Marc pulled me up and squeezed me so tight I suddenly missed that breath I didn’t want to take. I sucked in fresh air and exhaled it on a sob so strong it shook us both. I cried on his shoulder, clinging to him, my eyes squeezed shut, my nose dripping. The source of my tears was a bottomless well carved out of my very soul, fed by my grief and tainted by anger so black, so charred, that it hadn’t even fully penetrated my conscious mind.
But it would soon.
And when I finally opened my eyes, I saw the room full of toms through tangled strands of my own hair, while I breathed air that tasted like Marc’s scent and my father’s blood. Some stared at their own feet, hands shoved into pockets, tears staining usually stoic faces. Some watched me. Waiting. Expecting…something profound. Something decisive. Something worthy of an Alpha.
And that’s when I truly understood, even if I hadn’t totally accepted it: they needed my dad, but what they had was me. Period. Nothing would change that. And I could not fail them—not without failing my father.
I pulled in another deep breath and let go of Marc, though my arms felt unbearably, tragically empty. Jace handed me a tissue and I wiped my face, flinching when the tissue came away smeared with blood.
“Okay…” I shoved hair back from my face and glanced around the room, distantly relieved to realize that everyone was standing under his own power. There were injuries, certainly—two toms were cradling one arm apiece, and one was favoring his left leg—and cuts and bruises galore. But by some miracle, no one else was mortally wounded, or even handicapped. And they were all accounted for.
“We should assess our injuries and decide how to proceed from there. Right?” I glanced at my uncle, and he nodded.
Di Carlo stepped forward, drawing attention from me while I wiped my cheeks again. “Mateo, put together a quick report on how the other side fared. Injuries, casualties, and general disposition. Anything you can find out without actually entering any of the other cabins. Take someone with you, and be careful.”
Teo nodded and headed to his room, presumably to grab a jacket and something to write with.
“Um…” I cleared my throat and started again. “Jace, can you and Vic get me an assessment of injuries on our side? What can be healed quickly by Shifting, and what can’t. And what needs medical attention.”
Vic nodded, and Jace gave me a small, sad smile that somehow conveyed sorrow, sympathy, and confidence, all at once. He wanted to touch me, to comfort me, to share my grief, but he wouldn’t make trouble while we were in such pain, even if that meant watching Marc stand where he wanted to be.
“Uncle Rick…” Meeting his tortured gaze brought fresh tears to my eyes. He’d been crying, too. I’d never seen an Alpha cry, other than my father, when Ethan died.
“Just tell me what you need,” he said.
I need my father back. I need another decade of experience. I need Calvin Malone’s head mounted on a post in my front yard. I need Colin Dean staked to the ground, spread-eagle, with his stomach sliced open, so I can pull his intestines out slowly, while he screams. But my uncle couldn’t give me any of that. And I intended to accomplish the last two on my own.
“I need a cease-fire.” I could practically hear my brain whirring between my ears, searching for any memory of a precedent. Was the death of an Alpha enough to warrant a break in the fighting? “At least long enough to…bury my dad. Can you do that safely?”
He nodded slowly, clearly thinking. “I’ll need Aaron and Bert, and I’m pretty sure Blackwell will side with us on this one. He didn’t want to fight in the first place, and he won’t be party to disrespecting the dead. With any luck, at least a couple of the others will feel the same way. They fought against us today, but they were led by your father for years before that.”
“Good.” I rubbed my forehead, fending off a monster headache as I tried to wrap my mind around everything that needed to be done. “Thank you.”
The three Alphas headed for the main cabin, along with most of their enforcers, leaving me alone with Marc, Brian, and Elias Keller. Extra security was never a bad idea in the middle of a war. Fortunately, Keller showed no inclination to leave, and he wouldn’t let anyone surprise us while the others were gone. He wasn’t fond of Malone—who’d once called him Yogi Bear—and he’d shared a great mutual respect with my father.
“Thank you for your help, Mr. Keller.” I rounded the displaced coffee table with one arm extended, though it almost physically pained me to leave my father’s side. It felt like I was abandoning him.
“Call me Elias.” The bruin’s hand swallowed my own, up past my wrist. “There’s nothing I hate more than gun-totin’ Shifters. Cheaters, the lot of ’em. They got better’n human strength and speed, but they cart around guns like cowards.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Keller released my hand, and I already missed its warmth.
“Um, about the guns,” Brian began, hovering in the kitchen doorway. “I couldn’t find them in the shed, and once everyone ran off to fight I looked in Malone’s cabin, too, but—”
“It’s okay, Brian. I think we’ve accounted for them all now.”
“Well, I hate to say it, but our gun problems may not be over,” Marc began, crossing into the kitchen. “We confiscated nine of them, and you—” He glanced at Keller. “Well, you crushed the tenth, unless I was hallucinating out there. But it looks like Malone’s men reclaimed the three we took from the toms who ran from our cabin before all this started.”
But it would soon.
And when I finally opened my eyes, I saw the room full of toms through tangled strands of my own hair, while I breathed air that tasted like Marc’s scent and my father’s blood. Some stared at their own feet, hands shoved into pockets, tears staining usually stoic faces. Some watched me. Waiting. Expecting…something profound. Something decisive. Something worthy of an Alpha.
And that’s when I truly understood, even if I hadn’t totally accepted it: they needed my dad, but what they had was me. Period. Nothing would change that. And I could not fail them—not without failing my father.
I pulled in another deep breath and let go of Marc, though my arms felt unbearably, tragically empty. Jace handed me a tissue and I wiped my face, flinching when the tissue came away smeared with blood.
“Okay…” I shoved hair back from my face and glanced around the room, distantly relieved to realize that everyone was standing under his own power. There were injuries, certainly—two toms were cradling one arm apiece, and one was favoring his left leg—and cuts and bruises galore. But by some miracle, no one else was mortally wounded, or even handicapped. And they were all accounted for.
“We should assess our injuries and decide how to proceed from there. Right?” I glanced at my uncle, and he nodded.
Di Carlo stepped forward, drawing attention from me while I wiped my cheeks again. “Mateo, put together a quick report on how the other side fared. Injuries, casualties, and general disposition. Anything you can find out without actually entering any of the other cabins. Take someone with you, and be careful.”
Teo nodded and headed to his room, presumably to grab a jacket and something to write with.
“Um…” I cleared my throat and started again. “Jace, can you and Vic get me an assessment of injuries on our side? What can be healed quickly by Shifting, and what can’t. And what needs medical attention.”
Vic nodded, and Jace gave me a small, sad smile that somehow conveyed sorrow, sympathy, and confidence, all at once. He wanted to touch me, to comfort me, to share my grief, but he wouldn’t make trouble while we were in such pain, even if that meant watching Marc stand where he wanted to be.
“Uncle Rick…” Meeting his tortured gaze brought fresh tears to my eyes. He’d been crying, too. I’d never seen an Alpha cry, other than my father, when Ethan died.
“Just tell me what you need,” he said.
I need my father back. I need another decade of experience. I need Calvin Malone’s head mounted on a post in my front yard. I need Colin Dean staked to the ground, spread-eagle, with his stomach sliced open, so I can pull his intestines out slowly, while he screams. But my uncle couldn’t give me any of that. And I intended to accomplish the last two on my own.
“I need a cease-fire.” I could practically hear my brain whirring between my ears, searching for any memory of a precedent. Was the death of an Alpha enough to warrant a break in the fighting? “At least long enough to…bury my dad. Can you do that safely?”
He nodded slowly, clearly thinking. “I’ll need Aaron and Bert, and I’m pretty sure Blackwell will side with us on this one. He didn’t want to fight in the first place, and he won’t be party to disrespecting the dead. With any luck, at least a couple of the others will feel the same way. They fought against us today, but they were led by your father for years before that.”
“Good.” I rubbed my forehead, fending off a monster headache as I tried to wrap my mind around everything that needed to be done. “Thank you.”
The three Alphas headed for the main cabin, along with most of their enforcers, leaving me alone with Marc, Brian, and Elias Keller. Extra security was never a bad idea in the middle of a war. Fortunately, Keller showed no inclination to leave, and he wouldn’t let anyone surprise us while the others were gone. He wasn’t fond of Malone—who’d once called him Yogi Bear—and he’d shared a great mutual respect with my father.
“Thank you for your help, Mr. Keller.” I rounded the displaced coffee table with one arm extended, though it almost physically pained me to leave my father’s side. It felt like I was abandoning him.
“Call me Elias.” The bruin’s hand swallowed my own, up past my wrist. “There’s nothing I hate more than gun-totin’ Shifters. Cheaters, the lot of ’em. They got better’n human strength and speed, but they cart around guns like cowards.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Keller released my hand, and I already missed its warmth.
“Um, about the guns,” Brian began, hovering in the kitchen doorway. “I couldn’t find them in the shed, and once everyone ran off to fight I looked in Malone’s cabin, too, but—”
“It’s okay, Brian. I think we’ve accounted for them all now.”
“Well, I hate to say it, but our gun problems may not be over,” Marc began, crossing into the kitchen. “We confiscated nine of them, and you—” He glanced at Keller. “Well, you crushed the tenth, unless I was hallucinating out there. But it looks like Malone’s men reclaimed the three we took from the toms who ran from our cabin before all this started.”
