CHAPTER 5
MALCOLM SAT IN THEpack’s makeshift library, a converted storage room in a warehouse—nicknamed the Old Packhouse—surrounded by towering stacks of books.
The musty scent of old paper filled his nostrils, mingling with the faint smell of wood polish and leather.Sunlight streamed through the single window, dust motes dancing in the golden beams, illuminating titles on strategy, leadership, and pack law.
Maybe Larissa had the right idea, buying her own books.
Then again, no human bookstore carried the volumes on pack law.
Malcolm rubbed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the page before him.The words swam, refusing to make sense.
Damn it, he thought, frustration building in his chest.Why is this so hard?
Malcolm had always been more comfortable with action than study.Give him a physical challenge, and he’d excel.
But this felt like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands.
A memory surfaced, unbidden.He was twelve years old, standing in the schoolyard with the other shifter children.Their strategy teacher, Mr.Harding, was explaining the rules of a new game—an exercise designed to mimic pack politics.
“Okay,” Mr.Harding said, his voice gruff but not unkind.“Your goal is to form alliances, negotiate treaties, and ultimately become the dominant pack.You have one hour.”
Malcolm was confident.He was strong, popular.Surely he’d win easily.
But as the game progressed, Larissa outmaneuvered him at every turn, weaving a complex web of alliances that left the other students scrambling to keep up.
In the end, Larissa emerged victorious, her “pack” the undisputed winner.
Malcolm was left with only two allies, betrayed and outplayed by a girl half his size.
Malcolm pushed the book away with a snarl, the legs of his chair scraping against the wooden floor as he stood.
He needed air, needed to move.
He stalked out of the library, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.The Old Packhouse creaked around him, as if sharing his restlessness.
Outside, the late afternoon sun warmed his skin, the fresh air clearing his head somewhat.
Almost without conscious thought, his feet carried him toward the training grounds.The sound of exertion and the thud of bodies hitting the ground reached his ears before he rounded the corner.
At its center, a group of younger pack members were engaged in combat practice.Malcolm recognized Owen, the young wolf he and Larissa had helped in town, grappling with another boy about his age.
As he approached, Owen managed to flip his opponent, pinning him to the ground.
A smile tugged at Malcolm’s lips.Now this, this I understand.
“Good form, Owen,” he called out, his deep voice resonating through the clearing.The young wolves immediately stopped their sparring, turning to face him.
“Malcolm!”Owen grinned, helping his sparring partner to his feet.“Want to show us some moves?”
For the next half hour, Malcolm lost himself in the rhythm of physical training.He demonstrated takedowns, blocks, and strikes, his body moving with the fluid grace of a predator.
This was where he was confident, where he knew his worth.
As he corrected Owen’s stance, Malcolm caught Larissa’s scent, and his head snapped up when she entered the clearing.
She moved with easy confidence, a stack of documents tucked under one arm.The late afternoon sunlight caught in her hair, highlighting strands of gold among the brown.
Malcolm’s throat went dry.
