The Pack: Rule Number 1 - No Mates

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The Pack: Rule Number 1 – No Mates

Chapter Two Hundred Sixty–Eight

CANE

“One last try,” I mumble to Gryffin, out in the woods.

“No. Not yet. You’re worn out. Can’t you feel it? You need to eat. And for the record–so the fuck do 1.

“But how can this be? Maybe the change didn’t happen after all. Maybe it failed, I snarl, glaring up at the heavens.

“It did not,” Gio says in a bored tone. “I can smell you. You are not only a shifter, but you are a powerful one. Besides, your fangs chomped out a couple of times. Use that to scare Roman instead of your shifted form.” He winks.

Despite this man being the one I have to thank for saving my life, I have the strangest urge to knock the amused grin right off his heckling face.

“You know what actually might work a lot better than you standing naked in the trees? Domonic gizzles, casting his eyes toward the house. “A hunt,”

“Oooohhhh yeah!!!” Goose croons, excitement flashing in his gaze. “Fuck yeah! I’m down!”

“Do you really want to chance releasing that vagrant piece of shit back on the world just to help me realize my new form?” I snap. “I’m the one in need of provocation and even I know how stupid that would be.”

“Not him, pussy cat, Domonic laughs. The spare. Teddy.”

of space in my mind. Not for

don’t already know that he fucked

Quinn spits from the corner of the woods. “No. No. We

right!” Bartlett smiles.

what?” I snarl. “Are you talking about those tiny pickles?”

fingers, pointing at me and then gazing around at the wolves and lions around us. “Told

up to me with a taunting smile on his face,

his fangs slashing out and his muscles coiling to

I’ve never had it before. This… camaraderie. Not even the Elder Few are this tight. There’s not a single calculating soul around me, not one selfish bastard in the bunch and… I like it.

step toward Domonic. Tell me, oh King of Dogs, tell me of

ANASTACIA

his perch near the elevator. “The sheriff said he’d release you. I’m sure he intends to do

why I’m pacing asshole.

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Two Hundred Sixty–Eight

my lips despite the hunger of his gaze making me feel somewhat queasy and he leers at me with a lick of his lips. the bulge in

Odd.

eyes into their sockets? It’s my fault. Well, mostly. I mean, I’m no troll. I can turn the eye my way just as easily without magic as I can with. But the natural engagement of such is so much more fleeting and narrow. Not nearly as potent and

fact.

attention was definitely tweaked to its

check out his package when he was still

the dirt beneath my nails and the mud caked to my skin. Those things are up front and personal. Along with this stupid, lavender, ripped up, column cowl mini sequin dress dress that I am wearing. A