Page 8 of Secret Wolf Baby

“You get everything?” she asked in a clipped, indifferent tone.

“Yes.” I dropped them on the desk. “Can you help me get these to the right offices?”

“I’m busy,” she said, examining her nails as she leaned back in her seat.

“Right,” I muttered. I hefted the boxes in my arms and moved down the hall.

I shuffled from office to office, the load in my arms getting steadily lighter with each stop. No one thanked me or so much as looked up when I dropped off their mail. It wasn’t a surprise, and I’d given up on expecting anything other than casual indifference from most of the pack.

Finally, there were only a couple of letters remaining, along with a small parcel, all for Reacher. I took a deep breath as I looked down at the name, then down the hall where his office was. Apprehension and unease prickled along my skin. I tried toavoid our alpha as much as possible. Unfortunately, thanks to being an aide at town hall, that wasn’t as easy as I would have preferred. And since my dad refused to let me quit my job, I was forced to come across Reacher at least a few times a week.

You would think that I would have gotten used to it by now. That I would be desensitized. Unfortunately, it had been ten years now, and seeing him still sent that same bone-deep dread running through me.

As I approached the closed door, I heard voices emanate from the other side. I couldn’t make out the words, but I recognized Reacher’s voice along with my father’s, his second-in-command.

My mouth went dry as a spasm of unease rippled through me. I’d gotten in trouble before for knocking while they were in a meeting. Reacher had called it “interrupting.” But he had also chewed me out for an entire hour, calling me useless and a good-for-nothing idiot, among other things, when I hadn’t delivered the mail and other packages in what he deemed a timely manner. So I could either get in trouble for bothering him, or get in trouble for “not doing my job.”

I paused, debating whether or not it was worth knocking and potentially getting berated for interrupting, or if I was better off waiting and getting berated for dawdling later. Bothering him typically resulted in less of an explosion. Taking a deep breath and bracing myself for the inevitable backlash, I raised my hand to knock.

“How many weapons do we have right now?” Reacher’s voice rang out, now crystal clear.

My knuckles paused centimeters from the door, the words registering just before my fist made contact. Weapons?Had I misheard him? If he was interested in weapons shipments…

Please let me have misheard him, I willed.

“A good amount. But only about half of what we need,” Dad answered.

“That’s a problem,” Reacher said angrily. “I want to get moving on this before anyone who shouldn’t gets wind of what we’re doing.”

“There are more on the way. Promise.”

A light, rhythmic tapping sound followed the statement, as if Reacher was drumming his fingers on his desk. “What about men?”

“I’ve roped in everyone we can trust,” Dad said. “And the guys in the other packs are ready to move when you give the word.”

“What about the ones we can coerce?”

“Working on it.”

My breath caught in my throat as a creeping dread ran up my spine, feeling like hundreds of spiders scuttling along my back. I stayed rooted to the spot, hand still held up like a statue.

I knew I should go. Should turn around and leave. If they found out I was eavesdropping, I would get in serious trouble. But a morbid curiosity took hold of me at the same time, along with a gnawing unease. Things had been off lately. I had sensed it in the way Dad would sometimes act cagey, and in the dirty looks I would get when I wandered into an area they didn’t want me in.

I took a step back, preparing to turn and leave.

“I think—” A long pause followed as Reacher cut himself off. A low growl emanated from inside the room, and my stomach clenched with dread. “Wait.”

I heard the footsteps coming to the door a second too late. I stumbled backward, but not fast enough. I hadn’t taken two steps away when the door swung open.

A hulking shifter with salt-and-pepper hair emerged, glancing around until his gaze landed on me. Reacher looked down at me with disgust and rage, fury burning in his eyes as his lips curled into a sneer.

“Get in here, you little brat,” he hissed. His hand clamped around my wrist and jerked me into the room. I stumbled forward, nearly tripping over my feet with how fast he was dragging me. The instant I cleared the doorway, he slammed the door shut behind me.

“Want to explain what you were doing lurking outside my office?” he snarled.

My jaw opened and closed, my mouth refusing to cooperate with my brain as panic gripped me. My wrist began to throb as his grip tightened.

“Are you mute now?” he sneered.

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