“I know you, Aren. You’re never happier than when you’re getting what you want. It’s the Alpha’s way.”
“But I?—”
He opens a drawer. “I’m busy.”
My scowl deepens. “No, you’re not.”
He dumps a handful of bandages on his desk.
“I’m counting bandages, and it’s a task that requiresallmy focus.” He starts loudly counting, and I know I’ve outstayed my welcome.
Shaking my head, I leave him to a task I’m positive he only started to get rid of me.
Seeing Gregor wasn’t the only reason I came to the bunkhouse. He was just the first task on my list. I have a wrong to make right, and that’s never easy.
This bunkhouse was hand-built by the first members of Pack Kasen decades ago. I feel the love and care they put into this building full of single rooms, double rooms, family suites, sharedbathrooms, dens, and even kitchenettes when any of my twenty-strong pack don’t want to eat in the main house’s dining room.
The infirmary is the first door in a one-story building that houses most of the pack, and I walk down the hallway to get to the rest of the rooms.
The Alpha of Pack Kasen has always had the bedroom in the main house, on the top level, with the best views of the mountains.
It’s late morning, and the sounds of laughter, conversation, pups playing, and TVs and radios merge as I pass partially open doors. Long strobe lights illuminate the hallway, almost always left on because people are almost always bouncing between the bunkhouse to sleep and rest, and the main house to eat and watch TV.
Mostly, we’re outside on the good days, when the sun is blisteringly hot, and even on the days it buckets down with rain. We run in the forests, play in the creek, hunt, grow what we can, and buy what we can’t grow and make ourselves.
To be a shifter is to be free.
My packmates wave and smile as I pass their rooms, asking about Kat.
“Doing better,” I tell them, waving off their invitation to come inside for a drink or snack.
I stop when I reach a closed door.
It’s never been in my nature to hesitate, but I hesitate for a beat and knock once.
“Come in!” a male voice calls out.
I grab the handle, turn it, and walk inside.
Jasper is sitting at a small wooden desk, writing a letter.
His bed is neatly made, his window that overlooks the creek is open, and a small zipped-up duffel sits beside the bed.
This is one of the simpler rooms. He hasn’t hung any pictures or done anything to make it look like he might be interested in staying. The zipped bag is a big clue why.
I push the door closed behind me and ignore the tension in his shoulders. “You’re leaving.”
He sets his pen down, and after a moment, looks up at me. There’s a wariness in his gaze that wasn’t there when he first arrived at Burning Wood. “I figured maybe this isn’t the right place for me.”
“Because you don’t like this pack?”
He shakes his head. “Because Kat?—”
I lean my head against the wall and cross my arms. “What happened to Kat wasn’t your fault. It’s more mine than anyone’s. Cristofer’s too, but I’ll get to him in time. If you want to make Burning Wood home, I have no complaints.”
He stares at me.
I continue, “Yes, I nearly killed you, but I wasn’t thinking straight at the time. I don’t go around attempting to kill members of my pack. Ask them. My growl is worse than my bite.”
