Page 3 of Claimed By the Rival Alpha

Breakfast—oatmeal, bacon, scrambled eggs, and wild berry jam—had already been cooked, so Mom and I took our spots among the others where plates and bowls were stacked.

We just needed to plate the breakfast. I enjoyed cooking and even liked washing dishes—something about being surrounded by food or burying my hands in warm, soapy water relaxed me—but I didn’t so much enjoy being visible like this.

Serving breakfast was fine but feeling the constant need to duck my head and avoid eye contact with the pack was stressful.

As everyone began working, murmured conversation started up around us.

Though we didn’t join in, the chatter added some intrigue to what would otherwise be a monotonous task.

I caught murmurings of, “Such a shame about Gregor—” “—will other packs try to move in on us while he’s sick?

” “How many of us would even miss that old—” and “—at least when he finally kicks the bucket, the funeral will get me out of laundry duty.” The latter two comments were met with harsh shushing.

No one wanted to speak out of turn too loudly, or they would face the wrath of Troy or one of his goons.

Despite the mixed responses to the news of the Alpha’s declining health, the general mood in the mess hall was somber and quiet.

I zoned out as the conversation continued, losing myself in the mindless motions of filling bowls with oatmeal.

Occasionally, a pup I knew would skip up to me and smile as I gave them food.

It didn’t matter how poorly the other wolves treated me or how exhausted I was, there was always a smile where pups were concerned.

But when there weren’t children around to brighten my day a little, I allowed myself to zone out. As the dining hall faded to the background, I started thinking about the pack.

The Kings were a large, wealthy pack whose territory ran from the borders of the Kaniksu and Kootenai National Forests in Montana as low as Sandpoint and moved west across the Idaho panhandle and Kootenai River.

The territory ended right along the border with Washington.

The Kings had over five hundred homes and families and powered their compound with solar-powered electricity.

They were one of the lucky packs with plumbing and clean running water at their disposal.

Every family rotated through shared tasks for the pack—cleaning, cooking, preparing for ceremonies, and maintenance.

Some members had a specialty they contributed to regularly, like healing, teaching, or hunting.

Due to this dynamic, wolves operated as a family—everyone looked out for each other.

Though the women in the pack weren’t allowed to take up positions that men held and were raised to prioritize their beauty so they could settle down with a mate.

I hated the way the pack treated women like objects and prizes to be won and lusted after.

For me, as both a woman and a human in the pack, it was tough.

It made me wonder how different my life would be if I were a human man.

Would they respect me for my strength? My deeper voice?

Would they let me hold a weapon or send me on dangerous missions?

Maybe they would have killed me earlier.

I don’t know. That line of thinking never went down a good path.

As things were, at least I had Mom on my side. She loved me and did everything she could to make me feel comfortable, but there was only so much she could do. After serving the oatmeal, I picked up the empty stockpot and carried it into the kitchen.

There were bits of oatmeal stuck to the sides and the bottom, so it would need a good soak in hot water if the leftovers were going to be scrubbed off.

As I approached the sink, I almost collided with a woman carrying a bundle of fabric napkins, nearly knocking me off balance.

The heavy, stainless steel pot teetered in my arms as I swayed on my feet.

Shifters rarely minded their strength around me.

“Watch it,” she hissed. Given her glare, one might assume that she was the one who had almost fallen over from the impact, not I.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” I murmured.

“Yeah. Right.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and continued.

I sighed and plunged the pot into the sink.

I filled it with dish soap and water as hot as I could stand.

As the pot filled with suds, I ran the back of my hand over my forehead.

Most of the pack was anti-human. Though the Kings relied on some human goods, like dish soap, in their daily lives, shifters tended to be very private and avoided humans as much as they could due to conflicts the two species had endured hundreds of years ago.

That distaste for humans was largely due to the Redwolfs, the Alpha family of the pack.

Troy, for one, did everything he could to make me feel unwelcome.

Even when we were children, he had it out for me.

I’d thought long and hard about what I had done to make him hate me so much; ultimately, I knew there was nothing I could have changed to make him leave me alone.

Because I was human, because I was weak, because I wouldn’t have a voice in the pack—I was an easy target.

Wolves had a strong prey drive, and even I had to admit that everything about me screamed, “prey.”

Troy’s father, Gregor Redwolf, was marginally better.

Though the Alpha hated humans, his misogyny made it difficult for him to take women seriously—thus, he largely ignored me.

While Gregor was Alpha, I didn’t have to look over my shoulder constantly, and I could get away with avoiding Troy like the scourge he was.

If Troy became the Alpha, I wouldn’t have that luxury.

I had been thinking about the Alpha more and more frequently these days because he had fallen ill.

It wasn’t the first time Gregor had been sick, but he was much older now, and defending the pack had undoubtedly put a lot of stress on his body.

In addition to my dreams of the dark stranger, I had nightmares about Troy taking over the Kings’ pack.

The nightmares always ended with my death.

I shook my head and picked up a sponge, plunging it deep into the hot, sudsy water.

I shouldn’t think about that possibility.

The Alpha was old, sure, but he was resilient.

He’d pull through like he always did, and I wouldn’t have to worry about Troy’s harassment.

He’ll continue to ignore me, and things will be the same.

I won’t have to do anything extra to protect myself from Troy…

When I’d finished scrubbing the pot to a mirror-like shine, I returned to the table by my mom, who greeted me with a smile.

The tables were old wood, well waxed and smooth beneath my touch.

There were more wolves standing in line for their breakfast. The Kings accepted their oatmeal from me without making eye contact, which was nothing like the way they greeted the other women—with smiles and brief conversation.

But after years of the same treatment, it didn’t bother me nearly as much as it used to.

My thoughts drifted to last night’s dream, back to the green-eyed stranger who’d rocked my world.

My cheeks warmed when I thought about how his hands had felt on my skin.

If he were real, would he treat me the same even though I was human?

Would he open his arms to me? The fantasy of being somewhere safe, of being accepted, put a small smile on my face as I worked.

Suddenly, a woman burst in from outside, the same one who had been carrying the fabric napkins.

She still smelled of cigarette smoke. Her face had gone pale, and her mouth was a trembling line.

I didn’t need the elevated senses of a wolf to see how hard she was shaking or to clock the way her eyes darted from face to face until they finally settled on my mom.

“What’s wrong?” Mom asked as the woman approached.

“It’s the Alpha,” she whispered.

I froze, staring openly at the woman.

Mom’s face grew still. She placed her hands on the woman’s shoulders and squeezed until the woman’s wavering gaze focused. “What about him?”

“He…he passed away in his sleep last night,” she said. “He’s dead.”

He’s dead…he’s dead… The words echoed in my mind.

In my head, I pictured myself surrounded by wolves who jeered and spat at me the way they’d done when I was younger.

I pictured myself cast out of the pack. My mom left to stand on the sidelines and watch while Troy exiled me to the wilds.

My stomach roiled, and the world seemed to spin. Those two words spelled my doom.