Page 7 of Jace’s Mate (East Coast Territory #1)

“S he went outside?” Wilton roared, his face turning crimson as rage exploded through him.

He fixed a burning glare on Eldin—but caught himself.

The girl might still be listening.

Lowering his voice, Wilton hissed, “I told you to keep her inside, you fool.”

Eldin stepped back instinctively, bracing for a blow as Wilton’s hands rose. But the older man didn’t strike—he clutched his own head instead, fingers yanking at his thinning hair.

He started pacing, boots scuffing the worn floorboards. He had to fix this. Had to contain it. Maybe she hadn’t noticed anything. Maybe the plan was still intact.

He spun on Eldin. “Did she see anyone?”

“No, sir—Alpha,” Eldin caught himself, bowing his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know—”

“Damn it, don’t call me Alpha!” Wilton snapped, eyes darting to the shadows. “Call me anything else. Anything.”

Eldin blinked, confusion twisting in his gut. “Yes… sir.” The word felt wrong. Disrespectful.

But so much about this pack felt off.

An Alpha wasn’t supposed to be afraid .

An Alpha was supposed to lead, to see every threat before it struck. Anticipate. Protect. Win .

And yet Wilton looked rattled. Panicked.

Eldin’s own fear stirred, cold and hollow in his chest. He’d joined this pack a few months ago, desperate for belonging after being cast out of another pack and left to wander. Being alone had nearly broken him. This place—ragged as it was—had been salvation.

Until now.

Until he realized the man he’d trusted might not have a plan.

“What should I do, sir?” he asked, dread pooling in his stomach.

Wilton’s gaze snapped to him. “You said she didn’t run into anyone?”

Eldin hesitated. He remembered how Anikka had stopped in the street, lifted her face to the air, eyes gone wide.

How her body had shivered, her nipples pressing against the thin cotton of her dress.

He clenched his jaw, keeping that to himself.

“She was alone. Just me and the cashier inside the store. Hardly any customers.” He paused. “There was a kid in produce, but he was human. Staring at her like he’d seen an angel.”

Wilton’s eyes narrowed. “And no shifters?”

Eldin shook his head. “No, sir. Only humans. No scent, no aura. Just regular people.”

His Alpha’s questions seemed wrong.

Why wasn’t Anikka allowed to shift? Why hadn’t she joined any of their runs? Every wolf-shifter felt the pull to run, to shed their human skin beneath the moon.

But Anikka had never even hinted that she knew what she was.

It was unnatural.

And Wilton was hiding something.

Something big.

Eldin swallowed hard, suddenly unsure if he was part of a pack—or a lie.

It was confusing. But Eldin’s main concern wasn’t figuring it all out—it was survival.

Getting kicked out of the pack? That would be a death sentence.

Not just because wolves hunted better in packs—though they did—but because loneliness killed.

A lone wolf lost more than protection. He lost his mind. His will. His soul.

Wilton’s eyes narrowed. “Did you scent any other wolves?”

“No, sir,” Eldin answered quickly, heart skipping.

He didn’t mention the strange scent he’d caught just before arriving back at the house. Sharp. Wild. Tempting.

Something new.

But Wilton seemed to relax at the answer, slumping into his chair with a heavy sigh. “Good. Good.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, muttering to himself. “Maybe we’re okay. Maybe my plan will still work…”

“Plan, sir?” Eldin prompted, unable to help himself. Plans were good. Plans meant security. Plans meant hope.

Wilton waved him off with a bitter chuckle. “Never mind. It’s none of your business. Yet.”

Then he looked around, his gaze sharp again. Listening. Watching. But then Wilton seemed to shrivel once more. He sighed heavily, rubbing fingers against his temples.

“Go to bed, Eldin. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

Eldin bowed his head and hurried downstairs.

The basement was cold and cramped, lined with sagging cots and threadbare blankets. It wasn’t much—but it was a pack.

And to a wolf, that meant everything.

Still, sometimes he dreamed of a real bed. A room with a door. A place where he wasn’t breathing someone else’s sweat all night or listening to them snore.

But it was better than sleeping in the woods, ears twitching at every cracked twig, heart hammering at every shadow. He remembered the squirrels. The chipmunks. The way even the forest felt like it laughed at him.

The loneliness had been worse than hunger.

He washed up in the bathroom, splashing ice-cold water against his skin. He needed to run . Needed to shift. To feel the wind tearing through his fur. To leave all this tension behind—this basement, this fear, this doubt.

Why didn’t Anikka get to run?

Why did Wilton insist she suppress her instincts? Did she even know what she was?

She cooked. She cleaned. She ignored Wilton’s snarling temper. But she never shifted. Never ran.

That wasn’t natural.

Eldin padded back to his cot, lying down with a soft grunt. His body ached with restlessness. But his thoughts stayed tangled on her .

Anikka.

Strong. Quiet. Unshakable.

If she gave him orders, he’d follow them.

Happily.

If she were a man, she’d be Alpha. No question.

But she wasn’t.

And that, more than anything, made Eldin wonder what kind of pack he’d actually joined.

He fell asleep with a smile on his lips—and the soft, ridiculous thought: Anikka would make a perfect Alpha.