Chapter 23

Chapter 23


I'm still standing in the middle of our living room, trying to figure out how to choose between my family and my mate without everyone dying, when the growling starts.

Low. Deep. Rumbling through the ground like an earthquake made of fury and bad intentions.

Everyone in the room freezes like we've just been caught in a very deadly game of supernatural freeze tag.

The growling gets louder, closer, and I realize with a sick drop in my stomach that it's not just one growl. It's multiple growls. A whole chorus of werewolf voices surrounding our house like we're about to be raided by the world's angriest choir.

"Oh, shit," Amy whispers, so quietly I almost don't hear her.

"Language," Mom hisses automatically, but her heart's not in it because she's gone completely white and looks like she's about to faint into the coffee table.

Dad's face cycles through approximately seventeen different expressions in the span of two seconds, finally settling on "we are all going to die horrible deaths and it's probably my fault."

The vampires, to their credit, don't look panicked. They look... alert. Like predators who just realized they're about to become prey but are too dignified to show fear. Evelyn sets down her teacup with the same delicate precision she's been using all morning, but now there's something sharp and dangerous in her eyes.

Marcus shifts slightly in his chair, and suddenly he doesn't look like a polite dinner guest anymore. He looks like something that could kill everyone in this room before they had time to scream.

"How many?" he asks quietly, his voice barely above a breath.

"Too many," Dad whispers back, his hand automatically going to his stake belt like that's going to help against an entire pack of werewolves who are probably about to discover their Beta is harboring vampires.

The growling gets louder, and I can hear the sound of paws—a lot of paws—moving around our house in what sounds suspiciously like a military formation.

"Nobody move," Dad breathes. "Nobody speak. If they hear us..."

He doesn't finish the sentence, but he doesn't need to. If the pack hears us having a friendly chat with six vampires in our living room, we're not just dead. We're traitors. And traitors don't get quick deaths in werewolf culture.

I hold my breath, trying to make myself as small and invisible as possible, which is difficult when you're standing in the middle of a room full of supernatural creatures who are all trying to do the same thing.

The silence that follows is so complete I can hear my own heartbeat, which is currently doing its best impression of a machine gun having a malfunction.

And then, cutting through the quiet like a knife made of pure authority, comes a sound that makes every werewolf in the room—including me—want to immediately drop to the ground and show their belly.

The Alpha's howl.

Not just any howl. THE howl. The one that says "everyone get over here right now or I will personally make sure you regret existing."

It's a sound that bypasses your conscious brain and goes straight to your wolf, triggering every instinct that says "obey or die" in approximately seventeen different supernatural languages.

I watch in fascination and growing horror as my family immediately responds to the call.

Dad's head drops like someone just cut the strings holding it up, his eyes going glassy with the kind of automatic submission that comes from years of pack hierarchy. His whole body shifts, posture changing from "concerned parent" to "loyal Beta reporting for duty."

Mom does the same thing, her maternal panic instantly replaced by pack protocol. Her shoulders curve inward, her gaze drops to the floor, and she starts moving toward the front door like she's being pulled by invisible strings.

Amy makes a soft whimpering sound and practically melts into submission position, her earlier bravado with the silver letter opener completely forgotten in the face of Alpha authority.

All three of them start shuffling toward the sound of the howl like zombies in a very well-mannered apocalypse movie, their heads bowed, their movements automatic and subservient.

And I...

I feel nothing.

Well, not nothing. I feel scared. Terrified, actually. But not that bone-deep, instinctive compulsion that's currently controlling my family like they're supernatural puppets.

I'm still standing in the middle of the room, still conscious, still in control of my own body while my family moves around me like they're sleepwalking.

Which is weird.

Really weird.

Alpha howls are supposed to affect every werewolf within hearing distance. It's pack biology 101. When the Alpha calls, you answer. When the Alpha commands, you obey. It's not optional. It's literally hardwired into our DNA.

But apparently, my DNA didn't get the memo.

I glance around the room, trying to figure out why I'm the only werewolf who isn't currently under the influence of supernatural hypnosis.

The vampires are watching my family's response with expressions of polite interest, like they're observing a mildly fascinating nature documentary about werewolf behavior.

"Interesting," Evelyn murmurs, so quietly I almost don't catch it.

"What's interesting?" I whisper back, forgetting for a moment that we're supposed to be maintaining complete silence.

"You," she says, her pale eyes studying me like I'm a puzzle she's trying to solve. "You're not responding to the Alpha's call."

"Is that... bad?" I ask, because in my experience, being different from other werewolves usually means something terrible is about to happen to me.

"Not bad," Marcus says thoughtfully. "Just... unusual."

Rowan is staring at me with an expression I can't read. "The mate bond," he says quietly. "It might be interfering with pack hierarchy."

"Interfering how?" I demand in a whisper, because this seems like important information that someone should have mentioned earlier.

"Mate bonds create their own hierarchy," Adrian explains, keeping his voice low. "Sometimes they can override other supernatural authorities."

"Override?" I repeat, watching my parents shuffle toward the door like they're under a spell. "You mean I'm not responding to the Alpha because I'm bonded to you?"

I gesture vaguely at Rowan, who nods.

"It's possible," he says. "Mate bonds are... complicated."

"Complicated is my middle name," I mutter, then realize that my family is almost at the front door and I'm still standing here having a supernatural biology lesson with vampires while the Alpha is probably getting increasingly impatient.