Page 32 of The Tracker's Revenge
Chapter 11
The next morning at7 AM, I pulled my Camaro into an empty parking spot and sat in front of a group of low, spread-out buildings. The name of the place wasPackmind, and it was the facility where the beta leaders trained to keep ready for battle. There, they learned the city’s alphas’ common goals. After that, each beta went on to train their respective troops separately. It was how all packs kept a line of communication down to their lower members.
For a moment, my eyes roved over the place. It looked like some sort of fancy sports complex or country club. The buildings were all straight lines and glass with perfect flower beds surrounding them. Trees kept the area hidden from the road, and from the looks of it, there were plenty of outdoor training opportunities on several manicured fields and courts.
I fidgeted with the keychain still hanging from the ignition, wondering if I should go in.
Eric’s words still rang in my ears.“They won’t make you feel welcome. Quite the contrary. You don’t have a pack. You don’t have tradition and legacy, which is all any of them care about. Take it from someone who has none of those things anymore.”
I was tempted to restart the car and tear out of there, but that wouldn’t do—not when Jake was expected to become alpha, and I hoped to be by his side at some point. If I wanted to do that, I had to become a proper werewolf. I had to belong, to learn their...our... ways.
And not only that, this was about saving my city and ensuring the people I loved could live here safely.
Strengthening my resolve and rolling my neck to relax my nerves, I made up my mind. I was going in there.
At the glass doors, my reflection showed a sporty figure. Yoga pants, a tight tank top, and comfortable tennis shoes constituted my outfit—the same clothes I wore while training with Eric.
I took a deep breath, pulled the door handle, and walked in. A blond guard with a thick beard sat at a slick metal counter, his attention quickly snapping from an array of computer monitors to me. His nose flared as he took in my scent. Mine did the same and told me that he was a werewolf, too. He wore a uniform with black pants, a blue shirt, and a patch sewed on the right shoulder that readPackmind - Hillworth Enterprises.
“May I help you,” he asked in an unfriendly tone.
There was a turnstile to the left of the counter, and it seemed a card was needed to gain access—something no one had bothered to tell me.
“Hi,” I said, trying to sound chipper, “I’m here to... train.”
Witchlights, I sounded positively clueless.
He raised a blond eyebrow, glanced at a clipboard, and pretended to read it. I knew he was pretending because the piece of paper was blank.The jackass!
“No one told me about anyvisitors,” he pronounced the word with a tone that let me know visitors weren’t welcome. The place definitely had the air of an exclusive club, where people thought their farts didn’t stink, but that was only because they spent a shitload of money in potpourri and hid it everywhere.
“Travis Hillworth knows I’m supposed to visit today.” I almost choked at using that buttwipe’s name as a “pass go” card.
Suddenly, my skin started itching, and my back muscles tightened uncomfortably. I rolled them once, trying to relax. This situation and this guy were starting to piss me off.
“Then he should have called,” the guard sneered.
I took a step closer, and this time my words came out through clenched teeth, my anger vibrating in the air. “Maybe, your computer will say something.”
The guard frowned, then sniffed the air, slightly lifting his nose. The unfriendly quality of his stare gradually changed. Becoming flustered, he turned to the computer and quickly typed something.
