The closer I got to home, the more aware I was of the rest of the pack, and the more aware they were of me. Being alpha meant that the others didn’t have an all-access pass to my mind, the way I did to theirs, but even without the benefits of the pack-bond, my friends knew me well enough to know that a quiet Rose meant Trouble with a capital T.
I wasn’t altogether surprised to find someone waiting for me at the clearing.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
If ever a werewolf had mastered the art of yelling from the diaphragm, it was Mac. Like a knight guarding a princess’s tower, he put his hands on his hips and threw his head back haughtily.
I could so feel a Monty Python impression coming on.
“’Tis I,” I yelled back, playing along. “Queen Rose.”
With any luck, I could distract my best friend—a
