After Juan has finished making his announcement, the Santos file out of the room slowly, in a wave of murmurs and noises as they discuss what he said and where we go from here.
I can feel the tension thickening, the uneasiness, and the nervousness, as it sinks in that this is real and life as we know it is about to change dramatically.
Colton pulls me aside, tucking us out of the way of the door to let people pass, and he grabs a passing male who is very familiar to me.
âMateo, take Alora to our room and wait for me there. Assemble the pack. I want to talk to you all. I wonât be long. My father wants me.â
He nods toward the front of the room, where Juanâs still concealed by moving people, and I instantly feel sick with apprehension.
Being left with someone and separated from Colton reminds me that for all the things I am mad at him for, I still feel secure when with him.
His strength, his quiet confidence and air of control is the calm to my nervous floundering, and it only hits home that I need his presence more than I want to admit.
Heâs my safety net and the only person in the world who cares about me in any kind of way.
âDude, I donât think thatâs a good idea. Carmen and Alora in the same room⦠she willâ¦â
âAre you questioning me?â Coltonâs tone instantly changes, a growling snarl in the undertones, irritation fast to show his displeasure, and that aggressive air kicking in as Mateo looks away sheepishly.
He knows he overstepped the mark. Questioning of command never goes down well with alphas of any sort, especially not by one of his sub-pack.
And it shows me that Colton is way more patient with me than even his closest.
âNo, mi alfa, me disculpo,â Mateo responds in fluent Spanish, lowering his head and displaying his regret.
He shows the demanded respect, obviously chastised as his leader is Colton, apologizing and addressing him as alpha.
We have one major rule in our world. Never query your alpha for any reason, and never disobey. I forgot what that was like when living severed from any natural pack and only following basic rules in the home.
Being here reminds me how it used to be when my family was alive, and we all followed Samuel Whyte before his family was taken down and never returned.
It makes me rethink Coltonâs refusal to defy his father and leaves me churning it over in my head, a new angle on a frustrating situation.
Reality sinks in that just because I lived outside the restraints and rules of our social norm for a decade doesnât mean he has.
Colton and Mateo are a sub-pack, a smaller group divided from the main and lorded over by a single dominantâColton.
Theyâre called beta packs, or subs, and much like the hierarchy of leadership, even the sub-packs rank in order of importance and command, like smaller units in an enormous army, with ranking officers.
Coltonâs right up there in the top five. His fatherâs pack of beta second commanders is number one. This is how large packs like the Santos keep everything running smoothly.
The order depends on skill, experience, and how battle-scarred they are, and Coltonâs sub-pack was of an age to defend us ten years ago. They all tasted real war on our lands. Even so young.
Itâs why they train together daily and are some of our most capable soldiers when needed.
I should never forget that even though Colton is not yet the Santo alpha, he is one in his own right and sub-pack, and I underestimate the importance of his responsibilities.
He isnât just some nineteen-year-old high school jock with his eye on a future crown. Heâs already a commander, performing his duty and caring for his pack.
âGo with him. Heâll keep you safe. Heâs as close as a brother to me.â Colton leans in, pulling me to him so he can murmur, almost nose-to-nose, that gentler tone waving through me and breaking down my defenses.
He flashes that sweet look I now know is only reserved for me and reluctantly pushes me toward Mateo until a hand lands on my shoulderâan unfamiliar touchâand I flinch at the contact but try to hide it.
âThe rest of the pack are not going to like this,â Mateo points out, raising a brow at Colton, but gets a blank stare that I can tell was a move from verbal conversation to mind.
Whatever Colton says, Mateo looks away again and gently taps me to nod toward the door people are filing out of.
He flushes slightly, his face reddening high on his cheekbones, and I guess he got a quiet dressing down away from listening ears.
To save face, Colton didnât do it outright, showing he cares about his friend, even if he was pissed at him for questioning his authority.
~âI wonât be long. Try not to engage with Carmen.â~ His voice is like a last lingering stroke, giving me tingles as I move to leave him.
I nod at him, not anywhere close to feeling as confident as I pretend, before turning on my heel, steeped in nervous energy, and letting Mateo guide me with that single hand on my shoulder.
Coltonâs memories show me theyâre best friends, but Mateo is also one of his commanders, and he trusts him completely.
Mateo is as familiar a face in my memories as Colton because they were always together, like brothers or inseparable shadows.
Heâs the one who teased him that day in the lake in the memory Colton showed me, and I guess he already knows that a long time ago, Colton knew who I was.
He knows that Colton harbored some juvenile feelings, that even as children, the Fates were trying to draw me to him.
I walk with him now, side-by-side, this male as tall as Colton and as broad.
They share similarities, and I wonder if theyâre maybe cousins or have a close blood tie because they look alike.
They have the same thick straight brows and black hair that is a little ruggedly messy, like it has a natural curl, although Coltonâs is shorter, so harder to tell.
They also share the same darkest brown molten eyes, tanned Latino skin tone, and square jawline, although Mateo is not as cleanshaven or groomed.
His hair is not clipped or manicured, and his eyebrows are not as angular and tamed.
Mateo is like the rougher, less kempt version of Colton, who just rolled out of bed and threw on the first clothes to hand.
He has a casual quality, is less pulled together, and sharp. Mateo seems less concerned in his worn faded jeans and gray hoodie, which donât look designer, either.
Colton takes pride in his appearance and clothes, and itâs evident to everyone that he comes from wealth when seen on an average day. He just oozes that effortless polish, expensive labels, and self-confidence.
âSo, youâre Alora⦠from the Whyte clan, right?â He nods as we dodge fast-paced walkers.
Iâm not oblivious to how many glance my way, with sneers and weird looks, as they pass us on the way to their rooms or wherever they have to be.
My presence is noted, and the vibes Iâm picking up on tell me that people know who I am or they know Iâm responsible for the trashing of their pack house.
I try to ignore it, lowering my chin to avoid eye contact, and silently exhale to blow it all away.
Everyone leaving the room at once causes mayhem in this narrow hallway, and I canât tell which way weâre even moving as weâre crammed among so many.
Itâs like ants evacuating a collapsing den via the only escape route. Itâs claustrophobic.
âYeah, I think we used to play in the same places as children,â I answer distractedly as I avoid collision with oncoming traffic, trying to be polite.
Still, Iâm too busy sidestepping large males pushing by and trying not to get trampled underfoot.
âWe did. I remember you. You had a brother, Jasper, about my age.â
Hearing his name coming from someone elseâs mouth sucker punches me unexpectedly, and I have to bite my lip to stop the sudden inhale from the slice of pain it inflicts.
Even after all these years, Iâve never really fully mourned their loss. I try never to think of them, and I push them down whenever one surfaces.
âI did. He didnât come back from the wars.â Itâs a fast, audibly painful response, my voice wavering as I shake my head to expel the vision of him, so like my father in looks.
I gaze at the ground instead to watch my steps. The comment about his age means Mateo is older than Colton by at least five years, if not more, so itâs weird that Colton is the sub-alpha and not Mateo.
It gives me something else to focus on and not the memory of a brother I will never see again.
âIâm sorry. I didnât mean to upset you. I guess time is not a healer like they say.â He seems momentarily uneasy, and I smile his way, bringing my eyes back to his with a sympathetic shrug.
It never is the right time to have these kinds of awkward conversations.
âIâm not used to hearing anyone say his name. Talking of our loved ones at home was forbidden because they were seen as shamed.
âThey failed our people by dying,â I grind out, tightening my limbs as I churn out the words I hear so many times.
Mateo frowns, something dark in the depths of his eyes, hinting at a reaction I donât understand, and then itâs gone.
âThis way.â Mateo changes the topic and points to a hallway veering off to the right, taking us out of the crush of people and into the near silence of an empty passage.
He stands for a moment, looking around, and I can tell heâs mind-linking, probably calling their pack to where weâre going. He takes a minute or so, and then he turns his attention back to me.
âThe rest are on their way, so we may as well show it to you before they get here.â He walks down the dark hallway and uses a keypad to open a door at the very end.
Pushing open a heavy solid cherrywood door reveals an already-lit room inside. It has working lights, so I guess they started replacing bulbs down here first. We walk in, letting the door swing shut behind us.
Itâs like a large study from an old-world time, with substantial leather armchairs and a massive wall-hugging fireplace off to one side.
Thereâs one large walnut desk with a heavy dark-green padded chair behind it, facing out into the center.
Matching dark-green leather couches flank two walls, bookcases line another, and what looks like a minibar is in the gap left by the door.
Thereâs a thick animal hide rug under our feet. I think it might be a brown bear or some huge rough-haired animal, and there are no windows in here.
âEvery pack has a communal room for hanging out, bonding, and talking shop. Ours is the best because weâre lucky enough to have Juan Santoâs son as our alpha. Itâs a perk as we get favor.â
I canât tell if heâs serious or sarcastic, and I donât pick up on any actual malice in his tone. Itâs an odd thing to say if he isnât trying to be an ass.
He nods me toward a seat as he strolls to the fireplace, presses a button, and the log explodes into instant flames. I thought it looked real, but I guess itâs gas.
I sit close to the fireplace on an armchair. Iâm not cold, but watching flames has always brought me a sense of calm.
It reminded me of another time and place when my mother would brush my hair by ours, a time when I had no cares in the world, when I was secure and loved and nestled in the lap of my family.
I try not to dwell on it and stare into the depths, emptying my mind.
âDrink?â Mateo pulls my attention to him, now at the dark-wood-and-glass bar, and I shake my head.
Iâm already nervous about them arriving, and I canât relax, even if he seems more tolerant of me than most of this pack.
The last thing I need is to dull my senses and get drunk with a guy or group that I donât know and who has every reason to treat me cruelly.
~âYou okay?â~
Colton comes through loud and clear, checking on me, and for a second, it warms me that he does, that maybe he felt my nervousness.
His voice is that sound of home that I never knew I needed, and I find myself exhaling like Iâve been holding my breath as I lean back into the chair, a little more relaxed.
~âJust waiting on the others and sitting by the fire,â~ I reply, setting his mind at ease and hoping I sound as comfortable here as I am pretending to be.