Chapter 12: Jamie

12

JAMIE

O ut in the hallway, the closed doors to the ballroom muffle the sounds of the jubilant wolves beyond. Nobody has won anything yet but let them party tonight and be sick tomorrow. That suits me just fine. Not only will it give me an edge, but it also proves to the judges they’re not serious about the competition.

Maybe that’s exactly why Dean and Blake are throwing it, to see who’s dumb enough to stay out half the night and ruin their chances at whatever hell they have planned for us in the morning.

I stop, wondering where Dean snuck off too. My wolf is constantly looking for him, unable to relax. I can’t scent him out here, but he never returned to the ballroom, either. He’s surely not so uninterested in what’s taking place that he’s retired to his room already, has he?

Maybe, if he has a woman there.

An image of Dean, naked in bed, covered only by a thin sheet from the waist down, gleaming tanned abs on display, floats unbidden into my mind.

“What is wrong with you?” Wyatt hisses, when my steps falter and I swallow hard, trying to get a hold of myself. My gaze drifts down the long, currently empty hallway. This could be the perfect opportunity to find out more about him and his pack.

My brother’s already at the foot of the ornate staircase when he realises that I’m no longer at his side. He waits, one boot resting on the bottom step, and glares at where I stand rooted to the spot. Everyone is busy. Dean’s gone goodness only knows where. This is too good an opportunity to pass up. If I wasn’t so consumed with Dean, I’d already have thought of it.

Wyatt narrows his eyes and shakes his head.

WYATT: Don’t do it.

He knows better than to expect me to listen. He may be bigger, but we’re equals. His commands register as no more than an enthusiastic suggestion and do nothing to sway me from my plans.

WYATT: We should be thankful we got in and made it through this evening without getting into a fight with anyone. Don’t push our luck.

I wave away his concern and point upstairs, telling him to go ahead.

With a frustrated shake of his head, he turns to join me, always my protective shadow, but I raise my hand.

JAMIE: We can’t risk both of us getting kicked out. We need you to actually win. You go to bed, and I’ll see what I can find.

WYATT: This is a bad idea.

The best ones always seem that way at first.

JAMIE: His office is down there. I’ll make sure to steer clear.

The alpha’s office and boardroom are on one side of the property. He’ll be stewing down there, sulking over the shifter invasion he doesn’t want and was probably forced into by Blake Steel. I’ll stick to the other wing.

Wyatt rolls his eyes, but does as I say, continuing up the stairs, his hand trailing along the polished wooden bannister, making sure to leave an obvious scent trail, so hopefully, anyone looking for us will assume we’ve both gone to our rooms.

As I stand there, waiting for him to disappear from sight, I smile at a young girl hurrying past with a tray of soft drinks.

“Excuse me,” I say politely. “May I ask you something?”

She practically skids to a halt halfway down the hall, and I hear her heartbeat faster as I walk toward her. I feel bad now, forgetting once more that these wolves aren’t used to outsiders, let alone rogues. I should be more conscious of that.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I just…”

The girl stares up at me, wide-eyed, and I give her my kindest, most gentle smile. It feels a bit rusty.

Her apron says Ava, so I run with that. “Ava, do you like it here?”

She narrows her eyes, immediately suspicious.

“It’s just… I wondered whether many people left after the old alpha passed. Looking for a fresh start or a change of scenery. It must be hard to stay somewhere with so many… memories.”

Ava’s expression softens, and she smiles back. “You’ll see for yourself tomorrow. There is nowhere more beautiful than Silver Creek.”

The urge to disagree with her is immediate. She’s never been anywhere else. Of course, she thinks it’s lovely. But there’s no point arguing with a brainwashed teenager.

“And as for the old alpha…” Ava bites her lip and dips her head, looking around to make sure nobody’s listening. My pulse quickens. Maybe she’s going to tell me something useful. “Once Graham was dead, there was no reason to leave.”

She just smiles at me, completely openly, no guile or deceit in her body language or scent that I can detect. She’s not holding back out of fear, either.

Huh. How about that? She really loves it here.

“But what about Dean? He seems a bit… you know, grumpy.” I make it sound like I’m teasing, and she laughs along.

“Dean’s the best.” Her expression goes all dreamy as she thinks about her handsome alpha. “I think he started that rumour so people would leave him alone. But he’s been nothing less than incredible since he took over. Don’t worry, it’s safe here now.”

It’s clear she has a little crush, and I don’t blame her. He may be a jerk, but he’s a good-looking one. No woman could deny how attractive he is.

I want to ask more, but I’m nervous about being too obvious, so I hold back.

“Thanks Ava.” I smile and nod, allowing the teenager to go back to her duties with an uneasy feeling in my gut.

Everything I hear about this man is a complete contradiction. Ava makes it sounds like he should be alpha of the year, where everyone else who meets him declares him abrupt or even downright rude.

Which is the real Dean Reynolds?

The man who just stormed out of the welcoming dinner is no teddy bear, no matter what Ava’s teenage crush might make her believe.

Scoffing, I turn away from where Ava disappears into the ballroom, tiptoeing past the turn for Dean’s office.

I make for the back of the house, curiosity driving me forward. My wolf is pushing me, hard, to keep searching. She wants to find out about this place as much as I do. And about who might still be trapped here.

As I drift from room to room, mentally matching each space with the layout I have burned into my brain, I note some changes. The older wolves I’ve asked about the packhouse, who visited before the pack was closed off from the outside world, recalled it being bright and airy.

Now decorated with dark wood and thick heavy drapes, that’s not how I’d describe it. The furnishings, once expensive and luxurious, look tired and dated. Only the large living room, obviously used regularly by the entire pack, has been redone in bright colours and comfortable seating. I pass a casual dining room and a giant kitchen, which seem to be the main rooms used in the house. Everything else has been left to age.

Poking around satisfies the itch I have to explore and see if it’s how I imagined, but it’s not telling me any more about the man himself. There’s very little of his scent anywhere other than the halls. Does he not spend time with his pack? Is he too aloof to hang out with them?

Wolves are pack animals; we crave that social connection. That’s why being a rogue is such a terrible thing. Often used as a punishment, it’s the equivalent to being handed a death sentence, because eventually most wolves are driven feral by the isolation.

Having Wyatt with me is the only way I’ve remained sane.

As I wander through the expansive house, breathing in every scent, I feel calmer and connected to my mother in a way I never have. But at the same time, new questions flood my mind. Our mum was so young when Graham Reynolds took her away, a single mother, a young widow with two small children and no money.

Was she impressed by the splendour of the place? This house must have been intimidating to a small-town girl like her.

Dean’s father had once been a wonderful alpha by all accounts before his breakdown. The pack was wealthy and well respected. Yet, our mother didn’t bring us with her when she left, even knowing she’d be taking on the role of stepmother to Dean and Maya.

What kind of mother leaves their children behind? And what kind of man keeps her from them?

Did he convince her that the rumours of his madness were nothing more than that? Did he promise her that leaving us was temporary and then never let her off his land again?

Or was she so enthralled by the treasured mate bond that she willingly ignored all the warning signs to try to bring her mate back from the brink of madness?

I’ll never understand what was going through her head. Unless I find her and speak to her.

Moving deeper into the bowels of the house, I leave the friendly open living spaces behind and slip from closed room to closed room. Storage closets. A dark, dusty library that looks like it’s rarely used. There’s a huge gym, one wall covered from ceiling to floor with mirrors, and fitted out with every conceivable piece of equipment. Dean’s scent is heavy here, along with his beta’s.

My knees wobble with the combination of his musky smell mingled with sweat. I can picture him in here, expression grim, as he works his body to exhaustion. Punishing himself

Next door is a medical clinic of some kind, basic in nature, but with two treatment bays all set up and fully stocked for the days ahead. No doubt, this room will see some action as the competition progresses. The smell of antiseptic makes it hard to distinguish any scents in here, but it doesn’t seem to be heavily used. Not like it probably used to be when Dean’s father was in charge.

Across from the treatment room is an office with four desks in the middle, all facing each other, and happy looking plants decorating the shelves, with a large ficus thriving in the corner. A smiling woman with a baby in her arms stares up at me from a picture frame on one desk. There’s a mug that says My favourite employee gave me this mug in hot pink. It sits in pride of place on a table that has Callum’s scent etched into it.

On the very next table, there’s a matching one that says, Not the worst employee, I guess.

I smile, then frown, confused, and my unease continues to grow. It all just seems so normal and mundane for a pack with such a poor reputation. I can’t work it out.

Before coming here, I expected everyone under Dean’s command to be afraid of him. Yet they stayed, even after his father was dead. Seeing personal touches on people’s desks, smiling photos and hints that they don’t actually hate it here is messing with my mind.

It doesn’t tally with the perma-scowling version of Dean I’ve witnessed so far.

Puzzled, I continue my search. Further down the hall, I find an adorable playroom, decorated in cheery colours with a giant mural of a running wolf pack painted on one wall. There are boxes spilling over with toys at one end, a library stacked with books, large foam playmats in the centre, and three small tables and chairs near a sink and fridge at the other.

The scent of pups has my ovaries fluttering. I don’t know why, but the idea that this pack has childcare stuns me more than anything else. Finger painted pictures hang pinned to a noticeboard, and even though it’s hard to see snooping with the lights off, I can tell one of the children has painted a picture of Dean. It must be him. Taller than everyone else, dark hair, wide shoulders. Except… frowning, I reach out and touch it. He’s smiling.

Huffing, I turn away. Kids really do have great imaginations.

Moving on, I find a few empty bedrooms, office supplies and a mudroom filled with rain gear and spare changes of clothing for shifting wolves. Spinning around in the doorway, I stare back down the corridor, perplexed. Is that it?

Nothing here suggests Dean, or his father, has a purpose-built torture chamber, a dungeon filled with lost souls, or a lab where they experiment on small fluffy animals. Or, at least not within the confines of the packhouse.

The boring sameness of it all is disconcerting. It’s just like any other packhouse.

My wolf is relieved, her adoration of the handsome alpha clouding her judgement. She wants him to be good. There are plenty of remote locations in a pack this big to hide someone, or something, that you don’t want found, I remind her. She pouts but says nothing, firmly on Team Dean.

Maybe spending so much time alone with just my brother has made her go gaga for the first non-related male we’ve seen in a while. Dean is sexy, I’ll give her that, in a strong, silent, kind of annoying way.

I’m about to give up and return to my welcoming bedroom when I spot another cupboard door, partially hidden by an umbrella stand, just inside the rear entrance. It’s not full height, but someone could fit through it, I reason, as my instincts draw me closer. With a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure nobody is watching me; I move further into the mudroom. There are semi-circular scratches on the floor in front of it.

This door is opened regularly. Then why put the stand right in the way?

To hide it, is the obvious answer. My heart hammers in my chest as I realise that I might have found something important here. Either that, or it’s where they keep the toilet roll. Really, really expensive toilet roll.

Quietly, I push the umbrella stand to the side and stare wide-eyed at the last thing I expect to see—a fingerprint scanner. It’s attached to the wall, but down low, just above knee height. Also hidden. Knowing already it won’t budge; I push against the locked door to test its heft. It’s solid, heavier than the other internal doors in the packhouse. Whatever’s behind it must be important.

I stand back, hands on my hips and I know, just know, that I need to see what’s behind that door. Its location makes no sense. Safe rooms are always in the middle of the house, away from entrances and exits, making them easier for occupants of the property to get to at the first sign of trouble. If you have to run past your intruders to get to it, it’s useless.

This door hides something else entirely.

Ears pricked; I listen to the faint noises from the party down the hall. Laughter and music drift along the empty hallways. Everyone else is otherwise occupied and having way too much fun to notice little old me giving myself an impromptu tour of the house. I might not get the chance to be here alone again. The competition is tomorrow, and then after that, who knows what will happen.

Knowing Wyatt would be furious with me if he could see what I was up to, I scour the room, trying to find anything I might be able to open the panel on the scanner with. Briefly, I consider lifting the heavy stand and bashing the door in with it, but it’s too strong for me to break through. Plus, even if I get in, the noise will attract attention before I get the chance to explore.

Quickly, I pull open all the drawers and rifle through cubbyholes to find something, anything sharp that I could use to tamper with the scanner. Standing up on a bench, I scour the high shelf above, mentally rejoicing when I find an emergency supplies box, complete with toolkit, flashlights, candles and matches.

With an exciting fist pump, I drag the box toward me as quietly as I can until it’s hanging half off the shelf. Placing my palm underneath so I can feel its weight, I slide it further, trying to take it down without dropping anything.

“Need some help with that?” Dean’s deep voice, quiet but laced with anger, gives me the fright of my life.

I jump, startled, and with a humiliating shriek, lose my grip on the box. The evidence of my snooping slips from my hands. I reach for it in the almost pitch black, trying to catch it before it hits the ground, but I’m too late. It crashes to the ground. As I step away, wincing at the loud noise, I realise there’s nothing behind me to step on.

My foot meets fresh air and, arms flailing, I topple back, straight into the waiting arms and rock-hard chest of one very pissed off alpha. For a beat, I freeze, his warmth seeping into my back and marvelling at the ease with which he’s holding me. His scent wraps around me and my body melts where we touch.

His biceps flex as he lifts me carefully by the waist until I’m standing on my own two feet, but when I have my balance, he doesn’t let go. His palms burn into the bare flesh at my midriff, his grip possessively tight as he holds me in place.

I close my eyes, enjoying his touch far too much, and swallow back a moan of pleasure. How long has it been since I’ve had a gorgeous man’s hands on me?

Far too long, judging by my body's reaction.

My breathing is uneven, and adrenaline floods my veins. I wait, wait for him to yell or shout, but instead, he stays very still, his chest rising and falling quickly.

So briefly, I think I imagined it, his fingertips gliding over the delicate skin at my hip bones as he releases me. It feels almost like a caress when he gently catches the edge of my top and pulls it back down to meet the waistband of my trousers, covering me up. When he eases back, only a few inches, I’m disappointed. I want more touch, and more of his heat wrapped around my body.

Too nervous to turn around, too scared that my thoughts are written all over my face, I wait. I’m about to be unceremoniously dumped from the competition for being an idiot. Nothing I say here will matter anyway.

Instead, I concentrate on breathing. Something that should be easy, but not when Dean’s presence is filling my senses. All I can smell is him, and it’s making it impossible to maintain my train of thought.

When I pull in a ragged breath, all it does is pull his heady scent deeper inside me, branding the very fibre of my being, until I’m completely blown away by this power he has over me. I love it and hate it at the same time.

“What are you up to, little rogue?” His breath stirs the back of my hair, and I shiver, as he presses his nose to the back of my neck and inhales. A low rumble starts deep inside his chest, and I shift, pressing my thighs together to smother the tell-tale scent of my arousal.

I don’t like this guy, I remind myself. He’s not mine. But my wolf, and my body, don’t care. Instead of acting as disinterested as he is, I’m dripping wet for a man any smart she-wolf would be afraid of.

Dean groans, husky and raw, the vibrations of the sound travelling through my needy body, straight to my core.

“Jamie,” he snarls, as he leans down and whispers in my ear. “I think you’d better come with me. We need to talk.”