Would she resist me? Is the reason she’s reluctant with him because she’s meant to be mine?
Despite that we’re all alphas in this pack, despite that there’s not a submissive bone in any of our bodies, the sensations coming at me from him bother me. I feel irritation as he demands in a guttural tone, “Why are your eyes on what’s mine?”
Jase and Joel are moving up on either side of me. Tyson is in front of me, blocking my view of Ivy. Riley and Grey step up on either side of Tyson, and dangerous energy in the space has spiked.
Tyson’s eyes change. They glow before they dim and then darken to coal black as I resist the urge to scoff.
A song ends and there’s a shift as her scent grows closer. I hear her voice and it’s like music.
“Hey handsome, wanna dance with me?”
Her voice penetrates the stare-down and I’m hit with confusion for a moment, as if she’s talking to me.
In my head, a shadowy voice that’s not my own growls yes and I imagine feeling her in my embrace, as I flex my fingers with the urge to grip her tight, the desire to pull her close to my body, my body that’s now hardening. My blood is warming, too. But before the word yes comes out of my mouth and before I reach for her like I feel the urge to do, I know Tyson Savage has read me. And he wants blood.
My blood.
He grabs me with both hands, lifts me clean off the floor and throws me.
I’m six foot two, two hundred and fifteen pounds. He’s got a couple inches on me and probably thirty pounds. Yet he’s thrown me like I’m the size of a child. I land on a table with a crash as the room collectively gasps.
I’m soaked by drinks and there’s broken glass embedded in my elbows.
Retired council alphas as well as other non-council alphas and betas move in, moving the vulnerable out of the way. Except her. Ivy’s there on the floor by his feet. No one would dare touch her. Except, perhaps me. My eyes move to her briefly and I see shock on her face.
As my eyes hit her, he’s reaching for me, hauling me up in the air, roaring into my face with power that makes the building quake. His enraged energy ripples throughout the space as Lincoln comes up behind Tyson, meaning all seven of us are here. Us, the six retired council alphas, several pack alphas and betas. All the alphas are instantly tethered.
Tethering is rare among a pack our size, but it’s exactly what I feel. Over a dozen alphas are lending their strength and will to combat the dangerous energy in this barn.
And Tyson Savage is exerting his absolute dominance over his entire pack as lead alpha and every fucking one of us feels it under our skin, in our blood, down to our marrow. This is his birthright. We are his pack. Every one of us, council alphas past and present, pack alphas, betas, and omegas – we all know this is our returning lost king and he is absolutely fucking furious. He’s furious at me. Rightfully.
If I fight back, if I give the barest notion of a challenge, I’d break the bond with my pack. I’d be done – I know this. I can’t do it, I won’t. And this might be the first sign that I haven’t entirely lost my mind – the fact I’m thinking clearly enough to realize this.
But fuck, does that dark shadow of entitled confusion inside me want to. It wants me to fight back, go rogue, and die if necessary, to make sure I show that I would fight to the death for what’s mine.
But is it mine? If I knew beyond a doubt that it was…
I hear gasps of the females that are near the front of the crowd and feel the heat coming from my eyes. My eyes bleed now as blood vessels have popped – a sign of an absolutely enraged alpha wolf shifter who can’t exert his dominance because he’s being oppressed by something. And that’s infuriating, too, on an entirely new level. I’m not just suppressed right now by Tyson; it’s all of us holding me back. And the tether is gripping him, too.
But he wants me dead. I feel it as clearly as if it’s my own thought It’s taking all their power to hold him back. To stop Tyson from fulfilling his deepest wish right now – to kill me because I’ve challenged him by wanting to put my hands on his mate. To bring her close so that I can know for sure if it’s my arms she’s meant to be in.
Against everything I want and for the first time in thirty-three years, I bare my throat. It’s not a full-on submission, but enough of one to show him and them that I defer to his claim on her, that I know what I’ve done is out of line and I’m acknowledging it. And I loathe that I do it, but feel marginal relief at the same time because I know that all of us working together will mean I survive this moment not just in terms of walking away to keep breathing, but also walking away without being shunned. Because if they wanted to, they could cast me out for this. And without my pack, I know I’d lose everything, lose myself.