Hunted (Pack of Dawn and Destiny, #1)(8)

“I agree with Alpha Greyson,” Hector said. “Keeping the humans safe is a priority—for supernaturals in general, but especially for us given that we have the honor of living among them.”

“The wolf’s death won’t be a problem.” Greyson nodded at the nearest building. “We should be able to pull security video footage off City Hall’s cameras for the Curia Cloisters to see. I’m more concerned about what magic was used on him.”

Hector grimaced. “Yes, that certainly could become a very large problem if the source isn’t discovered.”

Werewolves were already pretty susceptible to magic, but if there was a magic that could take away their humanity, it would be devastating and dangerous for the entire species.

“We’ll have to call for an investigation,” Greyson said.

Ember flicked one of her tiny braids over her shoulder. “They’ll send hunters.”

As one, Greyson, Ember, and Hector turned in my direction.

I’d been in the middle of scratching my elbow, and was very confused at the sudden attention. “What?”

“Can you handle the presence of other hunters?” Greyson asked.

“Of course! I’m not like you guys—I don’t get possessive of my home,” I said.

“That’s not exactly what Alpha Greyson was referring to,” Hector said.

Ah. Yes.

The conundrum was that a hunter living in a wolf Pack was not a natural phenomenon. While werewolf hunters and werewolves were polite to one another, they weren’t allies.

Hunters got called in to track down any feral werewolves, or to discipline any wayward Packs, which happened a lot more than you’d think. Werewolves liked the deal because given how Pack-oriented they were, it was pretty difficult to mete out on their own Pack the violent kind of justice most hunters performed. So instead of a relationship of animosity and fear—as it was back in the age of the renaissance era and before—hunters and wolves had a civil working relationship.

My position within the Pack—however sketchy it was—was a result of orphanhood.

My parents were both active-duty hunters. They died on a mission when I was twelve.

After exhausting all hunter families, who wanted nothing to do with me, an elderly wolf couple—Mama Dulce and Papa Santos—were approved to adopt me.

They were a part of the Northern Lakes Pack, and had been the best kind of grandparents I could have ever asked for, loving me unconditionally even as they made sure I received proper hunter training.

They’d died about three years ago, weeks apart, and I was once again an orphan.

I’d said a lot of goodbyes in my life. I would like to avoid more in the future.

“I don’t mind if hunters come to investigate,” I said. “My parents died years ago. I’m okay.”

Greyson stared flatly at me in obvious disbelief.

Hector and Ember were at least a little more discreet. They tilted their heads in a way that meant they were trying to listen to my heartbeat or smell any of the chemical changes in my body that happen when you lie. Yeah, that’s a fun thing no one expects about living with werewolves. Goodbye all forms of biological privacy!

You could still pull a lie over them—you just had to be good at it. But the wolves knew everything about my health. Nothing was secret in a Pack.

“Very well,” Hector said. “We shall respect your feelings.”

“Thanks.”

“Uh-oh.” Ember jerked her chin up. “Looks like we have trouble incoming.”

I cringed. “Mayor Pearl?”

“Right on,” Ember said.

I reluctantly turned around so I could brace myself for the impassioned Mayor Pearl.

Coming in at shoulder height to me with legs as thin as toothpicks, Mayor Pearl was a force to be reckoned with. Her snow-white hair, which was fashioned in something similar to a bowl cut, was frozen in curls. I was pretty sure she put them in rollers every night. The jowls of her cheeks hung lower, probably because of her perpetual scowl.

She carried an umbrella—rain or shine—supposedly because she thought it was nicer than a cane, but I’m pretty sure she knew umbrellas were more painful to be smacked with than a cane, which had greatly influenced her decision. As always, she wore a black and white pantsuit with the trousers hiked up almost to her chest, and stomped with authority down the sidewalk.

Privately, I thought she had to be a vampire. She’d looked like this since the day I’d moved in with Mama Dulce and Papa Santos, and had served as the mayor of Timber Ridge for longer than I’d been alive.

“Alpha Greyson!” Mayor Pearl barked, her voice surprisingly low and husky.

“Mayor Pearl,” Greyson said, keeping his voice neutral.

Mayor Pearl brandished her black umbrella in the air. “What fracas have you made now?”

“I’m afraid this isn’t our doing, Mayor Pearl,” Hector said.

“Of course it is—it’s a wolf!” Mayor Pearl’s scowl grew so pronounced her jowls almost swallowed up her chin. “A dead wolf.”

“A wolf from a neighboring Pack lost his mind,” Ember smoothly said. “Alpha Greyson—and Pip—protected the town.”

Mayor Pearl gave a great harumph, which moved the pointy shoulder pads of her suitcoat, as she looked Greyson up and down from head to toe. “I suppose I should at least be thankful you managed to keep pants and a shirt on during the fight. For once.”