His Stray

Lucas did not want to be alpha, but he didn’t see a way around it. He had spent the last year trying to come up with every excuse under the sun, but none of them were solid enough. Except the truth. He was never supposed to be alpha. Landon was. But their father had made his choice, and now Lucas was driving up the long gravel path toward the Gray Rock pack house, his stomach twisted in knots. The house came into view around the last bend, perched on a low rise of stone that gave the pack its name. It wasn’t the sprawling palace some larger packs boasted, but it was sturdy and old, unmistakably Gray Rock. It stood two stories tall, just large enough to house the Alpha, Beta, and Gamma wings, along with the pack dining hall. As a kid, it had always looked imposing. Now it felt more like a prison. Behind it stood the warriors’ barracks, and off to the left, almost hidden by the trees, was a small house Lucas tried not to look at it as he parked. He sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, breathing in the scent of pine drifting through his open window. Anything to stall walking through those doors. Anything to postpone the expectations waiting inside. But he couldn’t stop himself. His eyes drifted to the small house at the edge of the tree line. It looked more dilapidated than he remembered, the roof sagging low, one of the shutters hanging loose. Why hadn’t his father taken care of it? Kept it up? Did he really care so little? Lucas already knew the answer. Yes, his father cared that little. It had been the story of his childhood. Suddenly his thoughts were full of her, the last time he’d seen her standing under the moonlight, her honey hair catching silver, smiling at him like he had hung the stars just for her. Would he see her today? He hoped not. He hoped she had left during the three years he’d been gone. He hoped she had found a better life far from this place. A sharp rap on the hood snapped him out of it. Lucas looked up to see Landon standing there, arms crossed, scowling. Lucas was as tall as his older brother, but Landon was broader. Thick arms and barrel-chested, he looked every inch the Alpha heir, his chestnut hair swept back from his face, his dark brown eyes nearly black. “Get out of the damn car,” Landon barked. Lucas sighed, climbing out and shutting the door a little too carefully. Landon’s glare was the same as always, a mixture of rage and contempt. “So the prodigal son returns,” Landon drawled. “You enjoy your little vacation at the academy? Or did they figure out you’re just another spoiled Alpha’s brat?” Lucas clenched his jaw. “Good to see you too, Landon.” His brother snorted. “Sure. Save it, little brother. Dad’s waiting to see his precious baby boy.” Without waiting for a reply, Landon shoved past him, shoulder slamming into Lucas’s. Lucas watched him stalk off toward the training grounds, old guilt stirring in his chest. He drew in another breath, squared his shoulders, and headed inside. The pack house foyer was cool and shadowed, the familiar scent of old wood and stone grounding him in memories he wished he could forget. He didn’t bother dropping his bag in his old room. His father would expect him right away. Lucas walked down the hall toward the Alpha’s office, every step tightening the knot in his gut. When he stepped inside, his father stood from behind his heavy oak desk, arms outstretched in greeting. His father was still tall and just as broad as Landon. His brown hair had gone gray at the temples, but his dark eyes, so like Landon’s, remained sharp and assessing. “Lucas!” the Alpha boomed, a broad smile splitting his weathered face. For a heartbeat, Lucas almost believed it. Then he caught the edge of tension in his father’s eyes, the faint twitch of annoyance, the disappointment that always hovered close to the surface. Lucas let himself be pulled into a rough embrace, the scent of his father’s power and authority pressing down on him as tangibly as his grip. “It’s good to have you home, son,” his father said. “Gray Rock is ready for its future Alpha.” He motioned for Lucas to sit in one of the chairs across the desk before taking his own. “I’m glad we finally put this whole investigator training behind you.” Lucas fought not to bristle. Three years at the Werewolf Academy, preparing to be the next alpha, and he had stumbled into a class on the council’s Investigation Department while hunting for an easy elective. It had sounded interesting enough, simple enough, so he signed up without thinking. He hadn’t expected to be drawn in so completely. Before he realized what he was doing, he was taking every investigator class he could, even advanced courses meant for wolves planning that as a career. Not exactly the path of an alpha heir. Halfway through his final year, one of his instructors encouraged him to apply to the Investigative Institute, a selective program that trained werewolves for two more years to serve the council. Lucas had been accepted. The program would start in three months. When he brought it up to his father, the old man had shut it down immediately. Lucas swallowed hard. He had always wanted to make his father proud. But being Alpha had never been his dream. And it was even less appealing now, knowing what it had cost him. Especially her. ** Celia tied her long hair up into a messy bun on top of her head before pulling her chef’s cap over it. She slipped on a stained white apron, fastening it as she walked over to wash her hands. “How’s prep coming?” she called to Darcy. Darcy gave her a long-suffering look. “Fantastic,” she deadpanned, then went back to chopping vegetables. Celia smirked as she dried her hands and started pulling spices from the cabinet. “This is the most complex stew,” Darcy complained while Celia moved to check the pot she had left simmering since morning. The beef smelled thick and rich, so savory she could almost taste it. “It’s spring,” Darcy continued. “Hardly the time for stew anyway.” That was technically true, but Celia had no intention of telling Darcy the real reason they were making it. “It’s been rainy and cool the last two weeks,” Celia said. “A nice hearty stew will help the warriors.” That was also true. April was slowly bleeding into May, but it didn’t feel like it. It had been unseasonably cold and wet, after what seemed like an endlessly long winter. Before Celia could say anything else, Hazel and Brady came in, shrugging out of their jackets. They offered gruff hellos and moved straight to their tasks. That was what Celia appreciated about the kitchen staff. They were a solid, hardworking crew. While Celia considered Darcy a friend, her only real friend, she knew Hazel and Brady were not fond of her. Like most of the pack, they looked at Celia and saw the stray. They whispered about her behind her back and called her names. Stray. Freak. Witch. Except Celia was a werewolf. They all knew it. She had manifested her wolf at sixteen just like everyone else, but four years later, opinions of her hadn’t improved. Still, Brady and Hazel never let it interfere with their work. They showed up on time every day and did whatever was asked without complaint, unlike others she had worked with before. Even if she could feel their distaste rolling off them in waves, she chose to let it go. She had become the head chef for the pack house at just eighteen, right after her mother’s death. The Alpha hadn’t even blinked when he offered her the job. She had grown up cooking here anyway. And she loved it. Cooking was tied to happy memories with her mother. Even if the pack didn’t care much for her, they loved her food. “Did you hear that Lucas is home?” Darcy asked as she cut up the last of the vegetables. “Got back a few hours ago. I saw his car parked out front.” Celia tried to act like this news didn’t bother her. She did, in fact, know Lucas was home. Her father had been talking about it endlessly. He wanted to make sure the hedges looked good for young Alpha Lucas. Had to be sure the weeds were pulled before young Alpha Lucas arrived. The rain was making it hard to cut the grass in time for young Alpha Lucas. She had heard about it for the last two weeks and was sick of it. She had enough of Lucas to last a lifetime. Every mention of his name felt like the twisting of a knife he had buried in her heart three years ago. “Is that why we’re making this stew?” Hazel asked. Damn Hazel. Leave it to her to be so observant. “What?” Darcy’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “It’s his favorite, right?”