Page 4 of Predator (Stope Packs #4)
A sharp knock rattled the front door, jolting Jackson from a deep sleep. Grunting, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and yanked on a pair of worn jeans. Barefoot, he padded down the hallway’s hardwood floor, the chill of early morning brushing against his bare chest.
The smell of pine from last night’s flight clung to his skin, a reminder that he’d pushed hard to get home. Helicopters beat running any day, especially when covering the entire length of Washington state. Five hours running flat-out—maybe seven at a normal pace—while the chopper made it in ninety minutes. He liked efficiency.
He opened the door, unsurprised to see three members of the council standing on his porch. Ancient wolves. Stubborn as stone and just as immovable. A glance to the side confirmed Thane Stormridge watched from the tree line, having patrolled through the night. Jackson nodded at his best friend.
Thane, tall and lean, smiled but didn’t come closer. Jerk.
“Where is your mate?” Harland Whitaker demanded, his jowls quivering as he shifted his considerable weight.
“Don’t have one yet,” Jackson replied flatly. “Come in.”
They didn’t wait for further invitations. Moving with surprising grace for their ages, the trio swept into the formal sitting room. Heavy leather chairs flanked a stone fireplace, unlit but still carrying the scent of wood smoke. The hum of tension filled the air. Old expectations clashing against new realities.
Jackson raked a hand through his unruly dark hair as he followed them inside. He dropped into his father’s old leather chair and stretched out, barefoot and shirtless, letting them feel the deliberate insolence in his posture.
The thin, wiry elder to Harland’s right adjusted his stiff collar, his pale-blue eyes sharp as flint. Irving Carpenter had to be almost two hundred years old and probably had been underweight his entire life. The guy always wore an open-collared shirt with an amethyst pendant visible in his gray chest hair. “The council has been clear, Jackson. You’re in your thirties. It’s time to settle down. The pack needs more Alpha blood and a determined future.”
“We had an agreement,” Harland pressed. “You and Philip Nightsom?—”
“We did,” Jackson cut him off. “But his daughter didn’t agree. I’m not about to mate an unwilling female. Especially not Emily Nightsom.”
Emily. Fire and frost wrapped in one frustratingly tempting package. Stubborn enough to bite through steel and smart enough to make him regret underestimating her. The thought of waking up with her knife at his throat wasn’t the worst part. It was knowing that she’d probably turn him on at the same time.
He yawned deliberately.
Oswald Brambleton adjusted his bow tie, his eyes narrowing with a steady calm that hinted at his decades upon more decades of experience. He always wore a damn bow tie with his silk suit, even when surveying the mines. “The council is united on this, Jackson,” he said slowly. “You need to understand that if you don’t show stability and an interest in continuing the Alpha line, we may turn to the Blount family.”
Jackson kept his expression stoic. “Blount? There are only three of them. One very old guy and his two teenaged grandsons. Two more teenagers you can control for…what? Another decade? Are you that desperate to hold on to power?”
The air thickened with unspoken threats. Jackson could kill all three of them in moments if he wished. Oh, they were trained and experienced, but none of them had the Alpha blood coursing through his veins. Nor did they share his history—or his temper. Did they even realize that?
Harland settled his heavy bulk back into the sofa, eyes narrowing. “I know what’s going through your head.”
“Good.” Jackson flashed his teeth.
Oswald tugged on his bow tie. “Killing us won’t solve anything. Plus, the three of us might be tougher than you imagine. All at once.”
Jackson doubted it. He’d been under their thumbs since he’d taken over as a teenager without a choice. Now, he had one. But they weren’t wrong. If he wanted the pack to fall in line, he needed to at least appear like he was settling down, and he had to find the asshole who’d sabotaged his main mine last week. The explosion had torn through the granite face like a thunderclap from hell, scattering shards of stone and molten rock across the mine floor, halting production and putting three miners in the hospital.
Whoever was behind it wouldn’t get a second chance.
The damage had cost them more than just time. Jackson had barely managed to smooth things over with their biggest client, Caldwell it was their ticket to pulling the entire community out of the red.
Jackson clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he eyed the damn council. Someone wanted to see the Granite Pack fail. Maybe it was a rival outfit, looking to edge them out. Or perhaps it was someone closer to home. Either way, Jackson intended to drag them into the light before they struck again.
“Jackson?” Harland asked.
“I agree that it’s time I found a mate and continued my Alpha line.” Jackson leaned back in his chair. “I’ve never been one to plan for settling down, but a contractual arrangement works just fine for me. Emily Nightsom has agreed to serve as my matchmaker.” Would they believe that nonsense?
Harland’s gray eyebrows lifted. “Are you serious? The Nightsom heir, the one who writes romances, is going to matchmake for you?”
“Yes.” Then when she failed, she’d mate Jackson and end up right where she belonged. “She’ll be here for two weeks.” Long enough for him to fulfill a granite contract that would take the holdings out of the red so he could get the fucking council off his back.
“Interesting.” Irving rubbed his chin. “Perhaps you could also court her while she tries to help you?”
Jackson kept his face neutral, though his shoulders stiffened. Like he had one fucking clue about courting a princess like her. “That’s a thought.”
“From what I’ve heard, she writes romances that are very good,” Harland added, tilting his head as if considering the idea of reading one himself. “You’ll have to be romantic.”
Jackson had read a few of her books. Hell, he’d practically devoured them. Each page had been soaked in heat and tension that left his blood thrumming. Emily had a knack for weaving desire and dominance into her stories, capturing raw emotion in a way that hit a little too close to home. Every time he read one, all he could think about was her. The curve of her lips, the fire in her eyes, the way her scent lingered in his memory. After the last book, he’d forced himself to stop. Stirring up feelings he couldn’t afford to have was too dangerous.
Harland coughed. “Are you sure she isn’t angling for the Alpha job with her pack? Philip is getting on in years.”
“Writing is a full time job.” Irving shook his head with a dismissive snort. “I mean, come on. A woman as the Alpha? She’d be challenged to fight constantly.”
Jackson’s jaw clenched, but he bit back the retort burning on his tongue. Irving’s old-school views were well-known, but Jackson couldn’t shake the image of Emily standing her ground the other night, so fierce, determined, and brave. Yet she’d been injured. There was a fragility to her he hadn’t realized before.
She was vulnerable. Period.
The idea of her having to fight off challengers for the rest of her life set something inside him on fire.
The female needed protection.
Harland chuckled. “Last I saw her, she was healthy and tall and could probably fight, but we’ve never seen a female hold off attackers for long.”
A low growl rumbled in Jackson’s chest. He swallowed it back as the front door opened.
“I brought coffee,” said Raya Ashthorne, stepping inside. She paused, taking in the three council members. “Looks like I’m not the only one here early. Where’s your new mate?”
Jackson glanced at the woman who had served as the backbone of his entire organization for the last five years as its chief operating officer. “We hit a bit of a glitch there. But I’ll get mated, and Emily is going to come and help me find the perfect mate.”
Raya’s eyebrows lifted. In her late-twenties, with sparkling brown eyes and curly black hair pulled into a loose bun, the wolf radiated confidence and a no-nonsense attitude. Her tailored blazer and dark jeans spoke of practicality, but there was a sharp intelligence in her gaze that no one dared underestimate. “Seriously? We’re playing the dating game now? You need to stop watching old TV shows.”
Jackson forced a smile. He was finished discussing mating, damn it. “This is business, not a game. A strong Alpha pair stabilizes the pack. It’s about optics and strength. Perception matters.”
“Sure,” Raya muttered, shaking her head. “This is going to be fun. Maybe we should start a reality show. Alpha Bachelor has a nice ring to it.”
“Very funny,” Jackson replied dryly.
She ignored the jab and glanced toward the council members seated on the worn leather sofa, their faces etched with concern. “Anyway, I only brought coffee for the two of us since we need to review the mine projections. As you know, we’re down two tunnels. Production’s running at sixty percent capacity. If we don’t get them cleared and reinforced within two weeks, we’re looking at more than missed deadlines. We risk losing long-term contracts, including Caldwell’s.”
The weight of leadership settled heavily on Jackson’s shoulders. “We’ll get it handled. Failure’s not an option.”
“We know.” Oswald tugged at his bow tie with a nervous twitch of his fingers. His usually calm demeanor seemed strained, betraying the pressure they all felt. “Find out who’s trying to destroy our mines, Jackson. If you can’t, we’ll find somebody who can.”
Jackson’s gaze sharpened. “Is that a threat?” His voice dropped into a low, dangerous rumble that carried authority.
As if bound by the same unspoken command, the three council members stood as one, moving with the synchronized grace of seasoned wolves.
“It absolutely is,” Irving replied smoothly, his eyes glinting with challenge. “Warren Blount is already whispering to scared pack members whose family members nearly died in the mine attack. Says the pack needs stronger leadership and someone with a legacy they can trust. His grandsons are circling like vultures, waiting for a chance to step in. Warren is too old and still limping from that mine collapse a century ago, but that doesn’t stop him from scheming.”
Raya’s smile vanished. “Rumblings are spreading through town and the territory. You’re in danger, Jackson. They’ll force a challenge if you don’t secure your position soon.”
Jackson exhaled slowly through his nose, tension coiling in his chest. Not one ounce of him wanted to kill his own pack members during a challenge. The Blount kids were just teenagers, damn it. “Emily Nightsom will be here tomorrow morning to help.”
Raya quirked a lip. “If she doesn’t want to mate you, I don’t understand why she’d travel here and play matchmaker.”
Harland shrugged. “The female writes romances. Perhaps Jackson thinks she’ll be good at the job.”
Jackson was done talking about this. “Emily has agreed to assist me in exchange for my granting her pack a license to the Embervault Mine. They need the rare slate veins below the granite ones we’ve nearly depleted. In other words, I didn’t give her a choice.”
Raya lifted her chin. “I see.”
Irving coughed. “See what?”
“Jackson just wanted to get Emily into our territory. You may have taken no for an answer, but you’re not giving up on her.” Raya’s tone hinted at disapproval. Considering the female had been crucial in bringing the pack into current times, she no doubt had issues with contractual matings. Or extorted ones.
Harland straightened his shirt. “You have a plan?”
“I always have a plan,” Jackson returned, his voice low and rough. While he had no intention of ever falling for a female, and he sure as shit didn’t believe in love, Emily Nightsom set his blood on fire. Plus, she needed serious protection for some reason, and he didn’t trust anybody else to cover her. The female wasn’t mean enough to step up as an Alpha, and her father should get going on creating another heir. Philip wasn’t that old. Maybe. At least Emily would stay safe while she visited Jackson’s territory. “The three of you might want to remember that.”
The threat hung in the air.
Raya’s phone buzzed, and she lifted it to her ear, carefully balancing the coffee in her other hand. “Yes.” As she listened, the color slowly leaked from her face, and her gaze slashed to Jackson’s. “We’ll be right there.”
Awareness crackled down his back. “What happened?”
She clicked off the call. “That was Pency at the Hollow Mine. It looks like a tunnel collapse in the eastern extraction chamber near Shaft B. The rock face around the main drilling site caved in and took out the conveyor system, burying two loaders under several tons of granite and rubble.”
Nausea rolled in Jackson’s gut. “Injuries?”
“No. The crew went on an early break to celebrate a birthday—a total fluke. The structural braces along the ceiling were weakened like someone tampered with the bolts holding the steel beams in place. The inspection crew swears the supports passed the safety check last week. It doesn’t add up.”
Jackson’s jaw clenched as he processed the implications. The crew taking an early break was just pure, dumb luck. Mining granite was already dangerous since the rock’s density and unpredictable fault lines meant any weakness in the support system could turn lethal. The steel mesh and wooden beams lining the tunnels had been designed to prevent rockfalls, but if someone deliberately loosened the anchors, even a minor vibration from the drilling equipment could trigger a collapse.
“Drill lines were also compromised,” Raya added. “Two of the pneumatic drills short-circuited because someone slashed their coolant hoses. That wasn’t wear and tear. Pency said the cuts were clean, like they’d been made with a blade. And someone tampered with the ventilation system. The airflow was partially blocked, so carbon dioxide levels were rising by the time he pulled the crew out.”
Jackson swore under his breath. A blocked ventilation system wasn’t just sabotage. It was a death sentence. The mine relied on high-powered fans to pump fresh air into the tunnels and vent out the toxic gases. Without proper airflow, miners could suffocate before anyone realized what was happening.
“This wasn’t random vandalism,” Raya said, her voice tight. “Someone knew exactly what they were doing. They wanted to shut us down. Or worse, get someone killed.”
Jackson’s blood heated. “They nearly succeeded. But I’m going to find out who’s responsible, and when I do, they’ll wish they’d been buried under that rockfall. Let’s go, and I want to see the camera feed on my phone. Now.”