Alpha Knight (Wolf Ridge High 2)

No, I’m just here to make her suffer for what happened with Winslow. It should’ve been her who got caught. Sloane’s the damn car thief. This was her stupid operation. If she never would’ve shown her beautiful face up in Wolf Ridge, I’d still have a big brother around to be man of the house. Take care of my mom and run the shop for our great uncle.

Now it all fucking falls on me.

My mom’s dream of me getting a college scholarship and leaving Wolf Ridge died today.

Thanks to Sloane.

I text my mom, Spending the night at Austin’s. We have a big project due and have to work late. My mom won’t like it, not with grieving the Winslow situation, but Austin’s the good kid in the group. His dad is a doctor and a pack elder. My mom won’t worry about me if she thinks I’m with him.

I text Austin, too, so he can cover for me, if he needs to.

I swear, sometimes I think my life just ended up fifty times better than Winslow’s because of the friends I fell in with. I got lucky—both Austin and Wilde are pack royalty. Cole used to be before his mom left with our math teacher and his dad started drinking. Slade and I somehow landed with the golden boys, which means we make the right decisions—we protect the females, mentor the younger wolves. We might be dicks, but we’re still the good kids.

Winslow and his pack of friends? They were always causing trouble. They’re the ones we protect the females from. The ones getting into drunk driving wrecks or knocking up humans while still in high school.

Winslow didn’t have great role models. Plus, he was older when our dad died—it made him act out as a teen. I don’t know how he’s going to get out of the shitpile he’s got himself into this time, but I feel obligated to help. Even if he doesn’t ask for it.

I circle the townhouse, observing.

Sloane’s home—her scent is fresh near the garage. Lights are on in the bedrooms upstairs. One of the bedrooms is right over the porch roof, making it easily accessible to anyone who knows how to climb.

Like me.

Not that climbing is my regular gig, but anything physical is a done deal with me. I’m a shifter athlete in my prime. I jump, catching the overhang with my fingertips and swinging one leg up, then the other. The biggest problem is keeping quiet as I pad toward the window. To my right, I can see through the curtains of the other window, not accessible from the roof.

A small figure sits on the bed—a tween girl. Not Sloane.

Her little sister, maybe?

I inch toward the other window and peek through the crack in the curtain.

Bingo.

Sloane’s moving around the room—oh, fuck. I lose my breath. She’s peeling off her clothes.

If I were more of a dick, I’d stay and watch the show. She has magnificent tits under that running bra, I just know it. But she’s about to pull off her shorts, and I don’t feel right about perving anymore.

I tap the window lightly.

A dog barks from the other bedroom, full five-alarm barking. She barrels into the room through what appears to be a bathroom—it must connect the two bedrooms—and runs right for the window.

Smart dog.

Beautiful, too. A golden retriever.

I let the wolf in me come to the surface and send a push of dominance through the window. It’s not something you learn. It’s something you either have or don’t. What makes one wolf more alpha than the other. It’s an energy that comes out when you need to establish it’s your will over another’s.

The dog instantly stops barking and whines.

Sloane yanks the curtain back, eyes flared wide. To her credit, she doesn’t scream.

I hold a finger to my lips and point at the window. “Let me in,” I mouth.

She shakes her head.

I frown, exaggerating a look of disapproval in my expression. “Now, Legs.”

The dog whines again. I must’ve sent another push of dominance.

Apparently, it works on humans, too, because Sloane flips the lock on the window and drags it to the side. “What are you doing here?” she whisper-shouts.

I step through the window, ducking so I don’t hit my head. “I told you, princess. White on rice.”

“You told me glue, but whatever. You can’t be here. And what did you do to Sophie?”

The dog is in full submission, tail tucked, head down, nose on the floor.

“Good girl, Soph,” I say, and she springs back up, tail wagging. I reward her by stroking her face and ears and thumping her body. She’s a sweet pet.

Wolves generally don’t keep dogs—or cats for that matter—but I can see the appeal.

“You can’t be here, Bo. This isn’t even my house. Do you know that?”

I pause, taking her in. She’s in nothing but her sports bra and running shorts, looking hot as hell. Her bare midriff is flat and sports another dark mole to match the one on her face. Definitely a beauty mark.