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She couldn’t be an unranked shifter. She had on a new, clean, powder-blue skirt and a sleeveless cream-colored silk top, and her short hair had been cut into a cute pixie style. Her long lashes had a coat of mascara on, and her lips were pink with gloss. Even her nails were buffed and shining.
How could she be me?
I touched my cheek and watched my too-thin reflection move as well. Far too thin. I was still starving—literally, it felt like. So not everything had changed.
I lifted a hand to my ear, to the tag that Margarette had insisted I have cut off immediately. I would have agreed, but I was just petty enough to want all these fuckheads at Southern to see me leave through those ugly razor-wire-topped gates, unranked and still wearing the tag they’d put on me, and let them choke on their jealousy. So I’d told her I’d wait until we got to her packlands.
Anyway, the small weight of it there kept me focused on my surroundings, forced me to pay attention, and to remember that not everything had changed. The fear that had always thrummed in my veins was still there.
Trevor and his guys were still out there somewhere, though no one had seen them since the Alpha challenge.
My skin still itched with the need to hide, especially as the hours for the Hunt drew closer.
Yeah, some things were the same as always.
Margarette had escorted me to a room in the guest quarters that smelled a lot like Glen, though I assumed he’d been shoved somewhere else for the remainder of the night. After I’d barricaded the door with furniture, I’d slept like the dead until a few hours before, when she’d shown back up with another female shifter from Northern to help me get ready for dinner.
Margarette’s pack member had only been a few inches taller than me, and nice enough. The skirt they’d brought in smelled like her, but fit pretty well, and she’d loaned me matching blue sandals that were only a little too big. It was thoughtful, but I’d have rather had my mop handle and a cheese sandwich.
My stomach echoed the wish for more food. A knock at the door interrupted the growling. “Flor? It’s Margarette and Alpha Hillier.”
I opened the door, already smiling. The Northern Alpha stood with his hand at his mate’s waist, but his light-blue eyes on me. “I’m glad to see you still breathing, young shifter,” he said, offering his other arm to me as I stepped out of the room. “Margarette, you did an amazing job! Won’t Glen be pleased.”
As we walked, he exuded waves of Alpha power so strong, I could feel it moving from his arm to mine, though I wasn’t sure he was even aware of it. His jovial nature was the farthest thing from “Alpha” I’d ever seen.
I smiled, too flustered to speak and slightly nervous about his comment. Why would Glen’s approval matter? I had a sinking feeling I knew. While Margarette had been making me over, she’d broadly hinted at the Glory of True Love and the Deep Satisfaction of Having a Mate about a dozen times. Once I’d threatened to climb out the window, though, she’d mostly stopped.
Still, she’d already tried to use her dominance to make me accept Glen. If this guy did that, I’d be bitten, claimed, and pregnant before I came out from under the command. I pulled my arm out of his.
“Really, you are a vision, Flor. No wonder my son clai—” He went silent when Margarette shot him a hard glance. “Nevertheless. I am so glad to see you looking better. Are you hungry?”
My stomach answered for me, and we all smiled. However, I was surprised when we didn’t go into the pack dining hall. “Where are we...”
Turning a corner, we entered a room I had never been in. Well, not with anyone’s knowledge. I had hidden under the vast mahogany dining table once during a particularly tricky Hunt. The Alpha’s private dining room had a table that could seat at least thirty running the length of it, with ostentatiously carved chairs padded by maroon velvet cushions.
The Alpha Heirs and some of the Head Enforcers from the other packs, about sixteen in all, were seated at the other end of the room, but rose when we entered. Something in my gut yanked me toward the guys, but I stopped when I smelled dinner.
Three sideboards that ran the length of one wall were practically groaning with food. There were slabs of rare steaks along with boats filled with sauces, stuffed chicken breasts oozing cheese and topped with crispy greens, some sort of fried things that smelled like shrimp, and more platters of vegetables than I knew existed.
“Am I dead?” I wondered aloud.
“I think you’re just starting to live, sweet girl,” Alpha Hillier replied gently, then squeezed my shoulder and took a seat next to some other strangers.
Margarette guided me to a chair next to one of the Heirs. Brand, who smelled every bit as delectable now as ever. When he rose and bowed to me, for some unknown reason, his piney, wild scent made me want to rub myself in his shirt. Maybe in his pants, too, I thought, taking in how the tight cloth clung to his massive thighs.
“Flor,” he said in a bass murmur. “I’m glad to see you well.”
I didn’t know what to say. “Brand,” I finally muttered. “Backatcha.”
“You can call me Bearman, if you prefer,” he teased.My eyes flew to his dark gaze, and I saw something in his face I’d never seen before. Wonder? Awe? As if I were something worth staring at. “You look good,” he said at last. “I’m glad you…”
“Didn’t die?” I joked. Something primitive flickered in his expression, and for a moment, he almost seemed to expand, growing wider and taller.“Bearman?” I whispered, my mouth suddenly dry.
Someone down the table cleared their throat impatiently, and I practically fell into the chair, the soft velvet almost swallowing me. Cheeks burning from all the attention focused on me, I dropped my gaze to all the forks and spoons spread out on the white cloth. Why would someone need more than one spoon? Or one fork, for that matter?
I noticed Brand rising and moving away, but my mind was spinning. What was I doing sitting here, in this room, with the most important shifters in North America? When was someone going to yell out that it was all a trick, a hoax?
An unranked servant stood by the door that led to the kitchens. Was he there to serve us? Maybe to keep me trapped in this room when everyone was done eating and ready for their after-dinner entertainment.For all I knew, they’d be hunting me.
