Page 1 of A Kitten for Alpha Kenny

Chapter One

Kenny

I never wanted to be pack alpha—and yet here I am.

Sitting behind my desk in the alpha house, where things were quiet for once, my thoughts went back to how I got here.

Growing up in a pack is a tough thing for a young alpha wolf. At least in one like ours. It’s fine when you’re young and cute and just running around the lands and having fun, learning to use fangs and claws and hunt. Once I reached adolescence, though, everything changed. Males were watched for leadership qualities from that point on, as the older alphas wondered who might take what jobs in the pack or even want to challenge for the top dog, err wolf.

And there was no question of any of that happening with me. When my packmates dropped out of school as soon as possible to begin to learn their pack job, I stayed in, doing online classes that allowed me to be accepted at a human university. Although no one in charge there knew I was a shifter, my dads were low income—since most of the pack wealth was held in common and there were complicated and well-established corporate documents that kept anyone from realizing their true assets. My grades were stellar, and there was some kind of rural scholarship in our county. I applied for all of it and managed to be awarded grants and scholarships that covered enough of my costs that I could do it with one part-time job for incidentals.

Other than visits to see my dads, I never looked back. Let others throw themselves into pack politics. I had bigger plans for my life.

My university’s career office matched me with a firm that offered an excellent starting salary, amazing benefits, a 401K,and bonuses. After just a few years, I moved from a windowless shared office to a private one with a personal assistant sitting outside and a view of the mountains and desert that made me smile every day when I arrived.

My townhouse lay a few miles away, with easy access to those gorgeous open spaces, and once the sun set, I could shift and run under the moon and stars across the shifting sands and hard-packed dirt with the scents of desert fauna and flora in my snout.

Keeping so little contact with the pack and other shifters was a bit lonely, but I’d learned in college how to get along with humans, and most of them were okay. One day, I’d find a way to meet more of those who preferred a life outside the pack. Not the criminals who’d teen banished, just wolves or other shifters like me, making their way in the broader world. And perhaps my mate was out here somewhere, too.

The pack wasn’t too far away in miles, but it was a world away in culture and lifestyle. On my visits home, I rarely interacted with anyone but my fathers, but even coming and going, I’d had cordial short visits with friends and family. No, pack life had not been my choice, but not because it was terrible, just not what I wanted. My folks liked it, and most of my friends stayed and stepped into the grown-up wolf world just fine.

While I was at school, the alpha was challenged and lost to an outsider. It must have been a bitter pill, since he’d been well liked and done a good job in his office, but rules were rules, and pack alphas had to face that possibility. And then, I started seeing changes. Slowly, the easy, relaxed air of the lands tensed. Each visit home, I saw more regimented behavior from those who lived there, and even my fathers who had been older when I was born and were therefore retired, were quieter. Oh, they hugged me and fixed big meals and asked me all about my life, but the little pack-life anecdotes grew fewer. I had to ask themquestions in return about their life, which was new, and their answers were brief and along the lines of, “Oh, you know how it is,” or “Change is never easy.”

Worried, I made more frequent trips to see them, which made me more aware of issues of concern. My dads’ pantry was no longer full, and I feared that they were putting themselves in danger of hunger when they prepared feasts for me. I managed that by bringing groceries and prepared meals as gifts, but they insisted that they were fine, had everything they needed.

And, no, they did not want to leave the packlands and come live with me or even in a place of their own.

My wolf grew more unsettled with each visit.

“We’ve lived here all our lives, Kenny,” Pops said. “We don’t know anything else. Change is never easy, and things will smooth out.”

Those stories were wearing thin. But I couldn’t force them to move if they didn’t want to.

I had approached my friends, but they were even more closemouthed and looked around as if they were afraid to speak or maybe even be seen with me.

And then, one day, I could no longer stand back and hope for the best.

The gates a quarter mile off the main road were never locked. Never closed in my memory. When I was a child, if humans wandered in, at least ones with no legitimate business, someone would guide them back out explaining we were a private community. Usually they gave them some sort of produce or handicraft as a parting gift to back up the theory that we were kind of a commune who farmed and made things.

It worked fine.

Then one day, I arrived to find the gates closed. I got out of my car to open them…but they were locked. And while I stood there, digging out my phone to call my dads and get someoneto let me in, two males approached and demanded to know my business.

Which would have held water if we hadn’t grown up together.

“Barney, Ezra, what is this all about?”

“These lands are only for pack members, Kenny.” Ezra apparently got over pretending not to know me. “We can’t let you in.”

“I always visit my fathers,” I pointed out. “And while I don’t live here, I never gave up membership—and I pay a fee to keep that.” Nobody had asked me to, but once I was making a good living, I’d wanted to contribute to the welfare of my family and friends. “So, what’s up?”

Barney glanced over his shoulder and looked back at me. “New rule. Alpha says if you don’t live here, you aren’t pack and you have been declared rogue.”

All of the concerns I’d had that my family and friends were suffering under bad management at best and tyranny at worst bubbled up from where I’d stuffed them down, followed by my wolf who fought to get out.

He probably didn’t like being called rogue, but the scent of rage and fear pouring from my skin were all directed toward saving our people. We might have been called rogue, but we were not. We left with the old alpha’s blessing, and our gifts of money for the pack had been gratefully accepted.

The new alpha had never rejected anything either, but now I was being kept from my fathers and the rest? With no assurance they were all right? My wolf’s connection with other pack animals had him sure they were anything but all right. “Open the gate, now,” I snarled. “If I have to get in any other way, you’ll pay.”

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