Hunted (Pack of Dawn and Destiny, #1)(29)

“Have you learned anything related to the magic put upon the wolf?” I asked when it was apparent Amos wasn’t going to leave.

“We found evidence of magic, but have not been able to uncover its origins,” Amos said.

“In other words, you still only know as much as we told the committee when we lodged a report on this entire incident.”

“We’ve done further investigations,” Amos snapped. “We can say for certain it was not fae magic, though based on the contents of the wolf’s stomach, it was likely a potion.”

I carefully signed a piece of paperwork with a pen, holding it gently so I wouldn’t crack it.

A potion? But besides fae, who else makes potions?

Potion making used to be a bigger industry—or so I’d heard—back when the elves were around. But they’d been gone for centuries.

“Further investigation of the wolf’s body revealed it would have died from bleeding out if you hadn’t killed it first,” Amos said. “From the dagger wounds Hunter Sabre inflicted on it.”

I paused and flicked my eyes up.

He can’t possibly mean to drag Pip into this? She’s a hunter—she’s cleared to fight wolves, particularly feral wolves. There’s no way they can pin this death on her, no matter how the Low Marsh Pack wants it.

I wasn’t an idiot—as important as the magic on the wolf was, there was some politics behind this investigating thanks to the yipping of the Low Marsh’s Alpha.

The Low Marsh Pack was getting to be too big of an irritation to let it run around howling any longer.

As a Pack, they were small and posed no threat to us. But while I believed that as the strongest Pack in the region we should be careful not to overstep our boundaries, I was not going to have my packmates bow and scrape to an Alpha so incompetent he couldn’t keep track of his own wolves despite having fewer than fifteen members under his command.

“Phillipa Sabre is an accredited hunter and is cleared to take on feral wolves,” I said. “She’s excellent at what she’s trained to do.”

Amos rubbed the tip of his hooked nose. “If she’s so well trained, what’s she doing in a wolf Pack?”

The temptation to put Amos in his place grew stronger so it was a tightness in my chest.

I was used to people questioning Pip’s presence in the Pack, though Hudson—the wolf I’d taken over from—said it had been worse when she was a teenager.

But I’d never had another hunter question it. The Quillons had helped Pip and gotten her accredited all without batting an eyelash at her homelife.

It wasn’t good that Amos was so interested in her.

“Pip does whatever she wants in our Pack,” I said, unwilling to give this creep more information on her personal life.

“Interesting.” Amos folded his arms across his chest. “So she’s not specially trained to take out your enemies?”

I stared blankly at Amos.

How did the committee put such an important investigation in the hands of someone so unbelievably stupid?

“The Northern Lakes Pack doesn’t need anyone to fight for it,” I said. “Because there isn’t a Pack in the region that could harm us.”

Disgusted with the conversation, I glanced back down at the unwanted paperwork.

I hope Amos has to do binders of paperwork for this investigation. That would be justice at its finest.

“Then you won’t mind if I question her,” Amos said. “I heard she’s trained with you werewolves. I’d be interested in seeing what she’s capable of.” His smile was leering, and his shaded eyes were that of a low-level predator—one assured of its abilities even though it was weak.

My powers smacked so hard I couldn’t see for a moment. Rather than try to subdue it or push it down, I channeled it. My feet were silent as 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.”

I stayed in Amos’s space as I listened to his heart beat violently in his chest, and the sour smell of his sweat increased, making my cedar scented room almost muggy.

I lifted an eyebrow at him and smirked. Only then did I back off, shut my powers down, and walk back to my desk.

Amos stayed on the wall, glaring at me with hatred.

He was scared of me, and he hated that I knew he was.

He left, throwing the door open so hard it cracked against the plaster wall, then stomped through it, disappearing into the lodge.

I stared at my paperwork, but listened with a careful ear as I heard his boots thud across the wooden floor. I didn’t relax until I heard the front door open, and he stomped outside.

High pitched murmurs from outside my office tugged on my attention as I attempted to immerse myself back into paperwork.

Someone had burned something in the kitchen—bacon, it smelled like, because burnt bacon was a very sad and easily recognizable smell. Judging by the thick stench, it was soon going to set off the lodge’s fire alarms. The clang of pans being thrown on the counter as someone frantically flapped what sounded like a towel through the air, trying to clear the smell before the fire alarms could turn on, jarred my skull as I reread a line in my paperwork.