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“He’s having a party.”
“Shit.” Sucking in a breath, Elliot readjusted his ball cap. “Great. I didn’t know he was planning one so soon.”
The other man shrugged. “Last-minute thing, I think.” He looked at Callum. “You must be the cousin. I’m Rafe.”
“Hey.” Callum shook the hand that was offered to him.
Elliot looked at the building, his expression pained.
Rafe patted him on the back. “Just tell him you got in too late, and–”
“And what, Raphael?” a voice spoke from behind them.
Turning, they saw a man about their age heading toward them. A scraggly beard obstructed his chin, and a ball cap covered his hair. Next to him, an unsteady woman giggled drunkenly as she clung to him.
“And none of your business, Jessop.”
Rafe and Jessop glared at one another.
“You know, you don’t give the orders around here. No one’s going to listen to a faggot like you.”
Elliot growled. “Fuck off, Jessop.”
Rafe patted Elliot on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Elliot. Jessop’s just pissed because he knows if it came down to it, Uncle Thatcher would pick me over him to lead this pack.”
Jessop smirked. “You keep thinking that. We both know this pack would fucking eat you alive before falling for any of your liberal ideas.” He leaned closer, the light from the lodge illuminating the couple. “I’d take the first bite.”
Jessop made a vulgar snapping motion with his jaws, prompting the girl to giggle harder.
In the light, Callum noticed how dilated her pupils were. She wasn’t just drunk.
“Jessop!” a gravelly voice shouted from the doorway.
The voice commanded attention, forcing them all to glance toward the lodge, where a man with graying brown hair had thrown open the doors and was now striding toward them. Jessop cowered, Elliot tensed, and Callum knew, just knew, who had walked into their argument.
Thatcher Diset approached them, a beer bottle loosely hanging from one hand, his ire focused on Jessop. “Boy, we’ve been waiting for you. Get her inside.”
“Rafe was telling Elliot not to bring the newcomer to see you tonight.” Jessop straightened. “I knew you’d want to meet this guy, but Rafe–”
Thatcher slapped him across the face, silencing Jessop’s complaint. The girl nearly fell over from the force, but Rafe reached out to steady her.
Callum stood in shock. Drew, his own pack alpha, would have never slapped one of their pack members. What the hell had he just walked into?
“Nobody likes a rat. You worry about you, and what I fucking asked you to do. Get her inside. They’re waiting.”
Jessop rubbed his cheek. “Yes, sir.”
Grabbing the leggy brunette by the arm, he started toward the cabin, glaring at them all.
Thatcher stood, hands on hips, as he watched to ensure Jessop did as he was told. When the door shut, Thatcher turned, the stern look gone, a wide, dimpled smile in its place. “Callum, right?”
Refusing to glance at Elliot for approval, Callum knew this first impression mattered, and despite his disgust with the man before him, Callum needed to get a lay of the land before he made waves.
The smile on Thatcher’s face was disconcerting. He had a broad forehead and thick eyebrows that sat over watchful eyes. Though his face showed the most common weathering of time, wrinkles around his eyes, gray in his beard, he was clearly aging well. His physique surprised Callum the most. He definitely didn’t sit around idly while forcing others to do his work. The alpha clearly enjoyed physical labor. He was almost as broad as Elliot, though he wasn’t nearly as tall.
But more than that, it was the aura that surrounded him. He was an alpha, so Callum had expected to feel his power, but he hadn’t expected him to be so powerful. As a beta, Callum struggled to keep eye contact, the submissive impulse to avert his gaze was overwhelming.
Jaw clenched, Callum held out his hand. “Yep. That’s me.”
