Page 3 of Red

How a letter marked with blood can be considered a legal document to control my life is beyond me, but the Toridge pack laws don’t conform to what’s expected. The laws are ancient, leaving men with all the power. Unmated female members are required to live under a protector’s roof. When Dad passed away, Pratt shifted early and kept the Elders off our doorstep. But he’s gone now, and his last request sealed my fate.

Guess the softness was short-lived. Elders might be old, but they’re at the top for a reason—they didn’t just get chosen; they survived long enough to be chosen.

That’s enough socializing for me for a month. I excuse myself from the table and head back down the hallway. I pass a few other doors before reaching the end, where mine is on the left.

I don’t know where anything else is, and now I’m stuck living here. I could run away, disappear, but Pratt would never forgive me. Whatever twisted reason he had for making me stay here is beyond me. How he thought this would be safer is absurd. I have to find a way to let them let me leave. Stark won’t submit to them forever.

Chapter 3

Waking up in someone else’s bed and home shook me this morning. To distract myself, I’ve decided to explore the house. If I spend another day in the shower, my dry skin is going to protest. Stark hasn’t come by since last night, and I heard him take off this morning after even more people came to the house for breakfast. Why anyone would want this many people in their house each day baffles me.

I’ve never had friends; well, I did until my mom decided to homeschool me halfway through high school. Now there’s no one, which is fine with me.

Dressed in shorts and a tank top to keep my temperature from soaring, I wander down into the kitchen, grateful no one is here. Keeping everyone’s thoughts tuned out during dinner was easy after all of Pratt’s training, but it does drain my energy. When I lived up where I should be right now, everyone was far enough away that it was no problem. Other than the odd pack member running close to the house, it stayed quiet.

This place, annoyingly, is a dream. Large windows sit on both sides of the space, and the kitchen in the middle along the wall. A dining room is on one side, with the largest table I’ve ever seen. Last night, we didn’t even fill it. On the other side of the room is a pit, with large leather sofas and chairs facing each other, and a brick fireplace stretching up to the peaked wood-beamed ceiling. The windows flood the room with light. The blinding snow outside is filled with tracks, both human and werewolf. Trees surround the entire house, other than one open patch I noticed coming into the house last night.

There’s no point in cooking, I haven’t felt the need for food since losing Pratt. I grab a container of strawberries from the fridge and continue my private tour. If I have to live here, I should know where things are, I tell myself, ignoring the fact that Stark didn’t invite me to stay here. I know what he thinks—I’m small and useless to the pack.

The first door in the hallway opens to a room full of bunks. Ten of them are lined along one wall, extra-long, and designed for everyone else here. Of course, he not only invites them over, but he also lets them sleep here. I keep up my search and find a closet, another bathroom, and then an office. I step in and lift myself into the chair behind the desk. My feet dangle off the ground as I lean back, wondering what Stark would be doing if he was here instead. So far, he’s been a disappointment. I need him to kick me out. Pratt spoke highly of him, but only on rare occasions, along with other Alphas. I know he’s not ceremonially mated, because he doesn’t have a mark on his arms like those who are. I hate that I looked at dinner to check. I’m striking it off as a normal level of curiosity for the Alpha now imprisoning me.

His desk matches the woodsy theme of most houses around here—a large wooden plank, with a two-screened computer set to the side. A large map hangs along the wall across the room next to the door. Small flags are pinned across it, with string tying a few pegs together. I’m guessing it’s the current threshold line we maintain. Humans have inched further and further into our area, developing more and more.

The pack thinks I’m more like a human anyway. Most make jokes whenever I go to town, asking why I even stayed out here. If I can’t be a proper member of the pack, they’d expect me to leave from the pressure, like most do. Though it’s been over fifty years since someone didn’t turn.

The wooden desk is cold under my palms as I lean back into the brown leather and spin the chair, but I stop when a door slams somewhere in the house and tune in.

I don’t know how long we can keep this up. We might have to accept our fate and go north.

Stark? His thoughts are the hardest to hear. He must have let his defenses down ‘cause he thinks he’s alone. Going north would mean amalgamating with another pack. Territory is defined, and gaining new land would be bloody. But moving in with another pack anywhere in Canada has its own issues. Packs are territorial across the world. Despite how much I stayed away from everyone, Pratt often brought me books—endless ones on the history of everything, anything to help me understand, legends, myths, and logs from wars. I never found enough answers in those, and the wall of books in Stark’s office and the ones in my temporary room will be my one advantage to being here.

A deep growl comes from outside the door. Is he still turned? Would he even fit through the door as a werewolf? I laugh at the thought of him stuck, then cringe. Laughing without Pratt here . . . is unacceptable.

Stark steps into view, still in human form. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, just was bored.” I tilt forward, gripping the desk, and spin the chair again.

He walks into the office and takes a seat in one of the two large leather chairs across from the desk. Even sitting, his frame is intimidating. You don’t become the leader of a cohort by being small. I have no idea what his wolf form is like, but in his human form, his shoulders are broad, and his unmarked forearms are lined with veins as he clamps the sides of the chair with wide, thick palms. Dark hair wisps out at the sides like he’s just gone for a run. It means he’s either a black or a brown wolf. Pratt’s hair matched his chocolate-brown fur, and Mom’s was identical to his, though her wavy human hair was a smooth caramel.

“You always just go through people’s stuff?”

“I didn’t. Plus, I live here now. Temporarily.” I shrug at him. What else am I supposed to do here? Stay in a bedroom all day? I might have been isolated, but I lived in a house, not a tiny box.

I believe her.

My face loses its mask for just a moment. At least he doesn’t think I’m a liar.

“You’re nothing like people say.” He leans forward onto his arms, now resting on his muscular legs, the stretchy fabric tight on his thighs.

“What?” Surprise is all over my face, I know it. My version of a cool mask is not one I hold well. I’d be terrible at poker.

He doesn’t answer, just stands up and leaves me. The scent of him fills the air—wolf, sweat, pine. Unlike most wolves, there’s something else there too. Maybe his soap? I need to find it to know. Imagine his reaction if he found me in his bathroom. Then I could accept the snooping accusation.

Since he’s here now, though, I shouldn’t touch anything except a book. Everyone has a right to books.

I drop off the chair, barefoot on the cold floor, and approach one of the tall bookshelves. The ceiling in this house must be close to fourteen feet, with the bookshelves reaching the roof. Backing up a step, I strain my neck to see what’s on the top, but I’m stuck with what I can reach for now.

I pull The Addendum of Pack Territory History from its shelf and tuck it under my arm. Stark’s thoughts sparked my interest, so it’s somewhere to go mentally while I wallow away. Usually, I spend my days outside, but they said I need to be with a partner here, like humans might come out of the woods and hurt me. It’s ridiculous.