The Alpha in Question

Pack Rule #12: If the Alpha says, “Trust me,” immediately identify the nearest exit.

If you’d asked me three months ago what my biggest problem would be, I would’ve said balancing the pack budget.

Paperwork wasn’t glamorous, but somebody had to make sure we had enough money for patrol supplies, winter food stores, roof repairs, and the alarming amount of coffee consumed by the Alpha’s office.

The coffee wasn’t technically part of the budget.

It had simply become a survival expense.

I also would’ve mentioned convincing Elder Martha that glitter was not an approved ceremonial supply.

“It represents joy,” she’d insisted.

“It represents three weeks of cleaning,” I’d replied.

Neither of us had been willing to compromise.

Or maybe I’d have complained about reminding the younger wolves that the meeting hall was not an appropriate place to settle wrestling matches.

Three broken tables.

One cracked chandelier.

One very confused carpenter.

I’d considered that a difficult week.

Looking back…

I missed those days.

Because my biggest problem wasn’t paperwork.

Or glitter.

Or furniture.

My biggest problem had broad shoulders, an Alpha title, and the survival instincts of an overconfident golden retriever.

To be fair…

Rowan was everything an Alpha should be.

Fearless.

Compassionate.

Loyal beyond reason.

If danger threatened the pack, Rowan ran toward it without hesitation.

If someone was hungry, he’d somehow convince everyone they had enough to share.

If someone had lost hope…

He’d stay with them until they found it again.

That’s why everyone loved him.

Unfortunately…

He also believed every terrible idea deserved a chance.

Especially if it started with the words—

“Watch this.”

Or worse…

“Trust me.”

Every time Rowan smiled like he’d just solved a problem, I somehow ended up with three new ones.

I was halfway through organizing next month’s patrol schedule when I heard heavy footsteps racing down the hallway.

Fast.

Purposeful.

Excited.

I looked toward the office door.

Please don’t be Rowan.

The footsteps passed.

I blinked.

They kept going.

Past my office.

Toward the front entrance.

Then…

Silence.

I frowned.

That wasn’t normal.

Rowan wasn’t quiet.

He couldn’t be quiet.

The man somehow made opening a door sound enthusiastic.

I waited another few seconds.

Nothing.

“That’s unsettling,” I muttered.

Elder Martha wandered past my office carrying a basket of herbs.

“You’ve said that three times this week.”

“And I’ve been right every time.”

She smiled.

“He has a good heart.”

“I know.”

“He means well.”

“I know.”

“You worry too much.”

“I document appropriately.”

She laughed.

“That’s a very Beta answer.”

“It’s an accurate Beta answer.”

She started walking again before pausing.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“I saw Rowan earlier.”

I looked up.

“Did he seem… normal?”

She thought for a moment.

“He was carrying rope.”

“…Why?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Did you ask?”

“I’ve reached an age where I no longer ask Rowan unnecessary questions.”

Smart woman.

I made a mental note.

Question Rowan about rope.

Actually…

No.

On second thought…

Don’t.

Some mysteries were healthier left unsolved.

I returned to my paperwork.

Five peaceful minutes passed.

Five glorious…

Incident-free…

Paperwork-filled minutes.

I’d almost convinced myself the day might remain normal.

Then the emergency bell rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Not the kitchen bell.

Not the training bell.

The emergency bell.

The sound echoed through every hallway in the pack house.

My shoulders slumped.

“No.”

No one answered.

I wasn’t talking to anyone.

I was bargaining with fate.

The office door flew open so hard it slammed against the wall.

A young patrol wolf stumbled inside, completely out of breath.

“It’s the Alpha!”

I closed my eyes.

“Is he hurt?”

“…Not exactly.”

I opened one eye.

“Is someone else hurt?”

He hesitated.

“…We’re still figuring that out.”

Wonderful.

“What happened?”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“He said he had a plan.”

I stared at him for several long seconds.

“…Those words should require written approval.”

The patrol wolf nodded immediately.

“I actually suggested that.”

Outside, someone shouted—

“Catch him!”

Another voice yelled—

“Don’t let him climb that!”

A third screamed—

“Seriously?! Again?!”

I stood.

Picked up my clipboard.

Slid a sharpened pencil behind my ear.

Finished my coffee in one swallow.

Experience had taught me two very important things.

First…

If Rowan was involved…

The paperwork was about to multiply.

Second…

If people were already shouting “again”…

Whatever was happening…

This wasn’t their first attempt to stop him.

I started toward the door.

Halfway there, I stopped and looked at the patrol wolf.

“One question.”

“Yes, Beta?”

“…Is there another goat?”

He blinked.

“…No.”

I frowned.

“…Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“I’m sure.”

Somehow…

That answer worried me even more.

Because if there wasn’t a goat involved…

Whatever Rowan had done this time…

He’d managed it entirely on his own.

I sighed.

“Come on.”

He hurried after me.

Behind us, Elder Martha calmly picked up her knitting basket and followed at a leisurely pace.

“You aren’t in a hurry?” I asked.

She smiled without looking up.

“Oh, I’ll get there.”

“What if it’s serious?”

“My dear…”

She threaded another stitch.

“If Rowan is involved…”

“…it’s always serious.”

She paused.

“…Eventually.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

Somewhere outside came another crash…

…followed by cheering.

“Oh no,” I whispered.

Cheering was never a good sign.

Not when Rowan was involved.

Not ever.