by J. L. Wilder
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“Are you serious?” asked Poe. “You want to track down the pack?”
“I want more than that. I want to take our positions as rightful rulers of the pack back from that meathead Jack.
The faces of the brothers went dark at the mention of Jack: the alpha who’d usurped the pack from their father, who’d taken what was rightfully theirs.
“And I want more than that, too. We’re alphas—and alphas need omegas.”
“Man,” said Smith. “What’s gotten into you? We’re barely eking out a living here—and now you want to take back the pack and get an omega in the process?”
“YOU’VE GOT A BETTER idea?” asked Mason. “What do you want, to spend the rest of our lives going from abandoned cabin to abandoned cabin until some pack of ferals sneaks up on us while we’re sleeping and ends it for good? Or until Jack finally tracks us down?”
Poe shook his head. “Mason, I get it. I want to be back with the pack as much as you do. But...you know we’ve been away from our land long enough that we’re not as strong as we used to be. Even with the three of us, we might not be enough to take on Jack, let alone him and his men.”
“We need an omega. Mating would give us some of our strength back.”
Smith laughed. “Oh, easy as that, huh? Bro, I get it, but how are we going to find an omega out here? And even if one did happen to, I don’t know, wander onto our land, you think she’d stick around with three exiled alphas? I mean, we’re one step above being ferals.”
“Flick off,” snarled Mason.
He was upset, but he knew his brother was right. To get an omega, they’d need a pack, and to get a pack, they’d need an omega. There was no easy answer.
“I don’t know,” said Poe. “Maybe we can find some other exiles, start a pack of our own.”
“You mean those ferals out there?” asked Smith, pointing to the nearest window. “Yeah, good luck. You can organize those guys for long enough to take down some food, maybe. And most of them are so scrambled in the head, they’re hardly even shifters anymore. There’s a reason we call them ferals, you know.”
He went on.
“AND WE’RE TO BE LIKE that before too long,” said Smith. “Shifters aren’t meant to be without their packs.”
“Then we do something,” said Mason. “Because I don’t know about you guys, but I’m tired of running.”
He snatched up his coffee and left the table, wanting to be alone with his thoughts. Moments later, he was on the back porch of the cabin, the woods stretched out into the horizon, a twinkling lake among them.
Mason knew he’d meant every word. After years of running, he was done.
He was ready to reclaim what was rightfully his....
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