Page 13 of Grace of a Wolf 2
LYRE:
They'll call security again. She doesn't need that stress.
Fine. I suppose that's fair.
"High Alpha?"
An unfamiliar voice comes from behind. I missed his approaching scent, and I wonder why the Fiddleback Pack keeps sending idiots to speak with the Lycan King. It's common knowledge not to approach a stronger opponent from downwind. Unless, of course, you're planning something nefarious.
"What?" I snap, turning to face the stranger.
A young wolf stands before me, shoulders pulled back, chin tipped up in an almost challenging posture. Dark brown hairswoops across his forehead, and he smiles at me with perfect white teeth. His stance suggests casual confidence, like we're equals meeting at a bar rather than a subordinate addressing the Lycan King.
"I'm Deputy Marshal Dawson. Everyone calls me Marsh." He extends a hand for a shake. "Alpha sent me to—"
My stare locks onto his, and my lips curl back just enough to expose the tips of my canines. I don't move to take his hand. Awkward silence stretches as he swallows his words.
His smile falters first. Then his hand drops to his side.
"Um..." His eyes dart toward the ground, then back up, unable to maintain contact with mine. His shoulders slope downward, the bravado seeping out of him with each passing second.
I take a single step closer.
"Alpha..." he begins again, his voice pitched lower. He takes one step backward, creating deferential space between us, his body bent forward in submission. "The Alpha has organized a welcome banquet tonight. In your honor, High Alpha."
The words emerge in a rush, like he can't get them out fast enough. His eyes are now pointed toward the ground rather than meeting my gaze.
"A banquet." Such social pleasantries are the bane of my responsibilities as the Lycan King. The thought of listening to small talk and veiled attempts at gaining my political favor set my teeth on edge.
"Yes, sir. At the pack house. Eight o'clock."
A waste of time,Fenris grumbles inside my head.
I glance toward the hospital across the street. I have no interest in attending, but it would be discourteous to refuse hospitality while residing in Fiddleback territory.
Pack protocol dictates certain formalities when one alpha enters another's territory—doubly so for the High Alpha. Under normal circumstances, I would have contacted the FiddlebackAlpha immediately upon arrival, paid my respects, and maybe even presented a small token of appreciation for his hospitality. All details I usually have Jack-Eye attend to.
Instead, I stormed into his territory and brushed off his well-meaning, if irritating, scouts for daring to question my presence.
Not my most diplomatic moment, though diplomacy has never been a great strength of mine to begin with.
I glance again at the hospital. Grace is in there. Awake. Weak.
If we cause trouble with the local pack, it could make things harder for her,Fenris says, surprising me with his reasonableness.
I hate when he's right.
"Fine. I'll attend."
Relief relaxes the young wolf's features. "Great! That's great. The Alpha will be—"
"On one condition."
His mouth snaps shut.
"My mate is in the hospital. I need updates on her condition."
"I'm sure we can arrange—"
