1. Deacon

October 1982

"Hands up, figlio," my father's voice shouts moments before my fist connects with Luca's jaw, whipping his head back at the impact and releasing a trickle of blood from a new cut on his left cheek. I drop my arm, giving him a moment to recover before launching into my next assault.

Despite slowing my movements, my brother still misreads my body language and takes two fists to the ribs before falling back to the mat in an attempt to catch his breath. Red marks slowly flush across his skin, causing my guilt to flare up.

Come on! Pay attention, brother.

Luca is three years older than me and an Alpha by birth. He's the prodigal son, and I'm the spare. I spent my early childhood being entirely ignored by my father, having the freedom to play in the woods, learn to cook in the kitchen with my mother, and bask in the overwhelming certainty that as long as I stayed in the shadow of my big brother, my life would be my own.

It wasn't until my Awakening that everything changed. My wolf is stronger than Luca's, and no matter how much I tried to tamp it down, play it off, and avoid power struggles, the Alpha in me couldn't be ignored.

"Di nuovo, Luca. Deacon, no more cheap shots," my father snarls, disappointedly shaking his head.

Sure thing...I'll try slow motion.

I turn away from him, walking toward the water fountain in an attempt to hide my eye roll. Maintaining my facial expressions becomes complicated when he gets like this. His inability to see Luca's true strengths may cost him his bloodline legacy.

Luca is a lot of things, but a fighter isn't one of them. He's reserved, creative, and intelligent in a way that doesn't lend itself to combat. On the rare occasions father isn't dragging him through some meeting, training, or lesson on becoming an Alpha, Luca can be found drawing up blueprints, tinkering with models, and even lending his talent to remodeling areas in the pack house.

Architecture, engineering, design. He could excel at any of them, but he pulled the golden ticket, or short stick depending on who you ask. Luca was born the eldest son of Giovanni Marlo, the strongest Alpha on this side of the country. A conniving, power-hungry narcissist who believes in leading with fear. If he can't beat someone physically, which in most cases he can, he manipulates them with blackmail. A skill his time mentoring with the Amato family taught him, along with everything he needed to know about holding his title.

At least when Luca takes over, things will get better.

Setting my jaw, I flip my eyes to Luca, who's now standing, a crisp white towel pressed against his cheek that is slowly being stained red. His glare meets mine, and I see the frustration building behind it. His expression shifts, and I can almost hear the message he cannot say. Let me finish this.

I nod slightly, knowing his win must look authentic, or our father would just have us rerun it. Absently, I scratch the left side of my jaw, signaling the opening I will give him.

"Combattere!" my father shouts, sending us back into the session. I begrudgingly lift my fists in a loose stance and bounce on my toes. We go back and forth, sending swings for the next minute, narrowly avoiding each other in a good show of sport. Eventually, Luca counters my swing, causing him to back onto his heels in order to prevent the impact. I step forward again, throwing my other hand at his ribs in a hook. This move leaves my face wide open for him, and I'm sure to flash my eyes to his as I swing in hopes he reads the move. The crack of his right fist perfectly on my left jaw snaps my head backward and takes away all of the force intended for his ribs as I fall to the mat, stars in front of my eyes.

Son of a bitch!

That hurt more than I expected, and deep down, I'm proud of Luca for not pulling his punch.

Over the ringing in my ears, I hear my father's exhilaration and praise, always for Luca. Part of me wishes things were different, but the other part knows that when I leave here today, I get to pick up Grace from work. I get to spend my night with her. I get to be free, and that part is telling the other part he can fuck right off.

After a stern talking to from my father about leaving myself open for the attack, he allowed us to end our sparring session. In truth, he had a dignitary coming for dinner, and he wanted Luca cleaned up for the introduction. My instructions were clear: stay away from the house.

No problem.

My interest in political climbing within the pack is zero, maybe even less than zero. I don't want anything to do with territory reorganization and expanded alliances. I want a life with Grace.

Nine years ago

I still remember the day I met her. We were both nine, and she showed up halfway through the school year. Our pack housed its own school building to mitigate revealing our species. With most of us being Awakened on our tenth birthday and puberty being what it was, they needed to ensure we wouldn't wolf out on someone in the middle of class. Having our pack school prevented our exposure but elevated our competitiveness.

When Grace walked in, her copper red hair woven into pigtail braids, freckles splattered across her nose, and a pair of overalls that screamed country bumpkin, I knew she wouldn't last a day on her own. She oozed sweetness, and this pack was anything but.

Not my problem.

I kept my head down and continued drawing on the side of the page that was supposed to be for an essay on the branches of the US government. The teacher for this block was Mr. Somerstorfer, and he was notorious for his no-nonsense classroom management. Well, with everyone but me. Being the Alpha's son had its advantages, and he mostly left me alone because he knew as well as I did that going to classes was more of a formality at this point.

I would work for the pack or run another one. College was out of the question.

He'd spent the last two weeks explaining how all the branches worked, who was responsible for what while lacing in pack law, and how we operate within and around those branches to help stay off their radar.

None of this stuff mattered in real life. We're wolf shifters hidden from the government and society as a whole. The legal system, as it stands, wasn't a problem. It was the oversight of the LLC we had to worry about, and nearly half of them were connected to my father by birth or marriage.

As I shaded in the left side of the tire connected to the motorcycle I was drawing, the teacher mumbled something about interruptions this late in the semester and instructed her to sit down and write whatever she knew about the American government.

Whispers broke out around the room, kept low so that they didn't carry. Unlike in traditional schools, our teacher had wolf hearing, which made conversations during a test nearly impossible. After a moment"s pause, where I assumed she was deciding the seat that would cause her the least trouble, I heard her take the seat next to me.

She hadn't said anything since arriving; she sat, pulled a paper from her bag, and began to write. The class settled and continued with our work. Forty minutes later, the bell rang for lunch, and as we got up to turn in our papers, she spoke for the first time.

"Not sure what an old motorcycle has to do with the American government, but that may have been the best drawing by a kid I've ever seen."

She didn't stay to hear my response, not that I had one; she simply handed her paper in and walked away, pigtails swinging behind her with each step. The moment was burned into my memory for two reasons: the first was that she had six seats to choose from that day, and she chose the one next to me, and the second was that she had complimented me without expecting anything in return.

OK, new girl, who are you?