“We thought that it could be the witch. You were part of his coven, his pack even before you knew the wolves. But there isn’t magic strong enough to create an Alpha. Believe me, he looked.”
Robert Livingstone. I wondered if he was here. I thought not. Gordo would have known, even without the wards.
“No magic,” Osmond said. “No wolves. And yet here you are.”
“Here I am,” I agreed, waiting for the monster to show himself, to slink out of the dark with fang and claw.
“How?” he asked again. “How can you be the Alpha if you can’t feel them?”
“Does it matter?” I didn’t touch the last part. Because it sounded like he didn’t know about the bonds. About the threads that tied us all together. And if he didn’t know—
Osmond narrowed his eyes. “If you could do it, there could be others.”
I knew what it was. For the most part. But he didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to know that it came from grief and need. That it came from trust and belief. That there were wolves and humans alike who believed in me so much that I couldn’t be anything but their Alpha. That even though I wasn’t a wolf, they trusted me to care for them. To love them. To give them a home and make us a family.
It was something Osmond could never understand.
It was something Richard would never understand.
Because even if he took this from me, even when he ripped this from my chest, he would mangle it and twist it into something unrecognizable. He could be an Alpha, but he would never get what it meant to be an Alpha.
I said, “Where is he?” I was done with Osmond. I was done with waiting.
Osmond said, “He’ll come when he’s ready.”
I snorted. “Drawing this out, then. Listening as you try and get as much information from me as you can. You’re his bitch, Osmond. You’ve never been anything more than his bitch.”
Osmond growled, eyes flashing as he took a step forward. “Chaney,” he said coldly, eyes never leaving mine. “Just a little bit.”
The mean wolf, the large wolf, the wolf holding on to William grinned, his chin wet with saliva that leaked from his mouth. He dragged his thumb harder against the boy’s cheek, splitting it cleanly. The boy shrieked into his gag, blood spilling. It was a thin cut and probably wouldn’t even scar, but the wolves smelled the blood and began to gnash their teeth. William’s mother tried to lunge for him but was snapped back by her hair, the Omega behind her jerking it none too lightly.
“Don’t,” I said hoarsely. “Just—”
I was distracted. By the wolves. By the humans. By the blood dripping down William’s face. It made sense. It was overwhelming. I was surrounded by Omegas who were shifting further and further into their wolves, by Osmond who looked both defiant and nervous.
I was distracted.
Which is why I didn’t hear him coming up behind me.
Which is why I didn’t anticipate his arm coming up around my chest, pulling me tightly against him.
Which is why I didn’t expect his other hand to latch itself around my throat, claws digging into my neck.
His breath was on my ear. It stank of flesh and blood.
Richard Collins said, “Hello, Ox.”
I closed my eyes, and even though I tried to force it down, my heart tripped and stumbled in my chest.
He felt it. He heard it.
He chuckled at the sound, the rapid beat.
He sounded amused when he said, “You don’t stink of fear. Curious, that.”
“Because I’m not afraid of you,” I said even as he tightened his grip around my throat. His front was pressed against my back, his lips near my ear. It was the furthest thing from intimate I’d ever experienced.
“Maybe,” he said. “If you aren’t, it’s only because you’ve convinced yourself of it. But I can make you scared of me, Ox. Very quickly, if I chose to.”