Page 25 of Wild Alpha (Cold-Blooded Alpha #12)
I ’m at the back of the room, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel the intensity of our new alpha’s verdant stare.
It’s an electric current that runs through me like a live charge under my skin. When goosebumps spring up over my bare arms, I lift my hands to rub at them.
Remember where you are, Sierra.
Just in time, I catch myself and curl my fingers into fists so tight that I won’t forget again. The pain will help me remember.
You’re the same as everyone else. Act like it.
In a dining room too small to hold sixty shifters, when Galen Hunt howled, we crammed ourselves in it with room to spare. That doesn’t mean it isn’t stifling, as I’m once again reminded that only a handful know what hygiene means. Some scents are clean, others less so, but most are downright nasty.
Galen’s eyes make another slow circuit of the room.
Mine continue their journey over the expanse of golden muscle he’s poured into an insubstantial wooden dining chair.
Who takes over a new pack and introduces themselves wearing nothing but blood-splattered skin? Did he lose his clothes along the way or just plain forget them? Not that I’m complaining, but still.
He’s almost perfect. Too bad his one obvious flaw is one I could never overlook.
Finished with my perusal while he’s still busy with his, I inch back. One small step at a time. Not fast enough to attract attention, or slow enough that it’ll take forever to get out. At the right pace. A speed I’ve had years to work on.
Whatever else he’s called us here for has nothing to do with me. And I have plans to make.
Three steps back, two to the right, and I’ll hit the hallway. From the hallway, it’ll be another handful of steps to the front door of the farmhouse, and then I’m out.
Just like all the other times the old alphas have howled at us to gather, I was one of the last to arrive. Last one in means the first one out. It also means an almost bearable distance between me and whichever alpha happened to be in charge at the time. Tonight is no exception.
I take another half step back, my full attention on the new alpha in our midst whom I’m slowly backing away from, just like all my packmates.
“Sierra Stone.” The new alpha’s voice is a low growl that electrifies me.
My packmates twist and turn just enough that suddenly the only thing between us is empty space.
Piercing green eyes, framed with long dark lashes a shade darker than his chestnut brown hair, land on me— directly on me—for the first time. And I do what no self-respecting wolf shifter would ever do: I freeze like a deer caught in headlights.