Raised by Wolves(25)

“If you want to see the boy, you’ll have to do better.”

And there it was: the first condition. I wondered if Callum’s attack had been a test, if there was anything I could have done that might have convinced him that I was ready to see Chase now, or if he was just using my unusual willingness to comply with his wishes as an excuse to achieve a cog in some master plan. If the next condition involved me acing algebra, I was going to be very suspicious.

“I’ll do whatever I need to do.” I gave Callum a look that I hoped conveyed “you know I mean it,” with shades of “don’t toy with me.”

“You’ll see Chase once you’ve convinced me that you can defend yourself from him should things get out of hand. Until then, I’ll expect you to double your normal training regimen, and I want you sparring with partners of my choice on a regular basis.”

The idea of fighting someone who wasn’t Callum didn’t sit well with me. I would have been lying if I said that I’d never fought anyone else—I had, on occasion, handed touchy, grabby humans their butts on a variety of platters, but I was too smart to go around fighting Weres.

Besides Callum, there were only a few that I’d tangled with physically, even as practice, and I tried not to think about what it would be like fighting someone who I trusted less than Callum.

“Consider it done,” I said out loud. “What else?”

We weren’t exactly using the formal language of permissions and conditions, but we were both on edge—Callum because sparring under the influence of moonlust was no walk in the park, and me because being sparred with by a werewolf under the influence of moonlust sent a cold chill down the length of my spine.

Come out, come out, wherever you are.…

“In addition to increasing your training regimen, I have four conditions for the permissions you seek.” Callum transitioned to alpha-speak, and I could feel the formality of it building a barrier between us.

“I’m prepared to hear your conditions, Alpha.”

My words, every bit as formal as his, solidified the wall that held us apart, and if this hadn’t been so important to me, that would have forced me to crumble. Losing Callum, even for a second, was worse than any condition he could possibly lay down.

Or at least, that’s what I thought at the time.

“Once I deem you ready for your visitation or visitations—the number and times of which will be set in accordance with me—I’ll select three members of the pack to accompany you and serve as chaperones.”

Chaperones … or bodyguards? It was so like Callum to insist that I kill myself preparing for defensive maneuvers that he had no intention of ever allowing me to make.

“You will not see Chase with fewer than three members of the pack present, and during the course of your visitation, you will yield to their dominance on all matters.”

Dominance. I hated the word. I hated everything it represented, and in that moment, I hated Callum for forcing it on me. The idea of letting three random Weres tell me what to do, of submitting to them in all things without an argument, made me consider blowing real chunky chunks right there on the spot.

“You’re selecting the members of the pack to whom I have to submit,” I said, restating his words as my own.

Callum didn’t reply to the question in my voice, or say anything to assuage my reluctance. Instead, he just stood there, looking at me from the other side of that invisible wall.

“I agree to this condition, Alpha,” I said, forcing the words out of my mouth.

“My next condition …,” Callum started to say, and then he looked at me, for real. “You’re not going to like this one, Bryn-girl.”

Uh-oh. Being Bryn-girl was a magnitude worse than being Bronwyn. When I was Bronwyn, I was in trouble, but I was only Bryn-girl when Callum was cushioning an otherwise deadly blow. The last time he’d called me that, someone in the pack had accidentally eaten an injured rabbit I’d nursed back to health.

I waited for Callum to elaborate, refusing to let him know the effect his words had on me.

“For the duration of the permissions,” Callum said—and I took that to mean from the moment I started in on the extra training until my last visit with Chase was complete—“you’ll acknowledge the pack. The bond,” he clarified.

My adoption into the pack—though Callum had taken steps to make it legal in the human world—was more than just words on a sheet of paper. I smelled like Pack. I lived like Pack. And, if I had let myself, I would have felt like Pack. I would have been bonded to them the way they were bonded to each other—supernaturally, psychically, instinctually.