“Could you sense anything, Phillipa?” Hector asked.
I scratched my nose as I prodded my senses. I could sense other magic—like fae magic and wizard magic—though I couldn’t track it to an individual, but it was harder than sensing werewolves.
I felt a wisp of magic drift off the wolf. It was hard to pin down, but it didn’t have the usual glitter that fae magic produced in my senses, or the steady glow of wizard magic. There was so little of it, tracking it felt like trying to find fleas on a feral wolf.
“This close I can get something off him, but it’s so faint I didn’t sense it at all when I was fighting him.” I frowned at the body, my eyebrows puckering.
Hector nodded and went back to sniffing at the wolf.
Ember leaned back on her heels and looked disgruntled. “If he really is from the Low Marsh Pack, this is going to turn into a mess.”
I chewed my lip some more as doubt started to creep into me. “Maybe I shouldn’t have used my daggers when fighting him…”
“No,” Greyson said before I could even breathe. “You did the right thing.”
I slightly pursed my lips as I studied the Alpha, on the rare occasion of being grateful for him.
It wasn’t that I disliked Greyson—he was a good Alpha, even if he had swindled the Pack into thinking he was practically Prince Charming when he was actually more of a trickster. I just didn’t like the way he’d been made Alpha of the Pack.
Typically Alphas come into their position through winning fights, or some method of proving they’re capable of caring for the Pack. Not Greyson.
Hudson, the previous Alpha “left” the Pack, and Pre-Dominant Harka—the highest-ranking wolf in the Midwest—had installed Greyson as the new Alpha. I’m fairly certain Hudson was asked to step down—even though he was an amazing leader—as the switch happened in the span of a week.
Rumor had it that Greyson was a top contender for Pre-Dominant when Harka eventually left the position, and I can only imagine that being alpha of the strongest Pack in the Midwest would solidify his position.
I didn’t doubt Greyson’s strength or abilities—he was stronger than Hudson by far, and I didn’t think there was another Alpha in the Midwest who was stronger than him except for Pre-Dominant Harka of course. But Hudson and his family’s abrupt and obviously unplanned exit left a bad taste in my mouth when it came to Greyson becoming Northern Lakes’ Alpha.
“I agree with Alpha Greyson,” Hector said. “Keeping the humans safe is a priority—for supernaturals in general, but especially for us given that we have the honor of living among them.”
“The wolf’s death won’t be a problem.” Greyson nodded at the nearest building. “We should be able to pull security video footage off City Hall’s cameras for the Curia Cloisters to see. I’m more concerned about what magic was used on him.”
Hector grimaced. “Yes, that certainly could become a very large problem if the source isn’t discovered.”
Werewolves were already pretty susceptible to magic, but if there was a magic that could take away their humanity, it would be devastating and dangerous for the entire species.
“We’ll have to call for an investigation,” Greyson said.
Ember flicked one of her tiny braids over her shoulder. “They’ll send hunters.”
As one, Greyson, Ember, and Hector turned in my direction.
I’d been in the middle of scratching my elbow, and was very confused at the sudden attention. “What?”
“Can you handle the presence of other hunters?” Greyson asked.
“Of course! I’m not like you guys—I don’t get possessive of my home,” I said.
“That’s not exactly what Alpha Greyson was referring to,” Hector said.
Ah. Yes.
The conundrum was that a hunter living in a wolf Pack was not a natural phenomenon. While werewolf hunters and werewolves were polite to one another, they weren’t allies.
Hunters got called in to track down any feral werewolves, or to discipline any wayward Packs, which happened a lot more than you’d think. Werewolves liked the deal because given how Pack-oriented they were, it was pretty difficult to mete out on their own Pack the violent kind of justice most hunters performed. So instead of a relationship of animosity and fear—as it was back in the age of the renaissance era and before—hunters and wolves had a civil working relationship.
My position within the Pack—however sketchy it was—was a result of orphanhood.
My parents were both active-duty hunters. They died on a mission when I was twelve.
After exhausting all hunter families, who wanted nothing to do with me, an elderly wolf couple—Mama Dulce and Papa Santos—were approved to adopt me.
They were a part of the Northern Lakes Pack, and had been the best kind of grandparents I could have ever asked for, loving me unconditionally even as they made sure I received proper hunter training.
They’d died about three years ago, weeks apart, and I was once again an orphan.
I’d said a lot of goodbyes in my life. I would like to avoid more in the future.
“I don’t mind if hunters come to investigate,” I said. “My parents died years ago. I’m okay.”
Greyson stared flatly at me in obvious disbelief.
Hector and Ember were at least a little more discreet. They tilted their heads in a way that meant they were trying to listen to my heartbeat or smell any of the chemical changes in my body that happen when you lie. Yeah, that’s a fun thing no one expects about living with werewolves. Goodbye all forms of biological privacy!
You could still pull a lie over them—you just had to be good at it. But the wolves knew everything about my health. Nothing was secret in a Pack.
“Very well,” Hector said. “We shall respect your feelings.”
“Thanks.”
“Uh-oh.” Ember jerked her chin up. “Looks like we have trouble incoming.”
I cringed. “Mayor Pearl?”
“Right on,” Ember said.
I reluctantly turned around so I could brace myself for the impassioned Mayor Pearl.
Coming in at shoulder height to me with legs as thin as toothpicks, Mayor Pearl was a force to be reckoned with. Her snow-white hair, which was fashioned in something similar to a bowl cut, was frozen in curls. I was pretty sure she put them in rollers every night. The jowls of her cheeks hung lower, probably because of her perpetual scowl.
She carried an umbrella—rain or shine—supposedly because she thought it was nicer than a cane, but I’m pretty sure she knew umbrellas were more painful to be smacked with than a cane, which had greatly influenced her decision. As always, she wore a black and white pantsuit with the trousers hiked up almost to her chest, and stomped with authority down the sidewalk.
Privately, I thought she had to be a vampire. She’d looked like this since the day I’d moved in with Mama Dulce and Papa Santos, and had served as the mayor of Timber Ridge for longer than I’d been alive.
“Alpha Greyson!” Mayor Pearl barked, her voice surprisingly low and husky.
“Mayor Pearl,” Greyson said, keeping his voice neutral.