Chapter 6: Hackles Rising and Teeth Bared

“You’re Jonathan,” I say, my own voice on the edge of a growl, a baritone note kind of rumbling through the undertone of my words. “I’m Emily Constance.”

“I know who you are,” he says. He takes a deep breath like he’s trying to calm himself down. But as his nostrils flair, he seems to think better of it. I take a step back breaking out of his grasp and he slams his hand down on the desk to center himself. “Connor warned me about you.”

“He did?” Despite the feeling like I’m about to get in a fight, something about that strikes me as odd. Connor and I only talked three times, and never in person.

Jonathan nods. “There are bound to be a few of you,” he says. “Alphas, I mean. Among all the new wolves.”

I almost respond with surprise, or like I didn’t realize that I was an alpha. But looking back, it’s so obvious that I feel like I’d look like an idiot trying to deny it. The way everyone has reacted to me, the way I react to other wolves. Of course; I’m an alpha.

“So then what? Do I just form my own pack?” Actually, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

“That’s a terrible idea,” Jonathan says with a frown. He gestures to a chair. I almost take the other chair just to spite him. Then I decide I don’t want to sit at all because I’m not going to let him talk down to me metaphorically, and I’m sure as heck not going to let him do it literally.

He frowns but doesn’t say anything.

“Why is that a terrible idea?” I ask.

“You don’t know how to lead a pack of wolves,” he says. “You don’t know much more than they do. You won’t be able to control them or teach them to control themselves. Maybe someday, sure. But not now. You have to learn how to be a wolf before you can learn to lead other wolves.”

That does make a certain amount of sense, but I don’t like it coming from him. “And is there some magic amount of time that I need to be in another pack before I can form my own?”

“Not technically, no. But give it a decade or two. Just long enough to get to know our ways. You need to learn how things work, how they are done.”

I shake my head. “You don’t know how things are done any more than I do,” I say. I hold up a hand before he can interrupt. “You know how things were done before. But things are different now. A third of all werewolves were normal humans four months ago. Old rules don’t apply.”

“Old rules apply now more than ever,” he says, his voice rising a little. I take a step back, but not out of fear; more to rebalance myself for a fight. Strange that I note the difference. “We do things the way we do for a reason. You have much to learn.”

I shake my head again, feeling more and more sure of what I’m saying. “The only thing you can teach me is what worked when wolves were in hiding. But we’re not in hiding anymore. Everyone knows we exist. If we want to stay out of the limelight, we need to be in smaller packs, not bigger ones. The way you’ve always done it is not the way to do it now.”

“You’re ignorant, and you sound like a pup when you say that.”

I take a breath to avoid saying things that would make the wallpaper peel. “Look,” I say. “I don’t think this is a good idea. You and me, I mean. I’m not going to join your pack, and I’m definitely not waiting a decade to figure out the right way to do things. So, um. Thank you for your time.”

“I could make you submit,” he says. It’s just under his breath, but it’s not the volume that matters. Something about it rumbles through the room, making my bones vibrate. I can feel the wolf inside me starting to stretch out.

My hands itch, my spine tingles, and my lips are twitching. I know this feeling. This is how I feel when I need to shift. When my inner wolf tries to push its way out, into control. And this jerk’s voice is somehow making it happen.

I will not obey his words. I will not let his voice control me. I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s like I’m somehow able to see the vibration of his voice, as if it were a physical thing, and grab onto it. I hold the vibration and peel it away from myself. As soon as I’ve broken contact, my wolf settles down and goes back to sleep.

I gasp for breath. That was not as easy as it looked.

“No,” I say, my voice barely controlled. “No, you can’t.”

He gives me a snort that is as ‘of derision’ as any I’ve ever heard. Still, there’s something in his eyes, like a combination of respect, pride, and fear. “You have good control over yourself,” he says, and it sounds like the concession is almost painful to him. “But there are other ways.”

“Are you threatening me?” I ask him. “Because it sounds like you’re threatening me. Like you want to fight me, physically.”

“And if I do? If I were to challenge you and beat you into submission?”

I frown at him. “You really think it’s a good idea to do that? To show the five thousand brand new werewolves that the old boy’s club is going to beat them down if they try to be themselves? That the only way to get your way is by being a bully?”

I have no illusions; if we get in a fight, he’s going to kick my ass. It has nothing to do with gender or size, either; he’s just got me on experience. In human form or in wolf form, I’m betting on him. I’m not a fighter, and I never have been. That might be something I need to change.