Emmie Blackwell POV:
"Steal?" I choked out, my mind reeling. "I saved a child!"
He sneered, the sound echoing off the grimy brick walls. "A child?" he repeated, pulling a sleek device from his pocket. He flicked the screen on and held it up. "Then explain this."
The security feed showed the "boy" I'd rescued running into the alley, but as the image zoomed and clarified, the face was unmistakably that of a wrinkled, cunning adult—a dwarf known in certain circles as "The Weasel," a notorious Rogue spy and information broker. The blood drained from my face. I'd been used.
"Now," He leaned in closer. "Tell me. What is your connection to him?"
The Alpha presence radiating from him was a physical weight, pressing down on me, demanding submission. My wolf-less nature made me exquisitely vulnerable to it. But fifteen years of surviving in the human world had forged something else in me: a core of pure, unyielding steel.
I took a shaky breath, forcing the panic down.
In the split second he was focused on my face, waiting for an answer. My left hand, pinned between our bodies, twisted at the wrist. A thin, wickedly sharp silver dagger, a gift from my adoptive father for my eighteenth birthday, slid silently from a hidden sheath in my sleeve and into my palm.
I drove it upward, aiming for the soft flesh beneath his jaw.
The blade was pure silver. A weapon made for werewolves.
His golden eyes widened, the pupils contracting to pinpricks. It wasn't fear I saw in them. It was a flash of shocked, feral appreciation. He could smell the silver, could probably feel the phantom burn of it against his skin.
He didn't move back.
A slow, cruel smile spread across his lips. "You've got guts," he murmured.
Then he moved faster than I could track. His free hand shot out, clamping around my wrist. The sound of my bones grinding together was sickeningly loud in the quiet alley. Pain, white-hot and blinding, exploded up my arm.
My fingers went numb. The silver dagger clattered onto the wet pavement.
With a single, effortless motion, he wrenched my arms behind my back, pinning both of my wrists in one of his massive hands. He pressed his body fully against mine, trapping me completely. My cheek was smashed against the cold, rough brick.
I could feel the powerful, steady beat of his heart against my back, the heat of his body scorching through my thin shirt.
He lowered his head, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear.
"You're the first one who's ever tried to greet me with silver, sweetheart."
His free hand began to move, patting me down with an infuriating lack of ceremony. He was searching me for more weapons, for whatever he thought I had stolen. His hand slid over my ribs, my waist, my hips, his touch both impersonal and possessively thorough.
When his hand moved up to my neck, his fingers brushed against the thin silver chain of my locket.
With a sharp tug, he ripped it from my neck.
He held the locket up, dangling it between his thumb and forefinger. It was a simple silver oval, a gift from my adoptive parents. On the front was an engraved 'B' for Beaumont.
"I am Hayden Randolph," his voice dangerously low, his golden eyes burning into mine. "Alpha of the Stonehaven Pack. Remember that name."
Then, his gaze dropped to the locket. "There are two other males' scents on this," he continued, his voice still a low growl. "Who are they?"
Just as he opened his mouth to say more, the sound of heavy footsteps and the metallic click of guns being readied echoed from the mouth of the alley.
"Alpha!" a voice called out.
A group of men, dressed in tactical gear, appeared at the entrance, their weapons trained down the alley. They froze when they saw us, their eyes widening at the sight of their Alpha pinning a woman against the wall.They froze when they saw us, their eyes widening as they took in their Alpha pinning a woman against the wall.
He didn't let go of me. He didn't even seem to spare them a glance. His scorching gaze remained locked on me.
"Secure the perimeter," he ordered, his voice icy and clipped. "The dwarf won't get far. I want him found."
His men nodded, professionalism taking over, and they dispersed to carry out his orders.
His attention returned to the small locket in his hand. He clenched his fist and wordlessly shoved it into his pocket.
An indignant cry escaped my lips. "Give that back! It was my mother's!" The lie came instinctively, a desperate bid to reclaim the only thing that connected me to the family I'd truly known.
He only gave me a cold, dismissive look. He released my wrist but still kept me trapped between his body and the wall, his strength an invisible, unbreakable chain. The absolute certainty in his eyes told me I wasn't going anywhere until he allowed it.
A sudden, sharp crack split the air, and a chunk of brick exploded from the wall just inches from my head. Gunfire.
