“Why are you being such an ass about this?” Kyle straightened up and walked over to the table. He leaned over me, but I stared at the computer monitor and pretended not to notice. “Tobias, I don’t want you there alone, okay? Last time scared the fuck out of me. I might have lost you. I’m not letting it happen again.”
“You think I want to risk you?” Now I looked up at him. My anger was too strong not to. “You think I didn’t almost lose it last time when I didn’t know how badly you were hurt and no one would frigging tell me anything?”
He took a step back and folded his arms. “You were shot. All I had to deal with was a psycho ex-alpha with a death wish. I should have killed him.”
“He’s dead now.” Saul had invaded my pack’s territory only two months earlier. He hadn’t lost his alpha powers when the rank had been stripped from him, and he could make people forget they’d seen him. He had stalked a young wolf from another pack who had been sent to me by the Anax, the ruler of all werewolves in the United States. My new wolf had killed Saul after he’d taken her from her apartment.
I was glad he’d died. He’d also turned two of my wolves against the pack, causing them to kidnap a six-year-old boy who had moved with his father into our territory. The father had been attacked and changed into one of us while trying to rescue his son. My two wolves were dead too, killed for revealing themselves to a human, and Kyle had almost faced death for the same reason. All because of Saul.
I hadn’t protected my pack well enough, and I refused to let my guard down again. That was why I wouldn’t allow Kyle to accompany me to Pennsylvania for the semi-annual regional alpha conference at the home of Zane Wolfskin, our region’s Arkhon, or regional leader. Losing my pack members hurt like hell and drove home the fact that I wasn’t really cut out to be an alpha, even though I’d run the Boston North Pack for over thirty years, since shortly before my eighteenth birthday.
Losing Kyle would have killed me.
“You’re right,” he said. “Saul’s dead. Melia’s dead. Art’s dead. Everybody’s dead, Tobias. For a change, we might be able to have a relaxing time together. Celebrate being with each other the way we didn’t get to do in September because of goddamn Saul.”
“I’m not declaring you as my mate again.” That had been one victory in September. I was the first male alpha in history, as far as anyone knew, to declare a male mate in front of the Arkhon and entire region. The other victory had been the recognition of Boston North Pack as its own entity. Until then, we’d officially been considered part of City Pack, though almost everyone had known the truth.
“I bet Justin’s bringing Tareth,” he muttered.
I shook my head. “Her doctor said she can travel, but Justin won’t allow it. He won’t risk her and the baby, especially after what happened in September.” The City Pack Alpha, who had been instated after Chal’s death, was even more protective of his human mate than I was of Kyle.
My phone rang, the generic ringtone mercifully cutting him off, and I grabbed it. It probably wasn’t pack business or anything important, but I needed a break from Kyle’s arguments. “Tobias Rogan.”
“Leave your mate at home.”
My heart sped up. I was already on a mild adrenaline rush from fighting with Kyle. This call amped it up. It was a threat. I didn’t need to hear any more than I had to determine that.
The question was who would threaten my mate? The voice was disguised somehow, though not by anything particularly advanced. It sounded like one of those microphones marketed to kids. But it was enough that I couldn’t even tell whether the speaker was male or female, let alone take a stab at identifying the voice.
“Who is this?” I demanded.
“Leave your mate at home,” the voice said again. “If you bring him, he won’t be going home.”
“Who the fuck is this?”
My voice cracked. The first sign I was losing it, and one I wished I’d kept a better handle on, but the voice was threatening Kyle. My mate. My life.