Ryder shows up the next morning to take her to breakfast. He’s eager for her to meet the rest of the pack. She doesn’t have the heart to tell him she’s already familiar with them. She’s been spying on them for years, watching their every move from a glass of water in her tiny prison. She knows their names, their habits, everything about them.
“You might recognize some of them from Ash’s old pack,” he says.
The alpha’s house is bustling with people. Picnic tables have been arranged outside to accommodate everyone, and food is being served. No one bats an eye when she joins Ryder at one of the tables. It feels surreal to her, being accepted so easily. It’s one thing to observe these people from a cup, but it’s entirely different to be among them, living their daily lives.
“So you’re the one we’ll be marking, huh?” A woman chuckles, settling down across from her with a plate piled high with food.
“It seems so,” Dahlia replies.
Once a witch is chosen, she’s marked by all the wolves in the pack, either by tooth or claw. It’s a sort of faux pack bond, in case the witch is ever kidnapped or injured and needs help. The bond can be broken with magic if the witch fails in her duties.
The reason she wasn’t marked for Ash Clayton’s pack was mainly because she was institutionalized, but now she realizes it was because Ash never intended to commit to her with another woman in the picture.
“So you’re the witch they didn’t want? Heard you killed your family,” a male named Zachary sneers at her. He’s known for his volatile temper and snide comments. His parents died in a fight with a rival pack when he was young, and he’s sensitive about it.
She’s seen him cry over their pictures when he thought no one was watching. He needs his tough exterior to hide his pain.
She leans across the table and whispers in his ear. “I know about you, Zachary. If you don’t want me to spill your secrets, you better cool it.” She sits back, grinning triumphantly.
“We clear?” she asks in a normal voice.
“Crystal,” he mutters, and stalks off, taking his plate with him and snapping at anyone who gets in his way.
“Wow, I’ve never seen him do that before,” Annabel remarks, a smirk playing on her lips. “You’ll have to show me how you did that.”
Dahlia makes a zipping motion across her lips and pretends to throw away a key. “A good magician never reveals her secrets.” She grins.
A gruff voice interrupts their conversation, silencing the group. The alpha is speaking.
“We’re officially a pack now!” he announces, waiting for the cheers to die down before continuing. “I’d like to welcome Dahlia Angelou as our resident witch. Please treat her with respect, as she’ll be working with us to protect our pack.”
“Didn’t she belong to Clayton?” A wolf calls out. The voice belongs to a spiky-haired blonde named Cade.
“She left him for personal reasons,” the alpha replies, saving her from having to admit she was discarded like old news.
“You mean because they already have a witch, right?” a dark-haired girl chimes in, sparking a debate among the pack members.
She feels a sudden urge to set something on fire. Her fingers drum on the table, growing more agitated until Ryder covers her hand with his, rubbing soothing circles into her palm. She shoots him a suggestive grin, and his eye twitches in response.
Dahlia picks at her breakfast, her appetite gone after the rejection from her new pack members. Will they reject her too? Ryder notices her mood immediately.
“Hey, cheer up, kid. The boss says you’re staying, so you’re staying.”
“Yeah, Dahlia, the alpha’s word is law. They can complain, but that’s it,” Annabel adds, talking around a mouthful of toast. She waves a piece of bacon at Dahlia. “Why would a witch care about the opinions of us lowly wolves?”
“You’re not lowly, we’re equals. You’re my comrades. I have to trust you to watch my back, just like you have to trust me to watch yours. How can I trust people who don’t want me here?” she snaps.
She’s genuinely annoyed that these wolves could be so ungrateful. She’s risking her life to keep this pack safe.
Werewolves are a rare breed these days, with the black market thriving on regeneration potions made by rogue witches. Add to that the infighting and declining birth rates—since wolves can only reproduce with their mates, who are hard to find at best and impossible at worst.
“Stop worrying about it,” Ryder growls.
“Ryder, are you concerned about me?” She grins and bats her eyelashes at him. He just sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Is there something going on between you two?” Annabel asks after swallowing.
“It was love at first sight!” Dahlia gushes.
“He’s been wanting to ravish me for a while now—” She clings to his side, gripping his arm as if it’s a lifeline.
“—but we agreed to wait until marriage. Isn’t he a gentleman?” Dahlia continues, ignoring his protests.
“I’d like to remind you that she just got out of Grayspire,” he says, making a last-ditch effort to retain his dignity.
The woman across from them is frozen, the twitching of her lips the only sign of her amusement. Ryder is busy trying to detach himself from Dahlia.
“So when’s the wedding?” Annabel finally gives in, causing Ryder’s eye to twitch in irritation. The grin that lights up Dahlia’s face is devastating.
“I don’t know, we haven’t picked a date. When do you think, sugar?” she asks him with cloying sweetness.
“I think I’m done playing, Ms. Angelou.”
“Are we gonna fight now?” She pouts, sliding her fingers down his chest.
“I’m not in the mood today, Dahlia. I’ll send you back to the institution for a few weeks if you don’t get your act together,” he warns her with a low growl. She releases his arm as if she’s been burned.
“Fine.” With a snap of finality, she retreats to her room.
“Will you all just shut the fuck up?” she snarls violently, shattering the lamp beside her bed. The pieces clatter to the floor against the opposite wall. “I can’t hear myself think with you all rambling!”
“Talking to yourself again, Ms. Angelou?”
The deep baritone of her new alpha startles her. She looks up to see him standing in the doorway of her room, leaning against the frame with a look of boredom mixed with mild interest.
“How did you get in here?” She ignores his question. The jingle of a keyring being pulled from his pocket reminds her that he does, in fact, own these buildings.
“I really hope you’ll replace that,” he says, nodding at the wrecked lamp. She waves her hand and the lamp pieces itself back together, returning to her bedside table.
“That’s convenient,” he acknowledges.
“What do you want?” She’s impatient and irritable, but mostly, she just wants to be alone.
“I want you to take a walk with me. I want to discuss your future here.”
