Page 22 of Pack Kasen, Part 1 (Caught #1)

21

AREN

I stand on the decking, staring down at the railing.

Our home sits on a slope, so it has two large stilts at the front for support. Each one is the size of a large tree trunk since the first Kasens who settled here decades ago worked hard to build a home that would last for generations.

They started with the single-story bunkhouse before moving onto this log house with views of a bubbling creek and the towering pine trees that dominate the horizon.

It isn’t just home. It’s the most beautiful sight in the world.

An image of the feral pops into my mind.

Her rich chestnut brown hair. Sun-kissed unblemished skin. The faint dusting of freckles over her pert nose. The most incredible pale blue and hazel flecked eyes I’ve ever seen in my life.

I keep hoping, wishing for reasons to touch her. My wolf wants to mark her and I feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind because she is not mine. She is just a feral I need to kill, and I don’t see how I can do it when the thing I want to do most isn’t to kill her. It’s to hold her again. To sniff her hair.

To have her in my bed.

I throw my head back and howl, releasing my frustration into the sky.

A feral killed the people I love most in the world. I’ve hunted enough of them over the years to see—first and second-hand—the damage, heartbreak, and heartache they can wreak on those unfortunate enough to encounter one.

They don’t just rip lives apart; they rip apart families. Like mine. There’s no way I can ever go back to being the same Aren Kasen I was before.

I have to remember what’s important, and it isn’t the feral.

Shaking my head, I refocus on what brought me to the decking.

Because our home was built on a slope, the two stilts at the front of the home are about nine feet tall. To ensure no pup could hurt themselves by falling through the large spaces between the wood railings, we closed the gaps between each.

But I didn’t come here to appreciate the engineering of our home.

I came here to confirm something that I knew was a lie the moment I heard it.

The feral didn’t fall.

Even if Marisa had accidentally dropped the chain, which, after what happened the last time a feral got loose here, I can’t imagine her dropping that chain for a second. It would have to fall over the railing first.

Marisa would need to have literally thrown the chain to ensure the feral went over instead of crashing onto the hip height railing.

The feral didn’t fall.

This was no accident.

She was pushed. Or dragged.

“Aren…”

I lift my hand in a plea for silence as Finan’s voice drifts over my left shoulder.

I consider the mechanics of how an accidentally dropped chain somehow got looped around the top of the railing, literally hanging the feral by her neck.

My word is important to my pack and as a leader, it’s my duty to be right more than I am wrong.

Finished with my examination, I turn away to face Finan, who waits quietly beside the sliding glass door.

“Have Wes and Cruz return the feral to the cage,” I say.

His expression doesn’t change, but I can tell he has an opinion about that.

As he walks away, down the side of the house and to the bunkhouse, I peer through the sliding glass.

At the large wooden table, my enforcers sit with their heads angled toward me.

In one of the large, oversized armchairs in front of the fireplace, Marisa is sitting, clutching a tissue. Silas is crouched in front of her with one hand on her knee. Those two have been friends since before they could walk. I’m not surprised he’s in there reassuring her.

The house is mostly quiet, with the faint sounds of banging pots and pans coming from the short hallway that leads to the kitchen and dining room. The noise reminds me of how long it’s been since I last ate, and of how many meals a far too beautiful feral has interrupted. Too many. My stomach rumbles slightly, but I ignore it as I walk inside.

My enforcers get to their feet.

I walk past them.

“My office, Marisa.”

Silas bounces to his feet, his expression a mix of concerned and alarmed. As an enforcer, he knows what’s coming better than anyone, and as Marisa’s friend, he must know there is nothing he can do to stop it. “But she?—”

“I’ve made myself clear,” I say without slowing or turning around.

By the time I’ve taken a seat in my armchair, Finan, back from his task, is standing beside the open door, as Marisa walks in. Silas hovers beside her.

“Outside, Silas.”

“I can?—”

For the first time, I look at him. “I understand why you think you need to be here. You need to wait outside before you open your mouth and lie because you want to protect her and get yourself punished for something that doesn’t involve you. Outside. Now .”

He squeezes Marisa’s hand and spins around. I wait for the door to close before I speak, knowing that he’s still hovering outside the door. But that’s good enough for me.

Marisa swallows hard and visibly braces herself.

“The truth,” I tell her.

She widens her eyes. “I told you the truth.”

“You told me what you wanted me to believe. A lie, in other words. I want the truth.”

She studies me for a beat.

We’ve been together for a while. She knows when I lose my temper, what is liable to piss me off even more, and she knows I passed that limit.

Marisa is smart. She’s manipulative and quick to anger, but she’s also dominant and strong enough to have been an enforcer if she wanted to be.

“I was doing everyone a favor by getting rid of the feral,” she says, lifting her chin.

I steeple my fingers together as I tamp down the burst of rage her words provoke. Finan’s slow blink tells me Marisa might not be seeing the well of rage within me, but he sees it.

That man sees way too fucking much.

“I see, so now you decide the ways things need to be.”

She bursts out, “You weren’t killing her and…” Her voice trails off as she realizes what path she’s headed down.

It’s one no one lives for long because I’ve killed them before they’ve finished walking it.

“Go on,” I tell her mildly, “You were saying something about how I was failing in my role of Alpha and you decided to act in my stead.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean, Marisa?”

She looks nervous for the first time. “I did it for the pack.”

“No.” I lean toward her. “You did it for yourself. You fabricated a reason to get me and Finan away so you could throw the chain over the railing, loop the end around the top and hang Kat because you were jealous.”

She looks at me. “ Kat? ”

Shit. That dream has fucked me up more than I realized.

Even Finan is looking interested in my response.

“You know who I meant,” I snap. “Don’t try to change the subject.”

She opens her mouth, but I’ve had enough of this conversation. Killing shifters isn’t easy. We’re resilient and we’re strong. We are powerful healers, but some things will kill us. A broken neck is one of those things.

My jaw tightens as I sit up in my seat.

“You’re on cleaning duty for the next two weeks. You will also be helping with the cooking, though that will involve peeling potatoes or whatever task they give you.” I pierce her with a stare. “Those who work in the kitchen enjoy it. You will not bitch, complain, or do anything to make their jobs any harder because you hate it. You will clean the pots, you will do any task they tell you to do, and you will do it at once. If I hear even one whisper of a complaint about you being difficult, you’ll be cleaning out the toilets with a toothbrush for a month. Have I made myself clear?”

For a dominant and proud wolf like Marisa, kicked down to the role of cleaner and cook is a punishment like no other. She probably would have preferred I killed her than being forced to serve lower ranked members of the pack after spending three months occupying one of the highest positions in the pack: my lover.

Her face goes red, then white, then red again. “Aren, I?—”

“Have. I. Made. Myself. Clear ?” I bite out.

She nods.

“You can leave.”

She turns away and reaches for the door. Her hand is shaking. Not through fear. I know Marisa. Anger is making her hand shake.

Her anger is nothing compared to mine. If she knew how hard I’m holding my wolf back, she would know how lucky she was to be walking out of here alive. My wolf doesn’t want her to live. Neither do I.

Before she walks out, I do something I should have done long before now. “And collect anything you’ve left behind in my rooms before you report to the kitchen.”

Her back tenses, but she doesn’t respond.

The door closes behind her and I sit back in my seat, releasing a quiet sigh along with the last of my tension. Could I have ended things between us in a kinder way? Maybe.

But after what she did, I don’t have it in me to be kind.

I get to my feet.

Finan opens his mouth.

“Don’t,” I say. “I’m going to eat my lunch. Today is not the day to push me with your thoughts, Finan.”

He holds the door open. “I was going to say it’s a good thing for everyone that you finally ended things with her.”

I frown. “ Everyone ?”

Other than me and Marisa, who else would this concern?

He holds the door open. “Maybe you’ll understand one day.”

I breathe out a frustrated sigh. “Does this have anything to do with the feral?”

“Perhaps.” His expression tells me everything I need to know and then some.

For a man who says so little, he sure knows the exact words that drive me crazy.