Bite Me Harder, Alpha

Chapter 9: Sienna

The hall empties the way a storm clears, leaving everything changed.

I watch the last wolf disappear through the carved wooden doors, and then there is nothing. Just me, the vast silence of the Revenant Pack’s meeting hall, and Kieran Byrne.

He exhales. It’s a long, slow sound, like a man releasing something he has been holding for hours. His shoulders drop a fraction. Not much. Just enough for me to notice.

He doesn’t look at me.

“You should be terrified,” he says. His voice is flat, like he’s stating a weather forecast and not talking to me about my own survival.

I think about lying. I think about straightening my spine and giving him the fearless version of myself I’ve been performing all evening.

“I am,” I say instead.

That surprises him. I see it in the slight tension at the corner of his jaw.

“But not of you.”

He finally turns to look at me, and there is something in his expression I can’t name. Not softness. Not quite. But something cracked open underneath all that iron.

He doesn’t answer. He just looks at me for one long, suspended moment.

Then he nods toward the door. “Walk with me.”

Delete

I shouldn’t be able to hear them.

But as I follow Kieran through the stone corridor, the whispers reach me anyway. Wolves don’t bother to be subtle. Or maybe they want me to hear. Maybe that’s the point.

Weak.

Human.

Bait.

I keep my chin up. I keep my pace steady. I tell myself I’m a researcher. I’ve spent three years studying apex predators. This is field work. This is —

A young wolf steps directly into my path.

He’s barely older than me. Brown hair, pale eyes, a jaw set with contempt. He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, letting his size do the talking, and lets out a low sound from the back of his throat. Not a growl. Something worse. A dismissal.

The air around me changes before I can react.

Kieran appears. He doesn’t run. He doesn’t shout. He simply steps between us, and the weight of his presence falls over the corridor as a stone dropped into still water. Every wolf within twenty feet goes rigid.

The young wolf drops his gaze immediately. His shoulders cave. He actually takes a step back.

“That won’t happen again,” Kieran says. Quiet. Absolute. He’s not speaking to me.

The young wolf dips his chin and disappears.

Kieran turns to the corridor at large — the half-dozen wolves who’ve stopped to watch — and says three words.

“Touch her. Answer to me.”

I can feel the stares on my back, and underneath them, the beginning of something shifting. The story is spreading. The Alpha stood between a pack of wolves and a human. The Alpha claimed her as his responsibility. In their language — in the silent, instinctual grammar of pack hierarchy — that means something I don’t have the academic vocabulary for yet.

Something that makes my pulse beat a little faster than it should.

Delete

The forest swallows us whole.

We walk the tree line in silence, the kind that doesn’t need filling. The moon is up, fat and pale, throwing silver across the ground in broken shapes. Somewhere in the dark, I can hear water running over stone.

I’m trying to pay attention to the sounds, the smell of pine and night-cold air, the soft crunch of the path underfoot — anything to stop paying attention to him. It isn’t working.

He stops.

No warning. No reason I can see. He just stops walking, and his hand closes around my wrist, and the world compresses down to that single point of contact.

He turns me gently but inexorably, and before I can form a question, his nose brushes against the curve of my neck.

He inhales.

The sound is low. Careful. Like he’s doing something dangerous and knows it.

A shiver moves through me from my throat to my heels.

“Your scent,” he says. His voice has dropped to something I feel more than hear. “It’s getting worse.”

“Worse?”

“For my control.”