Howl (Lost Moon: Unravelling Monsters Universe #2)

Chapter 6

6

WEST

W ith Bronte in the shower, I finally have a chance to make the phone call I’ve been dreading since her arrival. I don’t bother to pull out the antenna on my mobile phone; like the latest Motorola model — our main competitor — it's a completely redundant part, but market research has shown humans are as gullible as ever and truly think the antenna helps the phone operate. Sometimes I can't believe the lengths we go to in order to pander to their stupidity, but here we are.

I dial the number I know by heart, listening to it ring half a dozen times before a familiar voice answers.

“Sam speaking.” Samuel is my right hand man, my pack beta, the guy who gets shit done when I need it to happen. He’s loyal, reliable, and his wolf is stronger than some of the other alphas I know. The fact that I have him means I can travel with the knowledge that our pack is safe, even when I have to spend extended periods of time away. Two months is the longest we’ve ever tested it. It was unpleasant for me, but manageable.

“It’s me,” I say. Like every member of my pack, he knows my voice. It runs deeper than just recognising it from memory; my pack members are connected to me, their alpha, on a soul-deep level, and they respond to my alpha bark without question. While Bronte may snarl at my commands, everyone in my pack simply obeys, their bodies compelled to follow the orders of their alpha.

I know werewolves are wary of this shifter ability, and I suppose I can’t blame Bronte for disliking it. I used to hate it when my old alpha barked at me, but then again, I was always the competition.

“Weston,” Sam says now, and I can hear the relief in his voice. “You had me worried there for a moment. I was expecting your call yesterday.”

“I’ve had some unexpected developments. How is the pack?”

“Fine, though I got a call from Rebecca that she ran into a packless alpha out on the northern border edge. Unshifted, of course, but she thinks he was sniffing around the redwoods.”

I growl, a proper wolf vocalisation, and I hear Sam’s choked reaction on the other end.

“Wait, you’re not in glamour?” he asks.

“Not at the moment. I’ll explain soon. Tell me about this fucking alpha. Is he young?”

“No. Older. Kicked out of his pack. He’s from Vegas apparently. Rebecca took pity and gave him a room for the night — and let’s face it, she probably gave him more than that,” Sam adds with a short laugh, “but I wasn’t going to be the one to ask if she fucked him. He’s moved on, but I thought you should know anyway.”

“There's no reason for anyone to be hanging around there. There's nothing up there but our cabins.”

“I know. My guess is that he's looking for wolves to collect and form a new pack. We've seen it before when an alpha loses and they’re left alive. They’re useless as lone wolves.”

An empty hollow feeling as the life in his eyes die out and I am cast adrift with his final breath, the taste of his blood bitter in my mouth. The green moss underneath his grey wolf is stained red, and for a brief moment everything is still and I am lost.

Sam howls, breaking the silence, and all at once the presence of the entire pack settles in my mind, so different to how they felt before, these wolves impressing on me that yes, I am their alpha.

“Tell me something I don't know,” I snap, pushing away the memory. I don’t know why it still haunts me when it’s what needed to be done, when it’s what he deserved. “I don't need you to explain to me how alphas operate.”

My snarl doesn’t bother Sam in the slightest. “I know you don’t. So, why are you out of glamour, and what about these unexpected developments?”

I’m silent for a moment, trying to decide how best to broach this. She’s a werewolf, and while I don’t care — she’s my mate and she’s perfect — I know the pack won’t see it that way.

“Are they related? You’re out of glamour because…”

“Yes. I met my mate.”

I’ve known Sam my whole life. We grew up together, back when the pack was small and the money was tight. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that up until this point he’s been pacing his office — the bastard can never truly sit still — but he’ll be frozen now, mouth hung open, processing. I don’t wait for him to catch up.

“She’s my fated mate. Not something I had planned, obviously. I met her yesterday —” How the fuck has it been less than twenty-four hours? Surely I’ve known her for a lifetime. “— And my wolf knew instantly. Hers did too.”

“Holy shit. What…?” Sam clears his throat. “Congratulations. Fuck. I wasn’t expecting that. You’re the last guy I ever expected to wind up mated. No offence, alpha.”

It’s not inaccurate. “None taken.”

“What pack is she from? Anita’s?”

“She’s not from a pack.”

“But —”

“She’s a werewolf.”

Silence, and then a short, barked laugh. “Fuck you, man. You had me believing you found a mate! Here I was ready to plan a wedding for you and you’re just pranking m?—”

“I’m serious,” I snap, the weight of my alpha bark behind my words. It’s not an order, but the meaning is clear. I take a deep breath, but there’s still a growl in my throat when I exhale slowly. “ Listen to me, ” I say, and this time that is with the full force of my bark. I need him to pay attention. “She’s a werewolf. Don’t ask me how that works, because how the fuck would I know? Shifters and weres getting together isn’t unheard of, but being fated mates? I didn’t think it was possible, but apparently it is. Trust me, I’m not wrong on this. My wolf isn’t wrong.”

“She’s a werewolf,” he parrots back.

“She is. Her name is Bronte. Bronte Maheras. ”

“ No .”

“She’s a witch. She is the granddaughter of Lenora Maheras, the High Witch and current head of House Maheras. She’s the one we’ve heard about, the one in line for the throne.”

“You’re out of glamour,” he says, sounding shocked, thinking out loud in that annoying habit of his. “Holy fuck, she’s a witch and you’re out of glamour.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Samuel. You know that.”

“She’s a werewolf?”

“Yes.”

“But… are you going to leave us?” His voice is more lost than I’ve ever heard it before, and I feel the hurt through the faint bond we have, despite the distance between us.

“ No. Never. I swore it to you all, and I meant it. I’m your alpha, and I always will be until the day I die. That’s the only way I’m going.”

“Okay.” He sounds shaken, more so than I expected. If it’s any indication of how the rest of the pack will react — which it is — it’s not a good sign. For a moment I hesitate, wondering if this is too much in and of itself, but the reality is I need to utilise my pack. This Maheras Stone is missing, and Bronte’s coven will be looking for both her and it. She’s not telling me the full scope of its powers, but that’s irrelevant here. What I need is to locate the damn thing and have it in my hands when the inevitable happens and her grandmother comes for her. I need to be the one with the power, because she’s staying with me. I’ll be able to convince her — I’m not worried about that, she’s too caring, and her soft heart won’t be able to take the idea of splitting me away from the pack when she sees for herself just how much they need me.

It’s the High Witch I’m worried about. The bitch might turn me into a frog, for all I know. So I need that fucking stone. If the High Witch wants it, she’s going to need to negotiate.

“Samuel, things are complicated. You’re going to listen,” I say again, gently, but still imbued with the magic of an alpha bark, because his subconscious will obey even when his mind is still reeling. He’ll remember all of this, and he’ll follow through.

I spend the next ten minutes explaining to him everything that I know about the stone, about the werewolves, the pixies, and the fae threat Bronte is so worried about. Samuel will tell the pack about my mate, and they will be welcoming to her when we return home to our pack territory.

“Any questions?” I ask, listening to the water shut off and the shower door open and close with a bang.

“No, alpha.”

“Good. I’ll keep you updated. Call me if you find anything.”

“Yes, alpha.”

“Sam.” I know he’s in shock. I’ve barked at him a lot, something that always messes with a wolf’s head. “It will be alright. I promise.”

“I really hope so, Weston. The pack was finally in a really good place. This… this changes things.”

“It changes nothing.”

Sam is quiet. I let the silence drag on, knowing he’ll speak when he’s ready.

“You’re putting her first,” he says eventually. “Whether you realise it or not. That’s a change. I’m happy for you . I’m just afraid for our pack.”

“West?” I whirl around at the sound of Bronte’s voice and find her in the doorway to the bedroom, her hair damp, and the fabric of the red dress I ordered for her clutched to her bare chest. She’s beautiful. She’s mine. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Her gold eyes flick to the phone held to my ear and back again, and I know she’s heard enough. “I was hoping you could help me zip this up.”

“That her? Of course it is,” Sam answers himself. “I’ll let you go. Have fun at your gala tonight, West. ”

“Sam —”

The even tone of the empty phone line hums in my ear.

“I’m sorry,” Bronte says, her brow creased with worry.

“It’s fine.” I close the distance between us, reaching out to run my hand over her bare shoulder. She shivers, our eyes locking, and I’m acutely aware that if she dropped the dress she’d be in nothing but her tiny little thong. It feels like a crime that I haven’t seen all of her yet. I want to map out her body, taste every inch of her, fuck her until I own her completely.

You’re putting her first.

Perhaps I am. She’s my mate . She already owns me.