Bound to Reign: A Luna's Exile to Painted Ridge

“I’m disappointed again,” the deep voice complained from the front room. “Let’s go.”

​In the back of the house, a woman with deep chestnut hair tied back into a messy bun was unaware of the grumbling man. Sadie was bent over her textbook, gray eyes scanning the pages as quickly as she could. Her midterms were coming soon, and she had every intention of maintaining her excellent GPA. If her sisters wanted to continue being simpering social climbers, that was on them. If Sadie’s parents had somehow convinced this Alpha he was the first to "review" their daughters, their acting deserved an award.

​“Caleb, slow down,” a different voice said. This one was smoother, but slightly deeper. “We followed your nose clear across the country to this house; there has to be a damn reason.” This voice belonged to Caleb’s best friend, Nash. He would do anything for his Alpha, but that didn’t mean he was going to do it without complaining.

​“What’s your point? I told the Mercers I scented my mate. I followed it, and these are their daughters. She’s not here.”

​The Mercers looked at each other. They didn’t have to say it out loud to know what the other was thinking: Across the country? Who is this wolf? Has our ambition gone too far?

​“Well, then either you’ve gone nose-blind—in which case we have a problem—or something else is up.” That was Colter: always reliable and level-headed, at least where the Painted Ridge Pack was concerned.

​“My nose is fine, Colter,” the taller male griped.

​Simultaneous to this uncomfortable exchange, Sadie was nodding her head to her favorite study music. She had the rest of this semester in a traditional college setting before starting her student teaching. Most families would be thrilled to have a future teacher in the family, but not the Mercers of Vinings.

​“Pulling out the last name? Fine, Caleb, be annoyed—but think.” Nash knew the answer, but trying to tell an Alpha who was pissed from being crammed in a car and frustrated from barely smelling his mate for days what to do was never easy.

​“Think…” The Mercers and their two adult daughters sat there, staring at the exchange as if they had no control in their own home. In a way, they didn't. Packs on the East Coast, at least the ones near cities, weren't like Painted Ridge. Mr. and Mrs. Mercer were middle-ranking members of a very large pack. They integrated among humans, and their "runs" were scheduled using calendar apps. These two middle-tier wolves didn’t have enough dominance combined to even speak without direct permission. The Alpha of the Chattahoochee Bend Pack wore suits and couldn’t name the majority of his pack; he certainly hadn't seen them recently.

​As if he could physically clear the fog he was feeling, Caleb shook his head like a wet dog. “Right. So, these are all the women of the house?”

​Samuel Mercer cleared his throat and straightened his spine, trying to recover some dignity. “Sutton and Sienna are the only two who could be putting off a scent you could have smelled, Mr. Miller. You know as well as I do—”

​“That is not what I asked,” Caleb snarled.

​Meanwhile, Sadie couldn’t be more oblivious if she tried. You would think a full-grown Alpha growling would be audible over pop music, but she was in the zone. A mate should be able to smell their own, but perhaps she was too focused, or too young. Whatever the reason, she was happily unaware of the drama a room away.

​Sutton, the oldest sister, was not one to sit quietly. Her life as a lawyer didn't suit sitting back and allowing events to unfold. Unlike her mother, her dominance levels had not yet been tempered by finding a mate.

​“We heard what you asked, Caleb. In case you forgot, you aren’t the only wolf here, and being a wolf doesn’t make any of us above the law. It just gives us a reason to hide from it.” Her threat was subtle, but not easily missed.

​Caleb turned his green-and-gold eyes onto the unmated she-wolf. Her scent was close, but not right. It had been a long time since anyone had challenged him, and watching her do it was frankly cute—especially since she looked like she had missed one too many meals.

​“You’re… Sutton?” Caleb’s voice grew softer, gentler. That tone was more dangerous than these "civilized" wolves knew. She lifted her chin defiantly. “Well, it seems you still have much to learn. I’ll make sure I let your Alpha know you are due for some lessons. It’s a bad idea to get between any male and his mate. But an Alpha? Very bad.” His grin was not intended to reassure.

​“Mentioning my Alpha as an intimidation tactic isn’t going to work. I’ve done nothing wrong.” Sutton tried not to back down, but an Alpha's energy is hard to resist. A weakness developed in her muscles—an urge to break eye contact.

​Caleb raised an eyebrow and uttered a single word: “Sit.”

​The dominant energy in that single syllable was so strong that Sutton complied within half a second.

​“Now, you,” Caleb turned to the other sister, Sienna. “What’s the secret?”

​In the kitchen, Sadie was feeling hungry again. She didn’t take her "wolf" side very seriously. Her family wasn't heavily involved; the Mercers felt more like people who go to church for the attendance credit. What Sadie was involved in, however, was feeding her wolf. Her sisters were worried about their figures and the gym. Sadie? She had goals and plans.

​Sadie took off her headphones. Removing the noise-blockers seemed to reawaken her senses. She breathed in deep. There were wolves in the house. Wolves who didn’t belong here.

​Damn social climbers, she thought. Who knows what schmoozing they are up to now. Rolling her gray eyes, Sadie decided against getting involved in the "Mercer Dynastical Plan." She spotted some jerky on top of the fridge. Unfortunately, Sadie’s five-foot-two frame wasn't going to reach it easily.

​“Caleb, let’s take a beat,” Sienna started, always thinking of the optics. “There is no secret. We all know our family isn’t the most involved in lupine life, but we still know she-wolves don’t put off pheromones like what you’re smelling until they're ready for heats. That shouldn't happen until their mid-twenties. Sadie—”

​“Mine.” The name was like a bell. “Where?”

​In the kitchen, Sadie was on a step stool. Her hoodie was riding up, revealing a sliver of her back. Her fingers finally snagged the prize: dried, salty beef. Her celebration was rudely interrupted by a noise behind her.

​“You. You’re Sadie.”

​A tall, tan man had pushed open the kitchen door and was staring at her as if she were the source of everything good in the world.

​“I am. Who the fuck are you, and why are you staring at my ass?”