Chapter 5: Meeting of Alphas

There are a lot of perks to being a werewolf. But right now, the one that I am most appreciative of is that I don’t get hangovers anymore. In fact, by the time Greg left my hotel room around three in the morning, we were both already sober. And now, just five hours later, I’m waking up with nothing more than a bad taste in my mouth and a need to take a shower.

I don’t feel dirty in the sense of being ashamed of what I did with any of my new friends. I’m not ashamed at all. It felt right. I’ve never done much with other women, but I woke up curious to try more with Helliot.

Greg was a caring lover, and almost as obedient as Freddy. I think Freddy likes the actual domination thing. Greg might also, but I don’t think he’s aware of it yet. But he was very attentive, he paid attention to my pleasure rather than his own, and he didn’t just pump like a jackhammer and then roll off me when he finished. We had a legitimately good time.

It’s made this whole weekend feel more worthwhile. No matter what happens in the next few hours, I’ve had fun. Helliot has already started a text thread for the four of us, and we’re definitely getting lunch. First, though, we’re meeting with the alphas of the established packs.

There are, near as I can tell, about a hundred fresh unpacked wolves here, and there are only twelve packs represented. Each alpha is in his own little room, and the hallway has a map of the local region, with the pack’s territory shaded in so we can find where we want to live and see if there’s an alpha there.

There are only four rooms for the part of Minnesota where I live. It’s basically the four cardinal directions around the Twin Cities.

I’m about to go in and meet with Jonathan Venti, the alpha of the Anoka pack. They’re technically located in Anoka Minnesota, but their territory borders both on St Cloud and Fridley. It’s a pretty huge area. But most packs seem to have a lot of space. Which makes sense; the packs are pretty big, and there aren’t that many werewolves in the world. At least, there didn’t used to be.

According to my research, there used to be about ten thousand of us in the entire country. There are now almost fifteen thousand. It’s kind of mind-blowing.

When I go into the room where Jonathan is supposed to be sitting, I find myself in a waiting room. There are half a dozen other people already here. Stepping into the room, I feel like I just walked into an old-timey saloon, and the record player just skipped.

A feeling washes over me as my wolf takes the measure of the six wolves around me. I feel a growl in the back of my throat, and nearly laugh at myself for it. I’m not in any danger. None of them seem to be threatening me. The two that look at me both give me that stare of seeing whether or not I’m going to say something offensive. None of them are aggressive.

It’s a momentary thing, that feeling like my hackles are rising and then settling back down as my inner wolf brushes against the other wolves in the room. As I walk over to one of the empty chairs, I see that the men sitting on either side of it move to cross their legs, actually giving me more space than there would otherwise have been.

I could get used to this.

I settle in for a wait, but when the door opens and the young woman comes out to get us, she takes one look at the group and immediately her focus is drawn to me. “Would you like to come in?” she asks me. No one argues that they were first, all of them seeming content to let me skip the line.

I take a look around to make sure no one is going to protest, and then I stand up and head into the room to meet this Jonathan Venti guy.

The girl waves for me to go in, staying out in the waiting room as if she’s standing guard as I close the door behind me and look across the room at the guy who, in theory, might become my alpha.

I don’t know if I’m expecting to get that same kind of sexual rush when I look at him, or if I expect him to be terrifying. He’s sitting behind a desk, in a powerful position but not displaying any kind of aggression. There are two chairs in front of the desk, and I can tell they’ll be lower down than him when people sit in them.

From across the room, I can see that he is a bit older than me, though probably not much. Of course, that means nothing. Connor didn’t look four hundred. I need to reset my biases. Okay, forget age, Em. What can you tell by looking at him?

His hair is well kept like he goes to the barber on a weekly basis. He’s got a perfectly styled Van Dyke goatee, looks like he has a personal trainer, and looks like the kind of guy who gets massages after a day at the gym three times a week. There’s a class ring on his right hand, a watch that looks like it costs more than most cars, and a white gold necklace that disappears under his designer t-shirt. He’s working a sports jacket and a pair of tortoiseshell glasses that I know are just for appearances.

I instantly dislike him.

It’s not just that he’s radiating the kind of casual money that always makes me think about all that’s wrong with capitalism. It’s not just the superior look in his gray eyes. It’s not just the posture of a man used to his word being obeyed. There’s something else. Something more.

I take a few steps closer and the feeling clarifies. This time, I actually do growl.

I can hear it, but it’s not quite as loud as the rumbling growl that comes from him. His face twists in a flash of a snarl, and his knuckles go white as he presses his hands together. He looks like he’s ready to jump across the desk and attack me.

And I don’t think he has friendly things in mind when he grabs me.

My back itches, right between my shoulder blades, and I can feel my fingernails digging into my palms as my hands form fists. He looks like he wants to attack me, and part of me wants him to try, if only so I can beat that smug look off his face.

“You.” he says, one word filled with threat.