Page 19 of Grace of a Wolf 2
A little rough around the edges, but disciplined.
No pups. That detail snags my attention. Every healthy pack should have children running underfoot, testing boundaries, learning their place in the hierarchy.
Keep watch. Something isn't right here.
Always watching, my King.His mental voice is syrup-sweet and obsequious.
Enough.
I break the connection as Marsh pulls into a curved driveway before the largest house yet. Stone facade, three-car garage. Several cars are parked on the street out front.
"Alpha Ian's residence," Marsh announces. "And the pack gathering place."
"No communal den?"
"This is our den," he says simply, shutting off the engine. "The basement level connects to several neighboring homes through tunnels. For full moons and pack gatherings."
"Your pack has adapted indeed." I keep my voice neutral despite Fenris's growing agitation.
Marsh smiles, clearly taking my observation as approval. "We've evolved beyond old limitations. Survival requires adaptation."
As I step from the car, the air carries no forest scents, no wild game, no earthy undertones that should mark wolf territory. Just cut grass, chemical cleaners, and the faint metallic tang of human machinery.
If I couldn't smell them, I'd assume only humans lived in this place.
Fenris paces within me.I don't like this.
"This way, High Alpha." Marsh gestures toward a set of double doors.
Before following, I glance back at the perfect rows of houses stretching into the distance. A human neighborhood indistinguishable from thousands of others across the country. Nothing to suggest the predators living among them.
Fiddleback is more than strange. It's unnatural, skirting hard around the edges of pack law. Humans aren’t allowed in packterritory. But moving the territory to them? That’s something else entirely.
The entryway gleams. Between the polished hardwood and the shiny chrome fixtures overhead, it feels very… human.
My teeth grind together.
"Alpha Ian is waiting in the great room."
Great room? My lip curls.
I follow Marsh past photographs of smiling pack members in graduation gowns, police uniforms, and wedding attire. Every image carefully selected to emphasize their human accomplishments rather than pack bonds.
No wonder they're nervous about my arrival. By living this way, they've been operating in that dangerous territory between pack law and outright defiance.
Perhaps I should visit more of these rural packs. See how common this kind of lifestyle is.
Marsh leads me to a man with graying hair, his face weathered but unremarkable. Alpha scent, but diluted. Weak.
"High Alpha." He bends at the waist, dropping his gaze to the floor. "I am Ian Halloway, Alpha of Fiddleback. Our pack is honored by your presence." His scent is sour and sharp.
I incline my head. "Alpha Halloway."
Marsh moves to stand behind his alpha, no longer my guide.
"Please." Halloway gestures to the seating arrangement, a group of leather armchairs by an unlit fireplace. "Make yourself comfortable."
I remain standing, taking my time to study the room. A large flat-screen television dominates one wall. Art pieces hang at precise intervals. A gas fireplace, something no proper wolf would ever have in their home.
