Page 9

Another fifteen minutes pass, and I’ve just started fantasizing about shifting, rolling my huge wolven form all over every piece of furniture in here until my fur is ground into the fibers so deep they’ll never get it out, when the sound of the brass knob squealing has me snapping to attention.

Out of the corner of my eye, Kane hurries to finish tying his shoulder-length brown hair into a top-knot with a leather cord, before adjusting his posture into a picture of cool authority.

My heart slams against my ribs. Mother above, is it hot in here?

It takes everything in me not to rush to the door. Excitement shoots through me, making me fucking dizzy with it.

This is it.

I inhale a deep breath.

The door swings open.

Two males enter the room.

And the door swings shut.

What. The fuck. Where is she?!

I have to force myself to pay attention when the first male through the door heads straight for me. When he’s a few feet away, he stops and inclines his head in greeting. He’s a big fucker, with broad shoulders and shoulder-length hair a few shades darker than Kane’s. Their faces are similar, too—all hard angles and broody stoicism.

But whereas Kane’s asshole mask is for show, I somehow get the impression that with this male, what you see is what you get.

“Wolven.”

The male’s lips tip up the tiniest amount. And, Fates, I wouldn’t be shocked to find out he hasn’t smiled since the First World War.

Which means this is Gavran—the leader of the Bloodbound.

Behind him is another Alpha. He’s shorter than The Last Shield and me, but still a few inches over six feet, which makes him taller than most. He’s toned, with lean muscle and a sense of self-importance that I immediately dislike.

I take Gavran’s hand when he extends it between us and find myself pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t try to strong-arm me as so many other Alphas have.

I’m even more surprised when he turns to Kane and offers him the same courtesy.

“I’m Gavran,” he says, confirming my assumption. “Last Shield of the Bloodbound.” He gestures to the Alpha at his side. “This is Daxen. He’s the head of Operations and Tactics, as well as our Chief Strategist.”

Ah… I see it now—the beady eyes. The pup was right; this male is absolutely debating where to dispose of my body.

I don’t know why, but when his eyes meet mine, my mouth curves into a feral grin. That grin only grows when Daxen blinks, and his eyes widen in shock and confusion.

Yeah… I don’t know why, but I don’t like him.

Kane coughs pointedly, and I glance back, where Gavran waits patiently for me to play my part in this game of civility.

“Soren Westergaard, Alpha Heir to the Eastern Pack.” I introduce myself before gesturing at Kane. “This is my Second, Kane MacTavish.”

Gavran’s mouth opens, but now that formalities are at an end, I find my patience is as well.

“You have my Mate. I want her.”

Gavran’s amber eyes meet mine, giving away absolutely nothing. His gaze flicks to the side—toward Daxen—and the vampires engage in a wordless exchange that does little more than irritate me.

I don’t know what message they’re conveying to one another, but if it includes holding my Mate from me much longer, they’re going to wish they had dispensed with the games at the start.

After a week spent outside, mostly in my Beast form, living off rabbits and a single deer I ran down, on top of very little sleep, I’ve about reached my limit for civility.

Wolven aren’t as political as vampires and humans. We don’t play these games—at least not to this extent. I don’t care what they want from me; they can have it if they’ll simply bring down my Mate.