Page 4 of Lost Wolf (Exiled Omegas #2)

Four

Luke

The blaring ring of my cell phone yanks me out of sleep, pulling me away from the weird dream I was having. Still lying on my back with my eyes closed, I fumble around on the nightstand, my hand blindly patting the wood, searching for the stupid phone.

Sometimes I miss the days when there were no cell phones in the Sweet Water pack. There’s definitely something to be said for not having to be constantly reachable, but being so disconnected from the outside world was one of the main reasons this pack had been stagnant for generations, stuck in the dark ages of shifter laws and traditions.

Of course, Randall—and all the Alphas before him—liked it that way. After all, the more isolated from the outside world someone is, the easier it is to fool them, and Randall was all about keeping out any ideas he didn’t like or that threatened his control in any way.

But that was his way, not mine, and a lot has changed since Randall was in charge here. Besides the fact that most of his closet cronies left—some involuntarily—I’ve worked to make sure the pack is no longer so damn isolated and insular. In fact, getting a cell tower put in and making sure everyone who wanted one got a phone was one of my first tasks as Alpha.

That doesn’t mean I can’t curse this stupid, noisy thing sometimes. Like right now.

My hand finally locates the phone, my palm slapping the screen. I drag the still-ringing rectangle across my nightstand, then lift it toward my ear, answering without even glancing to see who it is.

There aren’t many people who have this number.

“Yeah?” I mumble, my voice hoarse with sleep.

“Alpha Luke Anderson?” asks an unfamiliar male voice.

“Yeah,” I repeat. “That’s me.” My brain isn't up to much more response than that at… I peel my eyes open and glance at the clock. Four a.m.? What the fuck?

“Perfect,” says the guy on the other end of the phone. “I, well, we have bit of an issue up here. How soon can you get here?”

“Huh?” I’m sure the fog of sleep is not helping, but this guy doesn’t seem to be making much sense either.

“To Smyrna,” the guy replies in a matter-of-fact tone that does absolutely nothing to clear things up for me.

“Why would I go to—what was it?—Smyrna?” I drag my hand over my face and sit up in my bed, resting my back against the headboard. “And where the hell even is that?”

“Tennessee,” the guy replies as if that tells me anything. Apparently, my brain doesn’t come up with a response quickly enough, because the guy adds, “Not too far outside of Nashville.”

I’ve at least heard of Nashville and have a vague idea where it’s located, but that still doesn’t explain anything about what’s going on or why this guy thinks I need to go up there.

“Okay,” I say slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose between two fingers. “But before we get into all that, who the hell are you?”

“Oh.” Some of the confidence has left the guy's voice, not that there was a whole hell of a lot to begin with. “Given the circumstances, I suppose we weren't exactly introduced before. This is Ezekiel.”

I stare blearily at the wall, trying to put a face with the name, or really, anything at all with the name. Nothing. I’m drawing a complete blank. I have zero idea who this guy is, and with a name like that, I’m pretty sure I’d remember him.

After a few seconds of silence, the guy clears his throat. “Doctor Ezekiel Stevens? Most people call me Doc.”

The words filter through my ears, but it still takes a second for the name to register in my brain. When it finally does, I about drop my phone in shock.

I'm definitely awake now.

“Stevens?” I ask tightly, my voice moving into a low rumble. “As in Zachariah Stevens? You’re related to that asshole?

“Um, yes?” He lets out a strained chuckle. “I’m his brother. We met at—”

“What do you want and why the fuck are you calling me ?” I ask in a flat tone, remembering quite well the circumstances under which I met this guy. They involved Doc kidnapping my cousin Keir and planning to hand him over to Zachariah.

“Well, er, you're my—our Alpha?” He pauses. “Technically.”

It’s way too damn early for this shit. His words make sense generally speaking, as in I understand the definitions, but… I blow out a breath. “Look, I have no idea what the hell you're going on about. I already have a pack and you’re not in it. I think I’d know.”

Wouldn't I?

“Technically, you have two packs,” he replies as if I should be expected to know this. He waits a beat then adds, “Zachariah died in a challenge.” He pauses. “A challenge fought by proxy, your proxy…”

I shake my head even though the guy can’t see me. He can’t possibly be implying…

“That fight was ages ago. Are you saying your pack has considered me their Alpha for over a year and you’re just now getting around to telling me about it?”

“Well, we haven’t needed anything before now.” Another long pause. “And there's not much of a pack left up here. As I'm sure you're aware, my brother was not well-loved. When only his body returned from Wisconsin, and I told everyone the Sweet Water Alpha was in charge now, most pack members chose to leave and join packs farther away.” He huffs out a weak laugh. “Your father was even less liked than Zachariah.”

“Yeah…” I draw out the word, my irritation growing. “I still don't see why you're contacting me. You may be correct that I’m technically the Alpha of the—where was it? Smyrna?—pack, but if there aren’t enough shifters up there to be considered a pack…”

“Since the triumvirate makes the laws regarding packs and shifters in general, unless they officially disband a pack, then one still exists,” he replies. “No matter how few the members.”

I let out an exasperated breath, gently banging the back of my head against the bed. “I don’t want to debate legal definitions or whatever with you. I want to know why you’re calling me after over a fucking year to drop whatever this is in my lap.”

“It wouldn't be necessary except, like I said, we have an issue that requires an Alpha.”

“What kind of issue?”

“There’s a shifter here who is stuck in wolf form.”

That gives me pause. Being stuck in wolf form is not a common problem. “For how long?”

“I'm not entirely certain,” he replies. “He’s been this way for at least twenty-four hours, but almost certainly longer.”

“Is he feral?” I ask, hoping for an answer in the negative. Feral shifters—those who spend too much time in their wolf form and get lost in the animal mindset—are almost always put down by the triumvirate, and I don’t want to be responsible for calling them in.

“Not that I can tell.”

I release a quiet huff of relief. “What can you tell me then?”

He’s silent for a beat. “Not much?”

I take a deep breath, searching for patience. “Look,” I say. “It’s too early for me to play twenty questions. Why don't you go ahead and explain the whole situation? Start at the beginning.”

Doc clears his throat. “I have a doctorate degree in wildlife biology and my specialization is, understandably, wolves. I'm often called in to consult on certain cases, and the local wildlife center called me yesterday morning about a wolf in their clinic who they believe was hit by a car. Since wolves aren’t exactly native to Tennessee or the South in general, I made arrangements to pick him up yesterday evening. When I arrived, I quickly realized the wolf was actually a shifter. I'm not sure who he is or where he's been, but his scent is so covered in antiseptic and fear, I could barely tell he’s a shifter, much less identify him. All I know for sure is he’s not one of ours—yours.”

I sigh. “Why is this my problem then?”

“Because I don’t know who he is, where he’s been, or if his presence here might represent a greater threat to the pack,” he replies. “And despite my best efforts over the last six hours, I have been unable to convince him to shift so I can get answers to any of those questions. Since only an Alpha can force a shift, I thought…”

I rub at my temples, a stress headache forming behind my eyes. “I... Isn't there anyone else?”

“I could ask Alpha Matisse to—”

“No,” I say. “It’s bad enough that I haven’t been able to make time to go up and visit the twins, I’m not pulling one of their fathers away for who knows how long to deal with this mess, especially since Madison is probably almost twice as far from your part of Tennessee than Sweet Water is.”

“Then there really isn’t anyone else,” says Doc. “The Sweet Water pack was the only one willing to work with either my father or Zachariah before, and I'm not the type to keep up with things like any other alliances, not that they’d matter now.” He huffs out a breath. “And the next closest pack I’m aware of besides the one in Madison is not one I care to deal with.”

Well, that certainly says a lot if someone related to Zachariah Stevens thinks another pack is bad news.

There’s really no other choice here, is there?

I sigh again, then swing my legs over the side of the bed and rest my forehead in my palm, elbows on my knees. “Say I’m willing to do this… why should I trust you? How do I know the rest of your pack isn't planning to cause trouble? For all I know, I'm walking into a challenge up there since you claim I'm your current Alpha. I obviously haven't asserted any authority, so your pack is going to think I'm weak.”

“I can't speak for everyone,” he replies, “but as Zachariah’s brother, I don't plan to challenge you, not that it would matter since I’m a beta, and there aren’t any other alphas here. You already know Zachariah had no heir.”

“How many members are currently in your pack?”

He pauses. “Oh, well, there's me… and I think old Curtis and his wife are still nearby outside of La Vergne.”

“You're telling me everyone except for you and possibly two others left the pack?”

“Well… yes.”

I almost laugh. Some days I wish the majority of the Sweet Water pack would leave too. Most of them have gotten on board with my changes, but there are still a few old timers who aren’t quite as enthusiastic about things as I’d like.

“Fine. Text me the address,” I say. “I'll come up there, but I'm not coming alone, and if this is some kind of trap, you won't be happy with the consequences.”

“I understand. I'll see you soon,” he says. “Thank you, Alpha.”

“You’re welcome,” I mutter half-heartedly, but he’s already hung up.

This has the potential to be an absolute disaster, and as I stare down at my phone waiting for his text to come through, I can’t help but wonder what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.

And how much I might regret agreeing to this trip.