it's about power and bluffing.
Personality plays into it as well. There are wolves in the pack that are submissive to the core.
They'll never aspire to climb the pack ladder because they enjoy the safety of being under the rest of the pack's protection."
"Like an omega wolf?" I asked. In the wild, the omega wolf was the lowest-ranking wolf in a pack. It was the wolf that got picked on the most. The wolf that didn't get to eat until the rest of the wolves were done eating. Yet, as badly treated as it appears the omega wolf is, he or she is still under the protection of the rest of the pack. Which is why I asked, "It just looks like they're treated poorly? The wolves in the wild usually don't actually cause any physical harm to the omega, they just snarl and humiliate him or her."
"That is how it is supposed to be, yes." Something in her voice made me meet her gaze. "With werewolves, it doesn't always happen that way."
"What are you thinking that you're not telling me?" I leaned forward.
Her eyelids fluttered closed and she whispered, "Sheila has led the pack for eight years, and throughout the years she's held the pack together and followed the rules in every way. Lately, her hold is slipping."
"What does that mean?"
"She's let her darker desires cloud her judgment," Rosalin said. "She's a sadist, Kassandra. She has issues."
"You're not talking a little slap and a bit of hair pulling, are you?"
"No," she said. "She's abused those who are meant to be under her protection. It's gotten worse since her brother arrived." A growl trickled from between her lips.
"I take it you don't like him?"
"No one does," she said. "The only reason the pack has accepted him is because we have no other choice. It's not unusual for a new wolf to come in flaunting the Rite of Challenge. He hasn't done that. . . yet."
"The Rite of Challenge?" I asked.
"One werewolf challenges the other to a duel," she explained. "If the wolf challenging a higher-ranking wolf defeats them, then they get the higher-ranking wolf's position. It's a way to move up in the pack hierarchy."
"So, if someone challenges you, they get to be beta wolf?"
"Yes," she growled, but her eyelids flickered nervously.
"Don't worry," I said, "I'm not going to challenge you. How is the duel fought?" I asked.
"By shifting," she said and her gaze lowered.
I sat my mug on the table and slid to the floor, looking up at her. "It's to the death, isn't it?" I spoke what I sensed.
"Not always," she whispered.
"But most of the time?" I whispered. "Is that how it is?"
She put her face in her hands, auburn tresses hiding whatever expression she wore. "I don't know," she whispered. "Usually, it's to third blood. There are some that hold to the older customs, which yes, is to the death."
A single tear dripped from her chin. I moved to her without thinking.
I pressed my lips against her damp cheek, catching that tear on the tip of my tongue. I closed my eyes, savoring its salty sweetness, breathing my breath against her skin. Her scent came on my exhaled breath, the smell of moist soil and earth, the smell of wolf. Somewhere inside me I felt the wolf stir. Pack , she thought, and a fierce yearning gripped my heart.
Rosalin's fingers stroked my hair, lifting the white streak.
"Doesn't it get lonely?" she asked, smiling with soft sorrow.
"What do you mean?" I whispered, leaning into her touch.
"Being without a pack. Especially with the mark of the alpha on you." She tugged at the white streak.
"I haven't been around any other wolves to know," I said, suddenly understanding why most other wolves didn't have a punk-rock hairdo like mine.
She murmured, "But, you feel it, don't you?"
I turned, rubbing my cheek against her fingertips. "Feel what?" I asked, dipping my head and sliding my cheek across her jeaned thigh.
"Kassandra," she said with a hint of laughter in her tone that the wolf and I were happy to hear.
She smelled good. I wanted to carry that smell with me. I wanted
Personality plays into it as well. There are wolves in the pack that are submissive to the core.
They'll never aspire to climb the pack ladder because they enjoy the safety of being under the rest of the pack's protection."
"Like an omega wolf?" I asked. In the wild, the omega wolf was the lowest-ranking wolf in a pack. It was the wolf that got picked on the most. The wolf that didn't get to eat until the rest of the wolves were done eating. Yet, as badly treated as it appears the omega wolf is, he or she is still under the protection of the rest of the pack. Which is why I asked, "It just looks like they're treated poorly? The wolves in the wild usually don't actually cause any physical harm to the omega, they just snarl and humiliate him or her."
"That is how it is supposed to be, yes." Something in her voice made me meet her gaze. "With werewolves, it doesn't always happen that way."
"What are you thinking that you're not telling me?" I leaned forward.
Her eyelids fluttered closed and she whispered, "Sheila has led the pack for eight years, and throughout the years she's held the pack together and followed the rules in every way. Lately, her hold is slipping."
"What does that mean?"
"She's let her darker desires cloud her judgment," Rosalin said. "She's a sadist, Kassandra. She has issues."
"You're not talking a little slap and a bit of hair pulling, are you?"
"No," she said. "She's abused those who are meant to be under her protection. It's gotten worse since her brother arrived." A growl trickled from between her lips.
"I take it you don't like him?"
"No one does," she said. "The only reason the pack has accepted him is because we have no other choice. It's not unusual for a new wolf to come in flaunting the Rite of Challenge. He hasn't done that. . . yet."
"The Rite of Challenge?" I asked.
"One werewolf challenges the other to a duel," she explained. "If the wolf challenging a higher-ranking wolf defeats them, then they get the higher-ranking wolf's position. It's a way to move up in the pack hierarchy."
"So, if someone challenges you, they get to be beta wolf?"
"Yes," she growled, but her eyelids flickered nervously.
"Don't worry," I said, "I'm not going to challenge you. How is the duel fought?" I asked.
"By shifting," she said and her gaze lowered.
I sat my mug on the table and slid to the floor, looking up at her. "It's to the death, isn't it?" I spoke what I sensed.
"Not always," she whispered.
"But most of the time?" I whispered. "Is that how it is?"
She put her face in her hands, auburn tresses hiding whatever expression she wore. "I don't know," she whispered. "Usually, it's to third blood. There are some that hold to the older customs, which yes, is to the death."
A single tear dripped from her chin. I moved to her without thinking.
I pressed my lips against her damp cheek, catching that tear on the tip of my tongue. I closed my eyes, savoring its salty sweetness, breathing my breath against her skin. Her scent came on my exhaled breath, the smell of moist soil and earth, the smell of wolf. Somewhere inside me I felt the wolf stir. Pack , she thought, and a fierce yearning gripped my heart.
Rosalin's fingers stroked my hair, lifting the white streak.
"Doesn't it get lonely?" she asked, smiling with soft sorrow.
"What do you mean?" I whispered, leaning into her touch.
"Being without a pack. Especially with the mark of the alpha on you." She tugged at the white streak.
"I haven't been around any other wolves to know," I said, suddenly understanding why most other wolves didn't have a punk-rock hairdo like mine.
She murmured, "But, you feel it, don't you?"
I turned, rubbing my cheek against her fingertips. "Feel what?" I asked, dipping my head and sliding my cheek across her jeaned thigh.
"Kassandra," she said with a hint of laughter in her tone that the wolf and I were happy to hear.
She smelled good. I wanted to carry that smell with me. I wanted
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