Page 70 of The Weakest Wolf

“Looks like I am.”

I think up a question that will have a long answer so I can concentrate on shifting my right hand. “What will you do as alpha? And what if Galen comes back?”

“Well…” His hand strokes my hip, and I smile when I want to shudder. “I would want a Luna sooner rather than later. I’ll be moving into the farmhouse, and I think it’s about time we got rid of the Stone name and started fresh. And Galen?”

I’ve never concentrated so hard in my life. “Hmm?”

“He won’t be back. Looks like whatever he came here for, he found it. If he does, well, he was never one of us at all. Was he?”

I shake my head as my claws burst free. But it’s slow, and they need to be longer to do the sort of damage I need them to.

“With him gone, things can go right back to the way they were.”

Come on, come on.

I can’t wait any longer. It has to work now.

“Now,” he echoes, “about my Luna. I was—”

I stab at his neck.

He wrenches his head out of the way, and before I can try again, he’s on top of me, his weight pinning my body to the bed.

A smug grin stretches across his face. “Now we have our resident black widow in hand. Anything you’d like to say?”

He knew.

“Let me go,” I snarl, tugging at my arm.

I cry out when he squeezes my wrist and a bone in my arm snaps.

“So you can go back to killing off the pack one by one?” he tuts. “I don’t see that happening.”

I could deny it, but what’s the point? I know it’s over. “You all deserve to die. All of you.”

Laughing, he turns to the door. “Neale!”

It takes less than a minute for Neale to push the bedroom door open, which means Bowen must’ve clued him in on what I was going to do.

This time, Neale’s eyes don’t settle on my breasts, but on my hand. With my concentration long broken, it’s just a hand now, but that doesn’t stop him from staring. “Yes, alpha?”

“Grab Mitchell and get back here. I have a feeling Sierra is going to prove a handful the second I let go,” Bowen says, as if excited at the thought of me fighting.

I glare up into his face.

“And then?” Neale asks.

“And then we’ll be paying a visit to the cage.”

The bottom falls out of my stomach.

For his own sick amusement, the last Stone alpha, Jaxon, built a cage several miles from the rest of the cabins. Sometimes ripping someone’s throat out wasn’t enough for him—so if he wanted them to suffer first, he threw them in the cage.

I don’t know where Bowen got the key from, but it doesn’t matter. The hell waiting for me in that cage does.

“What—no tears, no begging?” Bowen asks when I do nothing but stare up at him.

“The only thing it would do is give you a hard-on, sick bastard that you are.”

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