This Dark Wolf (Soul Bitten Shifter #1) - Everly Frost Page 0,10

“Your days are numbered, Tristan.”

Tristan’s grin doesn’t fade. He taps a suddenly clawed fingernail against his muscular thigh. “All our days are numbered, Peter. Yours more than mine, old man.”

Peter hisses through his teeth when Tristan steps into position between him and me. Tristan’s stance makes me frown with confusion. In my experience, alphas don’t protect. With the exception of my father, alphas possess, intimidate, control, and threaten. What Tristan might intend turns my stomach into knots.

“You will get out of my way,” Peter says. “This is a pack matter. It is not your concern.”

Tristan inclines his head toward Cody and Cameron where they’ve retreated to the edge of the forest. “You have trespassers, Peter. Conclave law has been broken. This is a matter for the Conclave to decide.”

Before Peter can snarl a response, a man strides from the shadows at the corner of the cabin behind us. He’s surprisingly quiet and unobtrusive as he hands Tristan a pair of jeans. Despite his calm demeanor, Peter Nash takes a step away from both of them, as if the newcomer’s appearance tips the balance entirely in Tristan’s favor.

The newcomer stands as tall as Tristan, just as broad in the shoulders and messily unshaven, but his hair is honey blond, his eyes a deep green like pine leaves. He also wears a tattoo of a wolf across his left shoulder, this one crushing a crimson rose between its teeth, petals dripping like blood down his side.

“Tristan,” he says, his voice a low growl as Tristan leans toward him. “Watch your back.”

Tristan gives him a brief nod. “Jace, check the perimeter.”

“I already did. It’s clear,” Jace murmurs before he takes up position a few paces behind and to Tristan’s right. He has to be Tristan’s beta. He must have arrived when Tristan did—and the direction he came from indicates that they ran up the other side of the mountain, the side I was planning to run down once I escaped from Cody and Dawson.

Tristan pulls on his jeans before he raises his voice, speaking to the other alphas. “I am the alpha of the Western Lowlands. I call a Conclave vote on Tessa Dean’s fate.”

My confusion increases at the fact that Tristan knows my name. My only explanation is that my reputation as a freak extends beyond my pack.

I force myself to remain standing where I am, even though my instincts scream at me to run. I wouldn’t get far. I’m now standing within striking distance of two of the most dangerous alphas in the Highland and Lowland—Tristan Masters and Peter Nash—and the third, Baxter Griffin, is already striding toward us.

The friction between the three men makes me shiver. They clearly hate each other.

There’s a sudden flurry of movement among the remaining shifters standing at the edge of the clearing. Each alpha pairs off with their beta, widening the space between their small groups as they aggressively walk toward us, their gleaming eyes narrowed as they glare at me.

They take up position in a row on either side of Peter until they stand in a semi-circle with their betas behind them, all facing me while Tristan remains between them and me.

Baxter Griffin’s gaze drives daggers into me. He isn’t as much of a bulldog as Peter is, but he’s certainly not lean. His hair is a darker blond than his son’s and peppered with silver. Shifters don’t age as quickly as humans, but even so, Baxter’s body has taken some knocks. A number of short scars mark his upper arms, mimicking the slash of a clawed hand. He’s clearly seen battle—and survived every challenge.

Baxter steps up to Tristan, getting in his face. “That bitch dared to challenge my boys. I vote for death.”

I fight the snarl rising in my throat. If I should die for defending myself, then Baxter Griffin should die for pushing his son around.

Peter Nash nods his head in agreement, a gleam in his eyes. “She’s an abomination. Her wolf is abnormal. We all saw it. I also vote for death.”

At the edge of the clearing, my half-brother waggles his finger at me and mouths, “Maggot food.” He may be keeping his statement quiet, but I’m sure I damaged his vocal chords. He won’t be able to speak for at least a week. Near to him, Cody remains at the edge of the clearing, leaning up against one of the trees, his focus still intently on me.

I spin back to the alphas, unable to contain my snarls. “You can vote