Match it with a windbag hunter who was on a power trip and smelled as if he’d been chewing on raw onions that morning, and it ratcheted the experience from tedious to physically provoking.
“Which is why we are not required to observe any of your rules, boy,” Amos sneered. He adjusted his bush hat as he peered down on me.
Though his manners would have stirred up any wolf—much less an Alpha—I kept my seething powers locked down.
That was the difference between a real Alpha worth his power, and one that was petty, greedy, and a terrible leader: the ability to control our instincts and the power that comes with being an Alpha.
Only a bad Alpha would fall for such manipulations—or give in to instinct and snap like a starving wolf over table scraps.
I wasn’t, however, going to let Amos walk around Timber Ridge as puffed up as a turkey ripe for plucking.
Not at all. I’d control my powers and respond appropriately, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t going to react.
“Amos Fletching,” I said in a low voice that was just shy of a growl.
A muscle on Amos’s face jumped, and he tried to curl his lips back in a sneer, but when I rested my gaze on him and let my power as Alpha ooze off me, he didn’t move.
“I don’t care who sent you. The Northern Lakes Pack will cooperate with your investigation; however, you will observe the rules I gave you earlier, which includes staying off Pack land beginning at sunset.”
Amos opened his mouth to argue.
“No,” I said, speaking with the full authority of an Alpha.
He clenched his jaw and looked away.
A crooked smile escaped my control.
It seems not all hunters have the grit of our Pip.
It was hardly surprising. Pip was a law unto herself—I knew that better than anyone else in the Pack. But it was interesting that she was so easily able to flaunt an Alpha’s power when Amos, it seemed, was having a much harder time.
“Do you understand?” I asked Amos after several long moments.
Amos kept his eyes down and scowled at the ground—a sign of his resistance.
That was fine. Intimidation worked when my authority wouldn’t. “Amos Fletching,” I deeply growled.
“Understood,” the crusty hunter said.
I inhaled discreetly, sniffing out the sour smell of Amos’s body odor. His heartbeat was steady, indicating he was scared but wasn’t lying.
My message had been received.
I leaned back in my chair and returned to studying the state paperwork.
After this I need to look over the new options for our 401（k） employee programs, and glance at the report the accountants made on the new hospital we’re purchasing three cities over.
A minute passed before Amos moved, his leather boots cracking as he paced from one side of my office to the other.
“I will be certain to make note of your requirements in the case file,” he said.
I didn’t bother to reply.
He seemed to think I cared what the Regional Committee of Magic thought about us. I didn’t.
I just wanted to find out what had been put on the Low Marsh wolf to turn him wild. If this was how the committee investigated the issue, I’d bear with it, until one of my wolves or I uncovered the spell, that was.
“Have you learned anything related to the magic put upon the wolf?” I asked when it was apparent Amos wasn’t going to leave.
“We found evidence of magic, but have not been able to uncover its origins,” Amos said.
“In other words, you still only know as much as we told the committee when we lodged a report on this entire incident.”
“We’ve done further investigations,” Amos snapped. “We can say for certain it was not fae magic, though based on the contents of the wolf’s stomach, it was likely a potion.”
I carefully signed a piece of paperwork with a pen, holding it gently so I wouldn’t crack it.
A potion? But besides fae, who else makes potions?
Potion making used to be a bigger industry—or so I’d heard—back when the elves were around. But they’d been gone for centuries.
“Further investigation of the wolf’s body revealed it would have died from bleeding out if you hadn’t killed it first,” Amos said. “From the dagger wounds Hunter Sabre inflicted on it.”
I paused and flicked my eyes up.
He can’t possibly mean to drag Pip into this? She’s a hunter—she’s cleared to fight wolves, particularly feral wolves. There’s no way they can pin this death on her, no matter how the Low Marsh Pack wants it.