Page 5 of Forged Alliances
Chapter Three
Control. Don’t lunge at the cocky bastard to rip his throat out.
Sierra sucked in a deep breath to compose herself even though her wolf bucked forward, ready to tear into Dax, a man so stubborn he had done this entire exchange nude. Her pack thought she took top of the list on pride and stubbornness, but she had apparently met her match.
“Let me get this straight,” she said, her voice coming out low and menacing. “You’re telling me I either help you, or you attack me? That’s not much of a sales pitch, sweetheart.”
Dax shifted from where he stood, over six feet of tanned, delicious muscle that would make most women moan. Her irritation warred with a pulse of attraction she’d never admit aloud, and one that baffled her. She had her pick of the pack and plenty of strong, capable men to choose from, but despite scrapping with the boys and the occasional hookup, this magnetism hadn’t descended in a long, long time. And she avoided that territory at all costs. Despite her best intentions, she couldn’t help sneaking a glance his way.
An obnoxious smile reached his lips again as he fixed those cerulean eyes on her. “Who said I was finished?” He ran a hand through his dark ash strands, long enough to tug. “You don’t think I’d be stupid enough to tramp down here and simply declare war, do you?”
Sierra lifted a brow.
A low laugh rumbled from him. “Fair enough.”
“Then what’s your proposal?” she asked.
“I’m coming to you and asking for an alliance,” Dax responded, the shift of his hips drawing her eyes to traceable abs and a faint trail of dark hair directing her gaze down. “If you help me reunite my pack, we’ll be a formidable force, one that will be indebted to you for life. Any threat coming into the region, any challenge to your authority, and I’ll have your back.”
Sierra pursed her lips, mulling over the offer. She preferred alliances with other wolves over cats, but she also couldn’t handpick neighbors. Dax might be irritating as get all, but he’d been truthful with her so far and had tried to claim his leadership by honest means. Based on what she knew of Dax’s father’s history and his brother’s reputation of being an aggressive asshole, taking a risk on Dax might be worth it, if he wanted to run the pack differently.
“How do I know your word is good?” she asked, curious as to what his answer might be. So far Dax Williams had been an enigma, a meld of confidence mixed with vulnerability, and a fighting spirit tempered by humility. After governing over a pack for as long as she had, she could navigate charged situations in her sleep. Still, she hadn’t expected a straight answer from him, not after the way he’d goaded her earlier.
“I’ll send one of my pack to live with you,” he responded. “Even if it’s in rotation, you’ll have a Silver Springs pack member at your camp to utilize however you see fit.” Those shrewd eyes met hers. “I trust you to be honorable in your usage.” He leaned down to snag the clothes from the floor before slinking into the sweats and shirt she’d provided.
Too bad. The man painted a pretty picture, one she didn’t mind viewing. She’d gotten an eyeful of how endowed he was, and the sight didn’t help the adrenaline pulsing through her veins or the growing ache inside her. Maybe she would run some drills with Finn; she needed to blow some of this charged energy before it muddled her head.
“Do you happen to have a copy of your father’s will? We’ll need that and to take a trip to scope out the area.” She rested her elbows on her knees, hunching forward. His pack’s attack on him didn’t stack up, but if they got the local shifter enforcers involve—or worse, the major power on this side of the country, the East Coast Tribe—all sorts of complications would arise. His brows furrowed in confusion, and a slow smile rose to her lips as their eyes met. Clarity descended in those too-pretty blues of his as he nodded, extending his palm to shake.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Kanoska,” he said as she clapped her hand to his. Heat from his palm pressed against hers, and the husky tone of his voice didn’t help as electricity rolled through her in one quick sweep. Hell on earth, she needed a swig of Jack, to sling a couple of punches, or a tumble in the sheets with a packmate—and fast—if she reacted this way after a mere touch from the kitty-cat alpha.
“Glad you saw fit to join me in civility,” she said with a smirk, giving him a once-over. His gaze glittered as he leaned over the coffee table and grabbed one of the notepads and pens splayed across the surface to scribble on the lined paper. He made his way to the exit, several strides of his powerful legs taking him across the linoleum, past the kitchen and the closed doors. Pausing by the doorframe, Dax tapped the side with his fingertips before turning to her.
“Give me a call. We can meet up tomorrow morning,” he said, tilting his head in the direction of the number he’d left. “Or sooner if you feel like getting uncivilized.” He winked as he slipped out of the cabin, disappearing before the notepad smacked against the wall.
* * * *
Sierra called Dax Williams the second she hopped out of bed at sunrise. Apparently he wasn’t a morning person. After setting a time to meet and texting Jeremiah, she chugged her first two cups of coffee, annihilating the rest of her creamer in the process, and tossed on a heather-gray tank top and a pair of jeans with fewer rips than normal. Lastly, she strapped on her ass-kicker boots. A knock pounded on her door, prompt as she’d expected.
“Come on in,” she shouted, not bothering to head in and greet the arrival at the pack house. She set her coffee cup in the overflowing sink and walked through the cabin she spent most of her time in, ten minutes away from her tangled ivy cottage down the road, one she loved to pieces. The wooden floorboards creaked under her heavy boots as she made her way into the living room. The door flung open, and Jeremiah sauntered in, a loose bag slung over one shoulder and wearing a canvas vest with bulging pockets, more than a couple of Swiss Army knife handles peeking out.
“Remind me why we’re helping this asshole again?” Jeremiah whined. She shot him a glare, eliciting a charming grin from the pretty man. As one of the taller pack members, he towered over her, his lanky frame hiding a deceptive amount of muscle. Based on his glossy chestnut waves and lashes long enough to make a model jealous, most dismissed him as a handsome face—their loss, because Streaky knew how to pack a punch.
“Because your darling alpha is a sucker for a sob story,” she muttered, grabbing her own canvas bag from the floor. “And because we’ve gotten big enough to draw attention, but we don’t have any alliances formed. As much as I’d like to say we could take ‘em all on our own, protection of this pack comes first. If we gain a strong ally from this favor, the time will have been well spent.”
Jeremiah snorted. “Still don’t think our best allies would be a bunch of cat shifters.”
Sierra fixed him with a look that had his hands rising in defense as together they strode out the door. “Hence why I’m the alpha and you’re not.”
She’d made unpopular decisions before and would again, but she always followed her gut. If she fucked up, she’d own her mistakes. Her gut instinct said Dax Williams and his merry band of kitty shifters told the truth. And as a fellow alpha, she could understand the agony at having your fight for leadership interrupted, the rage at the pack being split unfairly, and the shame at having to slink to another pack for help.
Sierra locked up behind her while Jeremiah hopped in the driver’s side of his jeep. He revved the engine as she joined him in the other seat, and with a rumble, they took off. Even though the early morning rays trickled down, the day already promised to be a sweltering one, and sweat pricked along her arms, making her wish she’d worn a looser tank top. Summers in Pennsylvania meant ample humidity, thickness she could suck through a straw.
Jeremiah pulled out onto the highway, and they set to flying, her hair streaming behind her and the sunshine pulsing a steady beat into her dark hair. The scent of motor oil tangled with the buttercups on the side of the road waving in the breeze, an intoxicating combination that enlivened her as much as the morning sun.
“We’re not stomping into enemy territory, are we?” Jeremiah asked, his gaze slipping to hers.
“Stomping isn’t what I had in mind—skating around it maybe.” Sierra leaned back in her seat, basking in the glow. “You’re being dragged along for your other skills.”