Page 56 of Pack Kasen: Part 1

And for the first time I think about what kind of damage a feral can do for him to be so careful with my chain.

A feral goes into a kind of bloodlust, the Wolf King said.

How out of control would someone have to be to kill five people in such a short time? If the previous leader was my captor’s dad, he’d have been a big guy as well, with powerful shoulders. It can’t have been easy to kill someone that size.

“I feel you looking at me,” the Wolf King says without turning to face me, his deep, low voice vibrating with an unidentifiable emotion. “Stop doing that.”

“I’m confused,” I say.

He looks at me.

Reading his expression requires a map because I’m lost every time I look at him.

“You call yourself the Wolf King and you have a small pack in the middle of nowhere. Why? The leader of the pack is called an Alpha. Why not call yourself that?”

“Because I’ve earned the right to be Wolf King.”

“In the Wolf King Trials?” I still have no clue what that is, but it must be some kind of battle. Considering this caveman, I wouldn’t be surprised if they pound on their chests and grunt to determine the winner.

He scowls at me. “Finan has been talking, I see. What else did he tell you?”

I shrug. Finan didn’t tell me not to mention the feral who killed his family, but it feels like something I shouldn’t know. “Just that you're stubborn.”

“Says the man who feels every decision requires a meeting,” he grumbles, still scowling.

“What kind of meetings?”

He starts to explain when he must remember who he’s talking to. His expression hardens as he spins around. “This way.”

I trail him, trying to take everything in at once, but it’s overwhelming, and not in a bad way. It’s not just the beauty of the place. It's the peace. The sweet, earthy scents. The perfect wildness of it all.

For someone who has spent years struggling to cope with a miasma of scents, sounds, and light, it’s bliss. Or it would be if I wasn’t being dragged around by a man in a band T-shirt, bare feet, his long blond hair tied back with a piece of brown leather.

Here, I don’t have to tune out a million different perfumes, cigarette smoke, and other annoyances and irritants the way I would back on campus.

It would almost be heaven if I didn’t suspect I’m going to die here.

“We spread out across the house and the bunkhouse,” he says, walking faster now, as if he regrets letting me out of the cage and is eager to get this over with as soon as possible.

He could just stuff me back in that cage if he wanted this to end, but I’m not about to tellhimthat.

“Who decides where you?—”

“We have a hunting cabin we use to skin our deer and meat before we bring it into the house.” His voice is hard, angry even, and I don’t know what I’ve said or done to piss him off.

I glance over at him. Not only are his nostrils flared, he’s angled his head away from me, like he doesn’t want to even accidentally look at me.

We approach another cabin. A smaller one with sweet looking lace curtains covering a long, narrow window. It’s tucked between the bunkhouse and the main house, in a protected space between the two larger buildings. Something about it feels like falling into a dream.

“This is?—”

“The schoolroom,” I quietly interrupt. “Where pups learn how to survive in the world.”

I don’t know who's more shocked. Me or him.

His eyes narrow. “How did you know that?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

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