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Greyson stared at me with his overwhelming, golden eyes, and I saw his tail twitch slightly from side to side. It was just slightly back and forth, but for a werewolf of his status, it was the equivalent of a dog wildly wagging his tail. Oh. Oh no. I know what that means.
A howl rose above all the others. The call was low and filled with longing, then hitched high with a pain that brought tears to my eyes as all the other howls faded. This was a song I recognized too well—the whole Pack recognized its soft, mournful tones. It was Greyson, calling to his missing mate. He howled it every few weeks—I don’t think he ever meant to. He was far too aware of his role as leader, and he typically had no patience for his mate bond.
I stalked around my desk, invading the hunter’s space so he backed up until he hit a wall. “You will leave our hunter alone.” It came out as a low growl, one that was heavy with every inch of my authority. “Don’t mess with her, don’t bother her, don’t even look at her.” I loomed over Amos, who shook slightly. “The committee will hear—” “Go ahead. Tell the committee,” I said. “As the Alpha of the Northern Lakes Pack, it’s within my rights to protect my packmates—including the hunter.”
Elves had been the apex predator of supernaturals. But they weren’t content with that—they intended to wage war on humanity, and were convinced they’d win and could enslave them. All other supernaturals banded together for the first—and only—time in history to defeat them. Since then we’d perpetuated the beautiful myth to the humans that the elves had “died out” centuries ago when we went public,