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I suppressed a growl as a long, painted fingernail trailed across the front of my too-snug dress shirt. I itched to pull it off. All of it, possibly: the shirt, the fingernail, the annoying woman’s finger.
Instead of attacking, I smiled. Or showed teeth, anyway. “Hello, female.”
She laughed, a shrill braying that carried over the other sounds of the crowded hall. A few of the partygoers glanced her way, but kept their distance when they met my gaze. They had good instincts.
This woman had none, but she had some courage. She tossed her brassy blonde hair over one shoulder, trying to hide her nerves. “You know my name, Brand. I’m Rebecca. You’ve danced with me twice,” she chided, but her voice trembled as she smoothed nonexistent wrinkles out of her shimmering red cocktail dress. Her hands moved around the sides of her breasts, and down her front, tracing an invisible arrow to her crotch. “I loved dancing with you. You’re so graceful for such a big…” Her eyes dropped to the front of my dress trousers, and she lost track of what she was saying. It was all I could do not to snarl.
I sighed instead, and she brightened, chattering on about the party and how delightful it was to have us here. Though she’d love to see my packlands…
I didn’t want to frighten her, even if her machinations were obvious and awkward. To be fair, she was attractive, tall with curves in all the right places, long legs exposed by the short dress she wore, and a decent face. She was, if such a thing existed, my type—a woman like many others I’d spent a few nice moments with, though I’d never brought one to my bed.
I wasn’t sure anyone would believe that if they knew it, though. Or understand it. I kept it a closely guarded secret, since the female shifters I knew would see it as a challenge, even if I asked them to respect my choice. So few of our kind understood principles, or honor.
Or how deeply our wolves could love, if we waited for the one meant for us, rather than settling for an hour of meaningless pleasure spent with a pretty, interchangeable, forgettable face.
I rubbed my hand over my beard. Nearly twenty-seven, and I was still saving myself for a face I would never look away from, given the chance. Glen had teased me about finding a woman who was my type. “Don’t you care at all about rank?” he’d needled me, more than once. “You know you’re shifter royalty.”
Royalty? Such bullshit. Too many of our Alphas believed they were set above their packs, that they deserved their titles and money. I didn’t give a single shit about status. I didn’t believe in the concept, and my pack didn’t even use the ranking system inside our borders. The most important traits for a shifter—for a mate to have—were loyalty, bravery, and a deep connection to her own wolf side. I’d been looking for this perfect woman for a decade, not knowing exactly what she would look like.
Today, I’d learned she was nothing like I’d expected. She had slight curves, too-thin legs, short, ragged, deep red hair, amber eyes filled with rage, and she smelled like a sewer.
Possibly, she’d betrayed her own pack. She was too young to have shifted. And she would never be…
I had to stop thinking of her. “Excuse me,” I gritted out, stalking away from the blonde with a curt nod, ignoring her sputtered protest.
Why did the little rogue haunt my thoughts? Wills. That wasn’t her name. I crossed to the bar near the back of the hall, empty except for a server.
An unranked one, from the threadbare state of the white shirt and black skirt she wore, and the dime-sized metal circle that dangled from the cartilage at the top of her ear. Like a human dog’s tag. Like the tag on Wills’s ear.
Remembering it made me want to shift and tear out the throat of the Southern Alpha, and then start on his Enforcers. Tagging young shifters like they were property, or pets. From what I’d seen, they treated all their women that way, regardless of rank. In my pack, the women were trained alongside the men. Taught how to defend themselves and their pups, how to keep their mates in line.
What had Wills lived through in her short life, to drive her out and away from her pack? I felt a sudden urge to run back and find her, and promise her that those days were over. That from now on, she had a mate.
A mate. Fuck, I needed a drink. I placed one hand on the bar. “Whiskey, please.”
“Y-yes, sir,” the mousy waitress replied, careful to stare at the counter between us.
I glanced around. The music was loud, and no one was near—my grim expression had obviously scared away all but the most grasping of females. I supposed my reputation for ripping out throats first and apologizing later was keeping talkative males away too. Good.
“Did you know the shifter named Del?” I asked the girl as quietly as I could. “The one who was murdered.”
Her eyes darted up to mine for an instant, and she gulped. “Yes, I did.”
“Tell me about him.”
“S-sir?”
“Girl, I’m not going to hurt you.” I knocked back the whiskey she’d poured, tapping the glass for another. Her eyes flickered to the doorway that led to the main hall. Ah. “I’ll keep it in confidence.”
She remained silent, shaking.
I leaned closer. “On the honor of the Mountain Pack, I will never reveal your identity. You won’t be harmed for sharing whatever you know. You don’t need to fear me.”
Her eyes narrowed, like she might not believe me. “The… The Alpha said that Flor killed him.”
“Yes,” I breathed. So Flor was her first name. “There’s a hunt on for her. Flor Wills.”
The servant’s red-rimmed eyes gleamed. “They haven’t found her yet?”
