Page 2 of The Weakest Wolf

A shifter like me shouldn’t have been able to survive as long as I have in a pack as diseased as this.

The taint coats every surface of the cabins and farmhouse of Stone pack land, an hour east of a hole in the wall Dexter, a Wyoming town with a population of sub-two thousand.

Eyes bore into me from all sides. Hard stares that make the hair on the back of my neck stand tall as I stalk toward the man who minutes ago introduced himself. But my breaths are slow, measured, despite the slow, creeping terror about what the hell he wants with me.

I force myself to meet his gaze all the way, refusing to look away because the others will see it as a weakness. That’s one thing no one can afford to be here. Nothing will get you killed faster than that.

I stop a few feet away. His eyes are somehow brighter, more intense this close to him. But that’s not all I notice. His smell is intoxicating. Like new leather and wild forest, but all man.

And death. Let’s not forget the bodies he left piled up outside while you’re busy panting over him, Sierra.

He sits back in his chair. The wood creaks under his weight, the only sound in the room. “Sit.” He points to the space on the hardwood floor in front of him.

My wolf cowers at his order. She’s all too happy to prostrate herself at his feet like he’s a god, but all I do is fold my arms over my t-shirt covered chest and narrow my eyes. “No.”

His eyes go on another exploration. Instead of the room, this time it’s of my body.

He takes his time with it, starting with my faded pink t-shirt, over my denim shorts, and finally my bare feet. Then right back up again.

For several seconds, his gaze lingers on my dark russet brown hair. I’ve lost count of how many hours I’ve cursed having hair long enough to reach my ass, and with just enough of a curl that makes brushing it a long and often painful experience. I’ll cut it one day. But in terms of priorities, that one sits pretty far down on the list.

His lips curve. “It’s not often I have to repeat myself. Most people don’t usually survive it, but since it’s my first day, I’ve decided to be generous.”

I wouldn’t call ripping out the throats of seven men—our beta included—generous. But I hold my tongue. Barely. People who antagonize alphas never live long in this pack. Or at all.

Only someone suicidal would go up against the strongest, the fastest to shift, and the quickest to anger.

Alphas give orders. Submissives take them. No matter the order.

Or they should.

“I don’t sit at anyone’s feet.” Nothing in my voice gives away the fear bubbling up from the deep well within me, where it always lives. One slip-up and I’m the pack’s newest prey or this alpha’s plaything.

I refuse to be either.

“Is that so?” he drawls.

I tilt my head up a little more. “Yes. It is.”

“This will be fun,” he murmurs. His gaze inspects me as if he’s already forgotten what I look like.

I don’t call him out on his attention the way I would if I caught any of the guys staring at my breasts the way Galen Hunt is. The fact that Bowen—the highest-ranked member of the pack, and the one who would’ve been in charge had Galen Hunt not appeared from freakin’ nowhere—isn’t speaking up, means he sees Galen as much of a threat as I do.

“Get out. The last one, close the door,” he snaps.

No one hesitates, not even Tera.

Footsteps move briskly to the door, and I turn to leave. “Not you. You stay.”

The moment the door closes behind the last of the pack, I shift my focus from it to Galen. “Why?”

“Eden. Tell me where she is.”

For a second I do nothing but stare at him because that is not what I was expecting him to say.

Who the hell is this guy, and how the fuck does he know Eden?

You know what, it doesn’t matter. He’s a threat. There’s no way he wants her for anything good. Alphas never do.

---