Page 9 of Alpha’s Wife

“Malik,” the barman confirms, and I tilt my head to order another drink so I don’t just look like I’m listening. He nods and takes my glass, turning back to the other two. “Stands to reason, doesn’t it? Rogue forces, weird magic, targeting all three packs. We all thought he was finished, but I think we were wrong.”

“Nah, they ended him,” the friend says as the barman pushes my drink toward me. “He couldn’t have survived that.”

“Who’s doing all this then?” he says, shrugging.

No one seems to have an answer, and I take another long drink. They’ve just handed me something more valuable than tonight’s shipment; they’ve handed me a ghost to hide behind. Everyone knows about Malik and how close he came to getting the job done for me when it came to my brothers. He tormented this island and very nearly won. It turns out he’s even more useful to me dead than if he’d survived my brothers.

“Heard the alphas are putting some kind of bounty on anyone stopping the thefts,” he snorts. “Like we’d go chasing unknowns out into the fog over money when it could be Malik.”

“They’re worried,” the barman says. “And if they’re worried, we sure as hell should be.”

It’s the most useful thing I’ve heard all night, and he doesn’t even know what a gift he’s given me. Worried, scared alphas make loud, clumsy moves. And clumsy moves are easier to read three steps before they happen.

As the evening wears on, I learn more in scraps, the way you do in these bars. Patrols that are doubling, but don’t have enough cover. The docks are being watched, but the smaller coves don’t have the same protection. That they don’t think anyone will hit the south…which we have and will. I tip my head as I leave, having become something of a regular in these bars as a trader from the mainland. The perfect cover; they probably think I’m worried about the thefts, too.

The boat is already loaded when I get back, half the crew masked with wards, the others perfectly visible and looking ready to go. Cole is waiting, and we slip back out of the harbor, as unassuming and quietly as we arrived. The island shrinks behind us into black water, and I sit in the stern thinking everything through.

Their witch, Emily, can sense the masking, but can’t name it…or stop it. Good, my witches are better, and the little bit of information they do have is pointing them in the wrong direction. The island seems ready to go chasing a dead dragon rather than look for me. A seed I didn’t even plant; I just need to water it a little for maximum effect. Have my men sprinkle a whisper here and there, leave a clue, perhaps some corrupted magic after the next run. Let them focus on the wrong things while I move into position.

It’s clean. The kind of plan that wins before the first blow lands. I should be enjoying it more than I am.

It’s my wolf being difficult, as usual, at the moment. He’s been brooding for the last two weeks, and it’s always the same; it’s always about her.

The mate bond, the one I didn’t ask for or need, is constantly pulling me to her, proving what a disaster it would be if I gave in to it. I want the bond magic, but it doesn’t need this complication. My wolf keeps seeing things that aren’t there.

But then, it wasn’t an ancient mate bond that made me laugh last night.

She did. We were three games in, and losing doesn’t even bother me the way it probably should, even though I do enjoy the few wins I’ve managed to sneak past her when she’s been more bothered about trying to get me to talk. She swiped my queen, yet again, and made a comment about how a great strategist may one day consider strategizing…and I laughed. Out loud.

She looked so pleased with herself. I wrapped up the game and left before it could happen again. I don’t laugh. I haven’t since I was a pup. And I’m annoyed with myself that I know I like her. Not just the magic, or what she means, but her. The way she talks, the way she refused to fear me from the off, the way she looks with her hair down and color in her cheeks, and the way her eyes sparkle with mischief when she wins.

It’s even worse than it sounds. I’ve started building my days around my evenings, clearing my work early so I can find things to take her. Grabbing another book from Ryder, buying more of the good tea because I caught the face she made when I took the other stuff. Small things, but they’re the type of stupid things that I’ve seen men do over women. And I need to be better than that.

I let myself sit with it for a moment, but then brush it off, because it doesn’t actually change anything.

So, I like her. Fine. I’m going to sleep with her and let my wolf have her, so I might as well enjoy it. I just need her to be willing to share my bed long enough for the bond magic to strengthen my wolf. The magic doesn’t care if I bring her tea or a good book; it doesn’t even care if she likes me particularly. It just needs the physical act of mating. And I’ve never had a problem finding willing women. Perhaps I just need to step this up so I can fuck her out of my system. Once I’ve seen a woman come apart under me, I tend to lose interest, anyway.

This is a seduction. It’s a game. And I’m very good at games—except, apparently, chess at the moment.

My wolf continues to grumble his discontent all the way back. I ignore him.

Ryder is on the dock when we come in; he often is. He waits until the crew unloads and heads back up toward our warehouse before falling in step beside me.

“Clean run?” he asks.

“Best one yet,” I tell him, and then give him the rest, everything I heard in the bar. The meetings, the fears over Malik, and Emily’s ward-work. I expect him to be pleased, but I know what it means when he falls silent for too long.

“So, they think it’s Malik?” he says, finally.

“Yep, and they’re terrified. Let them chase their tails while I build our presence with the warehouses, safehouses, and the networks in the smaller coves. It’s a gift, Ryder.”

“Is it?” Ryder replies, stopping and looking at me. “We have everything here, more than Mom could ever have dreamed of for us. Full stores. Trade, some of it even legal. A thriving pack that looks up to you. We are winning by every measure that should matter. And you want to risk it all for that island.”

“I want what’s ours,” I snap.

“The best revenge on those three would be to find out about us one day, look across the water, and see that we thrived without them or our father. Hell, despite him,” he says. “That’s the win.”

“That’s not revenge,” I growl, losing my temper. “That’s surrender with nice scenery.”