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Though we talk at length about Walker’s plans, I can’t bring myself to tell Ryker about the Wicked Wolf’s twisted threat. I let my mate know that he has this grand vision of making me the next Luna, and how Ryker has no part in that vision, but I keep the truth about his future for me to myself. I know Ryker. If he finds out that Walker wants me to sleep with his packmates—and I’m not even letting myself think about him—to start popping out pups, Ryker will lose it.
I wouldn’t blame him, but until we’re out of the district, I need to keep him safe. I already have Trish, Duke, Elizabeth, and Aleks that I’m worried about. I’m desperate to keep Ryker out of my bastard of a sperm donor’s machinations.
The next morning, we eat breakfast, share a shower that’s not as quick as Ryker promised it would be, then get dressed. Ryker pulls on his black jeans and a plain black button-down shirt; as the visiting Alpha, he has to make a tiny bit of effort not to piss off the Wicked Wolf.
Not me. I pull on a wrinkled pair of jeans that barely pass the sniff test, a shirt that’s cut low enough to show off Ryker’s mark on my neck, and a pair of sturdy boots. I pull my hair back in a neat ponytail, swipe some glittering brown eyeshadow on, and, as a final touch, take my golden chain out of its hiding place.
Ryker’s expression turns heated when he gets a look at me. I’m not sure what turns him on more: me wearing his gold-plated fang between my books, or the curve of his claw marks standing out against my skin. When he gruffly pulls me toward him for a deep kiss, I figure it’s both.
No amount of showering is enough to wash his scent from my skin. It’s embedded into mine the same way it’s been since we were fully bonded, but I absolutely smell like he’s been rubbing against me all night. Which, yeah, he has. In so many ways, he’s marked me, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s doing. Without words, he’s proving his claim to me. Any wolf who passes us will know that I belong to him. He falls short of pissing on me to mark his territory, but considering how often he came inside of me last night, it’s not necessary.
Between the fang, the mark, and my scent, I’m a walking billboard that says: PROPERTY OF RYKER WOLFSON.
It goes both ways, too. One sniff and the females in the Western Pack would know that Gemma Swann owns that delicious male—and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Walker wants to insist on acting as if Ryker is any other Alpha, that’s fine with me. We made our own stamp on the situation.
All through dinner in the district square, we have the eyes of every single packmate on us. Walker invited us to join him at his table, but Ryker politely declined. Because he was polite, my bio-dad couldn’t do shit to demand it—not when the visiting Alpha is technically his “equal”—and the two of us take a small table as far away from him as possible.
I do feel bad when I realize that he commands Elizabeth to take the seat meant for me. She looks even smaller and frailer than when I saw her last, and it leaves me unsettled that, while Walker eats plenty, Elizabeth’s plate stays empty.
Speaking in tones meant only for Ryker, I point him out to her. Just in case, he needs to know who Elizabeth is. It’s one thing for him to hear from Christian that the Western Pack had a member who could do the impossible, but I think the message really hits home when I point her out and remind him not to let her touch him.
Supposedly, her gift only works when one of the two bonded mates wants out of the mating. Ryker might insist that the two of us were it, that it was a “‘til death do you part” sitch with us, but I can’t stop thinking about Elizabeth’s warning from the night I was forced to eat with Walker.
It didn’t always have to be a conscious decision. If one of the mates had doubts, if they weren’t fully committed to the bond, it could still snap. Did I want to risk that happening with Ryker?
No. No, I did not.
He gives me a strange look when I remind him to keep his distance, but instead of asking me about it, he nods. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I will.”
Don’t worry… that’s easier said than done.
Though part of being an alpha meant showing that you weren’t afraid of anything, that you were in constant control, I can’t help but sneak peeks at their table. At one point, I notice that Theo has replaced Elizabeth across from Walker. He’s leaning in, whispering intently to the Alpha, and I get a bad feeling about that.
I knew I shouldn’t trust him.
Ryker’s just finishing his steak when he follows my gaze. Dropping his fork, he nods over at the table. “Who’s that?”
“Theodore Michaels,” I mutter. “Theo.”
“Theo.”
Ryker’s voice is suddenly flat.
I turn to look at him. His voice is flat, and so is his expression.
My back goes up. “Yeah. Theo. Why?”
“Nothing.”
As if I believe that.
I kick him under the table. When he raises his eyebrows over at me, I give him a look.
He shrugs. “I saw him standing outside of your cabin last night. My howl sent him running away, but his scent was all over the perimeter. He’s been watching you a lot, hasn’t he?”
It’s my turn to not want to answer his question.
“Walker has a lot of wolves watching me,” I finally answer.
