Alpha warrior novel Chapter 4

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But just as she moved the smallest of centimeters to give in and put her in the path to her desire, the creaky glass door from inside flew open. A spell dimmed, but not dissolved, the two wolves turned in its direction.

And then the intoxication faded to nothing, at least for Isla, because powering towards them was Winslow.-

“There you are,” the gangly official called with a waving hand high up in the air. He was donning Io’s classic maroons and golds, his signature notepad—because there was always work that needed to be done to sustain the pristine of the Hierarchy—tucked under his arm.

Isla took a small step back from the stranger, not one to enjoy her family, both by blood and those she considered herself closest to in the Pack, to be involved in any of her personal affairs. “Yes?”

Winslow slowly dropped his hand. “Oh, Isla, what are you doing out here?”

Isla’s eyebrows furrowed. He’s not looking for me?

Winslow, a man of courtesy until you got in the way of his objectives, bumped her out of the way and slid an arm behind the stranger’s back. “Please, Alpha Kai, the meal’s about to begin. We have a seat for you above with the other leaders.”

Alpha?

The stranger, Kai—Alpha Kai—cleared his throat and nodded wordlessly, expression flat. He only spared a glance at the bewildered Isla before the two men headed off. She noted the complete shift in his demeanor. Gone was the cool arrogance, the man who seemingly enjoyed pushing her buttons. Now all he felt was. . . cold.

Kai.

Isla knew the name of every Pack Alpha. She felt like she had to, but for the life of her, she couldn’t recall where Kai belonged.

Going to her failsafe method, she began reciting the Packs alphabetically, followed by their leaders, to the tune of Will You Find It, a nursery rhyme her mother would coo to her as a child.

In Callisto, you find Alpha Kane.

And in Charon, Alpha Locke.

In Deimos. . . in Deimos.

Isla clenched her teeth, troubled and perplexed.

The Alpha of Deimos is dead.

But then it hit her, sharp and fast, like a punch in the gut. With wild eyes, she looked up just in time to catch their two figures crossing over the threshold to inside and letting the door groan behind them.

The Alpha of Deimos wasn’t dead. . . he’d just been inches away.

Wedging shaking hands into tawny hair, Isla paced back and forth, alone, on the terrace.

Alpha. . . he’s an Alpha.

She couldn’t decide if she was more confused or pissed off—at the Alpha or at herself.

It had been a few minutes since Winslow had escorted him back inside, and Isla just couldn’t get herself to follow. Not yet. She needed to take the time to wrap her mind around what had just happened, what she’d done.