Harper (Destined for the Alpha Book 1) Page 6

  With each group they passed, Harper was building a picture of their pack demographics. They were mostly males, at about a two to one ratio, which was strange, but not unheard of. The gender composition of a pack tended to speak more of their leader, than of anything else. Most alphas were too dominant and aggressive to abide by male competition, and therefore, most packs were comprised primarily of females, with a handful of males that the alpha was confident wouldn't step on his toes. Only a handful of documented packs were composed primarily of males, and in those packs, the alpha was particularly secure in his position and confident that he wouldn't be overthrown by power-hungry beta males. In almost every instance, he was wrong.

  There was very little diversity in age among the groups. She saw only one or two shifters with any gray in their hair, as well as few that appeared younger than their early twenties. If she had to guess at a median age, she would put it between twenty-eight and thirty, nearly ten years younger than the median ages in an average pack.

  Everyone was tattooed, though some considerably more than others. She noticed, too, that many shared similar tattoos, particularly thin rings that banded around their forearms, which were bare. Most wore clothes that displayed their arm tattoos, and their clothes were unexpectedly modern-looking. They weren't a sloppy hodgepodge of stitched animal pelts, but instead looked like the sort of quality tailoring that could have been found in a haute-couture shop.

  As the fires became clustered into a common area, West strode ahead of them, leaving Jo's side for the first time in hours. Behind her, Harper heard Gareth snarl, and when she turned back she saw with relief that his ire was focused on West.

  “Run along and tell him everything, you stupid, old fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

  At the center of the common area was a bonfire several feet wide, with flames extending almost as high as Harper was tall. There was no clear path through the mass of congregants, but they were quick to clear the way as Gareth charged ahead, his steps heavy and his lips curled.

  As they rounded the bonfire, Harper saw West standing beside a lanky, bald man. His body was inclined as he spoke covertly to the male on his other side, the one who could only be Shan.

  Harper came to a full stop as she saw him. He sat on a rock, just large enough that he could comfortably rest his feet on the ground. His long, dark hair was pushed back off his shoulders, one of which was exposed, revealing an arm covered in tattoos, from his shoulders to the tips of his fingers. His other side was covered by a glossy brown pelt that looked as if it were molded to his skin. The picture of detached contemplation, he sat with his elbow on his knee, his head resting on the back of his hand, and his eyes distant, scarcely acknowledging the male talking to him.

  Somehow, in all of the gossip she'd heard of Shan, no one had mentioned that he was attractive. In fact, “attractive” seemed an inadequate label, as did “handsome”. She shied away from calling him “sexy,” as that was the first step down a path she couldn't afford to be on. She took him in as objectively as possible, noting that he was well-groomed, impeccably muscled, and every bit as large as she'd been led to believe. In both size and stature, he would have stood out in any human crowd. Even among his own kind, he was quite staggering, though Harper wouldn't venture a guess at how tall he was until she saw him stand.

  In an instant, his gaze sharpened, moving swiftly from Viper, Rosa, Gareth, Ian, and then Jo. He favored none of them with more than a cursory glance, and then turned his attention to Harper, who still hadn't moved since stopping by the bonfire. He gave her the same frank appraisal, but unlike the others, Harper appraised him right back. Maybe that was why his eyes lingered on her as they reached her face. His eyes were a light green that appeared to glow in the firelight. As his eyes held hers, she grew still inside and out, unable to even swallow. It was an age-old instinct, one she hadn't felt herself gripped in for a very long time. It passed quickly, and she couldn't help but narrow her eyes at him, as if to compensate for her fear.

  Suddenly, Gareth was in front of her, snarling. He grabbed her none-too-gently by the arm and jerked her forward, until she was with the others, standing before Shan. With a swift kick to the back of her legs, Gareth had her on her knees. Harper shot him a filthy look, which he didn't seem to notice.

  When she looked up at Shan, he was staring down at her, the barest of creases in his brow. She met his eyes, this time trying to get a read on him so that she could plan her next move. Though her father had once told her that you could know a person by their eyes, he had obviously never met Shan. Harper had never seen a set of eyes that were so inscrutable, and for a moment, she began to grow anxious.

  Then, she saw it. The flicker of something she knew all too well, the thing she'd used to her advantage for most of her life.

  Attraction.

  Chapter 3

  From a young age, Shan had been able to see into the future, in approximately two minute increments.

  It was exhausting.

  He couldn't see into the future in a conventional, psychic sense, no more than he could read minds, or do any of the other mystical things that were often ascribed to him. His gift, if it could be called that, was that he was highly perceptive, to the extent that very little escaped his notice. It followed that, being able to perceive so much, he could also perceive patterns, particularly the patterns of behavior that everyone, himself included, were bound by. And so it was that if a facial muscle twitched in a certain way, or if a particular word was used, the gears in Shan's mind would turn at a furious pace, rapidly driving forward towards a conclusion that was seldom wrong.

  It had taken him years to hone his ability, not expanding it, but focusing it. As a child, it had been debilitating. In moments of frustration, his mother had often lectured him, urging Shan to stop his over-focusing, to see the forest and not just the trees. What she had never understood was that for Shan, a tree was not a tree. It was a hundred thousand different leaves, attached to a network of branches, encased in uniquely striated bark, secured to the ground by an unseen, but astoundingly complex web of roots, and that was just if you took the tree at face value, without considering its internal processes, or the ecosystems that relied on it—moss, insects, and birds, just to name a few. His mother had wanted him to see the forest, not understanding that he could see more in a single tree than she could in an entire mountain of them.

  Yet, here he was. Not only had he come to make the forest his home, but he had amassed a pack comprised of thousands of members.

  Thanks to his father, from whom he'd inherited his perception, Shan had learned to tune out the unnecessary. That, in itself, was a great feat because in order to do so, he first had to make a split-second judgment between the relevant and the extraneous. Once he had, he could laser focus on a few specific details, one half of his brain existing in the current moment, the other pushing forward to what would come next.

  Given the barest amount of information, there was little he couldn't predict.

  There were certain limitations. He had not known that Gareth's band would return late from their trip, but as soon as morning had come with no sign of them, he had known why. He also knew that Viper would try to use the humans they'd brought as an excuse for their lateness.

  Whereas most of his senior pack mates had learned to lie by omission, Viper very often flirted with outright falsehoods, stretching the truth until it was just barely recognizable from reality. He sometimes let her get away with it, too. She was an excellent liar, which he admired in a subordinate. So long as her lies were cosmetic in nature and didn't begin to grow sloppy, he didn't much care. Lying was the nature of man—and Shan included his wolves in that blanket term. If he killed every person who lied to him, he would have no pack, because sooner or later, everyone would. He could not even punish everyone who would lie, lest he become a tyrant. All he could do was keep them on edge, wondering if he truly believed them.

  Viper and Rosa stopped before him, two humans at their sides
.

  “We found these by The Point,” Viper said, motioning to the humans, a male and a female. “Put us at least a half day behind schedule.”

  When Viper lied, she looked straight ahead at him, her gaze unfocused. As far as tells went, it was a good one because she typically focused on the bridge of his nose, so the difference in her gaze was subtle.

  Of course, her efforts were squandered by Rosa. Always at her side, her friend couldn't lie, not even by association. The diminutive female stood with her shoulders hunched, eyes turned down to the ground, and her lips pressed tightly and trembling, as if trying to hold in a bird.

  He would deal with them later.

  Gareth joined the others, and Shan slid his gaze over him. In his usual manner, he paid attention to what might be relevant and discarded the rest. Gareth took in seething breaths. There was a purple bruise on his jaw. He was drenched with sweat in spite of the cool night. Shan searched for the injury and found it where his arm met his right shoulder blade. There was a distinct swelling. He had shifted, rather than waiting for the injury to heal.

  Idiot.

  West had already informed him that Gareth had fought with one of the humans, though he'd not had time to provide anymore details. Even if West hadn't told him, he would have known by the way no one had yet mentioned the injury. An attack by another pack, or by townspeople would have been cause for sounding the alarm. This injury had not just been to Gareth's arm, but to his pride. Predictably, as Shan surveyed the arm, Gareth was quick to cover it with his pelt.

  Which human had injured one of his best fighters? He looked first to the male, who was gagged. A talker. And short, even for a human male. His body was rigid, shoulders squared in an attempt to appear strong. His fidgeting belied his efforts. Were the winds blowing in Shan's direction, he would have been buffeted by the scent of the male's fear.

  Shan looked next to the female beside the male. She was the one West wanted as his mate. He hadn't said as much, but it had been clear in the way West had come to him moments earlier, failing to utilize their seconds of privacy to provide him with any useful details. Instead, he'd asked Shan to consider allowing him to take the smaller female back to the Scouts where he could keep an eye on her.

  She wasn't gagged, either because she wasn't a talker, or because of West's interest in her. He couldn't entirely see the appeal, except that with her large ears and big eyes, she looked somewhat endearing. And, mouse-like. Her face was tear-streaked and her pants were wet from soiling herself. Her reddened eyes were imploring, and turned not to the male beside her, or even to Shan or West, but the the third human, who stood apart from the others.

  The leader.

  Shan took her in, not particularly surprised that she was a female, though the detail did stand out. Human females, at least in his experience, were not fighters, but negotiators. She was tall, easily as tall as a man. Her height should have made her ungainly, but there was something elegant in the shape of her long, leggy body and it made her build seem almost delicate. Her chin was tilted upwards. She was confident, or at least, she wanted to appear as such. Her hair was an unnatural blue. It had been dyed. A mark of rebellion, or a human fad he was not yet familiar with? Perhaps both.

  He looked last at her eyes, as was habitual for him. He could discern so much from eyes, that he sometimes became absorbed in them, at the exclusion of all else.

  What he didn't expect, was to find her appraising him right back, her eyes sweeping over him in a cool assessment. They lingered briefly on his arms, and then moved up to his eyes, where they stopped. She went still, and for an instant, he thought she was afraid. Then, she cocked her head and narrowed her eyes in challenge. Shan felt one corner of his mouth lift.

  Hello.

  He enjoyed strangers. Some, like the mousey female and her male companion were easy enough to figure out, typically within minutes of talking to them. Now and again, he could meet someone who was more enigmatic, someone that took him several days, perhaps even weeks to figure out. For a short while, some of the creeping banality would seep from his existence. He could already tell that this female would be one such person.

  His lips flattened as Gareth stormed over, seizing the tall female by the arm and dragging her before Shan. He delivered a kick to the back of her legs, forcing her knees to buckle.

  Shan felt the urge to admonish his beta. It happened sometimes that he felt the need to defend females, a byproduct of the human manners his father had instilled in him. It was his mother who had taught him not to mind the grievances of a woman, because any female worth her salt didn't need a man to do so.

  This time, his mother's wisdom prevailed. The woman turned to snap a scathing look in Gareth's direction. Shan thought that if not for the gag, she might have bared her teeth. Gareth didn't notice, and for that, she was fortunate.

  Gareth was the senior most member of the expedition, and so Shan addressed him, though he'd rather be dealing with West or Viper.

  “Why are they bound?” Shan asked. “Were they carrying weapons? Did they attack you?”

  “This one did,” Gareth spat, seizing the female by her bun of blue hair. “Jumped down on me from a tree and tried to snap my neck. I might have killed her, had she not been so easy to restrain.”

  The female, who by rights should have been terrified by Gareth's handling of her, appeared only annoyed and rolled her eyes as Gareth spoke.

  Rosa made a squeaking noise, the sound of someone starting to say something and then stopping halfway through the intention. Rosa could see the future as well, one in which Gareth dealt swift retribution on her for speaking out against him. Indeed, all of the expedition members, even West, remained silent.

  Of course, Gareth was lying. It wasn't always easy to tell, because Gareth had the tendency to believe his own lies. As a general rule, Gareth lied whenever his pride was at risk of being injured. Shan tolerated it because he understood the need to protect one's own honor, and if he was little else, Gareth was loyal.

  Shan asked, “Why did she attack you? And what happened to your arm?”

  At this, Gareth predictably faltered. His lies never held up to questioning.

  “I didn't bother asking her for a reason,” Gareth said. “She's a human.”

  Shan almost didn't wait for him to finish. “Was not your mother a human? And her mother? And your father's mother?”

  He could see Gareth growing flustered and knew that he wouldn't hold up against this line of questioning, especially with his injury, which must have hurt like hell. Shan motioned for West to clear the area, and West went forward, signaling for the congregants to stand and depart. One way or another, Gareth was going to make a fool of himself, and Shan could at least do him the favor of limiting his exposure.

  As the last of the people filed from the clearing, Shan looked between the group before him and addressed them.

  “Given that Gareth was so taken with the throes of battle, his accounting of the event may hold inaccuracies. Did anyone see anything different?”

  He doubted any of them would skirt too close to the truth, not in Gareth's presence, but he had hopes that West would speak up. It was in moments like this that certain members of his pack could rise above their fear and begin asserting themselves against Gareth's stranglehold. Not many had done so, and most who did were soon broken by Gareth's retribution, but a select few had risen above, establishing themselves as dominant figures within the pack.

  This was not West's moment.

  His wolves were silent. Even the humans seemed to know better, aside from their fearless leader. The sound of her muffled vocalizations cut through the brief silence.

  Shan asked, “You have something to add, human?”

  Unlike Gareth, he didn't use the term scornfully. He was not sure what else to call her, as referring to her by her gender would sound patronizing no matter which term he used.

  She issued another vocalization, this time nodding her head. Gareth tightened his grip on her hai
r, to the point that she winced.

  “This one has a poisonous tongue,” Gareth spat. “Don't waste your time listening to anything she says.”

  “Do you presume to tell me how to spend my time?” Shan asked. He was growing more irritated with Gareth by the second, and he made no effort to hide this as he said, “Remember your place. Release her, now.”

  Gareth complied at once, though he couldn't resist giving her a push as he did so, forcing her down hard onto her knees. She gave him another scathing look, and this one, Gareth didn't miss.

  Foolish human, Shan thought as he leaned over to remove the gag. Close up, he could smell her scent, and it caught him off-guard, his fingers pausing on the knots.

  In ancient stories, gods would make women out of strange things, such as clays, soils, rocks, and bones. Had Shan sought to make a female from a collection of fragrances, choosing only those notes that appealed most highly to himself, he could not have created such a singularly appealing scent.

  His mind, which typically made complex assessments in the span of a breath, dragged on for prolonged seconds as it parsed each element of her scent. Most dominant were patchouli, vetiver, and musk, three fragrances that would have been overpowering, had they not been softened by notes of bergamot, vanilla, and something fruity he could not readily identify.

  Her gag momentarily forgotten, his hand moved from the knot to the top of her head. He pulled loose the elastic that held her bun in place, allowing her hair to spill free. Her hair was naturally dark, as evidenced by the gradient, light blue at the tips and dark, almost black at the roots. He twisted a lock of it around his finger, noting its soft and unusual texture. Then, he pulled it up to his nose and inhaled. He had expected to find that the fragrance was her hair, some sort of lingering shampoo or spray, but found only the faded smell of coconut.