Twenty Six year old Blake Hunter is the Alpha of the largest pack in the region. Finding his mate is the last thing on his mind.
But, in the midst of dealing with uninvited relations, aspiring future Lunas and increasing rogue attacks on his easter...
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A silence enveloped the room, much like the thick fog that had lain like a blanket on the ground outside.
"Well?" Sarah shot daggers at the two pompous socialites standing in front of her. "I doubt you've interrupted my morning simply for the pleasure of my company?"
The two men stared at her in startled surprise - rabbits caught in the gaze of a predator.
Sarah had lived a long life, and navigated the social hierarchy of no less than seven different packs to get where she was today. Along the way she had discovered a universal truth: Socialites are the bane of an Alpha's existence.
Part of the problem of course, was money. Most of the higher-ranking families had a certain level of wealth; the Cartwrights for example, were a fourth-generation family with a healthy bank account that came with an ingrained sense of superiority attached to it.
Outside the packs, in a world that revolved around the thickness of your wallet, they were automatically considered high-class and worthy of a certain level of respect. But within the hierarchy of a wolf-pack, money counted for very little. Every family within the pack contributed a portion of their income to the pack's coffers; the more you earned, the more you gave.
The money was divided amongst the community, ensuring that even the lowest wolf was well looked after. Respect, position and power were earned, not bought. However, every now and then - comfortable in their little bubbles of high-society - the families needed reminding that their position in the pack could be stripped away just as easily as it was granted.
Sarah considered it her solemn duty to pull them down a peg or two as often as possible. She allowed her disdainful gaze to wander over the wolves in the room, carefully gauging their reactions.
"I'm waiting," she reminded them, her patience wearing thin.
The man, for all his outward display of superiority, shifted uncomfortably on the thick carpet. His polished shoes scuffed the elegantly woven threads as his feet shuffled back and forth in an unconscious display of nerves.
Male wolves were raised to mind their mothers, and Sarah was the ultimate matriarch of the Hunter dynasty; Eric's reaction was both instinctive and heavily controlled by his exasperated wolf. He blanched further still at the mention of their Alpha's wrath; the bravado of the man wavering in the face of true authority.
Her wolf nodded in satisfaction. He was a man, and men were easy to deal with. His wife on the other hand...
Angela's mother, Penelope, had paid the other wolves little attention so far. Her haughty, accusatory glare was fixed on the red head at the centre of the morning's drama. Her wolf, barely shackled, lingered behind those maliciously dark eyes and she stood slightly ahead of her husband. Her stance deliberately set to lean slightly forward in a coordinated display of dominance.
The overall effect was impressive. Certainly powerful enough to cow any lower-ranking wolf. Sarah found it merely irritating. She began to see where the daughter had learned her overly inflated sense of self-importance.
