Sold to a Wolf Pack

LBAWP | Chapter 13

Hi Everyone! Mia Meade here, writing to you live on IGTV! Are you ready for the next Sold to a Wolf Pack update? Lets go! :) ← Yup, that happened! Should I do it again with the next update? 

Two wolves stare back at us from the clearing. My gaze immediately locks on the older one, who's cowering behind his companion. He's around Father's age, give or take a few decades—that's as good an estimate as I can make, since it's nearly impossible to tell an adult's age in Wolf form.

What isn't hard to tell is that he's clearly not the one in charge. He's trembling, his fear evident as he moves further back behind the much younger wolf. It's hard to catch his scent at this distance, but his face and part of his right side sticks out, so I can identify him by sight. His fur is gray, so light you might almost call it silver. He reminds me of someone, and suddenly, I realize who.

What have you done to her? I shout over the link. The urge to tear the silver wolf to shreds makes me tremble with rage. I let out a loud growl, and he jumps in response.

Where are the girls? Father demands. He steps forward, teeth bared, growling menacingly. I let out a growl of my own and follow suite. I try to move to Father's side, but Mother and Beta cut me off and stand between me and the Rogues. I know it's protocol—every pack Wolf's first duty in battle is to protect the future Alpha—but it's still torturous to hide behind everyone else like some coward... well, everyone except Kaitlyn. She's slowly backing away, and I shake my head in a silent order to stop.

Don't know what you're talking about, the younger Rogue says. His fur is jet black and his eyes a piercing yellow green. He's not yet fully grown, but close, and I would place him around my age. He regards us casually, and then licks his paw, like he hasn't a clue how much danger he's in.

I'll pretend to believe you, Father growls, if you can explain what you're doing on pack land.

Actually, we're not on pack land. The younger wolf snickers—actually snickers—and the worst part is, he's partly right. He's technically sitting just outside the border, but it's only a technicality; stepping within feet of pack land without invitation is still a huge offense.

I bare my teeth in warning, and the timbre of Father's, Mother's and Beta's growls create a symphony that would send even the bravest wolf running. The silver wolf quickly backs up, but the young wolf doesn't even flinch.

Even though I'm guessing he's around my age, he's got more confidence—and arrogance—than a older Alpha. His voice booms across the clearing, and the way he moves on to licking his other paw shows a complete lack of respect.

What are you doing here? Father demands, advancing until the younger wolf finally sits up and pays attention.

I have come here on official pack business.