Page 11 of Traded to the Alpha Wolf

I settle for, “They didn’t tell me much. I was a nobody to them.” Which is, in the hierarchy of lies, the best kind, because it’s shaded by truth. The other key ingredient is to give them a little something to chew on. “But I did overhear stuff, sometimes.”

“Like what?” Cade, from behind me.

I pretend to dig deep. “Talk of new weapons, something they were getting from Europe. They kept saying there was a big play coming. That’s when the city guys showed up.” I look up. “I’m sure you already know most of this. They don’t exactly keep it quiet when they’re drunk and shoot their mouths off everywhere they go.”

Brooks snorts. “Did you ever get any names?”

I shake my head, but I’m lying, because I remember every name, every code word, every loose scrap of conversation I ever heard. Suppose I get out of here and back to the compound. I’llhave escaped and can feed them some information about the shifters; they’ll welcome me back. I’ve got nowhere else to go, as far as they know; no wonder I’d go crawling back. It’s a good plan—if I can get out of here, of course.

The questions continue like rapid fire, but I keep them going in circles until the frustration in the room begins to feel palpable. Good. Best-case scenario, they decide I’m a useless human with no credible intel and let me walk out of here. I don’t allow my mind to drift to the worst-case scenario because I’ve seen what shifters are capable of.

Eventually, the questions start to slow, the energy in the room shifting from interrogation to something more bored than productive. I begin to settle a little in my chair as Alder and Kaiden head outside to make some calls.

I clear my throat and push my chair back. “So, if I can’t be of any help…Am I free to go?”

The silence that follows is almost comical. Rowan smiles, but it’s not friendly. “Not quite yet,” he says. “We’ll need to wait on the test results, and your answers weren’t as, ah, complete as you probably meant them to be. You’re not leaving until we know what’s in your blood and what triggered the hunters to”—he gestures, vague and dismissive—“gift you to Cade.”

“Great,” I say, and it tastes like battery acid. “So this is just a hostage situation.”

Cade leans in from the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and for a second, I think he’s going to take my sarcasm as a challenge and start the whole cross-examination over again. Instead, he just shakes his head, once, the movement oddly final. “You’ll stay here until Willow gets the results back. And you won’t be mixing with my pack. My wolf…he doesn’t like your scent, and I’m inclined to listen to him.”

I’m about to say something cutting, like pointing out the last thing I want to do is mix with his pack, but when I look at him, my body betrays me: my scalp prickles, my heartbeat tripping into a weird rhythm. I know they can hear it, and I hope they just think I’m scared rather than…whatever this is.

Willow stands and gives me another soft look that, for a moment, makes me want to confess everything again. What is it with these people? She nudges Cade as she walks by. “She should eat more. It’s a rough transition between…places.” She winks and is gone, along with the others.

I’m not left alone, though. Cade walks back in and types something into the keypad I’d already clocked by the door before closing it. For a moment, he just stands there, and I realize that for the first time since last night, I’m not afraid of him, not really. I’m not even angry. I’m just tired.

Of all of it.

I sigh and look up at him, and there’s a weird, hollow ache inside me. I try to breathe through it; it’s not fear, and not quite pain, either. It’s worse than that. Like a need, sudden and deep, crawling out from beneath my skin and anchoring itself in my stomach. My cheeks burn, and I’m suddenly so warm I think I might faint. Sweat beads on the back of my neck. I reach for the glass of water someone put on the table earlier, but my fingers are clumsy, and I knock it sideways, spilling water all over the table.

Cade is there before I can even react with a towel. He doesn’t look at me, but I think he feels it, too, because the air between us has gone electric, every molecule vibrating with the same weird, feverish energy. He mops up the water, his knuckles brushing mine, and I flinch away, nearly knocking the chair over.

I stagger back, chest heaving, and blurt out, “I need to be alone.” The words are too loud, shattering the weird silence in the kitchen. I don’t wait for a reply; I just run for the guest room and slam the door behind me. I brace myself against it, palms flat, head tipped back. The rushing in my ears is so intense that I can’t hear anything else. It begins to fade after a few moments, but the ache in my core remains.

What the hell was that?

Chapter 7 - Cade

Three days since I brought Mara home, and I’m starting to think she might just be a hallucination. Or, perhaps more likely, a bomb with a really long fuse. She moves through my house like an apparition; she’s silent and everywhere all at once, leaving little traces of herself behind like a mug with half-drunk tea, the faintest print of bare feet on the polished concrete, a paperback left open on the arm of the couch as if she’ll be right back. I haven’t decided if she’s leaving these trails of clues to fuck with me, throw me off, or if this is just her nature.

I’ve moved the pack clinic to my home office so I can keep an eye on both her and see to pack affairs, and the incoming calls from Grey, who’s taken over all my patrols. That alone is driving me crazy. Not because I don’t trust my beta, but because standing watch is how I burn off the kind of energy she’s been bringing out in me. Instead, I’m stuck at home, and it feels like a cage, running phone triage, waiting for news about the test Willow ran on Mara, and trying to figure out if she’s telling the truth.

She’s adamant she doesn’t know anything useful, but my wolf knows with absolute certainty that she’s lying. But I also don’t think she’s one of the hunters; there’s some truth to her words, but trying to decipher where the lie is isn’t proving easy.

Grey’s mate, Sara, dropped off a care package for Mara the second morning. Not food, because I’ve stocked the pantry like I’m expecting a siege, but clothes in a range of sizes and styles, and a whole basket of toiletries. I watched Mara unpack it at the kitchen counter, her face shifting through disbelief, suspicion, and something almost like awe. I’d never seen anyone so fascinated by a bottle of shampoo. She lined up the little bottles by size and color, sniffed each one, and then looked rightat me, eyes huge and wary, like I might snatch it all away if she seemed too grateful.

She tried to switch back to being nonchalant immediately, but I saw it. The sign of a girl who hasn’t had much of anything for a hell of a long time.

She spends most of her time reading. I didn’t realize how many books I had in the house until I started noticing the stacks migrating from the library shelves to the living room. I’ve only read maybe a third of them, but Mara seems to be working through the whole archive, one after another, devouring even the dense philosophy texts that used to belong to my father and haven’t been touched since I unpacked them when I moved in. She’s always reading, even when I walk in the room; sometimes lying down on the couch, sometimes curled up by the fire, sometimes at the kitchen table with her feet tucked under her. She doesn’t look up when I enter, but I know that she always knows exactly where I am at all times.

I try to keep my distance, for both our sakes. Her scent is still a punch to the gut, and I’m not proud of the way I find myself standing outside her door at three in the morning, listening to her breathing through the heavy wood. Not because I think she’ll escape—I know she can’t—but because I can’t stop thinking about the way her eyes met mine during the alliance meeting, the way her pulse jumped in her neck when I got near to clean up the water she spilled. I keep telling myself I’m just being careful, but it’s getting harder to believe.

She’s looking for ways out. I know it, and she knows I know it, and we’re locked in this stupid dance where we pretend this stalemate is normal. She’s good at sneaking around, better than most humans, better than most hunters. I’m not sure if she’s aware that she’s showing her hand in the little tells as she studies the potential exits, listens to conversations while soclearly committing information to memory, and catalogs names and faces as my betas come and go.

I know she’s gathering information, and it’s smart…too smart for a girl who apparently just works behind a bar.

I’m at the kitchen counter, sorting through the week’s supply orders, when my laptop dings. The screen flashes with a secure comm request from Willow, which doesn’t happen unless it’s urgent. I grab the laptop and duck into my office, shutting the door with a sharp click that echoes in the otherwise quiet house.