Page 20 of Wolf Hunter

Looking back on it now, I think Julius and I both understood that the chains around our necks would tighten eventually. That our leashes would be yanked no matter how far and fast we tried to run, so it became pointless to take a step out of line.

Then it came down to who would be the one to beat Father out of his title.

I won.

And Julius is now a problem for another day. For the time being…

I close myself into my bedroom and engage the spell on the door with a quick press of my fingertips to the wood. The sigil there springs to life, glowing a dull orange for a moment before disappearing entirely from sight. Once I’m certain I’m alone, I let my walls drop. Exhaustion swamps me, and I fall onto my own bed face-first.

What a fucking day. And technically, it’s only begun, since a look at the clock from the side of my bed shows 2:15 in blinking red numbers. A little past midnight, and already, I want to throw in the fucking towel.

How could so much have gone so wrong in a few hours? It might be a new record for me.

Muttering, I shift to a more comfortable position on the bed where I haven’t been able to catch more than a few hours of sleep at a time in the last couple of years.

This is the only room in the entire Redcliff Pack fortress where I can be myself without anyone judging me for it. And still, no matter how many times I tell myself the spells will hold, I fight against the danger of being caught with my guard down and what that might mean for me. For the pack’s future.

My father was successful in only one thing in his life: instilling the same ceaseless loyalty to the Redcliff wolves in me that he felt.

However, the ceremonies always take more out of me than I want to admit. I keep up a strong face in front of the others because we need the power the witches provide for us with their sacrifice.

Butfuck, I hate it.

I hate every second of the pomp and circumstance and the knowledge that we are beholden to the witches on some level. They fear us because of it, and I want to make sure they stay that way, the balance of power in our favor because we need their magic for our survival.

It doesn’t change the facts.

And it doesn’t change the oddly out of place desire I sense when I look at Tasha.

Sleep does not come easily for me. Tossing and turning, the thoughts rush at me without hesitation or mercy, hammering at me on a loop. Thoughts of how in the hell I’ll keep the truth of Tasha to myself, because the moment the others know what she really wants, they’ll see me as weak.

I’ve just gotten the position of alpha. I can’t have anyone fighting me for it any more than they already do.

There are thoughts of the strange tension I’ve felt in this house for the last few weeks and worry over what the others think of me. Worry about my family and whether I actually do the right things by them. Julius has been trying to undermine me since we were boys. I know he’ll use this misstep against me. And if he ever finds out about the odd attraction to our little assassin?

I’m done.

First moment of business when I wake at the ass crack of morning? Go down to the kitchens and arrange food for Pink Hair. The omega wolves who normally take kitchen duty don’t bat an eye at my strange request, and they don’t question me beyond asking how she likes her eggs.

Well, I have no clue how that stranger likes her eggs, and thoroughly pissed off, I stalk away without answering them.

“There you are. We’ve been meaning to pull you aside.”

Rolling my eyes into the back of my head before they see me, I turn around to greetbothmy brothers, this time with a small, disdainful grin.

“I see you’re up early, Julius,” I remark.

Liam stays a step behind Julius at all times, indicating his position in the pack. With his head tipped low and his eyes downcast, Father never took much notice of him, deeming the young wolf too quiet to be of any use.

Only, I know better.

Liam has a poet’s soul and a sensitivity most wolves aren’t allowed to foster. Our father tried his best to beat that softness out of Liam, and he failed.

Liam keeps his hair cut short in direct contrast to the length Julius so prizes. He wears comfortable loungewear versus anything tight or confining and spends most of his time in either the library or his room.

To see the two of them together spells trouble and I force down a swell of heat burning beneath my sternum.

“I can see there’s no way for me to escape this conversation, either,” I mutter.

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