So I did it. Hating myself, knowing Father’s ashes would be rising up out of the forest floor at this disgrace to his bloodline, I tilted my chin upward to reveal my neck.
Then I waited, teeth clenched and lungs frozen. Most wolves wouldn’t bite a submissive. Most wolves. Not all.
“I’m not challenging you.” The whisper of his breath flitted across my unprotected jugular. “You have nothing to fear from me.”
I opened my eyes. I couldn’t help it. Butch’s face was so close I could see that his irises were brown rather than the black they’d appeared from a distance. The color of fallen leaves soaked for half a week in pooled rainwater.
There was no longer wolf visible in them either. Instead, his pupils appeared to have turned human and kind.
“Nice trick,” I told him. My fingers still refused to budge, but Butch’s compulsion appeared to be fading. I was now able to shift my torso the tiniest bit.
As I flexed the only muscles that would move at the moment, the knife at my hip slid a quarter of an inch out of its sheathe. If Butch lost the rest of his hold over my will for even a second, I could grab the weapon, stab him, and run.
Then what? Would Megan call the human cops? Would Butch tail me as I fled to pack central? Attack wasn’t much of a solution. My chin dipped downward as I gave up on the plan.
“Tara.” My name on his tongue pulled my face forward. “You’re not listening.”
Of course I wasn’t listening. The dominance behind his eyes had said everything, even if he’d hidden it afterwards. My pack was in imminent danger. I needed to think of something unbelievably clever so I could overpower a much stronger wolf.
Too bad the only thoughts in my brain related to Butch’s scent—a deep, woodsy baseline sweetened by persimmon. The focus I required slipped through my fingers every time I tried to grab for it. My inner wolf refused to even consider a fight.
While my brain whirred, Butch humphed deep in his throat, a lupine sound of put-upon annoyance. But when he spoke, there was no overbearing beast in his voice. Instead, his words were bell-like, musical.
“I swear that I mean no harm to you or your pack, Tara. As proof, I give you my true name—Rune Pelletier.”
A TRUE NAME MEANT.... “You can’t be fae,” I countered. “You have a wolf inside you.”
His lips pursed, somehow managing to remain beautiful in the process. This time his eyes were the ones averted. “Half fae. Half wolf,” he murmured, as if he didn’t want to share the information. “Now will you listen?”
A true name wasn’t given lightly. With that knowledge, I could do more than freeze his muscles. I could force him to obey.
I cleared my throat. “May I test it?”
His muscles tensed but he nodded. “Of course.”
“Rune Pelletier”—I whispered the words, not wanting them overheard—“leave me.”
It was the obvious use of his true name. The one thing he clearly didn’t want to do.
But he rose to his feet. Half-bowed. Turned toward the exit.
If Rune was pretending, he was doing a fine job of it. His scent had dropped from dominant to disappointed. Plus, an Alpha learned when it was worth going out on a rickety but useful limb.
That, I told myself, not Rune’s beauty, was why I let him off the hook. “I release you.”
The traditional words were almost musical. Not as melodic as Rune’s had been, but still redolent with something more than humanity.
Rune turned, one eyebrow raised. “You realize your inability to move will fade within minutes if you send me out of here.”
I nodded. “If what you have to say is important enough to trade a true name for, I’ll listen.”
He half-bowed again. Then he subsided into his seat.
I expected him to release me from his compulsion now that I’d agreed to stay, but he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t trust me not to run, or maybe he was too intent upon his own goals. Either way, he leaned in until my wolf whimpered then backed up a millimeter. Finally, he breathed out a story about beings I’d seldom heard mentioned outside my pack.
“Last October, fae came through a node two hundred miles from here.” His voice was as seductive as the trail of a buck scented when my stomach was empty. “Many of them crossed over, but only three made it past our swords. Three is a powerful number for fae. If all three survive until next Samhain, the devastation could be....” He closed his eyes, his voice trailing off.
I cocked my head, detecting something personal in his reaction. But the momentary lapse disappeared so quickly I almost thought I’d imagined it. Rune’s voice hardened as he returned to the point.
“I’m one of the Samhain Shifters tasked with finding those fae and expelling them back to Faery before they can wreak further havoc. We suspect one has settled within your territory.”
I’d been nodding along until the final sentence, but now I cut him off. “Not possible.”
“No?” He raised one perfectly formed eyebrow.
I didn’t answer the unasked question. The Whelan Bargain wasn’t spoken of outside our pack. Instead, I just nodded. “Thanks for checking, but we’re good.”
It was a dismissal, but Butch ignored it. “You don’t understand. You may think hungry fae are just stories, but they’re not. I’ve seen what they can do. How they invade, feed on pack bonds, break strong clans apart like kindling.”
He leaned in closer, and this time my body didn’t respond to his proximity either with fear or attraction. He cared about this story, but it was irrelevant to me. Still, I gave him the same courtesy he’d provided and heard him out.
“I formally request the opportunity to walk through your territory seeking fae, Tara,” Rune continued. “It won’t take long. A few hours. If there’s an issue, I’ll inform you. As I said, I will take
