Page 8 of Rogue Games

“You’re a good alpha, Dean. This is going to be great for the pack.” Lynn reminds me, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “Cling to that when you want to murder everyone.”

Patting her hand, I shove to my feet and stand tall. This is all for the pack. My father robbed them of the chance to meet their fated mates, to work the jobs they wanted, and to see the world. He stole their ability to simply have peace in their day to day lives. I might hate change, but it’ll be good for us all, so I’m going to plaster on a smile and show them how much fun it is if it kills me.

Callum appears, rapping his knuckles on the door and sticks his head inside. “We’re going to be late. Come on.” He disappears back outside without waiting, and I shake my head. He’s lucky he’s my beta. Another alpha wouldn’t stand for being bossed around. But this isn’t any pack, and I’m not better than anyone else here. I’ve worked hard to ensure the wolves here see every single day that things have changed for the better.

As I join him on the front steps, we fall into the same stride, silent but completely in tune, as we make our way to the only vehicular access in or out of my territory. One bridge. Always guarded. Now to be flung open to anyone and everyone who wants to enter the games.

As we walk, members of my pack give me broad smiles as they make last minute preparations to welcome our visitors. Clearly, they’re feeling more hospitable than me. But I do my duty and smile back, thanking them for their hard work, shoving down any reticence I have about what’s about to happen.

The closer we get to the border I’ve protected my entire life, the louder the noise of the gathered crowd gets, and my conviction that I can do this wanes.

Cresting the hill and seeing the crowd gathered on the opposite side of the river turns my mouth dry. This is my worst nightmare. There must be over a hundred people, all standing there, watching as we approach. Up until recently, anyone who dared approach the middle of this bridge has been met with a show of force. Today, I have fewer wolves than ever before working the crossing. How times have changed.

“It’s just until the games are over. Then you can lock the gates again if you want,” Callum assures me, but we both know that’s a lie. There’s no coming back from this. “It won’t be that bad.”

I appreciate the effort, but nothing is going to make this feel any better.

When I nod to the guards who have been keeping the crowd back all morning, they part and allow the first entrants to trickle through. My hands fist at my side, my wolf horrified at the sight of smiling people walking completely unobstructed onto our land. They’re laughing and joking, and it makes him want to inflict untold levels of violence upon them.

Where is the fear? Where is the trepidation?

Arms folded across my chest, I stare at the shifters who saunter across the border we’ve kept closed for years, with curiosity shining in their eyes. They’re as interested in snooping as they are in winning. Every pack hates us, but given the chance to come and poke around, they’ve turned up in force.

“Easy,” Callum says as I growl, hearing someone ask whether the wolves here have been allowed to go to school, as though my pack is stupid and uneducated just because they haven’t travelled.

“If anyone says anything to one of my pack…”

My train of thought is interrupted when one particularly arrogant-looking male thrusts his bag at one of my best female trackers, who’s standing there to keep watch, not be his bellhop. “Can you make sure this gets to my room?” He gestures to the path ahead of him, as if to say hurry up.

Ryan Williams. Callum was right. He is a prick.

When my tracker looks at me, unsure how to handle this, I can’t smother the rumble in my chest any longer.

She looks relieved when I shake my head, and she dumps the bag back at his feet before disappearing into the crowd before he can protest.

“Calm down,” Callum warns as my hackles go up.

Ryan throws his hands up, grumbling about knowing this place was going to be a shit-hole, and how that backward bitch was probably too dumb to understand him.

“His card is fucking marked,” I grit out before returning my attention to the last wolves trickling through. I’m going to make his life miserable. “Make sure he goes in the last wave tomorrow, and that he gets the end bunk in the warrior house, the one right next to the bathroom.”

Callum shakes his head at my pettiness but will do as he’s told, equally unimpressed by the man’s condescending behaviour. No proper alpha would show so little respect to another wolf, especially when not on your own turf.

“I think you’re supposed to welcome them, not stare them all into submission,” Callum comments quietly as the approaching wolf shifters stop in front of me, unsure whether they’re allowed to move beyond where I stand.

Only allowing this event to take place on my land under duress, I sigh. There’s no way to stop this, no matter how much I want to. It’s too late. Wolves have travelled from all over to witness the Alpha Games, the first to be held in decades. It’s the biggest ticket in town.

As I scan the expectant faces, waiting for some kind of motivational speech or warm greeting from me, I try to absorb a little of their enthusiasm, but anger still pulses through me. Warm and fuzzy remains just out of reach.

“You’re in my house. My rules. If any of you pisses me off, you’ll be going home before this even begins.” Glaring at Ryan, the male who’s already in my bad books, I pick up his bag and hold it out to him, adding, “My pack are your generous hosts. Treat them and our property with respect.”

The sea of confused faces staring back worsens my mood, and when Ryan refuses to take his own bag, I toss it over the side of the bridge without giving him a second warning.

Blake Steel stands at the rear of the crowd, shaking his head in exasperation.

Unrepentant, I stand aside and reluctantly let them all walk by. When I turn back, the angry shifter is leaning over the railing, watching and cursing me as his bag sinks to the bottom of the churning river.

“Great job,” Callum mutters sarcastically with a grimace. “Although, at least you didn’t punch him. That’s progress.”

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