Page 8 of Alpha’s Wife

But monsters rarely build schools, and the backstory is certainly compelling. I can see how someone may come to understand his point of view; it appears many here already do. I can’t let myself soften, though, no matter how he makes my stomach flip when he walks in, or how many times I beat him at chess, or how nice the people here are. I can’t allow myself to be used, because I know there are lots of innocent people on the island, too.

I won’t be responsible for a war.

Chapter 4 - Ronan

It’s already past midnight when we slip into the small harbor, and I let myself enjoy the irony of it all. Me, standing on one of my brother’s docks, about to take what’s his while he sleeps, oblivious.

The fog did half my work for me. Tristen’s series of small ports is the busiest on the island; boats come and go at all hours, and there are always strangers in the port. This particular port is small but always full of ships, which is why it’s perfect. A new face here means nothing. No one looks twice at men on a boat, loading and unloading at night. We even lease a small warehouse under the guise of importing, which is ironic, as all we do is export Tristen’s own produce under his nose.

“Warehouse three,” I tell Cole, who’s dealing with the crew. “In and out. Medicine and the dry stores. Nothing that will be flagged until morning—you know the drill.”

“And you?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“I’m going for a drink,” I grin.

He doesn’t question because he knows the routine. I don’t come on these runs for the cargo; my men can handle that. I come for something else. Something worth even more than a hold full of stolen supplies. I come to listen.

I watch the crew melt off into the dark toward the warehouses, quiet and blending seamlessly into the other men coming and going along the docks and moving between the bars that are always busy. I’m tense, my wolf is tense, even though I’d deny it to anyone who asked. My men trust me; they trust my plans, but I know the risks I take. I have to be smarter than the three packs that make up this island. My wolf hates it; he’d prefer a straight fight, but I’ve learned that if you have to just use your fists, you’ve already lost.

This victory is going to be won in the mind as much as in a physical fight, though I’ll welcome that bit when it comes.

I pull my hood lower and turn away from the dock. I’ve seen plenty of pictures of my brothers, and I often wonder if Ryder and I fit the family mold, if anyone would recognize us as siblings. I’ve seen a picture of Ralph, too, and I’ve got to admit, we may share the same eyes. Which is jarring, given that I hate the man so much. No one’s ever called it out here, though, so any resemblance must be mild, thank the goddess, because I really don’t want to look like those bastards.

The town doesn’t improve my mood; it never does. Everywhere I look, there are reminders of things we never had. Warm, well-built houses with glass in the windows and heat pumps. Clean streets lined with shops and thriving businesses, evidence of a robust economy everywhere you look, from the infrastructure to the new digital investment I see being developed. These people never went to bed hungry, wondering if their mother could even keep going another day. This is what my brothers were handed by sheer luck. This is the very thing I’m going to rip from them with my bare hands.

I take a breath, inhaling the resentment and letting it settle in my chest where it lives. It keeps me sharp.

I head to my usual bar in this port. It’s the kind I like. Loud, low-lit, full of dockhands who clocked off a good number of hours ago and are now drunk enough to speak their minds. I take a stool at the end of the bar, order a whiskey, and do the most effective thing in this situation.

Nothing.

It doesn’t take long; it never does. Men love to talk, especially about the things that frighten them, even if they don’t want to admit it. I’ve barely drained my first glass when two men beside me get into it.

“…third time this month,” the oldest one says. “My cousin runs the freight for the eastern pack. Whole shipment, gone. Magic all over it, he said. Just vanished into thin air.”

“Same as the others,” his friend mutters. “No one saw a thing, you know what that means…”

I turn my glass slowly and say nothing; that’s how you get more.

“Alphas are losing their minds over it,” the first one says. “All of them, up in the mountains again last week at some meeting. My sister works at the mountain hall, says they were up there all night but haven’t got a clue. They don’t know who’s doing it.”

I don’t let my grin show, but my wolf feels it. They don’t know, not a clue. Three packs, all these resources, and they’re chasing my shadow.

“Tristen will sort it,” the friend says, with all the easy faith of a simple shifter who’s never been let down by his alpha. “He’s sharp, that one. Fair, too. Runs the best docks, everyone says. He knows what he’s doing.”

I drain my glass, taking a moment to let it burn so I don’t betray myself if I can’t control my face. Fair. Apparently, my brother is fair; easy to be, I guess, if you’ve never had to struggle for anything. I refocus on the men’s conversation.

“Sharp didn’t stop three shipments just walking off into the fog,” the older one points out, and the other one doesn’t seem to have an answer for that until the barman walks over.

“That’s why they’ve got his mate, the witch, on it now,” he says. “Emily is gifted; she’s already making progress.”

My hand goes still on the glass.

“Well, what’s she found, then?” the friend asks.

“Old magic in all the locations,” the barman says, dropping his voice low. “Masking wards. She’s told the alphas it’s really clever stuff, not seen on the island before. So, you know what everyone’s thinking, right?”

“Don’t even say it,” the oldest one mutters.