Gone with the Wolf - By Kristin Miller Page 0,10

helicopter to the airport and flown straight to his home in LA. He had to put space between them so he could think properly.

Two hundred years ago—hell, even last century—Drake would’ve howled all hours of the day and night to find his Luminary.

His father, Alpha to their pack, had owned and maintained unbelievable amounts of property before he died. Half of Queens and Brooklyn, most of Chicago and Seattle, and decent parts of Los Angeles were all Wilder property. Beyond the property and investments, he ruled over the most powerful werewolf pack in the world.

Handing control to an Alpha heir should’ve been simple. But Drake had a twin brother, Silas, and it’d been made perfectly clear that sharing control over the pack was not an option.

Knowing the pack wouldn’t take commands from two Alphas, Drake’s father had decreed that the first son to find his Luminary would become Alpha. The order had been simple. Find your soul mate and control the pack. The other brother would inherit their father’s property and be financially set for life. The order had started a nasty race to search out their Luminaries. Silas had been born minutes before Drake and felt that control over the pack should’ve been given directly to him.

Not wanting to destroy their relationship, Drake told Silas he didn’t care to find his Luminary—he’d given up the search. He wouldn’t let his thirst for control tear apart their family any longer. He and Silas had found peace, shared profits, worked alongside each other the way they should’ve all along. Some members of the pack naturally gravitated toward one of them or the other, and there was a large group of army-like mercenaries who refused to declare loyalty until a true Alpha was determined, but for the most part, they’d ruled equally.

But now, finding Emelia—a human, above all else—changed everything.

Silas would sense that Drake had found his Luminary. And he’d know that Drake would take control over the pack he longed to rule alone. That realization wasn’t going to sit well with a control freak like Silas.

Drake had planned on staying away from Emelia longer—a month might’ve weakened the pull between them and fuzzed the signal between Drake and his brother—but he’d gotten sick. Headaches and chills wouldn’t quit. Vomiting increased as the days crept on. He hadn’t slept a wink.

He’d instructed Raul to dive into ancient werewolf texts to see if there was some mention of the physical or psychological reaction an Alpha would have upon finding his Luminary. Within hours Raul had unearthed something disturbing: once an Alpha and his Luminary touched, they were connected by spirit. Sickness was common during long periods of absence, especially for the male.

Bloody wonderful. Drake was connected to a woman who seemed to hate him, yet if he stayed away from her longer than a few days, he’d be sick. Emelia didn’t exactly say she hated him, but Drake sensed unbridled disdain bubbling within her.

As he parked his BMW Roadster in front of the Knight Owl, he leaned beneath the doorframe and stared at the sidewalk welcome sign and warm, glowing interior. Chills gathered at the base of his spine. Why did he feel like he knew the building? He’d never been here before. Never even heard of the place.

The Knight Owl. He would’ve remembered such a name, wouldn’t he?

He exited the car and zipped up his coat, steeling himself against the crisp night wind. As he stepped onto the curb, Drake made a quick call to Raul that went straight to voice mail.

“Find everything you can on the bar called the Knight Owl, located at 970 East Porter Street.” He ended the call, hesitating a beat before striding through the front door.

Though the concept was ludicrous, Drake felt better already, merely being near the place that held such a strong tie to Emelia. Strength returned to his legs and the tomato soup he’d forced down at dinner finally settled in his stomach.

Emelia was nearby.

Striding through the creaky door, Drake was slammed with the mouthwatering aroma of BBQ burgers and roasted garlic. The walls were painted rich shades of brown and burgundy. Candles on the tables and lanterns in the corners cast a warm, buttery glow over the room. Mismatched chairs and wood-topped tables could’ve easily accommodated fifty people, though tonight the space was nearly empty. A group of four college-aged kids fought over a heaping plate of something brown that was situated in the center of their table—garlic-roasted onion strips, from the pungent