I WAS WELL AWARE THAT my previous pack leader, Wolfie, had handed me his grandfather’s sword as a metaphorical symbol of my newfound power. But I’d focused on the more practical utility of the weapon right away.
It wasn’t so surprising that Wolfie and I didn’t see eye to eye on the purpose of my new katana since we were about as different as two werewolves could be. My old alpha was a bloodling—a shifter born in lupine form who tended to retain those wolfish characteristics for the rest of his life. His alpha dominance alone could always bend troublesome shifters to his will, but he never hesitated to don fur if he needed sharp teeth in order to prove a point.
So Wolfie probably had no clue how defenseless my submissive wolf made me. And how unsuited I was to running a pack.
Unfortunate
