Page 61 of To Hunt A Wolf
I debate shifting, trying to run for it, but what just happened back there has stolen my drive. Or maybe it’s our “kidnapped” alpha heir running quietly at my hip.
Ugh.
I stop, chest heaving, lungs burning, and face him.
He stops too, but I see none of the frustration in his gaze that I know is in mine. Only curiosity. As if he’s wondering what I’ll do next. Although, I get the sense he doesn’t care either way.
“You’re a coward,” I say, glaring at him.
His brows lift. “I’m not the one running away from my problems. Literally.”
“Aren’t you?” I shoot back. “You’re out here, hiding, while your entire pack thinks you’ve been kidnapped—or worse.”
“Touché, little Quinn.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“But it’s your name.”
“My name is Mac.”
“Fair enough. Why are you angry, Mac?”
“Because they lied.”
“Ah. Right.” He looks like he understands, but then he blinks, and the confusion returns. “And why do you care what Levi does?”
“I don’t.”
His lips twitch. Asshole. “Of course.”
Something about his smug, know-it-all expression forces an explanation out that I don’t even want to verbalize. Not to him. “My mother has controlled my entire life. Making me into some version of her while still making all of my choices for me. When she decided killing your brother suited her, there was no changing her mind. She actually tried handing me to the mafia for safekeeping.” I put the word into air quotes. “And now I find out she’s been in on Levi’s little secret life this entire time? It’s infuriating. If he doesn’t want me in his life, he doesn’t need her either.”
“You care an awful lot about who he has in his life, considering you want to let my brother kill him.”
His words grate on me, and I bare my teeth. “You know nothing about what I want.”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m just trying to understand. To help.”
“If you want to help, go home, and knock your brother off his throne.”
“Actually, I plan to do just that.” His eyes glint, and I recognize his manipulation—but I’m too invested in what he’s just said to care.
“You do?”
“Yes, and I don’t mean to sound callous about your very real predicament, Mac—” He emphasizes the use of my actual name this time—“But I’m not out here to chat about your broken heart.”
I bite back the urge to deny his accusation.
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I could use your help.”
“You want my help,” I repeat uncertainly.
Not because I don’t want to offer it. But I can’t imagine how I might contribute to his plans. Without Levi or Crigger’s murderer, I have nothing.
“May I voice an observation?”
