33. Asher

ASHER

A s I lunged for Edgar's throat, a memory came to me.

It was the day before my father died. He was standing next to me, watching our men go through drills. At the time, I'd been surprised he had showed up. He didn't usually bother watching these things, just like he didn't bother keeping up with most of his alpha duties.

Having him so close made me feel awkward. My father was taller than me and more muscular. There was a lot about my father I was ashamed of. The entire pack walked on eggshells around him, I had taken over most of his duties from Uncle Garrett, and I was already more of an alpha than he had been since my mother died. But none of that mattered when he stood beside me.

I'd always hated how small I felt in his presence. Despite it all, the Dagger pack still loved him, and I couldn't understand it.

He had been quiet for a while, and I'd thought he would stay that way, but then he spoke.

"Being an alpha means having to make tough choices for your pack."

I glanced at him. Though I disliked him, I never disrespected him. I had an urge to roll my eyes, as well as the urge to call him out for the ways he'd fallen short of our pack's expectations, but I'd held my tongue, just like I always did. Just like everyone did.

I didn't respond and waited to see if he would say anything else.

"Being a man means having to make tough choices for the sake of your mate, your family," he'd said.

I thought about Holo and the way I'd heard her scream. If that was what he meant when he talked about making tough choices, I was even more sure that falling in love wasn't for me.

"Maybe one day you'll have the opportunity to make up for my mistakes."

That had surprised me. I'd never heard him so reasonable. "What do you mean?"

He didn't answer my question, just walked away.

I never understood what my father was trying to tell me, and he never cared to explain it. Frustratingly, I had no idea why that memory was coming to me now months after he had died. Maybe it was because this was my moment to make up for what my father did.

Now I could take back my pack's dignity.

Edgar and I crashed to the floor. He was weak, and I expected to be able to sink my teeth in my throat and call it a day, but he rolled and threw me off. Fuck. Even though his power was waning, he still had some fight in him.

I slid on the marble floor but caught myself before hitting the wall. I hopped to my feet and sprinted for him again. Mid-sprint, I was compelled to shift into my human form. I stumbled right into the path of Edgar's punch.

I took it to the cheek, black spots clouding my vision. He grabbed my head, forcing it down toward his knee. On instinct, I got my arm up in time to block it. I adjusted my grip, hefting his leg so he fell onto his back again.

He grunted, the breath whooshing from his lungs. In the moment I would have fallen on him and started punching, I was compelled to shift again. I shook my head, disoriented, and Edgar kicked my face.

I growled in rage and frustration as pain split through my skull. I heard him scramble to his feet and half-run-half-limp toward the door. I trusted my ears and ran to beat him to it. I barreled into the door, and he crashed into me. We were in a heap on the floor. I bit his shoulder, and he screamed as blood rushed from the wound.

The urge to shift hit me again, but I was ready for it this time. I wrapped my arm around his neck and threw my leg over his. His hands gripped my arm, but he kept his nails too short to draw blood, and he wasn't strong enough to break my headlock. I increased the pressure until I felt his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

"Before I kill you, I have to know. Why did you keep your power a secret for all these years? Why didn't you just make us ferals off the bat?"

I could practically hear his mind turning over his options. He didn't have many. He could make me a wolf again, but he was so close that I could just bite him once more. Either way, he was screwed, and his sigh told me he knew it.

"Because of family," he grunted.

I growled and tightened my grip on him again. "I want a clear answer, Edgar. Quickly."

He let out a choking snarl and tried to kick free. My grip held firm. "Because," he spat. "Evelyn was my little sister."

Shock rippled through me, raising goosebumps on my arms. Evelyn. My mother.

I wanted to deny it outright and kill him for the lie, but didn't that make some sense? His insistence on letting Connor handle the skirmishes even though we won every time, and the fact that he never adjusted the length of time we were forced to spend as wolves—he left our curse the way my father had it when he died.

It would have been easy for him to push us onto feral lands and finally get rid of the headaches we caused. But acting would be disrespectful to the pack that his sister had left the manor for.

"You knew the curse would dissipate when Connor ascended," I said, speaking through my thoughts.

"All I had to do was stay neutral," he grunted. "And this little ethical dilemma would solve itself."

"You chose the coward's way out," I growled.

"It was the best play. As a strategist yourself, you understand why I chose it."

I hated him for it, but he was right. I saw his logic, and in his shoes, I couldn't say with complete certainty that I would have made a different choice.

But his inaction had left a suffering pack—a pack that was always on the brink of becoming fully feral. It was no way to live, yet he'd summed up the last months of hell as a "little ethical dilemma." He might have loved my mother, but he had no love for me or my pack. That would make killing my estranged uncle so much easier.

In the second that I would have tightened my grip and sealed his fate, I caught a whiff of something. Blood. Followed by Phaedra's floral scent. It was faint but fresh. I would have recognized her anywhere.

I thought she would be on the ferry for the mainland by now, but she was still here. And if she was bleeding, she was in trouble.

With a wave of horror, I realized this must have been Connor's old room. She probably went to see Edgar in his room, not realizing he and Connor had switched. That son of a bitch had my mate.

Edgar must have smelled the blood too because he coughed, "He's killing her."

"What did you say?"

He swallowed and squirmed, trying to get in a more comfortable position to talk, but I was going to make sure that he was as uncomfortable as possible while he answered my question.

"Connor knew Phaedra was claimed. He told me he was going to get rid of her for finding another mate."

"That makes no sense," I said, more out of frustration than anything else. "He rejected her."

"My son is an idiot, but he's a proud one. You touched something that belonged to him, and now he's going to destroy it."

His words made my skin crawl. Now I was the one with an ethical dilemma. I had only seconds to decide what to do. Did I waste what might be the last seconds of Phaedra's life by killing Edgar, or did I choose to save her and doom what remained of my pack to the curse?

Phaedra didn't want me. Our bond was gone. But those two facts didn't kill the feelings I had for her.

I thought about my father and how his love for my mother had driven him to madness. I had been driven to madness, too, but not because of my feelings for Phaedra. I had chosen her over my deal with Selene, it was true, and I'd made the mistake of using an alpha command to get my pack to be kind to Phaedra, but how much of that was because of the fated mate mark, and how much was because of the curse?

Even before I met Phaedra, I'd been stretched thin. I had the health and safety of the Coldcrow and my own pack on my mind, the encroaching pressure of Connor's ascension breathing down my neck, and keeping up with the work of an alpha. The only thing that had kept me from cracking under all that pressure was… Phaedra. She provided the comfort I craved from those pressures, she challenged me but made me laugh, and every second I spent with her was a second I cherished.

I was still in the wrong. I'd made decisions that led to people getting hurt. And no matter what I did now, I was making a choice that would lead to my loved ones being in pain. I was about to let my pack down again.

"You're one lucky son of a bitch," I said, shoving Edgar away from me. I left him coughing and rubbing his neck as I shifted into my wolf form by choice before sprinting off in the direction of the blood.

I was condemning myself and my pack to becoming feral, but at least we would be alive.

I wasn't choosing her because I was losing my mind. I was choosing her because I loved her, and I couldn't stand the thought of living in a world without her—whether as a wolf or as a man.