Page 23 of In Your Eyes
I had researched every aspect of the rules about tributes, so I knew I had Dirk Keller dead to rights. He killed my father and I would have his blood, even if that meant waiting an extra day so the interpack council could approve my claim and gather my tribute. I could keep my wolf locked down long enough for that. And in the meantime, I tried to think of who would make the best Alpha for our pack once I was gone.
Maybe it was hubris, but no matter how many times I went over the pack member rolls, I couldn’t come up with anyone who I would trust to lead my pack. Nobody else had trained for it. Nobody else understood what it meant to lead. Nobody else had studied and prepared.
I was more a brain man than a gut man, always had been. When my father used to ask me what my gut said, I always wondered what he meant.
“How do you feel, Samuel?” he’d say. “Not what do you think up here.” He’d tap his head. “What do you feel down here?” He’d pat his belly. “Go with your gut.”
All those years and I never understood, but suddenly, I thought maybe I did. Maybe that feeling in my belly telling me to keep trying, telling me there was something I was missing, telling me to look harder, maybe that was my gut. Too bad my father wasn’t there to see it.
Bleeding and suffering and then dying. That was the fate Dirk Keller faced for what he did. My mouth salivated, and my muscles tensed in preparation for the destruction I planned to wage on his body.
As if my bloodlust made it so, my phone rang. I expected it to be work related because shifters tended to show up rather than call, but I was wrong.
“This is Samuel Goodwin,” I said, using my typical greeting.
“Samuel, this is Anthony Lang. The council discussed your demand for retribution, and while you’re technically correct, we were hoping you would reconsid—”
“When will he be brought to me?” I asked. “Or do you want me to gather some men and go to Miancarem to pick him up?” I enjoyed the idea of taking Dirk Keller in front of his pack and humiliating him.
Never in my life had I felt a stronger emotion than the hate that filled me at the thought of the man who took my father. Part of me wondered if it was because my wolf was so close to the surface and so frustrated at being caged. Another part of me wondered if it was because I was broken and unable to feel normal emotions, something I’d heard whispered behind my back for as long as I could remember. Most of me didn’t care about the reason.
“We know you’re upset and you have every right to be, but two wrongs don’t—”
He thought spouting clichés would change my mind? I wanted blood and the delay only fueled my anger.
“Here or there?” I snapped.
Anthony sighed and said, “Don’t go on to Miancarem’s territory and don’t allow your pack to go there, either. The last thing we need is a full-scale battle between neighboring packs. The council will handle this.”
“When?”
My voice shook with the strain of keeping my body in check. My wolf wanted out. He wanted to run and claw and bite and kill. No. Nothe. We were one and the same, my animal and my human.Iwanted those things.
“This is a sensitive situation, and we would appreciate having as much time as possible to deal with it.”
I suspected the council would delay the inevitable for as long as they could get away with it. Maybe some of the members were friends with Dirk Keller. Whatever the reason, I didn’t know how much time I had left. So even though it was rude to make demands on a council member, I said, “Two weeks have already passed. We need him here by tomorrow.”
“Fine,” Anthony said resignedly. “We’ll deliver your tribute tomorrow.”
KNOWINGIwasn’t the only person who lost his Alpha, I notified my pack that we’d succeeded in obtaining vengeance. I offered anybody who wanted a piece of Dirk to come to the Alpha house—my house—and witness his downfall. Only a handful of people took me up on my offer; it seemed the council member wasn’t alone in his opinion that a blood tribute was barbaric. But not wanting to see something with their own eyes didn’t equate to not wanting it to happen. In fact, based on the expressions on the pack members’ faces when they heard the news, I knew I had raised myself in their esteem.
The next morning a dozen shifters, including my father’s closest friends, their sons, and Rick Collins, the man who wanted to take my place as Alpha, arrived. We stood together behind the house, each lost in our own thoughts, as we waited for Dirk Keller to be delivered. I would get the first piece of him, there was no question about that, but I could share. Once I finished, the others would have the opportunity to shift and seek their own revenge. If there was anything left of his body when we were done, I’d box it up and send it to his family for burial; I wasn’t a complete animal.
My plan was solid, I was certain, so when we heard a vehicle come up the gravel driveway, I felt only anticipation, no dread. I longed to run out front, yank Dirk from the car, and eviscerate him, but I had told Anthony Lang where we’d be, so I remained in place and waited.
The first indication something wasn’t right was the silence. Dirk Keller was never silent. Rude, loud, nasty, and confrontational, yes—but not silent. And unless they’d knocked him out or gagged him, I couldn’t imagine he’d pick the day he was dragged from his home and his pack and marched to his death to be the day he finally stopped talking.
The reason for what seemed like out-of-character behavior became clear when Anthony Lang and Heath Farbis turned the corner. They were marching a man between them, his arms behind his back, seemingly bound together. But the man wasn’t Dirk Keller. It was Korban.
Before my brain could process what I was seeing, my wolf started exploding underneath my skin. I couldn’t talk, couldn’t see, couldn’t move. I burned from the inside out, the pain excruciating. I didn’t know how long it lasted, but I was ready to give up, give in, let my wolf have control of my body and go live in the woods alone.
Then out of nowhere, the inner voice that had calmed me after my father’s death returned. It felt like a caress inside my head, which should have been a bad thing, because I didn’t like being touched, but it wasn’t bad; it was comforting. My lungs relaxed, my breathing evened, and I focused on the words coming out of Anthony Lang’s mouth.
“Where do you want him?” he asked, his lips pinched and his forehead wrinkled.
“Why is Korban here?” I rasped, hoarse from the exertion taking place underneath my skin.
“You demanded a tribute,” Anthony said. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”
