The Pack: Rule Number 1 - No Mates

Chapter Two Hundred Eighty

PAUL

It’s harder to step away from my door than I want it to be. Every inch gain is a fight, especially when I hear a dejected whimper escape Anastacia’s lips from beyond the confines of my bedroom walls.

Is she crying?

Maybe… After all, she’s been running for her life since the day her grandmother died without any real time to grieve, so she might be doing so now.

The image of her in the center of my bed, gazing up at me like she was searching for something to say, something that might keep me at her side a little longer, has me ready to turn right back around to give her exactly what she wishes.

She may need someone tonight.

No. Not someone.

You.

I have to stop. It’s not true. For a

all I know, she could be crying over her recent break up. They were together for more than two years. The fucking years!!! How many times was he able to slither between her leg Every night, probably. The son–of–a–bitch. If she was mine. though, it might be more like every few hours… minutes… seconds…

But she isn’t mine. She was his. She even said so.

It’s with that realization in mind that I’m finally able to start down the stairs.

“What’s on your mind, brother?” Rainier asks, gazing past me toward the landing and my closed bedroom door.

I hardly hear him as I descend, barely aware of the fact that everyone is talking as the pot stews inside my head.

I mean, what kind of name is Drace anyhow? What exactly did she want from him in the first place? The man that I saw in the woods is a joke. A zombie. A fluke. There isn’t anything particularly special about him. He’s the Alpha of a pack of dogs. Mutts. Mongrels.

form as he is when he’s shifted. More wiry than he is cut, and leaner than he is Like most hounds, Draco’s just as skinny in his human fo muscular. Judging by the way Anastacia’s eyes blaze with fire every time she catches sight of my bare chest and arms skinny is not what she’s into.

She’s b

power and heat and… connection and… fuck! So am I.

top of h

his head. A crooked smile, if it could

Dark skin, rugged beard, beady black eyes. Twisted black locks that sprout like weeds from the top be called one at all.

Nothing spectacular there. He is roguishly handsome at best.

slumlord or a fucking crack dealer. Or a starving gambler on a winning streak that hasn’t left the blackjack table in days. His features are haggard and sunken in. As if he’s constantly dehydrated. He basically my polar opposite

did he ever

not always about looks,

1/3

Two Hundred

it about? Fake loár kufikie? An anchola that bore har anek her magic? And what did

Fuck no,

det every time I picture Anastacia’s

man! What the fuck? Rainier snaps, shaking his head. How you

around the room to

talking

I guess so

“Yeah. What’s up?

the sudden urge to knock

“Har

a witch, motherfucker. And therefore dangerous. None

together, his lip lifting in

slimy

teeth. He marks his lips. “Ipt it.

sad beber

us? He gestures to the five

us? He asks with a chuckle and a hod

glaring at him. “You’ve been way

eyes. Now here we go. Onery.

dictionary

I have to laugh. “He has a point. You’re so aortalte lately, one has to consider what it

reading.”

looking bored. “If you guys want… I will go out and handle them all

“Says

man with a pup or

don’t we go handle them while you stand watch?“”

eyes shoot toward the stairs at my back then back to Timmons before he

stay then. I’ll keep watch here while the five

myself when my fangs shift

I’m forced to avoid

“And why not?”

my bedroom door creak upen. What the fuck

his gaze darkening with

patter of footsteps as they wander onto the landing. Goddamn it, “Go back to bed, Anastacia!“ I spit through clenched teeth.