Page 13 of Feral

No, my wolf snarled.

No fucking way. I kept my mouth shut, though. An alpha thought before he spoke. Even when it came to his mate.

“My brother should choose his mate,” Colton said. I glanced over where he leaned against the back stairs, Marina tucked under his arm.

Tom nodded. “Of course, he should. But there’s no harm in meeting the she-wolf, is there? It would show Nathan and the pack he’s addressing their concerns.”

I wanted to shout “No!” so the walls shook but bit it back. Stayed quiet. I wasn’t Rob Wolf, the man. I was alpha, and that meant I had to listen to my pack, even about my fucking love life. It wasn’t just my happiness and livelihood at stake here. If Nathan and the others tossed me out, everyone around me would have their life impacted and not for the better.

“I’ve arranged for her to visit,” Tom said. “Just to give you a chance to meet her. If she’s not the one, she’s not the one. Just show the pack you’re looking.”

I wasn’t looking. I’d found her. But I wasn’t about to drop that bomb now, even if I did consider everyone in the room to be like family.

“Fine,” I spat.

“What?” Boyd said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fuck that.”

He knew the truth about Natalie but kept quiet. I knew what he was saying, that Natalie should be claimed, be mine. Not some Canadian alpha’s daughter. How was I going to be with Natalie again—because one taste was not enough—if a woman was coming to pack land just for me? I might not want her, but I wouldn’t disrespect her feelings or intentions. She wasn’t a pawn any more than I was.

I glanced at him, then Clint. “I’ll meet her, and then I will decide.” I was alpha. Tom was right. I had to show I was taking action for the pack. Even if the thought of receiving another female here killed me.

I said nothing more, only went up the backstairs and to my room.

Alone.

7

WILLOW

When I’d first arrivedand chosen a bedroom, I couldn’t pick the biggest, the one that Adam Shefield had used the fifty-plus years he’d lived in the house. His clothes still hung in the closet, his slippers tucked beneath the side of his bed.

Instead, I chose a smaller one down the hall, which turned out to be a good thing since it had rained overnight, and there was a small puddle on the floor in the big bedroom. It appeared the roof had a leak. I had to assume it was a new thing, but it would need to be fixed right away. Roof damage, especially bad enough to have water come all the way through a ceiling, could destroy a house.

A money pit, definitely.

I’d learned the guy had never married or had kids, which was why Natalie, being a great-niece, inherited. Also, because they had a musical connection. Adam had played fiddle, and Natalie became a concert violinist. I had to hope no one asked me where my violin was because I couldn’t play a note to save my life.

My bedroom seemed to be for guests although I didn’t know how many the old man had had. Natalie had visited when she was a kid but hadn’t been back in years.

I’d emptied the few things from the closet—an old robe and a few moth-eaten sweaters on the top shelf. I’d vacuumed the rug, mopped the wood floor and even dusted. At least the room I was staying in was cleaned out. While I didn’t want to mess too much with the real Natalie’s inheritance, it also wouldn’t look right if I didn’t properly move in.

Downstairs, I’d thoroughly cleaned the kitchen and aired out the rooms.

After being closed up for months, the house was cleaner than the clothes I’d worn last night. I hadn’t gotten dirty on my date. The only thing I could’ve done was dribble steak sauce on my shirt. But I’d wanted to shower the second he brought me home last night, the cloying scent of his cologne had lingered on my clothes… and still did in my room. I grabbed all my laundry and headed down to the cellar to get the washing machine running.

I’d always had a sensitive nose. Even now, I grimaced and held the stinky clothes away from my body. Growing up, my foster brothers used to purposely leave smelly things hidden in my room to drive me crazy.

I sighed as I lifted the lid on the washer and tried to figure out the buttons. The machine was avocado green and probably forty years old. I pushed the dial, and the water began to fill the basin.

I dropped the clothes in, then poured some soap in from the box on the shelf. I was used to the little pod things and had to hope I wouldn’t suds the cellar. On my way up the stairs, I heard knocking.

I must be close to ovulation because my nipples hardened even before I had the conscious thought that it might be Rob, my cocky cowboy.

God, that kiss! A million—no a trillion—times better than Markle’s. Markle’s wasn’t even a kiss in comparison. No, Rob Wolf had curled my toes last night, for sure.

The next time you come, it will be beneath me.

He was wrong. I’d come last night with the massaging showerhead thinking about him. And he was the guy I couldn’t stop thinking about last night as I fingered myself to sleep again afterward.