Chapter 24

Chapter 24
Another howl cuts through the air, this one sharper, more commanding. The sound that means "I called you once, don't make me call again."

My family's movements become more urgent, more automatic. They're definitely leaving the house now, drawn by pack compulsion toward whatever supernatural crisis has brought the Alpha to our front yard on a Tuesday morning.

"I should..." I start, gesturing helplessly toward the door.

"Should what?" Evelyn asks.

"Go with them. Answer the call. Do the werewolf thing."

"Do you want to?" Rowan asks quietly.

The question stops me cold. Do I want to?

The honest answer is no. I don't want to walk out there and face the Alpha while there are six vampires sitting in our living room eating cookies. I don't want to explain why I'm not affected by pack authority. I don't want to deal with whatever crisis has brought the entire pack to our house.

But want has nothing to do with it. I'm a werewolf. I'm part of this pack. When the Alpha calls, I'm supposed to answer.

Even if my wolf apparently didn't get the message.

"I have to," I say finally, because duty and biology are supposed to trump personal preference in werewolf culture.

"Actually," says the vampire sibling I haven't been properly introduced to yet—a woman with dark hair and an expression like she finds everything mildly amusing, "you don't."

"What do you mean I don't?"

"Mate bonds supersede pack bonds," she explains, like she's reciting from a supernatural law textbook. "If you're truly mated to Rowan, you're no longer subject to Alpha authority."

I stare at her. "That can't be right."

"It is right," Marcus confirms. "It's ancient law. Older than pack structures. When werewolves mate outside their pack, they choose their mate's authority over their birth pack's authority."

"But I'm not mated outside my pack," I protest. "I'm mated outside my species."

"Even more binding," Evelyn says with what might be satisfaction. "Species bonds are the strongest of all."

I look toward the front door, where I can hear my family shuffling around on the porch, probably arranging themselves in proper submission formation for whatever the Alpha wants to discuss.

"So I could just... not go out there?"

"You could," Rowan says. "But should you?"

It's a good question. Just because I apparently can ignore the Alpha's call doesn't mean I should. My family is out there. My pack is out there. If something's wrong, if there's danger, shouldn't I be there too?

Even if my supernatural biology is currently having an identity crisis?

Another howl, this one tinged with impatience that makes the windows rattle.

"He's getting annoyed," Amy's voice floats back from the porch, sounding dreamy and distant like she's talking in her sleep.

"We should go," Dad's voice adds, equally detached.

I take a step toward the door, then stop, looking back at the vampires who are still sitting calmly in our living room like they're not about to be discovered by an entire pack of werewolves who consider them mortal enemies.

"What about you?" I ask. "If I go out there, and the Alpha figures out you're in here..."

"We can take care of ourselves," Marcus says, but there's something in his tone that suggests taking care of themselves might involve a lot of violence and property damage.

"That's not reassuring," I tell him.

"It wasn't meant to be reassuring," Adrian says cheerfully. "It was meant to be threatening."

"To who?"

"Everyone who isn't us," he replies, like that's a perfectly reasonable thing to say.

The howl comes again, closer this time, and I realize the Alpha isn't just calling the pack. He's approaching the house.

Which means in about thirty seconds, he's going to be standing on our front porch with my family, probably wondering why his Beta's daughter isn't responding to pack authority.

"Shit," I whisper.

"Language," comes Mom's automatic response from outside, except her voice is still that dreamy, compelled tone that means she's not entirely conscious of what she's saying.

"I have to go," I say, because even if I can resist the Alpha's call, I can't just hide in the house while my family faces whatever crisis is happening outside.

"Do you?" Rowan asks, standing up from his chair. "Or do you just think you have to?"

I stare at him, trying to figure out the difference.

"I don't know," I admit. "Everything I've ever been taught says I should obey the Alpha. But everything I'm feeling says I should stay here with you."

"Then stay," he says simply.

"It's not that simple."

"It could be."

"No, it can't," I say, frustration creeping into my voice. "My family is out there. My pack is out there. I can't just abandon them because my supernatural biology is having a midlife crisis."

"You're not abandoning them," Evelyn says gently. "You're choosing your new family."

The words hit me like a slap. New family.

Is that what this is? Is that what the mate bond means? That I'm supposed to just replace my birth family with Rowan's family and pretend the last seventeen years never happened?

"I can't do that," I say quietly.

"Why not?" Marcus asks, genuinely curious.

"Because they raised me. They love me. They're my family."

"And now we're your family too," Evelyn points out. "The question is which family takes priority."

It's the same impossible choice I was facing before the Alpha showed up, except now there's a time limit and the consequences for choosing wrong just got a lot more immediate.

Another howl, practically on top of the house now.

"Julia!" Dad's voice from the porch, sharp with panic that cuts through the pack compulsion. "Where are you?"

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and make a decision that I'm probably going to regret.

"I have to go out there," I say. "Just for a minute. Just to see what he wants. If I don't, he'll come looking for me, and then he'll find you."

"And if he finds us?" Adrian asks, like he's genuinely curious about the potential carnage.

"Then people die," I say simply. "A lot of people."

"Fair point," he concedes.

I start moving toward the door, my feet feeling like they weigh about a thousand pounds each.

"Julia," Rowan calls softly.

I turn back to look at him.

"Be careful."

I try to smile, but I'm pretty sure it comes out looking more like a grimace. "Careful is my middle name."

"I thought complicated was your middle name," Amy's dreamy voice floats in from outside.

"I have a lot of middle names," I mutter.

And then I shuffle toward the front door, trying to look like I'm responding to the Alpha's call instead of reluctantly joining a supernatural crisis that I have no idea how to handle.

My family is arranged on the porch in a neat line, heads bowed, waiting for the Alpha to arrive. They look like they're about to be inducted into some kind of very polite cult.

I take my place next to Amy, trying to match their submissive posture even though I don't feel the compulsion that's controlling them.

"Where were you?" Dad whispers without looking up, his voice still dreamy but tinged with worry.

"Bathroom," I lie, because what else am I supposed to say? 'Sorry, I was having a supernatural biology lesson with six vampires while you all turned into pack zombies'?

"Oh," he says, accepting this explanation like it makes perfect sense.

And then the Alpha rounds the corner, and I get my first look at Caleb's father in full Alpha mode.

He's massive. Not just tall—I knew he was tall—but massive in a way that suggests he could probably bench press a small car without breaking a sweat. His eyes are glowing that particular gold color that means his wolf is very close to the surface and not particularly happy about whatever brought him here.

He's flanked by about twenty pack members, all in various states of armed readiness, all looking like they're prepared for war.

And he's staring directly at me.

"Julia," he says, his voice carrying the kind of authority that usually makes people confess to crimes they didn't commit. "We need to talk."

I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "Yes, Alpha."

"Inside," he commands, jerking his head toward the house.

The house where six vampires are currently sitting in our living room.

"Actually," I say quickly, "maybe we could talk out here? It's such a nice day, and—"

His growl cuts me off mid-sentence, and I realize that suggesting alternative meeting locations to an Alpha who's clearly not in the mood for suggestions might not have been my smartest move.

"Inside," he repeats, and this time it's not a request.

I nod, my mouth suddenly dry as sandpaper.

And as I turn toward the front door, all I can think is that this is either going to be the most awkward family meeting in supernatural history, or the last conversation any of us ever have.

Knowing my luck, it's probably both.