Page 2 of Ethan
The gravel driveway crunched under the tires, leading us past a tall iron gate and up toward a sprawling house made of dark wood and stone.
Not the cold, sharp lines of Thornebane’s fortress of a packhouse, but something warmer, more lived in. Lights in the windows. A porch swing. Wind chimes on the corner.
Carter parked in front. I stepped out, letting the breeze whip through my hair. My wolf perked up at the scent of other shifters, faint but strong. Earthy, warm and alert.
We walked up the steps and through the front doors, the sound of our boots echoing off the floors. The packhouse was quiet, but not sterile.
I caught glimpses of framed photos on the walls. There were smiling faces, pups wrestling in snow, group shots at bonfires.
Carter led us down the hallway toward a closed door. A gold plaque read:Cooper Hayes.He turned to me, resting a hand on my shoulder.
“Wait out here. I’ll call you in when we’re done,” Carter said.
My stomach twisted.
“Seriously?” I stared at him, bristling. “You drag me all the way here and then tell me to sit outside like I’m at the damn principal’s office?”
“It’s not personal, Dean,” he said, but his voice was already turning to stone. “I need to speak with Cooper privately. Just wait.”
He disappeared behind the door before I could answer. The click of it locking made something cold flare behind my ribs. I sat down on the bench outside his office, arms crossed.
I felt angry, embarrassed, and humiliated.
I wasn’t some reckless pup who needed managing. But clearly, that’s what Carter still saw. And it didn’t help that with my supernatural hearing, I could catch every third word from inside.
“…probation period….”
“…temper.”
“…history of fights…”
I gritted my teeth.
Then Cooper’s voice, calm and clipped. “So basically, you’re offloading your problem child to me and my pack?”
I cracked my knuckles. That was it. I stood, fists clenched, ready to storm in?—
But then I caught movement from the corner of my eye.
Someone was walking down the hall. Broad-shouldered, dark-haired, about my age. Thick arms crossed over a pecan-colored T-shirt.
He walked with that slow, easy confidence that only came from knowing you could flatten anyone in your path. His gaze landed on me. Sharp, amused. Not unkind, but not deferential either.
Definitely not a pushover. Enforcer, I thought immediately. The air around him practically hummed with dominance. Like mine did, on my worst days.
He stopped a few feet from me, leaning a shoulder casually against the wall.
“You the new guy?” he asked, eyes flicking to the door behind me. “The Thornebane import?”
“Guess that depends on who’s asking,” I muttered.
He let out a low whistle. “Wow. They weren’t kidding.”
I stiffened. “About what?”
“You’ve got a chip on your shoulder the size of a small country,” he said with a smirk, pushing off the wall. “Name’s Griffin. Enforcer for Pecan Pines.”
“Dean,” I said, stepping forward until we were almost chest to chest. “Used to be an enforcer trainee back in Thornebane.”
