mention his pack was filled with good wolves, happy to come together and build a better future for themselves. I’d never felt more at home anywhere in my life than I had during my stay in Lucerne Valley.
If I was going to do this thing—be an actual fucking pack alpha—I needed real, down-to-earth folks like Matty’s pack. I wouldn’t last a day with fake assholes. That, along with habit, was why I was wearing my WCW cut as I rode up on my beast with its spiffy sidecar. The latter was an addition I’d put on so Eli’s kid brother could ride safely, but I’d decided I liked it. It gave my old Harley a special touch, set it apart somehow.
If anyone thought I was keeping it on in case Noah, or pups in this new pack, might want a ride at some point… well, they wouldn’t be entirely wrong. It was never too early to teach the next generation to love riding.
Focusing on the area again, I pushed my thoughts aside, hunting for my turn when the GPS spoke over my Bluetooth and told me it was coming up on my left. I noticed several wineries before I rolled up at the address our territory chief, the man who oversaw all the packs in our territory, gave me. The man himself was parked in front of a large wooden sign carved with the image of a wolf howling at the moon beside the name—The Drunken Wolf Winery.
Fucking A, awesome. I remembered hearing the pack had a winery, but hadn't heard what it was called or given it much thought until this moment. Drunken Wolf Winery… I shook my head, grinning at the audacity. Things were looking up because any wolves chill enough to pick such a name were my kind of people.
Turning my attention back to the chief, I shut off my engine and removed my helmet before climbing off my beast and walking over to shake his hand. Leaning against his truck, hands in his pockets while he watched me approach, the man grinned like the Cheshire Cat.
"Lucian Smith, am I ever glad to see you. I figured it was even odds whether you'd actually show up to claim your new pack or decide the highway held more interest instead."
Gripping his hand, I couldn't help but laugh at his greeting because he wasn't entirely wrong. "TC Woodlawn, I thought I told you I didn't need my hand held for this part, although I’m damned glad to see you. As for the odds, I wouldn't blame anyone who bet against me. Especially if we've met and they know my opinion about running a pack. But here's one thing they don’t know—I always keep my word."
Eyes glinting with fresh respect, he nodded as he dropped my hand. "Glad to hear it. I knew I liked you for a reason. If you can't trust a man's word, then what's the point of dealing with him?" Shoving his hands in pockets, he nodded over his shoulder toward the open gate. "You ready to do this, son?"
If I wasn't, nobody would ever know. Tipping my chin up with a cocky grin, I held my hands out wide as I backed toward my bike. "TC Woodlawn, I was born ready. Anything I need to know before we go in there?"
"How many times am I going to have to tell you and those rowdy friends of yours to call me Ash? Dammit, son. Quit making me feel old. I'm still in my prime. The first time was respectful. Now you're just being mean."
Winking, I lifted a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. "If you don't want to feel old, maybe you oughta stop calling a grown man 'son,' Ash."
"Touché, you little shit. As far as things you need to know, I don't have much. I told them what happened over in Lucerne Valley and how their former alpha went and got himself killed. They know you're coming, and I think you'll find they're—"
A golf cart came flying through the gate, taking the turn on two wheels, kicking up dirt and pebbles in the process. Fortunately, it came to a complete stop without hitting either of us, since we were both too busy gawking to react.
The man driving was about my age, maybe a year or so younger but not much more. He hopped off and slipped his sunglasses to the top of his head, appearing every ounce the preppy in beige golf shorts and a pale