The Edge of Reason

DAMON

I stare at the list in front of me, of all the wolves in the latest tribute. Every year each of the weaker packs sends me at least one new member, in exchange for maintaining our treaties.

In truth, I don’t need more warriors. By now, I don’t even have to ask for tributes. The pathetic alphas from all the bordering packs just send them. If they stood up to me and said no, I would respect them more, but they don’t.

Besides, most wolves who arrive are keen to be here. They know my warrior training is second only to that of the Royal Guard.

Most of the packs on the current list of tributes already train their warriors to a good standard, females and males alike, but I frown at the last name.

We have one wolf coming from the Craven Moon Pack. A female.

The name “Craven” suits that pack well, at least with the current alpha at the helm. Alpha Conrad Stone’s pack is probably the weakest—in no small part, because they’re the only pack that doesn’t train their she-wolves. So why is Stone sending me one?

I never turn a she-wolf away. Sometimes, with the right guiding hand, a female can be as strong as a male wolf, or stronger. But Stone likes to keep his females weak and submissive.

I look up from the list when I hear my phone ping. A text message from my beta, Joshua.

I sigh. It doesn’t take Einstein to guess which one is going to be a problem.

I stare at the name on the sheet. Ember James. I wonder what she’s done. Conrad Stone has never sent me a female before, and I’m sure it took something extreme to make him break his own rule.

Nothing to be done until the tributes arrive, though, which should be hours yet. I spend the rest of the afternoon watching my wolves training. I like to do this when I have time, because they try hard to impress me when they know I’m watching.

“You’re improving,” I tell one of the pups, a runt named Billy who I know has been working hard to keep up with his littermates. He glows, and dashes out with renewed determination.

“Watch it,” I say sharply, when a promising young she-wolf gets sloppy during a sparring match and draws blood from her opponent.

“Sorry, Alpha,” she says, shame-faced, and reaches down to give her packmate a hand up. I rarely need more than a word of censure to correct offenses like hers. All my wolves know the penalty for disobedience.

After a few hours of this, I shift and go for a run across the wide expanse of our pack territory, allowing my wolf free rein to let out all his energy as the wind ruffles our fur.

Letting my wolf out every day is so important to keep my human and wolf sides in balance; anytime I notice myself feeling grumpy or on-edge, I excuse myself for a run, and end up feeling better.

Every member of my pack is under strict orders to do the same.

I’ve almost reached the border of our lands when Joshua contacts me via the pack-link. “We’ll be arriving in around an hour.”

I acknowledge him and head back to the pack house to shower and change. I always receive all new tributes when they arrive, and I have a feeling that will be especially important today.

When the minibus arrives, I’m standing at the top of the pack house steps, dressed in combat trousers and heavy black boots. My chest is bare, showing off my tattoos and scars.

I wear my scars proudly. They show that unlike some alphas, I’m happy to fight beside my warriors. A good alpha always leads from the front; those that don’t are cowards.

I fold my arms across my chest as my beta steps out of the bus. The tributes follow close behind. “Present yourselves to your new alpha,” Joshua demands.

They line up in front of me. Three males and three females. I see immediately which one is from the Craven Moon Pack.

Five of them stand straight—looking at me, but avoiding eye contact. Proud but nonchallenging. Both males and females have toned muscles. Not to the standard of my own warriors, but that will come.

But the last female, the one I assume is Ember James, is tiny compared to the others. She’s supposed to be twenty years old, but looks more like a juvenile.

Her shoulders sag as she stares at the ground. She’s skin and bone, carrying barely any muscle. The dress she wears does nothing to hide the fact that she’s half-starved. Her blonde hair hangs limply at her shoulders. She looks broken.

This female is no troublemaker. It doesn’t look like she has a rebellious bone in her body. But she’s no warrior, either. One of my youngest pups could easily take her down. The scent of fear is coming off her in waves.

I scan the tributes, ready for the next stage of my inspection. I can make no exceptions. Wolves who join my pack must be brave, strong, and fearless. “Strip and shift,” I command.

Only then does Ember James look up, with shock evident on her face. Her eyes are a stunning shade of blue, like the ocean. If she took some pride in her appearance, she would look beautiful, even given her tiny stature.

I don’t like that she is surprised at my command. All the alphas of my neighboring packs know what I expect, and should inform their tributes accordingly.

It appears that Ember’s alpha was remiss in this duty. I should have expected as much, especially if he wants rid of her.

The other tributes strip off quickly and begin to shift. I can see from their eyes that even as they take wolf form, their human side still maintains some control—a sign that they let their wolves out regularly, and have found a good sense of balance.

When a wolf takes full control, the eyes go pitch black. For all my new recruits, though, their eyes remain the same color, perhaps a shade or two darker, even as their bodies transform into huge, sleek wolves.

By the time the other five have shifted, the small female has only just shed her clothes. I sigh and glare at her to demonstrate my impatience.

When she does finally begin to shift, it’s painful to watch. The shift isn’t fluid; bones crack and reshape slowly. This is remarkable for a twenty-year-old; usually, it’s only the first few times we shift that we have any difficulty.

It seems Ember James has barely shifted since her very first transformation. I guess this also explains her reticence to remove her clothes in front of the others.

She whimpers in pain as her body finally settles into wolf form. Then all I can do is stare, a little shocked.

Her wolf is small—larger than Ember in human form, of course, but still barely larger than an underfed German shepherd. Her honey-colored coat is dull and lifeless, a sign of poor health or nutrition.

Her wolf raises her head and glares me straight in the eye. A challenge. I feel my own wolf respond instinctively, bristling inside me.

“Ember James, control your wolf,” I growl.

But her wolf’s eyes are pitch black. There is no sign of Ember James’s bright blue at all.

She opens her mouth and curls back her top lip in a snarl. Is this mutt really challenging me?

My bones realign as I shift. It takes seconds. Annoyingly, my clothes get shredded, but I need to deal with this inconvenience now.

My wolf is about four times the size of the little runt in front of me, but that doesn’t stop her from snapping her teeth and growling at me. If it wasn’t so disrespectful, I would find it amusing.

My wolf surges forward, and I let him. Normally he would rip the challenger’s throat out, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he grabs the little wolf by the scruff and shakes her, like a mother wolf would do when she teaches her pups respect. Then he tosses her onto the ground, where she lands with a thud.

“Get a silver collar and restrain this mutt,” I growl through the mind-link, and two of my seasoned warriors come running with the collar and a length of chain, getting the wolf chained and subdued before she can stand or react any further.

I shift back. I’m not sure if I’m more annoyed that the mutt dared to challenge me, or that my wolf chose to let her live.

I stare at the rest of the tributes, still in wolf form and baring their necks in submission. “Shift,” I command.

They all shift fluidly back to human form and dress.

“My gamma will show you to your rooms, then you may go to the dining room and eat.” I nod to the warriors. “Chain the troublemaker up. I’ll decide what to do with her in the morning,” I growl.

I grab a pair of shorts from the cubby by the front entrance. I always make sure to keep a few clothes there for just this eventuality.

Joshua runs to my side. “Do you think that’s wise?” he asks, glancing back to where my warriors are dragging the mutt toward the punishment pole.

I glare at him. “Are you questioning me, Beta?” I never address Joshua this way unless I’m pissed, but right now, I’m more than pissed.

Joshua quickly shows me his throat. “No, Alpha, it’s just she hasn’t eaten at all since we picked her up. I’m not sure when she ate last.”

I clench my jaw. This shouldn’t be my problem. Ember James shouldn’t be my problem, but until I speak to her alpha and arrange for her return, she is.

Since my wolf isn’t baying for her blood, I need to do something else.

“Toss the wolf some meat. She’ll stay there until I speak with her alpha,” I growl, before storming into the pack house.

EMBER

The silver collar burns harshly where it bites into my neck. There’s a chain as well, holding me to a pole a few feet from the front of the pack house, but even without the chain, I don’t think I would be able to move.

I feel numb. Paralyzed.

A silver collar weakens the wearer’s secondary host—in this case, me. If I were in human form, I would lose contact with my wolf.

It’s a horrible feeling to be so weak. I’m a prisoner in my wolf’s body now. Even if she relinquishes control, I won’t be able to get free. I might be stuck in this form for the rest of my life.

Perhaps it’s my own fault for not letting her out more often.

My wolf doesn’t fall asleep, even as the other tributes head inside and leave us in the dark and quiet. Therefore, I don’t sleep either. We are one, even though she is in control.

Our breathing is labored. Each breath we take hurts. I fear something broke when we landed on the ground. We can’t heal, either, because of the silver collar.

My wolf looks up, whimpering, when she hears someone approaching. She thought we would be dead by now, struck down by the alpha she suicidally challenged.

Instead, we’re just feeling a world of pain. She wants to give me back control, but she can’t.

I’m surprised when I see Crystal approach. I didn’t think she would want anything to do with us now. As she crouches down in front of us, I see a bowl of meat in her hand.

“What were you thinking?” she whispers, then sighs. “I don’t know if you can hear me, Ember, but you’re in a world of trouble. I don’t know what Alpha Scopus is going to do. You’re only getting this food because Beta Vance pled your case.”

As if on cue, I hear Beta Vance’s voice in the distance. “Hurry up, Crystal. Just give her the meat and come back inside.”

Crystal tips the meat out of the bowl. It lands on the ground between my wolf’s paws. “At least try to eat something,” she huffs, before turning and running back inside.

My wolf sniffs the meat, then moves her head slightly away from it. I know we need to eat, but the hunger pain in our belly is nothing compared to the pain from the injuries we sustained.

Maybe this is how Alpha Stone deals with insurrection. Maybe we’ll be left here to die. Maybe it’s the only way to relieve the pain that we both feel.