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He’s flying blind, hoping to cajole the monster out just enough to negotiate before losing his mind to the beast. It feels weird, trying to convince something that wants out that they should play a new game called ‘self-restraint.’ Just long enough to see what would happen. Right?

But the ursine doesn’t emerge, unconvinced by incomplete promises. Before Avery can firm his argument, he hears a piercing howl in the distance. It throws him entirely out of the moment, and that’s when the ursine pounces.

Foreign impulses seize Avery by the throat, fighting his mind for control.

A single wolf is no threat. Turning the apex predator into prey is a game much more fun than Avery’s pitiful attempts at restraint.

Warm saliva floods Avery’s mouth and rolls over his lips, triggered by the ursine’s lust to be untethered—a beast of pure, indulgent instinct.

The wolf howls again, and this time, a chorus of answering howls bursts from the trees. Where the fuck did they come from? Avery didn’t sense any wild animals a moment ago, but now, there must be at least a dozen.

A surge of fear forces the enraged ursine down.

Avery’s head clears, but by then he’s been surrounded, and in his experience, running will trigger a shifter’s killing instinct faster than holding ground and appealing to the more human logic.

Human- like , because no shifter considers themself human, as opposed to werecreatures who clutch their shredded humanity like a comfort blanket.

But the werevirus is incurable, and you can never go back.

So he calls out instead, going for what he knows. “I’m a worker from Dennings Farm, which is nearby. Not trying to take anyone’s land or anything. I just wanted room to run, but I can leave now.”

A number of canine yips follow, but no voice answers him, and none of the wolves advance.

Avery turns, then staggers back with a gasp.

He didn’t feel a flare of shift magic, but far too few feet away stands a tall woman with shorn hair dressed only in a ghostly white gown, half-shredded and barely clinging to her tanned shoulders.

Barefoot, she smells of wolf and loam, her eyes a bright, inhuman gold.

Her pupils are pinpricks fixed upon him, and she doesn’t blink until he swallows hard, dry throat sticking.

Then she smiles. With teeth.

“You’re not welcome here, werecreature.”

“I’m just a worker at the Dennings Farm,” he explains again, holding onto the hope that he can exit this encounter without killing or being killed. “We’re all werecreatures there.”

The wolf shifter takes a step toward him. Avery responds by retreating several steps, knowing he’s backing into the collective maw of her pack and, even worse, showing weakness by giving up ground .

“Werecreatures, yes,” the shifter says. “Not alpha werecreatures.”

Fuck. It always comes down to that.

Avery squares his shoulders and straightens his spine, knowing nothing is going to make him look impressive while wearing last night’s sweaty cutoffs, smelling like terror, and being nearly a foot shorter than her.

The clouds shift, unobstructed moonlight exposing her impressive musculature.

Even if Avery lets the ursine free, he might not be fast enough to avoid getting his throat ripped out mid-shift.

“I know you don’t think I’m a threat to your pack,” he tells her, going for candid over useless posturing. He doesn’t expect the shifter to laugh, the sound rasping like a cheese grater in her throat.

“We’re on the same page, then.” The shifter glances up at the moon, far from full, then back down at Avery. “Celeste Fuller. Alpha of the Wilderness wolf pack. This is my land.”

“I had no idea, but thanks for telling me. I’ll get out of your hair—uh.” His eyes flick to the curve of her nearly bald scalp. “Your… fur?”

Celeste begins to prowl, maintaining the same distance as she circles him, gold irises glowing in the dark. “Stay. I’m not done with you, werecreature.” Her thighs flex underneath the torn gown, warning she’s preparing to pounce.

Knowing he doesn’t have a chance of fighting back, Avery stills. “I’m not sure I’ll like whatever you’re planning,” he says.

One side of Celeste’s smile pulls wider than the other, exposing a sharp lupine fang. “Who are you, little alpha?”

“My name’s Avery. Smith, I guess.” Though he doesn’t use his parents’ surname anymore.

Celeste’s eyes flare. “Avery of no pack,” she muses. “Yet trespassing on someone else’s lands.”

“I told you I didn’t know. I’m new at this. ”

“That much is obvious.” Celeste surveys him a moment more. Then she snaps, “Beryl. Approach.”

Illumination from the moon traces the broad shoulders of Celeste’s pack member. Avery notes thick, wavy hair and olive-toned skin, a muscular frame, and the confident gait of a?—

Wait.

Nostrils flaring, Avery studies the approaching person with more care and is startled upon realizing Beryl isn’t a shifter, but another werecreature . “That’s not a…” Words abandon him.

“Your nose isn’t entirely useless, at least. Good to know.” Celeste juts her chin at the werecreature. “Beryl is an honorary member of the Wilderness wolf pack, an opportunity I offered them from the goodness of my heart. I know how hard it is for lone werecreatures. It’s a dangerous lifestyle.”

“Lifestyle?” Avery snaps, incredulous. “Getting turned into a rabid animal against your will isn’t a fucking hobby. I had a real life before this.”

If Celeste is offended by his outburst, she doesn’t show it. “You’re lucky it’s me you ran into, Avery. Most alphas would have disemboweled you by now.”

Deciding not to push his luck, Avery withholds further backtalk.

“You being an alpha makes this tricky. What poor species did your mutated genes bastardize?”

“Ursine,” he informs her begrudgingly.

Celeste’s brows arch. “That’s quite the affiliation.”

Resentful, Avery mutters, “It’s not like I got to choose.”

“An alpha were-ursine. Risky, but tempting. Beryl,” she says, drawing the werecreature’s gaze immediately. “Can you keep him in line, do you think?”

Avery bristles at the insinuation, and when Beryl responds, “With ease, Alpha,” the path down his spine where an animal’s hackles would be begins to tingle.

“Alright,” Celeste says, nodding thoughtfully.

“I’ll allow you to join my pack, as Beryl has.

There are others, as well. Werecreatures that could be of use to me.

You’ll be granted protection while acting on my orders.

Unlike the slop at the farm, within my pack you’ll eat good meat and serve a purpose as more than a too-autonomous parasite.

This is the best offer of protection you’ll ever get. ”

The offer has Avery frozen where he stands, as if it was mid-December rather than muggy June.

A pack? Not just any pack, but a shifter pack?

That’s almost as unheard of as a cougar alpha meeting him in a hotel room to fuck.

Except no, he can’t think about Sascha right now.

This conversation is too important for him to be distracted by wistfulness.

“What’s the catch?”

“You’ll belong to me.” She says it matter-of-factly, like it should be a given.

“Every breath you take will be under my control. My rules are the only things that matter, and you will eat, sleep, and shit in accordance with my schedule. Disobedience will be punished. Questioning my orders will be punished. Defiance of any kind will end with your trachea between my teeth. It might sound unreasonable now, but you’ll come to understand.

My authority is the only thing that will keep you safe. ”

The worst thing about her speech is… she’s not wrong.

Avery has spent months looking for a pack only to be told that if he doesn’t start one of his own, it’ll never happen.

And yet no self-respecting werecreature would submit to an alpha who looks like an underfed teenager, much less enough of them to form a pack.

Avery chews the inside of his lip, thoughts racing. The idea of better food is tempting. He’ll be monitored by shifters regardless of what he chooses, and the farm is exhausting . So many rules, tasks he can fuck up. Would it be the same with Celeste?

In the end, there are too many questions running through his mind. Unwilling to dig through them, Avery makes his decision: “No, thank you.”

Beryl snorts quietly. Celeste doesn’t make a noise, but her gold eyes narrow. “My hearing is flawless,” she says coolly, “but I’ll allow you to repeat yourself, just in case I made a rare mistake.”

Avery groans and rubs his eyes. “I’m so tired, dude. I appreciate the, uh, offer, but… seriously, no thanks. I’m gonna stay at the farm.”

“You don’t need me to tell you how much you’ll regret this. Beryl, if you would.”

Perfectly obedient, Beryl steps forward. “Our Alpha’s generosity should not be overlooked,” they inform him.

Avery shakes his head. “I have a curfew to meet.” In the gutsiest move he’s ever made, Avery turns away from Celeste and begins trudging through the field at a sluggish pace. It’s probably an insult to turn his back on a ‘rival’ alpha, but Avery is simply too exhausted to care.

Five steps in, no one moves to attack him. At five more steps, he begins to wonder if Celeste prefers to make the kill herself, or if she lets her pets play with their food before eating it.

But Avery keeps walking, and walking, and walking, and eventually, the night stills except for the sound of nocturnal critters rustling through the tall grasses.

The wolves allowed Avery to retreat. He doesn’t know why, but he’s not foolish enough for relief.

Instead, a feeling of dread settles heavily on his shoulders, whispering that Celeste knows where to find him.

Just because she didn’t kill him this time doesn’t mean the target Atwood pinned to him earlier hasn’t been joined by a second, much more deadly one.