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"Then my name might not be meaningless to you after all. My family name, at least. So I'll introduce myself, in hopes that you will let Clayton know I'm here. Perhaps, as Alpha, he can negotiate my release."
"Clay's not Alpha. Jeremy is."
A pause, then, "Still? I thought he would have stepped down by now."
"He will be. Soon. But Clay won't be Alpha. Elena will."
His silence told me he had no idea who that was. How long had this guy been locked up?
"Elena is Clay's wife," I said. "Mate. Whatever. She's a werewolf, and the Alpha-elect."
"I . . . see. I suppose Jeremy thinks that's clever, leaving Clayton as de facto Alpha while not antagonizing those who wouldn't want him leading the Pack."
I opened my mouth to say that wasn't the case, but Adam shook his head. If this guy knew so much about the Pack--and had superhearing--that meant he was a werewolf. An old-school mutt. Meaning it was best to keep issues of equality out of the conversation.
"And your name?" I said.
"Miguel Santos," he said.
"I thought--" I began.
Then I stopped myself as I struggled to recall the names of the Santos family who'd been Pack members. I had a decent knowledge of Pack history. After so many summers at Jeremy's estate--Stonehaven--I'd been permitted to read the Legacy.
Jeremy had been challenged for the Alpha position by his father, Malcolm, a brutal son of a bitch who'd been backed primarily by the Santos family. There were two Santos brothers, one of whom had three sons. Two of those sons and their uncle had been killed in the fight for Ascension. The father and youngest son left. That son--Daniel--had led an uprising against the Pack years later. Daniel had been killed, meaning the only living Santos from those days would be his father. The age seemed about right, but his name was Raymond, and I was sure I'd heard that Raymond--like Malcolm--had died years before Daniel.
Our neighbor didn't jump in with an explanation, just quietly waited as I worked it through.
"You weren't Pack, were you?" I said.
"Only as a child. I left at sixteen. After that, I was on the cusp of membership twice. Malcolm Danvers wanted me back in, but I was . . . undecided. I spent a few weekends with my brothers--Wally and Raymond--many years ago, when I was considering joining. So I know Clayton and the current Alpha."
"Jeremy."
"Yes. Not the woman, though. That was after my time. I do recall hearing a rumor that Clayton had bitten a mate." He chuckled. "I should have known it was true. Where other wolves whine about being lonely, he solves the problem. Not what I'd want--I never understood the whining myself--but I take it he's happy?"
"Very."
"Children?"
"Twins."
"A mate, children, an Alpha-hood to come, if unofficially. Yes, he must be happy. I'm glad to hear it. I was always fond of the boy. I've heard rumors through the years. He has quite a reputation, which I was glad to hear, too. I always worried, with the influence of . . ." He paused. "I wasn't as fond of the current Alpha. I mean no disrespect, as he seems to be a friend of yours. He just wasn't . . . my sort of man or my sort of werewolf. Not like Clayton."
I bristled at the insult to Jeremy, but I couldn't hold it against the guy. He seemed a typical werewolf--all muscle and testosterone. To them, someone like Clayton was a real werewolf, if they overlooked his PhD and cozy domestic life. Jeremy was too cerebral. But even those types would have to grudgingly agree that the Pack was thriving. Growing now, having overcome internal division and external attacks. A solid and unified force, undivided since Jeremy's Ascension.
Naysayers would credit Clayton as the true power in the Pack, a claim that made him laugh. This mutt Miguel might not like Jeremy much, but he'd like him a whole lot more when Jeremy used his influence to get him out.
Cabals weren't allowed to hold American werewolves captive. If they committed a crime, they had to be turned over to the Pack for punishment. Which, all things considered, might not have been in Miguel's best interests. But whatever he'd done, it must have been at least twenty years ago if he didn't know Elena. Jeremy would probably decide he'd been punished enough. Either way, he'd get Miguel out.
I slept a little after that, curled up against Adam, with his arm over me. When we woke up, new bottles of water had been pushed through the opening, along with extra blankets, as if they'd just realized there were two of us. They'd replaced the bucket, too.
In the faint light from the corridor, I could see that some of Adam's bruises were already fading. His ribs ached, but he insisted they were cracked, not broken. Our neighbor wasn't the only one with enough fighting experience to recognize the signs.
Miguel noticed we were awake and chatted with us for a while. It was an oddly normal conversation, like being on an overseas flight, occasionally talking to the guy beside you, but mostly just doing your own thing.
He'd heard rumors that something was going on. I gave him the basics. If he had an opinion about supernaturals revealing themselves, he didn't give it.
Adam and I also played games. When we'd unfolded the extra blankets, we'd found a pack of cards tucked insid
