Page 29 of The Wolf and the Chimera
As I changed into a pastel yellow sweater and jeans, I wondered how the werewolves had known my exact clothing size. When the workout clothes and pajamas fit, I figured it was the result of luck. Leggings stretched, and PJs could be oversized. Jeans and suede boots, however, were harder to fit. Despite the softness of the clothing, my skin crawled.
Have they been watching me?
I dabbed on some bronzer, mascara, and lipstick, all of which flattered my dark complexion. I had known the wolves were hunting me—they were the very beings who’d killed my parents—but I hadn’t realized just how much they knew about me.
Ryder tapped on the door.
“Ready to get this over with?” he asked.
With a sigh, I opened the door, and Ryder balked.
“What?” I asked.
He stared a second longer then shook himself.
“Nothing,” he grumbled. “You just, um, you look nice.”
I twisted a braid around my finger. “Uh, thanks.”
I couldn’t explain my sudden shyness. We had both seen each other naked, yet here we stood, acting like pre-teens. I steered the conversation back to my thoughts.
“It’s weird,” I said, “how well the clothes fit.”
Ryder’s gaze trailed over me, and I fought the urge to squirm. His lust quickly sharpened into worry.
“It is,” he agreed. He gestures at his button-down shirt and jeans. “I figured Dad had told mom my sizes since she sure as hell doesn’t keep up with them, but I don’t know how they knew yours…”
Even though we stood in our private room, I spoke in hushed tones. “I didn’t like what happened with Lyall either.”
Ryder ran a hand through his dark, tousled hair.
“I confirmed something he’s always preferred to ignore,” he said.
“And what’s that?” I asked.
“That Kieran didn’t inherit the dominance of a Sovereign,” he answered grimly.
I swallowed. “You did?”
“I don’t know.” Ryder didn’t sound convinced. “I’ve known for a while I inherited the Alpha gene, but when we were looking for the High Witch’s court, more and more of my power came to the surface. And when Lyall tried to get me to submit, my wolf didn’t want to.”
Alongside my heart, my mind raced.
“How are new Sovereigns appointed?” I asked.
The rest of the supernatural world whispered about the brutal power dynamics of the wolves, but those rumors had never been confirmed. Their hierarchies were one of their many guarded secrets.
“It depends,” Ryder replied. “Usually, dominance—the magic werewolves possess that determine where they fall in a pack—is passed down in families. Alphas usually produce Alphas. The last three Sovereigns have come from Lyall’s bloodline. When it works like that, the transfer of leadership is easy. A father steps down, and a son steps up.”
“What happens when it’s not a son who replaces his father?” I asked quietly.
“Two options,” Ryder said. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. “The Sovereign steps down peacefully, or the Heir challenges him. The winner becomes a Leader.”
If the situation ever arose, we both knew which optionLyall would choose. My stomach churned.
“What happens to the loser?” I asked.
Ryder swallowed. “He dies.”
