Page 33 of Into the Dawn (The Devil’s Claw #3)
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JAMIE
F rom the shadows, I watch him, taking in every subtle shift in his body language and every faint flicker of emotion on his almost perfectly blank expression. He's handsome, strikingly so.
Standing tall, he takes in his surroundings with the kind of self-assured confidence most alpha males exude. He’s smartly dressed, well-groomed, and looks like he fits right in with the elite shifters milling around.
If it weren't for the way his hand hangs by his side, clenched into a tight fist, I'd never know that, despite the admiring glances and polite smiles being thrown his way, Dean Reynolds is uncomfortable being here.
I've heard the dark rumours, the fireside stories told about his reclusive pack, and more recently, about how he's been trying to turn things around.
And I need to know who or what we’re up against.
His father, Graham Reynolds, was by all accounts, a terrible person. How far does the apple fall from the tree?
The launch party for the Alpha Games is in full swing now, laughter and the steady thump-thump of music filling the night air. Hosted by the Grey Ridge pack at their Wolf Brewery on the outskirts of town, away from prying eyes, this is more of a social occasion than I expected. But that’s the way with wolves. Any excuse for a party.
Or so I’ve been told. It’s so long since I’ve lived with a pack, I can scarcely remember.
Always on the outside, I wish I could wander down there and join in, to be welcomed into the celebration without fear of being shunned. But wolves are governed by hierarchy, and those without a pack are the lowest of the low.
Nobody would want me there.
Keeping to the pitch-black forest surrounding the brewery instead of daring to sneak closer, I observe my fellow shifters. The best of the best is here. The strongest wolf shifters, from packs all over the country, have come to throw their name into the ring to win the ultimate prize: a pack of their own, to rule and shape.
And of course, to size up the competition.
Drinks are flowing, and a cloud of testosterone hangs thick in the air. The males preen and pose, showing off their bulging muscles and general air of dominance. Shifters can feel the power of others they meet. The waft of pheromones and lust drifting outward from the bar below is a potent and heady combination. Females from packs all over have travelled here, hoping to trigger the magical mate bond, and find a forever love among these fine specimens.
For most she-wolves, these men represent the pick of the bunch. As the toughest and most vigorous wolves around, these men will breed strong pups, and this is a rare opportunity. I can’t think of another time when so many high-ranking wolves were gathered at one time, in one place.
But precious fated mates are still hard to find, no matter how much we’d all love to meet our dream match. Living as a rogue and an outcast, it’s even more of a pipedream for me. If I’m not even welcome at a party, what wolf would want me to be his?
Watching a giggling couple sneak around to the side of the rustic wooden building for a passionate kiss, it seems there's still the chance of romance even for those not lucky enough to meet their true match. Most of these wolves are hoping to find the one , but in the meantime, they're here to have fun.
I drag my gaze away from the loved-up couple, and struggle to suppress and eyeroll at the wolf-bros who show off near the start line to the obstacle course, thinking they're the top dog, shouting and high-fiving. I continue to scan the crowd. They’re not the wolves I’m worried about. Instead, I take note of the ones who stand back and observe, who aren't trying to be the centre of attention. These are the most dangerous competitors, the ones I need to watch out for.
And nobody exudes danger quite like Dean Reynolds.
He takes a deep breath, his eyes darkening to almost black, as a boisterous young shifter crashes into the barrier beside him. A beer slips through the shifter's fingers, and only Dean’s lightning-fast reflexes stop the glass bottle from smashing on the ground.
The growl Alpha Reynolds directs at the shifter as he hands the bottle back is enough to sober anyone up, and the chastened wolf scurries away, face pale.
The fear he instils with one single sound is impressive, and from the amused tilt of his lips, he knows it. I refocus on my potential future opponents. My wolf itches to bound down the hill and join in, loving the idea of pitting her skills against the others.
The prize tonight is automatic qualification for the second round, extremely valuable to whoever wins it when the competition is as fierce as this. There hasn’t been a pack up for grabs in decades, with leadership typically passed down within the same family, generation to generation. This is the first opportunity anyone outside those privileged few has had to change their history in a long time.
Winning would be everything to a rogue like me. A forever home. A community to belong to. A family. A fresh start.
My chest aches with a longing I rarely let myself feel. It’s a once in a lifetime chance. It’s no wonder the entire shifter community is buzzing with excitement at what the games will bring.
Running a competition to replace an outgoing alpha is a bold choice, a return to the old ways. It’s risky, but Blake Steel, the head alpha of the region, seems to enjoy changing things up. Watching the crowds who’ve turned out in droves to celebrate the launch of the games, the decision to revive the brutal competition seems to be a popular one.
With everyone except one man.
As a fist fight breaks out right in front of him over some jostling on the starting line, Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. One of the Grey Ridge pack members tries to reason with the two men, warning them they'll lose their chance to participate if they don't calm down, but emotions are high, and tempers are short. All pleas for calm fall on deaf ears as the two hyped-up shifters edge closer to shifting and fighting in their animal form.
Recklessness is not a good quality in a future alpha, and shifting in a public place like this is as fool hardy as it gets. Dean's eyes narrow, his expression unimpressed, and I can see their chances of winning anything, not just this free pass, slipping away.
The fight intensifies, their snarling getting louder and attracting more attention. Instead of using his dominance to put everyone back in their place and quashing the dispute with an alpha command, Dean looks to the heavens. His dark hair brushes the back of his collar, and his eyes squeeze shut like he’s praying for patience.
Or is it control?
“Stop.” Dean orders firmly, stepping between the two men. While one wolf stands down, the other isn't clever enough to heed his warning. When he tries to rush Dean, focussed only on getting to the man behind him, Dean growls, low and deadly. With a sickening crack, an uppercut to the jaw sends the contestant to the floor, out cold.
I barely saw Dean’s hands move. The man never stood a chance.
I watch, slack jawed, as Dean merely steps over him, like he’s a fallen branch and not a person, before the man's friends rush forward to help him, eyeing the unbothered alpha warily.
Raising his beer to his lips, Dean takes a long swallow and glares at the other wolf who delights at his enemy's downfall. Instead of offering him a hand up, or simply staying quiet, he appears to taunt him, jabbing a finger in the dazed man’s face.
With a weary sigh, Dean reaches out and tugs the number off the jeering competitor’s shirt, tearing it in two and dropping it into the dirt.
It looks like both shifter’s chances to win the pack are over before they've even begun.
The disqualified shifter growls, furious at his elimination, but his protests are cut off by a mere raised eyebrow from Dean. Instead of continuing to argue and risking a fight he’ll definitely lose, he storms off, cursing about how unfair it is.
Dean's expression remains completely neutral.
He ignores the wary looks he's getting from all around him, as he gestures for the next participants to get ready to race like nothing just happened.
So, the rumours are true. He really is a cold-hearted bastard, just like his father.
This is going to make things more challenging, but we’re out of options. Homeless yet again, and with no prospect of being taken in by anyone, getting our own pack might be our last hope.
The only trace of humanity I see is when his sister greets him with a warm smile, slipping her arm around his waist. Dipping his head to whisper in her ear, his black hair falls forward across his forehead. Even as he speaks to her, he continues to scan the party over her shoulder, never relaxing. As his steely gaze drifts past my hiding spot, it seems to pause, just for a millisecond, before continuing around the crowd.
My heart pounds wildly in my chest. He can’t see me. There’s no way. And with so many scents in the air, mine couldn’t have caught his attention. I was so careful. And yet somehow, he’s aware of my presence.
Seemingly unconcerned, he continues to look around, scanning the trees closer and closer to my hiding spot. Whatever he says to his sister elicits an exasperated sigh from her before she shakes her head, but his attention isn't on her anymore.
It's laser-focussed on me.
My nerves tingle in a mixture of excitement and fear. I need to leave right now. I’m about to risk breaking cover and running when a commotion catches everyone’s attention.
From the side door of the bar, next to the obstacle course, a man emerges, carrying a writhing dark-haired woman in his arms into the car park. The door bangs off the wall as he charges outside, teeth bared, his mate clutched to his chest.
I’d know that sweaty, flushed look anywhere. She’s in heat.
As her scent is caught by the already amped up males around, one by one, they turn and take chase.
Terrifying is the only word for the scene I’m watching unfold. It's chaos, as shifters come from everywhere, some fighting to get to the woman, other's blocking their way and taking down as many as they can.
Yet Dean Reynolds ignores the riot starting in front of him, and keeps his eyes locked on my position.
I hold my breath, waiting to see what he does next. Except he does nothing but wait. Teeth and claws fly, vicious snarls and the sound of fists hitting flesh fill the air, as friends and packmates tear each other apart to get at the female who’s ripe for breeding.
Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back to loosen the tension. He looks like he’s stretching before a fight.
I hold my breath, expecting him to enter the fray. Most of these young pups would be no match for an alpha like him. But instead of reacting like everyone else, the scent driving them into a frenzy, once again, he shocks me by simply turning on his heel and walking calmly to a dark SUV that’s parked near the entrance.
Without a word to anyone, he climbs behind the wheel, starts the engine and drives off, completely uninterested in the carnage happening behind him. Is he mated? Is that why he’s not affected by the powerful biological urge to breed that consumes the others?
The idea doesn’t sit well with me. I’ve never heard of any women connected to the mysterious alpha, but with access to his pack so limited, it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that he’s kept her hidden.
Totally thrown by his actions, I melt further into the shadows and shift, relishing the idea of a hard run back to our make-shift camp and some time to think. The games are going to be in full swing shortly, and if Dean Reynolds rules his pack the way he dealt with those people today, I’m going to need to rethink my strategy.