Total pages in book: 202
Estimated words: 193561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 968(@200wpm)___ 774(@250wpm)___ 645(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 968(@200wpm)___ 774(@250wpm)___ 645(@300wpm)
“Every voice matters here, folks,” Brody continues. “This is a new day and input from the pack is needed on pack matters, yeah? The floor is open for anyone with something to say.”
Nobody says anything.
Brody taps his fist as if it’s a microphone. “Is this thing on?”
There are a few laughs, but there’s tension and uncertainty in the air. It’s clear these folks are accustomed to being told what to do instead of being asked for their opinion.
“I say, damn straight,” Eloise finally answers loudly. “Either we end his life or let the SCC worry about him. Though, just sayin’… if the SCC gets him, we have no guarantees they won’t let him go later on.”
“His long list of crimes? I don’t see that happening,” Jase pipes up.
“Even still,” Eloise goes on, “The only way to make sure Wyatt Meadows can’t harm another of us along with any of you here in Arcana Falls is if alpha…err…Wyatt is no longer breathing.”
I look at my mate and I can tell she agrees. No second thoughts about her brother? Good.
“Can everyone vote?” a small girl asks.
“I think… everyone over the age of eighteen,” Brody responds. “Agreed?” He looks at the crowd.
“I think everyone over the age of sixteen should be able to vote,” a teenage girl calls out. “Because sixteen-year-olds who were forced to go to a certain place they didn’t wanna go and do things they didn’t wanna do should maybe have a say in what happens to our past alpha.” Her voice is scratchy and her face is red.
It’s clear she’s not typically a public speaker, none of the females in this pack are accustomed to being allowed to have a voice, but everyone in the room knows this is important to her and knows why. And seeing her expression and the wetness in her eyes, I want to kick the absolute shit out of Wyatt Meadows right now. And I already wanted to do more than just that.
“The only problem I have with this pack vote is that I probably won’t get my hands on him,” I mutter.
“Yeah.” Jase scoffs, eyes blazing with anger.
“I agree,” I call out and the teenage girl looks at me. I give her what I hope is a reassuring expression.
“I might only be fourteen but I think I should have a say, too,” a teenage boy calls out. “My dad got killed comin’ here the other day.”
“Sorry about your dad, buddy,” Brody says. “You know it’s nobody’s fault from Arcana Falls that your dad died, right? You know your past alpha attacked this pack repeatedly despite Greyson Blackwood reaching out to try to keep things amicable even after attacks were made.”
“’Course I do. Our alpha blamed you guys for what happened to my dad but he’s the one that sent off my seventeen-year-old sister to that same place Jenny went in order to line his pockets, buy guns, and such. My sister won’t stop cryin’. Everyone knows it was our alpha that fucked ever…sorry for my language, that screwed everything up.” The kid sniffles but gets a lock on his emotions and stands taller.
Brody clasps his hands together. “Okay, then does anyone have a problem with the fact that everyone who wants to vote should get a chance to do that?” He looks at Malachi sitting in the chair beside him. “You agree?”
He looks like he’s a few years younger than me. Tall. Lean. Blond hair. He looks thoughtful for a moment. “Yes. I agree. As long as fathers or mothers aren’t directing their kids? If someone wants to vote, they have to have an opinion of their own?”
“Anyone disagree?” Brody asks the room.
Nobody answers.
“I got a question,” the same teenaged boy calls out.
“Shoot,” Brody invites.
The kid looks like he’s trying to gain composure before he finally speaks. “We’d like to know where my dad is buried so we can pay our respects.”
Ty speaks up. “We were holding your deceased pack members in the basement here with plans to let you all bury them. But with the building repairs and the time that has passed, we had to act earlier today. We cremated them individually after getting their names from Malachi Carswell. Speak to me after we’re done if you want to claim their ashes.”
“Th-thanks,” the kid says, red-faced.
His mother squeezes his hand. His sister, sitting on the other side of the mother leans into her mother and her shoulders shake with the crying she’s doing.
Fuckin’ Meadows.
“Thank you, Tyson,” Malachi says, though he’s looking at the crowd. “We appreciate that very much.”
Malachi’s eyes now coast over to my direction and that’s where they stay – on my mate who is leaning into me, her arms around my waist as we stand against the wall inside the door.
I see it, plain as day – he’s carrying a torch for her. My lip curls and the temperature of my blood begins to rise. Stacy’s grip on me tightens and I look down at her questioning face. My eyes move back to Malachi and I feel her body go rigid for a beat, but she waves at him while also giving my waist a tighter squeeze, as if to send us both a message.