“Did you hint at it? Tell him you wanted revenge?”
“Of course not.”
She leans back, satisfied.
“Then it wasn’t because of you. It was because of him. His choice. His code. You can’t take responsibility for how their life works, Grace.”
Am I listening to the devil? Because somehow, the guilt eases. Not gone, but lighter. And that’s awful. People are dead. And I feel… relieved.
I twist the damp towel tighter between my fingers, and water drips onto the thin blanket covering my legs.
“So basically, I should just excuse massacres as cultural?”
“Not shrug it off. Understand it. There’s a difference.”
Lyre taps her thigh, tilting her head.
“Humans made laws and prisons because your bodies are fragile and your lives are short. That’s what you grew up with. What’s familiar-all the way down to your…”
She waves a hand.
“Bone marrow?”
Ew.
“Anyway, anything outside that code will feel wrong. But shifters are stronger, heal faster, live longer. Their justice is immediate and physical.”
The idea of Rafe delivering Caine-style justice twists my stomach. But then I remember how cold he was during the Mate Hunt. Was he pretending to be gentle just to play the part I wanted?
It’s like my memories have been under a filter-only showing me what I wanted to see.
“I guess I lived in a bubble.”
Human but not. Pack but separate.
I lean back. A yawn threatens, but I tense my jaw to fight it. It burns my nose. My entire body feels bruised from the emotional fallout.
Lyre’s shoulders ease, and she sighs-softer this time.
“Thank the Goddess. I thought I was going to end up owing that idiot.”
I blink.
“What?”
“Not you,”
she clarifies.
“The other one.”
Wait. What other one? Does she mean Caine? And if she’s clarifying I’m not the idiot…
My eyes narrow.
“So I am an idiot. Just not the one you’re talking about?”
Lyre holds up her hands, palms out, like she’s surrendering.
“Wow. You sure get sharp at the most awkward timing.”
Well, it’s not like it’s the first time she’s insulted my intelligence. Granted, I was oblivious the first few times… which only proves her point.
Damn it.
CAINE
The Fiddleback Pack is unusual, settling most of their central pack territory in the middle of a human city.
There are rows of cookie-cutter homes, differentiated only by paint color. Manicured lawns, where even the trees look trained. White fences.
The back of my neck itches, and I resist the urge to scratch at it.
“How do your wolves stand this?”
Marsh glances at me from behind the wheel, his expression placid.
“Stand what, High Alpha?”
“This.”
I gesture at the subdivision sprawling around us.
“Boxed in like sheep. No room to breathe.”
A yard the size of a postage stamp comes into view, a plastic swing set crammed into one corner. The thought of a pup confined to such a space makes Fenris bristle.
“We’re used to it.”
Marsh shrugs, turning down another identical street.
“Most of us were born here.”
“That’s worse.”
Fenris growls agreement in my head.
“Why live among humans like this? Most packs claim territory where their wolves can run free.”
Marsh’s fingers tap against the steering wheel.
“Numbers, mostly. Our pack isn’t large enough to maintain extensive territory. The subdivision houses all of us. Seventy-four wolves total.”
Seventy-four. Barely enough for a functional pack hierarchy. My pack numbers over a thousand.
“And the humans don’t care?”
“We’ve adapted.”
Marsh’s voice carries a hint of pride.
“Integration gives us options our ancestors never had. Jobs. Education. Resources. The humans think we’re just another community association with strict property rules.”
The car slows as we pass a human woman pushing a stroller. She waves, and Marsh returns the gesture with practiced ease.
“And if one of you shifts accidentally?”
“Hasn’t happened in fifteen years. Our control is exceptional.”
I observe his profile. Though young-perhaps twenty-five at most-he carries himself with the confidence of someone comfortable in his environment. No strain of keeping his wolf leashed. No yearning for wilderness.
“Is that why your pack uses these unusual titles? Deputy Marshal?”
Marsh’s eyebrows lift.
“Oh, Deputy Marshal?”
A smile touches the corner of his mouth.
“It’s because we’ve taken on as law enforcement around here. We keep it clean.”
“Law enforcement.”
The concept is strange. Wolves policing humans while suppressing their nature.
“Sheriff Halloway-Alpha Ian-was elected ten years ago. Most of our enforcers work for the department now.”
We turn onto a wider street, the houses growing larger but no less uniform. There’s no presence outside. No children in the yards. No one walking in the streets. It’s too silent, too devoid of life.
Aren’t they preparing a banquet?
“And the humans trust you to police them?”
“Our presence has benefits for everybody. Crime rates are the lowest in the state.”
I can imagine. Few criminals would survive crossing paths with even the weakest of their bunch.
“What happens to those who break your laws?”
Something shifts in his scent.
“Justice.”
Opening the pack link to my beta, I ask, What is the situation with Fiddleback?
Jack-Eye’s thoughts reach back immediately. Surprisingly luxurious for such a rural pack. Humans would love to live here. Thom’s impressed.
And the pack?
A little rough around the edges, but disciplined.
No pups. That detail snags my attention. Every healthy pack should have children running underfoot, testing boundaries, learning their place in the hierarchy.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.