reproduce anyway, people just didn’t talk about them.” She says it all conversationally, but I know she’s trying to get under my skin.

Finding out that my actual father was none other than the Montrose alpha was definitely a shock to me. I’d heard the rumors that my dad was a wolf, of course. But my mom never confirmed it. She just told me he wasn’t a good man, and she wanted nothing to do with him.

So she gave me her own last name and left the father’s name on my birth certificate blank.

Nielsen has yet to even speak to me. He tied me up and dragged me from Smoky Falls, then stuck me in the back of a truck with a handful of his minions. Apparently he isn’t entirely sure about how resistant I might be to the alpha command, given my half-breed status, so the gag made sure I wasn’t a threat either way.

I haven’t seen him since.

I’m not sure if Azalea is here keeping an eye on me or just reveling in her victory, to be honest. I can hear people in the hallway just outside the door, which separates me, Azalea, and a second cell from the rest of the world. That one also has steel bars, but I’m fairly certain mine is the only one that’s spelled.

Azalea yawns, stretching leisurely, then makes a show of checking her watch. “I’m bored to tears, cousin. Why don’t you regale me with your stories of life as a runaway teen on the streets of LA?”

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