I won’t back down. Not now. Not ever. Even if I was signing my own death warrant.
My gaze flickered over to Callum, and his amber eyes focused on mine in a way that made me wonder if he was seeing me at four or five or six or ten, or any age up until the point that Ali had taken me away.
Bryn. I didn’t hear his voice in my head, but I saw that single word—my name—in his eyes. Saw the recognition behind it. The feeling. And something else: a look I knew, one I’d seen many times before. It was a look that pushed me. One that challenged me to take everything he’d ever taught me and think. There was a way out of this dilemma, but I had to find it and set it in motion myself.
So I did what Callum’s eyes bid me and thought. And the answer was there, in everything I knew about the men in this room and everything Callum had taught me about maneuvering my way around werewolves.
“Actually,” I said, finally responding to Shay’s words, my eyes still on Callum’s, “I do think you’ll let me keep them. Because this isn’t Europe. This isn’t Asia. And in North America, alphas don’t take other alphas’ wolves. We don’t challenge each other, and if you want to take what’s mine, you’re going to have to challenge me.”
You’re going to have to kill me. Those words went unstated, but every single person in the room understood that they were there, and a wave of static energy pulsed through the air. Alphas didn’t like being challenged. Especially not by females. Especially not by humans.
Especially not by me.
“Seems to me the girl has a point,” Callum said, his face neutral, his body perfectly relaxed in a way that would have scared the daylights out of anyone with enough sense to know that Callum wasn’t the type to get mad.
He got even.
“By Senate law, if a wolf wants to transfer packs, both alphas have to sign off on it, and Bryn seems a bit resistant to that idea,” Callum continued.
Shay growled. “You can’t be serious, Callum. She’s human! She’s weak. If we want what she has, we’ll take it. I’ll take it.”
Callum didn’t growl, but he must have stopped holding back, stopped shielding his power from the others, because in the next instant, something ancient and undeniable flooded the room. This was what it meant to be alpha. This was what real power felt like.
Each and every one of the men in the room stumbled. I didn’t even blink.
“Now, see, that depends,” Callum said, his voice still neutral, his face still blank. “On whether or not we consider ourselves a democracy.”
I couldn’t help the satisfied smile that spread slowly over my lips. I’d seen this coming. I’d set him up to say it. If the Senate was a democracy, none of the alphas in this room could challenge me or take a single wolf that belonged to me. And if we weren’t a democracy, well …
In that case, Callum had no reason to hold back. No reason to recognize anyone else’s claims to their wolves.
“Well, Shay, are we a democracy or aren’t we?” I took great pleasure in throwing those words, the exact words Shay had used to force a vote on the Rabid, back into the Snake Bend alpha’s face.
Game. Set. Match.
No one wanted to challenge Callum, and to take what was mine, that was exactly what they were going to have to do. I wasn’t sure if this was just some cog in a greater scheme of Callum’s, some detail that had to fall into place for the future he most desired, or if maybe he was doing this for me. Because I mattered. Because maybe I was worth it.
My chest tightened, and I could almost hear the sound of glass shattering as something inside me broke, but I couldn’t risk letting anyone else see the breaking, so I kept my face carefully neutral, like someone who’d learned from the very best.
“I think we’re done here,” I said, daring the alphas, any single one of them, to tell me we weren’t. “You can see yourselves to the door.” For a moment, I thought Callum would throw his head back and roar with laughter, but he didn’t. He just glanced up at the ceiling as one by one, I met the other alphas’ gazes, and one by one, they turned away and filed out the door, their hatred for me and the way Callum had tied their hands palpable in the air. As I watched them go, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someday they’d be back. Maybe not to this cabin. Maybe not anytime soon, but eventually, some or all of these alphas would decide that the prize was worth the gamble. They’d call Callum’s bluff and take their chances. And when they did, things were going to get ugly.
Finally, I brought my face back to Callum’s, and out of habit, my hand went to my waist, to the Mark that had once connected the two of us into something more. For a moment, I felt a pang for what we’d lost, but that longing was drowned out by a moment of prescience, one that told me that Callum knew as well as I did that this wasn’t the end. Not between the two of us and not with the Senate. Someday, the other alphas would strike back.
And when they did, we’d be ready. I’d be ready.
For the first time in my life, Callum looked away from my gaze before I looked away from his, a slight, knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. Then, without a word, he turned and followed the other alphas out the door, until the only ones left in the cabin were the ones whose minds and heartbeats I knew as well as my own. The ones whose strength and power pulled at me from all directions, with the familiar call of alpha, alpha, alpha.
Pack, pack, pack, I whispered back, my mind to theirs. Let’s run.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“HEY, COULD I GET A REFILL ON THIS COFFEE?”
“That depends,” Lake said, looking at the customer with dancing eyes before turning to shout toward the bar. “Maddy, you want me to shoot him?”
Maddy—who’d joined Lake as a waitress and proven that the only thing more terrifying than one of them was two—pretended to think it over for a moment and then shook her head. “If you shoot him, it’ll take him longer to run far, far away. And besides, it might hurt your tip.”
Lake turned back to the man in question—one of many Weres who’d ventured into the Wayfarer in the two months since it had become the center of a new territory. Montana and western North Dakota no longer belonged to the Stone River Pack. The Wayfarer and the land surrounding it for a good hundred miles on either side belonged to the newly minted Cedar Ridge Pack, courtesy of Callum.
Technically speaking, the new territory belonged to me.
There was a part of me—the human part—that still believed it was all semantics, that I was an alpha in name only, because Weres couldn’t understand the idea of a pack without one. But there was another part—the part of me that knew every second of every day where each and every one of my wolves was—that recognized that the title wasn’t a meaningless one. It wasn’t empty.
It was real.
But it was different, too, from the way things had been in Callum’s pack. The wolves in Cedar Ridge and I were all connected, but until or unless we were threatened, I didn’t control that connection, and I didn’t use it to control anyone else. I hadn’t spent my entire life referring to Callum as a patriarch only to turn into his female counterpart overnight. If there was a problem, I solved it. If they needed me, I was there, but in their human lives, the wolves in my pack could choose when to follow me and when not to, and most of the time, I didn’t make an active attempt at leading. It wasn’t like Lake was ever going to let me live under the delusion that I ran things. She bossed me around as much as she always had, and that wasn’t even taking her dad or Keely or Ali into account.
None of the adults in our lives had been particularly pleased with our adventure to Alpine Creek. Our parents had arrived at the cabin just after the battle of wills with the Senate had ended—and needless to say, Lake and I hadn’t fared quite as well against Ali and Mitch as we had against the entire werewolf establishment. I’d spent most of the summer grounded, and with the new school year fast approaching, Ali and Mitch had only backed off because, laissez-faire alpha or not, my mood tended to trickle down into the others, and a pack of stir-crazy
juvenile wolves was nobody’s friend.
“Want another root beer?” Keely asked me.
I shrugged. “Sure.”
The man who’d futilely asked for more coffee turned to glare at me, but all I did was raise an eyebrow, and he looked very quickly away.
There were seventeen werewolves permanently in residence at the Wayfarer now—Lake, Mitch, Katie, Alex, Devon, and twelve of the kids we’d rescued from Alpine Creek. Some of the others—mostly teens—had chosen to make their way elsewhere. I hadn’t objected. The two who’d been attacked most recently had gone home, with the understanding that the local pack would treat them like visiting dignitaries and not try to claim them or enforce any dominance of their own. For now. Two or three others, all eighteen years old (or close enough to it to convince Ali they didn’t need constant supervision), were playing at being peripheral, though my pack-sense—alpha-sense—told me that none of them would stay gone for long.
You’re quiet today.
The sound of Chase’s voice in my head made my lips curve slowly upward. There were moments when my pack-sense was still, and for seconds, maybe minutes at a time, I could remember what it had been like when the two of us were the only people in my head.
The only people in the world.
I knew without asking that he was nearby. That if I snuck out my window late at night and tiptoed into the forest, I’d see him. I’d bring him clothes, and he’d shed his wolf skin, and under the blanket of darkness, he’d tell me everything he’d seen since he’d been gone.
Chase was my eyes and ears. Lake and Devon were my guard, the way Devon’s parents were Callum’s, but Chase was my emissary, the one who ran the perimeter of our territory and reported back.
The job suited him, and it suited Ali that he wasn’t always here, that some days, there was space between us and she could pretend that since he hadn’t Marked me and I hadn’t Marked him, we were just two crazy kids with a crush.
You’re always quiet, I replied to Chase’s comment by turning it around on him. I miss you.
I felt the reply from his wolf, the kind that told me that sometimes, they thought they’d spent their whole lives missing me.
Dork.
Cynic, Chase retorted.
I wished that I could leave my root beer on the counter and run out to meet him, but being alpha meant that I didn’t always get to do as I pleased. Sometimes, I had to do things just because they needed to be done, even if they terrified me.
Even if they made me feel like there was a possibility that the entire world might fall out from underneath me.
That was what I was doing in the restaurant today—besides watching Maddy and Lake torturing the clientele. The alpha of the Stone River Pack had requested a meeting with me.
I’d agreed.
Callum and I hadn’t seen each other since he’d walked out of that cabin in the woods. He hadn’t called me. He hadn’t written. He hadn’t made a single move to even talk to me until now.
Pack. Pack. Pack.
I took some relief in their presence, and I opened up my senses, reminding myself that I was doing this for them. That Callum was an ally, not my keeper. That I was an alpha, not his girl.
Sipping on my root beer, I swung my feet back and forth and found amusement in the way that Lake zeroed in on a target—human, most likely—to hustle at pool. A low hum in my pack-bond brought my eyes to look for Maddy, who had fallen into a quiet spell, the kind she still had every hour or two, and I reached out to her with my mind, reminding her that I was here. That we all were. And that she was herself.
Maddy, not Madison.
Ours, not Wilson’s.
Healing, not broken.
She hadn’t been able to go back to her family. Not after being dead for ten years, not when she couldn’t go more than a mile away from the rest of our pack without her wolf driving her back—to pack, to safety, to home.
“Bryn.”
I turned toward Callum’s voice, and something inside of me began to dissolve. Seeing him would always make me feel like a kid, and it would always remind me of the things that had brought me here. The things he’d done and the things he hadn’t. Some days, I thought everything went back to Callum—
He’d saved me from the Rabid when I was four.
He’d Marked me.
He’d raised me.
He’d given me Ali, who loved me enough to take me away.
He’d trained me.
He’d pushed me.
He’d lied to me.
And ultimately, he’d let me discover the truth, because based on everything I’d learned about Callum’s knack, he had to have known that I would.
“Let’s walk,” I said.
For a long time, Callum and I walked and said nothing. And then, finally, he spoke. “How are your grades?”
Somehow, I hadn’t pictured that as being his opening.
I rolled my eyes. “It’s summer. No school, ergo no grades. Ali’s been homeschooling the youngest of the new Weres, though. They aren’t quite elementary school—ready yet, so she’s got her hands full.” I paused. “Lake, Maddy, and I will be driving in to the closest high school starting in September. Chase and Devon, too.” I was babbling, but I couldn’t seem to help it.
“How is Ali?” Callum asked me.
I nodded. “She’s good. She misses Casey, but I don’t think she’ll ever go back to him.”
Casey had dropped by, with my permission, a few weeks after we’d gotten back from Alpine Creek. He’d come to see the twins and to talk to Ali. It killed me that I’d been the one to tear the two of them apart, but the simple truth was that Ali might eventually forgive him for the part he’d played in hurting me, but she’d never let him in again. Not when she knew that if push came to shove, pack loyalty would always run deeper than anything he felt toward her.
“He visits the twins sometimes,” I said. “We’re thinking of taking them to Ark Valley for Christmas. If the alpha of that region gives us permission.”
Katie and Alex were nine months now, but they looked more like two-year-olds. They were gaining on Lily every day, much to her indignant dismay. Ali said the twins’ growth would slow down by their first birthday, but that they’d always be a little ahead of the curve.
“Is this what you came here to talk about?” I asked. “Ali and the twins? My grades?”
“Education is important,” Callum argued reflexively.
This wasn’t what I’d expected for my first interaction with one of the other alphas as their equal. Callum had walked out that door the day my pack had killed Wilson, the same as the others alphas had, and he’d signed off on giving me part of his territory from afar. Somehow, I’d imagined our first face-to-face meeting being more ominous.
I’d imagined it hurting more.
“We miss you,” Callum said. “And Devon.”
Sora and Lance couldn’t have been happy about the fact that Devon had left Ark Valley, but at the same time, I doubted they were surprised. Their oldest son had left his pack and fought his way to the top of another when he wasn’t that much older than Devon was now.
With or without me, Dev would have left Ark Valley eventually. He was too strong and too independent to stay.
“I miss you, too,” I told Callum. A month earlier, I wouldn’t have been able to say the words. I wouldn’t have even been able to think them, and I certainly wouldn’t have meant them. I wondered if he knew that I wasn’t talking about the pack. For most of my life, he’d been one of the most important people in it. He’d lied to me and he’d beaten me and he’d helped me and then left me alone to deal with the fallout, but he was still Callum. I still had his Mark carved into my body.
I always would.
Moving with fluid grace, Callum turned and pulled me into a hug. He didn’t rub his cheek against mine, didn’t Mark me as his or try to get me to submit. He just held me, and then he moved back and looked me in the eye.
I felt his wolf reaching out to me, cal
ling to me through the power that bound me to others of his kind. At first, my instinct was to slam up my psychic shield, but a small sound escaped Callum’s mouth, and I realized that he wasn’t asking to be let into my head, or to control my bonds.
He was offering to let me into his.
Cautiously, I looked into his eyes, and I reached out to him, my heart speeding up as I did. Part of me recoiled, waiting to be slapped back, and throughout my territory, Cedar Ridge wolves stopped what they were doing and answered my distress.
I’m fine, I told them. I’m going to be okay.
And I would be. This was Callum. And even though a large part of me didn’t trust him, there were also parts of me that always would.
So I let down my own walls, and I stared into his eyes, and Callum reached out and caught my mind, the way he’d caught my body when I’d launched myself at him as a child, putting me on his shoulders and spinning me around.
In those seconds that I was inside Callum’s head, I saw the world through his eyes, and I realized that Mitch had vastly understated the power of Callum’s prescience. It wasn’t just a habit for knowing what was going to happen, an instinct. It was a web, an intricate web of possibilities, of dominoes that could fall, paths that might be taken, and the futures that might result from each.
Everything was connected. Every action had a consequence, and though it was very hard to get the drop on Callum, he wasn’t all-knowing. His power was limited by physical proximity—of all the children Wilson had attacked, I’d been the only one close enough for him to see. And even when an event was close enough, when he could make out the threads crisscrossing the time line’s web, he wasn’t perfect. He couldn’t control the future. He could only steer it—stay away from actions that led to dead ends; do things that he didn’t want to do to save the people he cared about in the long run.
Slowly, I unraveled his interactions with me. He’d come to save me when I was four, because he’d known I’d need saving, but he hadn’t gotten the vision in time to save my parents as well. And when he’d failed on that front, he’d seen horrible things in my future if he left me there, so he took me with him. And he’d known that the pack wouldn’t accept me unless they had to, so he’d Marked me and forced their hands, and he’d seen that he couldn’t give me to any of the other wolves or keep me himself without putting me at the center of a firestorm, so he’d chosen Ali and shown her what awaited me if she said no.