As his sister, Callie, proudly said loudly and often, Conall MacLennan was more alpha than most. But he didn’t think that was the reason he won fights against wolves who came to claim what was his. He won because he cared more. The wolves of Clan MacLennan, of Loch Torridon, were his family. His to protect.
Which was exactly why he was about to agree to marry a female he didn’t know to secure the pack’s safety.
“Remember, Canid might be alpha of one of the largest North American packs, but you have the upper hand here,” James offered.
Conall shook his head as he drove the single-track lochside road from his home in Inveralligin to the Torridon Coach House, a fifteen-minute drive along the coast to the other side of the upper loch. The roads were winding, sometimes dark with silver birch and fir trees arching over from either side. The firs were lush and green while the birch trees were still in transition from winter to spring, their sparse leaves plum. Just as suddenly, the road would change, the trees disappearing from the rugged hills, opening to views of the loch glistening in the spring sun. Even after all these years, the view could distract Conall.
An older hunter couple, Grace and Angus MacLennan, ran the Coach House for the wayward humans who found their way here and for visiting werewolves. They had been a part of Conall’s life for as long as he could remember. Angus was his father’s cousin and he and his wife were pseudograndparents to Conall and his sister. “I’d say we’re on equal footing.”
“Not according to Smithie,” James disagreed. “Canid’s finances took a sharp hit when his shares in Opaque Pharmaceuticals became worthless. Opaque,” he snorted. “Ironic.”
Peter Canid was Alpha of Pack Silverton in southern Colorado. He’d heavily invested much of the pack’s wealth in several business ventures, including shares in a pharmaceuticals company that went under when a newspaper did an exposé on their illegal practices.
“Canid still runs the largest pack in America.”
“And you run the only pack in Scotland.”
Conall smirked. “We are mighty, but we are small.”
“Conall, Clan MacLennan is five times as wealthy as Pack Silverton. We have the upper hand here.”
Wealthier than even that, Conall thought. Although his grandfather had died before he’d met him, Conall knew much of him. His legacy was respected in Clan MacLennan. It had brought them their wealth, meaning seclusion, if that was what a wolf wished for. His father took the whisky distillery his grandfather had started and turned it into one of the biggest whisky exports in Scotland. They situated GlenTorr distillery twelve miles north of Torridon near Loch Maree. There was no visitor center, for fear it would bring too many humans to their small paradise. A few years after Conall became alpha, GlenTorr became the third-biggest-selling whisky out of Scotland. The pack could live happily off its proceeds. Moreover, Conall’s dad bought shares in the largest oil company in the North Sea. Conall had sold the shares and that, along with the successful fishing company his delta, Mhairi Ferguson, managed, meant Pack MacLennan lived a comfortable life.
Most of the pack worked at various jobs in the surrounding areas, especially Inverness, the nearest city, while a few others lived and worked farther afield. Conall supplemented all their incomes with a share of the pack’s fortune.
Now Peter Canid was offering his second-youngest daughter, Sienna, in a betrothal agreement that would suit both packs. Conall would pay a substantial dowry for Sienna, and Canid and his large pack—made up of an impressive percentage of warrior-ranked wolves—would become a powerful ally to Conall’s small pack.
“You dinnae have to do this, you know,” James said as Conall parked the Defender in the car park of the Coach House.
Ignoring that comment, Conall got out and didn’t bother locking the car. No one would dare steal it.
“Callie doesnae want you to do it.”
That stopped Conall in his tracks. He turned to face James. “Callie’s a romantic.”
He could still see her pretty face red with frustration when he told her about Sienna Canid. Dowries and betrothal agreements weren’t unusual in the lives of werewolves. They were a primal race, and that meant most of them still based their idea of power on physical strength. There were a few alpha females in the world, but males outnumbered them and few could outmatch an alpha male when she faced one. That meant, unfortunately, males ruled the werewolf world.
It wasn’t the way with Pack MacLennan. Conall’s inner circle wasn’t male-centric, like most packs. His beta was male, but his delta was female, and before she got sick, Callie was his lead warrior. As for his warriors, they were a mix of male and female, his two healers one of each.
Bowing to tradition chafed at Conall, but in this case, for the pack, he would do it. Even if it meant upsetting the one person he hated distressing.