Page 100 of Broken Bonds
“When a man sits in my office with tears in his eyes over the loved ones he’s lost, begging for my help when he has every right to assume I’ll turn him down, I find it hard not to at least listen. Father has dealt with him in the past and said he trusts him, and I trust Father.
“I will stay in close contact, coordinating with the witches and the fae transporting the refugees here. Once that operation is completed, then I will work with them to formulate a response to track down these fuckers and stop them before they kill again.”
“Why can’t they go to another nest?” someone calls out.
“They were, but that nest was also attacked. All the nests are now in a defensive posture and moving their people to alternate locations. They couldn’t go to the fae or witches because they were attacked too. Their security force was wiped out in the attack, so moving them to alternate locations without adequate protection isn’t feasible.”
“I think we should get to vote on this,” one male omega calls out. He’s a deer shifter, unmated, and lives in one of the single male omega houses with several others. I think his name’s Burt.
There are a few scattered assents to that when I stride out into the crowd, which parts before me, and stand in front of the guy. “Are you challenging me to be pack Alpha?”
He’s 5’5” and maybe 130 soaking wet. He joined the pack around ten years ago, a refugee from his home herd, exiled when he came out as gay.
We welcomed him with open arms, obviously.
His eyes widen as he stares up at me. His gaze darts around, and he realizes everyone has rapidly backed away; no help there.
“Uh, n-no.”
“No, what?”
“Um, no, I’m not ch-challenging you.”
I tip my head and point at my ear. “You’re not challenging me what?”
“Uh…” His gaze widens in fear.
“Sir,” someone close to him whispers.
“No, I’m not challenging you, sir!” he quickly says.
“Knees!”
Everyone takes another step back from him, and the wave it causes ripples through the crowd like a living puddle. They’ve rarely seen me do this, assert myself in this way. Not in public.
I’ve rarely had to before and I hate having to do it.
He’s trembling as he drops to his knees.
“Show your throat and pledge your allegiance to this pack or get the fuck out. You were welcomed into this pack when you had no one, and you dare think you can make the fucking rules when it’s existed for a hundred years?” I’m shouting by the end of that, and now more than a few people are uncomfortably adjusting their stances. The space is dead silent.
When he tips his head back I roughly grab his throat.
“I-I’m s-sorry, sir,” he says, his voice quivering. “I’m s-sorry. I p-pledge my allegiance to this pack, s-sir.”
I don’t just release him; I shove him back so hard he falls, splayed across the floor. Looming over him, I jab a finger at him. “Don’t you ever publicly question how your pack Alpha does things, do you hear me? You have suggestions? You bring them to me—respectfully—in person. Understand?”
He’s crying now, nodding. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
I stalk back to the podium. When I turn, he’s slowly climbing to his feet, but no one’s helping him. Everyone’s averting their gazes from him, and as he hurries toward the exit, they part to let him through.
“Anyone else want to challenge me tonight?” I growl.
No one speaks up.
I take a deep breath to settle myself. “I will not require people walk sentry duty, but I would greatly appreciate volunteers. Even if only for a couple of hours here and there. The pack will reimburse you for time you take off from work, and if you volunteer in your free time, we’ll give you a stipend. We’ll also feed you while you’re on duty.”
“If you don’t expect problems, sir, why do we need guards?” someone else asked. Since he did say sir, and his tone isn’t challenging, I let it go.
