“He’s not my Alpha!”
Dolph was already halfway down the path. “Watch your back, hunter. You never know when you’ll become the hunted.”
He dove into the underbrush, and was louder than a pack of wild squirrels as he charged out of the area.
I sheathed my dagger only after I felt him fade from my hunter senses and couldn’t hear him anymore. “What an absolute loon.” I shook my head as I typed out a text to Hector—informing him of the conversation so he could make a public memo for the Pack.
I wasn’t too worried that Dolph was going to try something.
He wasn’t smart, but he wasn’t that stupid that he’d try to attack someone on Northern Lakes land. The Pack would eradicate all of his wolves.
He likely felt like he had to threaten someone to restore face with his Pack, and since Greyson was the only other one involved in the fight—and threatening him was a death wish—I was the obvious choice.
Still, Dolph was crazy enough that he might try something stupid, so I kept my senses extended when I finally started down the path again.
I had to get home to feed Princess and Prince—the overweight and choosey cats Mama Dulce and Papa Santos left behind that I took care of in their honor.
But I’d run out of popcorn the night before, and I knew the lodge snack room had several boxes of the microwavable stuff, so I was first heading there as a pitstop to grab some, and maybe swipe a bottle of wine while I was at it. （I considered it my fee for getting smothered in werewolf hugs all the time, and after my chat with Dolph, I needed it.）
“After I get popcorn and wine, I have to clean the litter box and check the cat food—I think I’ll need to order more food from the vet by Friday…” I ticked my to do list off on my fingers as I rounded the bend in the paved path that popped me out in the meadow the giant Pack lodge was built in.
The Pack lodge looked like what I imagine you would get if you gave a ski lodge enthusiast an unlimited construction budget to work with.
Clocking in at three stories high—if you included the walkout finished basement—the lodge was built into a hill and constructed out of lumber, stone, and enough giant windows to outfit a greenhouse.
It was beautiful and functional, as it operated as a kind of home base for the Northern Lakes Pack with an immense kitchen and a few offices for the higher ups like Greyson and Hector. But even though the building was pretty new, none of the packmates lived in the place. Everyone had little cottages within a several mile radius of the lodge—including me.
“But for now, popcorn! To the snack room!” I pumped my arm in the air and spun in a circle like a drunken butterfly.
I was practically tap dancing my way down the paved path that led to the lodge—popcorn was an occasion worthy of a tap dance—and waved to Young Jack, Amelia, and Noah who were sitting on the front porch, playing on their phones.
“Hey, Pip,” Young Jack called, not even looking up from his phone.
“You can’t go inside,” Amelia told me. She was going to be a junior in high school when it started up in the fall, and both of her parents were werewolves—like Young Jack’s parents.
I paused, my hand on one of the door handles. “Why not?”
“Pack meeting,” Noah said. In his early thirties, Noah was a townie—that’s what the wolves called the humans who lived in Timber Ridge. He’d been dating a werewolf named River since I had been adopted. He leaned back in his chair and lifted an eyebrow at me. “They said it was important and private. Even you wouldn’t be allowed to frolic around in there during a time like that.”
“Huh.” I twisted my lips, trying to figure out how to say, ‘I don’t care, I want popcorn,’ without offending him.
As a hunter, I was in a weird position. I didn’t quite fit in with the wolves—I wasn’t nearly strong enough, and I couldn’t keep up with their insane stamina. But I also didn’t fit in with the humans who weren’t considered Pack, but were treated as a sort of special, protected group of their own by the wolves, because I trained with the wolves a few times a week and was included on any business that had to do with supernaturals since I was one as well.
My lack of a place had been less obvious when Mama Dulce and Papa Santos were alive, but since their deaths I’d become more and more aware of the “between” spot that I inhabited.
“Well, I just want popcorn. And wine,” I said. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
“I doubt that,” Noah said. “I’ve been around just as long as you, and they said no to me.”