Page 6 of Craved By the Werewolf
"Then I think you're finished here."
Liam's eyes widened slightly before he backed away and scurried out the door.
The meeting broke apart in the usual shuffle of chairs and paper. I stayed back to gather my thoughts, fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on the table. But I caught the sideways looks. Raina's smirk, sharp as a blade. Kai's barely contained laugh, a rumble in his chest that set my teeth on edge. Jax pretending to check his phone while clearly dying to say something smart-assed that would earn him a week of perimeter duty.
I didn't give them the satisfaction of a gaze. Leadership is part command, part performance, and right now mine meant keeping my discomfort contained behind a mask. Never, ever show weakness. That's the first rule of being Alpha. Show your vulnerable underbelly once, and the pack starts thinking they can sink their teeth into it.
Co-hosting.
Vala Nightingale wasn't just some random human the Council plucked out of a crowd for optics. She was the voice of House Party—all the hype, all the charm, all the sly commentary that made the event sound like more than a lineup of acts. She'd turned it into an institution.
And I'd stayed where I belonged. In the shadows, keeping the crowd in line and the peace intact.
Putting me on stage beside her wasn't just a change. It was a tectonic shift.
I'd heard her voice more than I'd admit out loud. Not just at House Party and other events, but on late patrols when the night stretched long and empty. Her show threaded through the static on Ridge FM—interviews with monster bands that didn't get airtime anywhere else, pointed questions for Council reps who danced around answers, the kind of late-night call-ins where people exposed more truth than they intended.
It was good radio. Edgy. Mesmerizing. Her voice had a way of finding the cracks, slipping under armor you didn't realize you'd left exposed.
The wolf inside me stirred at the thought, ears pricked, tail high.
"Down," I muttered under my breath.
It didn't listen. Wolves don't care about politics or PR or keeping a secure perimeter. Wolves care about instincts. About draw.
And Vala Nightingale had always been... magnetic.
This was a problem.
House Party wasn't a tidy ribbon-cutting. It was a living thing with sharp edges—old grudges, more liquor than sense, and the volatile joy of a town that didn't get many nights to let loose. You didn't walk into that kind of energy distracted.
And standing next to her? Listening to that voice up close? That was disaster waiting to happen.
Still, the Council wanted unity. Raina would say it was a smart move. Liam would say it was inevitable. And I'd already said yes, which meant the decision was made whether I liked it or not.
The vibration in my pocket shattered my concentration. Knox's name blazed on the screen—my favorite pack elder, and the smug bastard knew it.
"Son, we need to work on your softer side."
"Softer side."
"And your communication skills need some work."
"I know how to communicate," I growled.
"That's the problem right there. You're doing it now—the growling. And that death stare you think no one notices." He chuckled, the sound like gravel in a washing machine. "Liam says you're scaring him today."
"Good."
"Not good. You have exactly—" I heard him checking his watch, "—eight hours before you're live on air, and right now you have all the charm of a rabid porcupine."
I ground my teeth. "I've done media before."
"Pack meetings don't count. This is Ridge FM. The whole town listens to that show."
"I'm aware."
"Are you aware you're supposed to be charming? Approachable? The kind of Alpha humans won't run screaming from when you host House Party together?"
