He shook his head. “Some Packs actually make you fight the omega. If you win, you move into the general Pack populace. If you don’t, you have the option of becoming the runt—as the omega is often called—or you can choose not to join.”
I wasn’t clear on all the terminology, but Killian’s explanation was pretty self-explanatory. “I’m glad you won’t be doing that. I don’t think I’d want to see you in a fight.”
“They can be bad,” he said. “Both combatants usually come out pretty roughed up.”
I swirled the noodles around my fork. “Do women fight when they join, too?”
He nodded. “Most female wolf shifters aren’t ever rogue—or lone, though sometimes if the alpha male of the Pack dies, then the alpha female must fight the beta’s mate in order to stay. Usually the beta moves up, becoming the alpha. He’ll have the option, if he’s single, of marrying the alpha bitch so she can stay alpha. If he’s married, she’ll have to fight the new alpha bitch to be allowed to stay in the Pack.”
I stared at him. “I had no idea Pack dynamics were so complicated.”
Killian finished off his calzone. “There are so many things you learn as a shifter. If you can make it to my swearing-in ceremony, remember, never stare at the alpha or his mate. You can look at them if they’re talking to you, but if you stare when they aren’t, it’s considered a challenge.”
“Oh good gods, I hope I don’t mess up things,” I said.
“You won’t, I have faith in you,” Killian said. “Now finish your entrée. Do you want dessert?” He pushed aside his plate.
Even though Ruby’s had excellent desserts, I was comfortably full. I finished my last bite of the chicken and then leaned back, satisfied. “No, I ate more cookies than was good for me today. I saved some for you, by the way.”
“Good. I love cookies.” He motioned for the check. “Then we’ll get out of here and drop down to the station to press charges. Maybe I can get in a swipe at Ellison while we’re there.” At my look of horror, he laughed and added, “I’m joking, I’m joking.”
But I knew he wasn’t.
So, my name is January Jaxson. I’m forty-two, curvy, five-nine with long hair that’s currently a red-violet. I’m what’s euphemistically called plus-size, though honestly, most American women are size 14/16, so why we’re considered “plus” is ridiculous. We are the norm, not the outliers. So yeah, my measurements are bountiful, but I no longer cringe when I see myself in the mirror.
Last December, I moved back to Moonshadow Bay and took over the family home to make a whole new life for myself.
My parents had died in a car crash five months before that. I still miss them horribly, but I am learning to live in a world where I was suddenly orphaned and divorced. But I have a wonderful boyfriend, good friends to hang out with, a job I enjoy and am good at, and two cats who might as well be my kids. All in all, I feel I’m navigating change better than I ever expected.
A small town about ten miles south of Bellingham, Washington, Moonshadow Bay was founded in 1905 by my great-grandfather Brian Fletcher and his wife, Colleen. They, along with a small group of witchblood, birthed the town into being. Brian and Colleen had come over from Ireland a few years before. Both were witchblood, but Colleen was a powerful witch, and her legacy passed down through all of her daughters. My grandmother Naomi was the only one of the daughters left alive, and she passed the family legacy through my mother, to me.
Oddly, given they were witchblood, most of them had died way too young. That fact puzzled me, and I still didn’t know what had gone on. But when Colleen’s daughters died, they had returned as spiritual guardians to those of us who were their descendants.
Known collectively as “the Ladies,” they were a force unto themselves, and they didn’t hesitate to whop us upside of the head if we didn’t listen. My great-aunt Esmara had just come to me when I moved back home. She was my guardian, though she made it abundantly clear there were limitations on the help she could offer.
Killian turned onto the main drag and then to the left, easing into the parking lot behind the City Central complex. A massive structure in downtown Moonshadow Bay that took up an entire city block, the complex housed everything from the Garrison Library to the police station to the fire station to all the city offices. A clocktower in front stood three stories tall, guarding the entire downtown area. Inside, City Central was basically laid out like a mall. Even the courthouse was located in the building.
The parking lot was large, but even with as many people who worked there, at this time of night it was mostly empty except for several police cars, a fire engine or two, and a smattering of other cars. We parked near the back entrance and headed up the ramp toward the double doors.
“Promise me—” I started to say, but Killian interrupted me.
“Will you quit worrying? If I wanted to kill Ellison, I would have done so before now. While I’d like to see him out of the gene pool, I’m not going to self-destruct. But if he touches you again—if he lays one hand on you—he’s going on a long journey to the bottom of the bay.”
We walked around the building to the main entrance. The back doors were locked after six p.m. Although Moonshadow Bay was one of the small shadow towns, we still felt the impact of what was going on around the country.
Killian opened the door for me and I glanced up at the security camera as we entered and waved. The complex was lit by ambient lights, and the walls were painted a pale cream—a soft color that was soothing.
The Garrison Library made up the left corner of the building, and to the right, a long hall led through the various city offices. Straight ahead, across the hall, was the police station, and next to it, the courthouse.
As we pushed through the bulletproof doors to the police station, the receptionist stopped us. Behind her was another door—made of steel—and it led to the officers’ desks and to Millie’s office.
“Hi, we’re here to see Millie, if she’s still around. I’m January Jaxson, and I’m pressing charges against Ellison Reilly for violating a restraining order.” I had met the receptionist before, but I doubted she remembered me.
She glanced through the reports. “Oh yes, Mr. Reilly is still incarcerated. He’s scheduled to appear before the judge tomorrow. I believe Chief Tuptin has gone home for the day, but let me call the acting sergeant.” She motioned for us to take a seat over in the waiting area while she picked up the phone.
“I hope you’re not feeling sorry for the idiot,” Killian said.
“Not in the least. But I do resent that he put me in this position. I wish he’d write me out of his life. That’s what I’m trying to do to him.”
“Ms. Jaxson? Officer Marsh will see you now.” The receptionist buzzed open the heavy steel door and we entered. An officer waited on the other side for us, near the dispatcher’s desk. The dispatcher had four monitors facing her—two high and two wide—and she was wearing a headset.
Officer Marsh was easily six-six and well over two hundred pounds. He looked like a linebacker, and I immediately latched on to the fact that he was a shifter of some sort. What kind, I didn’t know, but he and Killian appraised one another and then, with a grunt, the officer led us back to his desk.