His Trouble Maker

Chapter 3

I should run, vanish or pretend I never existed. Because if Gray Westwood tells the Alpha what just happened, I might not

survive the fallout.

The thought alone makes my stomach churn.

I wanted to be part of the warriors in our pack. I still do. More than anything.

It’s all I’ve ever wanted–to stand on my own. To fight. To be more than some girl waiting to be chosen, waiting to be

protected, waiting to be claimed.

I was supposed to be strong.

My fingers curl into fists, nails digging into my palms. Hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to keep me here, in my body, in control.

I trained for years. Harder than the boys who sneered at me. Harder than the instructors who never let me forget that I wasn’t meant for this. That I would never be strong enough, fast enough, brutal enough.

And for what?

To always end up as an embarrassment? To be looked at, not as a warrior, but as something else?

No she–wolf has ever made it to the top ranks. Not one. Not because we can’t–but because they won’t let us. Because in their eyes, we’re not fighters. We’re not equals. We’re just something to claim. Something to knot..

I refuse to be just another she–wolf waiting for someone to decide my worth. I will carve it out myself.

I groan and shove a pillow over my face. A sharp knock on my door yanks me back to reality.

“Jessica! Are you alive in there?”

I groan. “I am not mom! Leave me alone please!”

For one blessed second, I think she’s actually going to listen. “Get up, sweetheart. The Alpha is here. He wants to see you.”

I sit bolt upright.

“Mom,” I say, slowly, carefully. ““When you say ‘the Alpha‘… do you mean… Gray’s father?”

“Of course,” she says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Who else would I mean?”

I exhale.

Long. Slow. Relieved.

Oh, thank the gods.

I was so sure. so sure this was about Gray.

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That he’d decided to track me down, humiliate me further, demand I apologize for embarrassing him in front of the

warriors or some shit.

But no.

This is fine.

This is better.

is terrifying, at least he doesn’t actively go out of his way to

Unlike his son.

already climbing out of

still in my sleep

bed hair so bad it could legally be classified

Do I care?

Nope.

just

fucking Westwood.

don’t bother

bother grabbing a

don’t bother

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I think–**i believe–**that when I step into the living room, I will see a middle–aged, terrifyingly composed, cold- blooded Alpha

I do not

do not

the tall, broad–shouldered, ridiculously unfair, infuriatingly broody figure leaning against the wall like he

stop dead

He lifts his head.

Our eyes meet.

And suddenly, I remember.

Westwood ever looked

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years ago. I had snuck into the training grounds, hiding behind the storage shed, watching the older warriors spar. I had been so fascinated by their strength, their precision, the way Gray moved like he had been born to lead. But then… he

when I turned fifteen and was finally required to join the pack training. I had been excited–nervous, but excited. I had trained in secret,

then Gray had been there. He was the

pounding. Before I even had a chance to move, my opponent–a seasoned warrior–had knocked me to the ground. Hard. The air had been forced from my lungs, the world

And Gray had laughed.

just enough for me to hear. Just enough to carve itself into my bones like

ere rever

Gray Westwood! And now, standing here, staring at him in my living room, that same weight crashes

myself on

my body. Slowly. Like he’s assessing, deciding. Something in his posture shifts–just slightly–but it’s enough. Enough to make my pulse trip. Enough to make something primal inside me

in my thin shirt. My fingers curl into my shirt. My shoulders bunch,

nearly give myself whiplash, throwing my arms over

“Don’t look!” I shriek.

Gray… says nothing.

demand, still facing away from him, still contemplating running straight

the barest hint of amusement.

without realizing you’re doing it. I straighten, fighting the instinct to shrink under it. “So you decided to break into my house?” My

leans in slightly, the heat of him wrapping around

forgetting my current disaster situation in favor of processing

“I–what?!”

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Chapter 3

an eyebrow. “I was sent to get you. You wouldn’t wake

IN

“YOU–YOU JUST–WHAT–HOW LONG HAVE

“Long enough.”

tone in that. I am not sure if I am just imagining things but he looks satisfied?

Gray sighs.

“Wilkinson.”

“NO.”

flustered, still overheating,