Charmed Wolf

Chapter 3-1

Chapter 3

Guardian, I begged, wriggling my toes in shoes that sat atop a concrete floor and had no way of contacting the soil. Was that why the unthinkable had happened? Our pack’s secret weapon couldn’t reach me through the veneer of human civilization?

Whatever the reason, Butch’s dominance was so great that my fingers refused to cross silverware over my untouched plate of quiche and cupcake. Couldn’t change their trajectory and reach for one of the half dozen razor-sharp knives I had secreted about my person either.

I could, however, speak.

“If you’re refusing my offer, you may go,” I ground out. “You don’t have to prove your point by overpowering me.”

“Your offer,” Butch countered, “although intriguing, is not why I’m here.”

I shouldn’t have felt disappointed. After all, the role of Consort was a business transaction. One of the less appealing ones involved in the transition of power...or it had been unappealing until I’d set eyes on this unexpected specimen of a wolf.

“Then why did you let me make a fool of myself by telling you all the details?” My cheeks were hot again, which made me furious. Almost furious enough to break Butch’s hold over me...but not quite.

His dominance really was greater than mine. Also his patience. He waited until my wolf stopped struggling then shrugged. “You asked me to let you speak. I let you speak.”

And now he’d challenge me. Why else would another dominant werewolf jump through such extreme hoops to get me alone? Within my clan, politeness dictated that challenges wait until moonrise. But there was no politeness when dealing with dangers from outside the pack.

I tried again to beat back Butch’s hold over me. As before, there wasn’t even a ripple of strain on his features. Instead, he spoke as easily as I had when laying down the Consort ground rules.

“Your pack refuses admittance to outsiders,” he continued, telling me what I already knew. “There is no publicly available contact information for any of you besides this one application.”

There was one other available contact number, but to argue that point would be hairsplitting. Butch was right—the Consort application was the primary c***k in our armor.

One I should have paid more attention to. After all, while few outside the Whelan clan understood our centuries-old bargain with the fae, those who did could have read the signs and known we were presently at our weakest moment in a generation. I hadn’t allowed any of our wolves to attend mate-seeking Solstice gatherings last December. Had put out the call for a Consort even before that.

I might as well have ordered a billboard stating that we were unprotected by our hereditary fae Guardian until I had the Heir issue sorted. It had been naive of me to think I could drag my heels until the last possible minute just because I found the task distasteful.

Well, I was Alpha. I would fix this.

“The honorable way to challenge is to meet away from humans. Away from coffee shops,” I growled.

Or, well, I tried to growl. To my disgust, the words came out closer to a whine.

No wonder. My inner wolf had given up, rolling over and showing her belly to the stronger shifter. I clenched my eyes shut, hoping Butch hadn’t noticed the transition from threat to submission in my pupils. But the warmth of his proximity heightened. He’d leaned in closer until his breath slid across my skin.

This wasn’t even going to be a challenge. He’d leave me frozen while he vanquished me. Killed me perhaps.

I couldn’t allow that. My pack needed me alive. Even if I was no longer Alpha, I could find a way to help them survive Butch’s coup.

So I did it. Hating myself, knowing Father’s ashes would be rising up out of the forest floor at this disgrace to his bloodline, I tilted my chin upward to reveal my neck.

Then I waited, teeth clenched and lungs frozen. Most wolves wouldn’t bite a submissive. Most wolves. Not all.

“I’m not challenging you.” The whisper of his breath flitted across my unprotected jugular. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

I opened my eyes. I couldn’t help it. Butch’s face was so close I could see that his irises were brown rather than the black they’d appeared from a distance. The color of fallen leaves soaked for half a week in pooled rainwater.

There was no longer wolf visible in them either. Instead, his pupils appeared to have turned human and kind.

“Nice trick,” I told him. My fingers still refused to budge, but Butch’s compulsion appeared to be fading. I was now able to shift my torso the tiniest bit.

As I flexed the only muscles that would move at the moment, the knife at my hip slid a quarter of an inch out of its sheathe. If Butch lost the rest of his hold over my will for even a second, I could grab the weapon, stab him, and run.

Then what? Would Megan call the human cops? Would Butch tail me as I fled to pack central? Attack wasn’t much of a solution. My chin dipped downward as I gave up on the plan.

“Tara.” My name on his tongue pulled my face forward. “You’re not listening.”

Of course I wasn’t listening. The dominance behind his eyes had said everything, even if he’d hidden it afterwards. My pack was in imminent danger. I needed to think of something unbelievably clever so I could overpower a much stronger wolf.

Too bad the only thoughts in my brain related to Butch’s scent—a deep, woodsy baseline sweetened by persimmon. The focus I required slipped through my fingers every time I tried to grab for it. My inner wolf refused to even consider a fight.

While my brain whirred, Butch humphed deep in his throat, a lupine sound of put-upon annoyance. But when he spoke, there was no overbearing beast in his voice. Instead, his words were bell-like, musical.

“I swear that I mean no harm to you or your pack, Tara. As proof, I give you my true name—Rune Pelletier.”

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