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Our mate was magnificent as she claimed dead center of the room. In pack body language, this was a bold move. It was not the respectful demeanor of a grateful guest. And, in pretty much any other situation, it would have been an automatic challenge.
The wolf inside me stirred, both thrilled at her assertive behaviour and enraged that she didn’t bow to him as her alpha and intended mate.
Through the pack bond, I felt Silver’s delight as he leaned casually against the wall. A fast but furious challenge played out in the silence between my mate and I. It had been a while since anyone had dared so openly to defy my authority on my home turf.
The rest of her people spread out around the room, hugging the walls and furniture like ground cover in a war zone. I hated seeing them cower from the dominance zipping around the room, but not Sasha.
She held my gaze. Daring me to force her to submit. I smirked in return. The only place I wanted to see this woman submit was between the sheets. After she screamed my name.
When it became obvious the infuriatingly sexy woman wasn’t going to speak first, I was forced to break the silence. “I trust this meets your needs. You don’t need to stay packed in here like sardines in a can, I made sure the entire wing was available.”
Instead of looking grateful, Sasha scowled and propped her hands on her hips.
“Did you kick your own pack out of their rooms?” she demanded.
“They were happy to obey their alpha,” I growled right back, hackles raising. “It’s the least we could do. Your people—” I waved a commanding hand to encompass the group and fought back a wince as they shrank from my movement, “—deserve to feel safe.”
Sasha’s fingers tapped away at her hips before she shrugged. “It’s instinct, alpha. We’re happy little sardines as long as we’re together.”
The message was clear: Don’t try to separate us.
A sudden pit of hopelessness welled. She was treating us like animals because that was all she’d ever known of shifters. Our brutal, selfish, baying-at-the-moon, wild side. How would we ever prove otherwise if she’d already decided we were no better than our common enemy?
I nodded and turned smartly on my heel, sending a silent command to my omega to ensure our guests’ needs were met. He offered me a gentle tilt of his neck, showing respect and deference. I stalked out of that room feeling as if I was at risk of losing far more than a few moments of alpha pride. That woman was going to make me lose my damn mind.
14
GIVE A GIRL A WEAPON
Sasha
I watched the alpha go. My mouth sucked dry as the Badlands at noon before it flooded with iron as I bit my tongue—hard—to prevent a cry of protest from escaping my lips. I wanted to call him back. Like some sort of addict, I needed that unearthly gaze riveted to me, anchoring me to reality, or I suddenly feared my soul would float away.
Grimm’s movements were stiff with anger as he stalked from the room.
I knew I’d done him wrong. To hold an alpha’s gaze was a sign of disrespect and aggression to wolves. But I had to remain true to myself, too. I hadn’t shied away from Chains and his cronies—even after they’d tried to beat me into submission—so I sure as shit couldn’t shrink from this alpha now.
Despite the sound logic, a small calm voice inside had been urging me to slide my gaze away. Begging me to show Grimm the respect he deserved. It hurt to deny him. He’d ploughed his way through an auction full of feral wolves to retrieve me from my torment, staring at me the whole time as if I was the only soul in the room.
However, bowing down to the Prez so soon after our rescue would send the wrong message to the vulnerable people in my care. While my instincts were screaming at me that the Soul Reapers were different, the fact remained that these wolves were untested.
It was my job to ensure this MC proved—through their human interactions, not just the bloody snarls of their animals—that they were different to the Bone Crushers. Otherwise my people would never feel safe again.
The rage my defiance provoked in Grimm’s animal was palpable. It both excited and terrified me. His anger was a red-hot lick lashing the air. A war drum beating between our chests and rolling to crash against the walls of the confined space. The explosive dynamic promised torrid tumbles between the sheets.
Something in his intelligent, ruthless gaze sparked to life in the face of my insubordination. His animal side reveled in my dominance, craved it even as he demanded my submission.
The situation was laughable, really.
His wolf was treating me as an equal when I knew for a fact—after a rather visceral demonstration—that my puny body could be torn to shreds in an instant by his lethal, half-shifted form. Yet the human side of this man seemed to look upon me from a position of authority, as the duty of the Prez of the Soul Reapers MC, and nothing more.
What was worse, he pitied me. I could see it in his eyes.
I didn’t want Grimm to look at me like I was a victim. I wanted him to acknowledge me for the badass bitch I was. I’d earned my status as a survivor, thank you very much.
No, I didn’t want the alpha’s pity. But I craved his respect.
I balled my hands into fists at my side and inspected the connection I felt to each man.
