Page 14 of The Weakest Wolf

My eyes take in the tiny kitchenette, which is little more than a sink, a small refrigerator, and a toaster oven.

I turn my attention next to the wobbly black clothes rail that is for now empty of the few clothes that an alpha bought me, hoping I’d give him something in return. I did, but it wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

When the rest of the pack found his body, the last person they suspected was me.

Memories. This place is only filled with memories that I wish would die.

Gripping my knees with my still shaking hands, I work through the slow, steady breathing exercises I learned to do whenever the terror grabs me so tight that it threatens to swallow me whole.

It takes two minutes before I stop shaking.

After a final deep breath, I release it before rising to head for the shower, my back straight and my hands steady.

4

GALEN

Who the fuck gave her the necklace?

My eyes track Sierra as she moves around the dining room table. It could comfortably seat twenty, maybe more, but there’s only so much of this pack I can take in one go.

Ten is already pushing it, but that was the number I pulled out of my ass, so that was how many I told Bowen I wanted to see at breakfast when I pounded on his cabin door.

Must be laundry day.

The women in my pack would only wear the same outfit two days running if they’d waited too long to do their laundry. It’s the only reason I can think why Sierra would wear the same pair of jean shorts and pale pink t-shirt from the day before.

That and the clothes rail in her cabin, which looked a second away from tipping over, was empty.

And she isn’t wearing a bra.

With all the times she’s bent over as she circles the table with bowls of crispy bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs, and toast, how could I miss the way her nipples poked against the thin material?

But it wasn’t the first thing I noticed when she stepped into the room.

It was the sorry excuse for a smile plastered across her face.

Her tranquil expression is as if she wants nothing else in life but to serve us. She’s even tied her hair up in two ridiculous pigtails as if it will convince me she’s nothing but an empty-headed cheerleader.

She’s a liar. All she does when she opens those full, pink lips is lie.

As if she feels my attention, her gaze darts to me, and then quickly away again. Lifting my mug to my lips, I drain my coffee and hold the empty cup aloft so she knows I want more.

She picks up the glass coffee jug. As she rounds the table toward me, one of the men, a platinum blond with hazel eyes who has yet to look away from her breasts, slaps her ass.

Flesh against denim shouldn’t be that loud, but somehow it is. The sound also sets my wolf to growling. Again.

The low murmur of conversation grinds to a halt about the same time she does.

For a second, the smile cracks. I watch it happen and wait to see what she will do.

Hopefully, smash the glass jug into the idiot’s face.

Nothing, it turns out, because there it is again, that same fucking smile curving her lips as she turns to him. “Leo, can I talk to you in a bit?”

His eyes never move from her breasts. “Sure thing.”

And then she seems to forget he even exists as she floats toward me as if she’s a fucking fifties housewife.

---