With Willow and Tern safely out of the way and the promise of a sandwich as big as Tern’s head to further entice the little one, Walker jogged up the stairs and into the crowd. He had to use every advantage to try and make his way through, elbows and hands and hips moving and shoving because people were so tightly packed in.
One male, whose name sat mostly forgotten on the end of Walker’s tongue, turned to him with a glare, his mouth opening in a snarl.
“What the hell are you playing—” the color drained out of his face the moment the male realized just whom he was talking to. He moved out of the sharpish, breathing as though to himself, “The alpha. It’s the alpha.”
Of course, others heard.
The crowd began to turn, as in sync as a school of mackerel, dozens of eyes alighting on him
