1

That fall, everyone was asking Lydia Vasquez the same question:

“What are you going to do?”

It was all she heard, morning till night, even when no one was actually saying it out loud. It was in the way everyone in the pack shuffled their feet and spoke in low voices. It was the subtext of every question about her grandmother’s health. It was probably a subliminal message buried in the alarm tone that woke her up every morning ... usually from dreams where people asked her what she was going to do.

Or dreams where she asked herself what she was going to do.

She never had a real answer. Not for long, anyway.

Even a bad answer would have been better than none at all, but she was running out of those too. Every time she thought she’d come up with a potential solution, even a farfetched one, it fell through like sand between her fingers.

What are you going to do?

No one ever put the whole problem into words. It was too awkward. You couldn’t look someone in the eye and say, “When your grandmother dies, which will probably be any day now, how are you going to hold on to the pack? If Reeve Steele challenges you as the new alpha, will you fight? If you fight, can you possibly win? And if you lose, what happens to us?”

But whether they spelled out all the obstacles in her path or not, she had to say the same thing:

I don’t know. I’m trying to think of something.

And, well ....

“Think faster,” her grandmother said bluntly. “I’m dying faster, so you have to think faster.”

“I’m trying ,” Lydia said, but she could tell her grandmother was hearing it as a whine, not a dogged statement of purpose.

Her grandmother, as usual, was unimpressed. “Try harder.”

Lydia had to bite back the urge to ask if her grandmother had any more useful suggestions. Ruth Willmore had always been steely and stern, and she wasn’t going to soften up just because she was on her death-bed. She wouldn’t want to be handled with kid-gloves. But at the same time, Lydia would feel a lot better about herself if she didn’t snap at her right now.

Since she was short on reasons to feel good about herself lately, she was going to take every win she could get.

She took a deep breath. “I’m going to take a walk. Maybe that’ll help me think.”

To her surprise, that won her a look of grudging approval.

“Try the woods,” her grandmother suggested. “Go on all fours. It’ll clear your head.”

Lydia’s inner wolf perked up at that idea.

Too much time sitting in rooms lately, it said. We’ll feel better if we can run.

It was too reflexively respectful of its aged alpha’s looming presence to say that it wanted to smell things besides the clammy, medical odors of the sickroom, but Lydia could feel it itching to sniff at something fresh.

“Thanks. That’s a good idea.”

Ruth readjusted her pillows. “Of course it’s a good idea,” she muttered.

Lydia headed out into the cool morning air. Even with her relatively dull human nose, she could smell the comforting aroma of greenery. Somewhere in the distance, someone was running a lawnmower, adding to the earthy scent in the air.

Her small, isolated mountain village had a few humans who were in the dark about the shifters in their midst, but this neighborhood was all-wolf. It was safe to transform out in the open, even in broad daylight. Lydia relaxed and let herself sink down into her shift form.

The pavement felt wrong beneath her paws, so she wasted no time in leaping into the grass and loping off into the woods.

The pale afternoon sunlight and dark trees made the whole forest look like it had been sketched with charcoal. The last few months had been so unrelentingly, grindingly exhausting that it’d been a long time since Lydia had really gotten to breathe and appreciate simple pleasures like mountain air and scattered rainbows of wildflowers. As she padded over the forest floor, she stirred up delicious scents. It was like walking through a cloud of the sweetest perfume in the world, at least as far as her wolf was concerned.

Crickets chirped; birds sang to each other; water bubbled over the rocks in the creek.

People pay for soundtracks like this so they can fall asleep to them, Lydia told her wolf. They call it “green noise.”

Are we going to sleep out here? her wolf said hopefully.

Lydia hated to disappoint it, but ....

Sorry, probably not. But we can stay for a while. I know you need this, and honestly, I do too.

Her wolf seemed content with that.

She’d definitely been cheating it out of time in the great outdoors. With everything that had been going on, it had been easier to grab a book in her spare hours than go for a run. She’d been getting her natural world fix from one of the Jack Casey novels she kept by her bed, where park rangers and lonely wanderers solved mysteries out in Yellowstone and Grand Teton. The books gave her lovingly described wilderness and tidy problems that wrapped themselves up in three hundred pages, which was exactly what the human side of her needed.

But her wolf couldn’t be satisfied with the written word. It had needs, not worries. It needed to immerse itself in its territory. It needed this ... and she did too, just as much as she needed the books.

She roamed through the forest, luxuriating in the ambient green noise that she also would have paid money for. The calm here was so deep it felt like it was going to sink all the way down into her bones.

When memories of all her recent trouble started replaying themselves inside her head, they felt more manageable now. Maybe she really would be able to have some grand revelation out here.

Lydia’s grandparents had spent decades as the undisputed alphas of their pack. They were tough, brusque, no-nonsense people, exactly the kind people described as tough but fair. They weren’t always loved—or even liked—but they were unfailingly respected. And as long as they led the pack, it had thrived. It had come through all its scuffles intact, and it had survived an economic depression and countless inter-pack squabbles.

Then her grandfather had died.

Ruth Willmore was as tough as nails, but she still could have used some time to mourn the loss of her beloved mate, the man she’d been married to for over fifty years. But she had squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and refused to take it. There were other packs in the area who were circling around them, eager to move onto their turf and alert for any sign of weakness. She wasn’t going to give them one.

She’d handled her husband’s death as unblinkingly as anyone possibly could have, even though Lydia knew the two of them had—in their own undemonstrative way—adored each other. She’d held their community together when it would have been easy to let it all fall apart.

But not even Ruth could shrug off all the accumulated wear-and-tear of nearly ninety years. She was getting close to the end now, and everyone knew it. She made sure they did, because she didn’t want the pack she’d protected her whole life to be unprepared for her passing.

There was nothing Ruth could do about Reeve Steele sniffing around the edges of their village, though. He was bad news—a lone wolf who had left his original pack behind in disgust because it had adopted “soft, human” ideas about fairness and understanding. Since then, he’d been on the prowl for territory he could claim as his own.

It was werewolf tradition that outsiders could only issue alpha challenges right when power was being passed down: between an alpha’s death and their funeral. Any other time, it was an illegal seizure of authority. As soon as Reeve had realized Ruth was dying, he had started lurking around the edges of Mountainview, waiting for his chance. The second Lydia’s grandmother was gone, Reeve would make his move.

Reeve was mean, vicious, and determined to stomp out any signs of dissent. If he took over their small Montana town, he would turn it into his own little fascist utopia and drain its scant resources dry. Lydia couldn’t let that happen.

The problem was, they didn’t have any real fighters. An all-out war with another pack would always have finished them, but those were rare these days: lately territory loss involved more money and social pressure than muscle. Most battles were symbolic scuffles that led to injuries, not deaths.

Challenging an alpha was different. That tradition had been around since the Stone Age, and there was no chance of it going away anytime soon. Even though Lydia was terrified of it, it felt as natural to her as gravity.

And it always meant wolf-on-wolf combat.

Technically, it didn’t have to be to the death. If Lydia fought Reeve and lost, she could yield before she left too much blood on the forest floor. She could keep herself alive.

But if she did that, she would be giving him control of the pack. She’d be turning her people over to a nightmare.

Lydia had spent the last few months trying to cram in several years’ worth of fighting experience, but she wasn’t under any illusions about how well it was working. She was a lot stronger and a lot more skilled than she had been, but she was still small for a wolf. She couldn’t stand up to a hulking brute like Reeve. He would tear her to pieces.

As distasteful as it was to think about it, she would have made an alliance with him if he would have agreed. Their pack could give him support and a stable home base, and he could give them ... well, nothing, but he could agree to leave them alone. But Lydia had already sent that offer to him, and he’d rejected it right away.

Then she’d offered to cede a portion of their territory to him. She’d had to grit her teeth to do it, and she’d had to argue her grandmother into signing off on it, but she’d done it.

Reeve had turned that down right away too.

After that, Declan Harris, the pack’s lawyer, had advised her to stop making offers.

Declan worked for Turner Lowe, the shifter law firm, and he had experience with everything from property taxes on griffin nests to getting jaguar sun cults certified as religious non-profits. A lot of different shifters had their own codes of law, and Turner Lowe kept track of them all. Werewolf pack disputes were old hat to Declan, and he’d seen how they usually played out.

“The more you offer, the more desperate he thinks you are.”

“I am desperate!” Lydia had felt like tearing her hair out. “If Reeve gets control of this pack, he’ll make everyone’s lives worse.”

“I believe you,” Declan had said calmly. “I want to help you prevent that from happening. But you can’t do it like this. From what you’ve said about him, this is only going to make him salivate even more at the thought of snapping up your pack the second your grandmother is gone. We need to try another tactic.”

No one, unfortunately, had any idea what that new tactic might be.

Lydia let out a wolfish chuff in lieu of a sigh and went back to poking her nose through the grass, idly following an intriguing scent-trail. She wasn’t sure if this jaunt through the woods would help her think of anything groundbreaking, but it at least had to be good for her blood pressure.

She had almost decided that it was a raccoon she was smelling when another, muskier scent spiked through her senses. It set off primitive alarm bells, and her hackles went up instantly.

That’s not pack, her wolf growled.

No , Lydia agreed. It’s a wolf, but it’s not pack.

And she had a sinking feeling that she knew exactly who it was. It was like Reeve had sensed her starting to relax and had popped up to ruin her day.

All she could do was try to cover up her growing panic with an icy calm. She took off towards the new, rank scent, determined to make it clear that Reeve had to get out of their woods right fucking now.

Either challenge me, kill me, or back down , Lydia thought grimly. But don’t slink around stinking up our territory.

She crested a small rise and saw him down there beneath her.

Lydia always forgot how unsettlingly huge he was. Most werewolves’ shift forms looked like ordinary wolves, but it wasn’t unheard of for features to be heightened. Sometimes werewolves had sharper, brighter eyes. Silkier fur. Louder howls. And sometimes, sure, they were a little bigger.

But not this big. Reeve was like a wolf on steroids. And his size wasn’t the only thing about him that was alarming. His eyes were an unusual red-brown, the color of a fresh bruise. He wore his thick, shaggy coat like it was armor, obviously savoring how much an opponent would have to struggle to bite down through it.

And then, of course, there was the blood dripping from his muzzle.

Anger muscled in alongside Lydia’s fear. She growled at him, and he offered her a skin-crawling wolfish grin, his lips wrinkled back from his yellowed teeth.

She shifted back so she could tell him exactly what she thought about this. If he thought she was too dignified to stand outside screeching her head off at a wolf, he had another thing coming.

“You have no right to hunt in our woods! If you were a pup, or if you were desperate, I’d let it go. I’d even take you in, if you needed a home. But you’re just a poacher.”

She stalked towards him, the fallen leaves rustling beneath her feet. He didn’t look the slightest bit intimidated by her, and she probably had no chance of changing that, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to show that she was intimidated by him .

“I know you’re daydreaming about making all of this yours,” Lydia spat at him, “but even if you’re right, even if you win—it’s not yours yet. So back. Off. ”

He looked up at her with those unsettling maroon eyes and then slid back into his human form.

He was just as intimidating in this shape, and Lydia had to fight the instinctive urge to take a step back. It was one thing to get all up in a wolf’s face, but it was another thing entirely to find herself a few scant inches away from a man who was looking at her like he could rip off her arm like it was a chicken wing.

Somehow, she kept her feet planted where they were.

“Get off our land, Reeve. Or I’ll have you arrested for trespassing. These woods are technically private property. Everyone in town would back me up, and so would the law.”

His upper lip curled in a sneer. “You and your lawyers. You’d throw me in a human jail cell?”

“I’d throw you in any cell that would have you,” Lydia said honestly. “Why shouldn’t I? You’re breaking human laws and wolf laws by being here right now, and you know it.”

To her horror, Reeve stepped even closer.

“And you know,” he said in a low voice, “that there’s nothing you can do to make me. You’re too weak to fight. It won’t be long before I make you back down.”

Lydia raised her chin. “It’s not today.”

Reeve’s sneer turned into a smirk. “I like you all feisty like this. Tell you what, Lydia ... if you care so much about keeping your pack safe, why don’t you stay with them? I won’t agree to have a co-alpha, but I’ll agree to have a mate.”

What really made Lydia’s blood run cold was how, for a split second, she actually considered it. She was almost desperate enough to sell herself to Reeve Steele for the chance to at least mitigate the worst of his effects on her pack.

It wasn’t even pride that stopped her. It was sheer pragmatism. Reeve wouldn’t listen to his wife any more than he would listen to anyone else. If anything, he would listen to her less . Mating with him wouldn’t help her pack, it would just make a trap snap closed around her.

“I appreciate the offer,” Lydia said steadily, “but the thing is, Reeve, I’d rather die. So the only time you’re going to touch me is when we fight.”

His face flushed a dark, furious red. “You think you’re so great? You think I can’t have anyone I want?”

“I’m sure you can have someone who’s desperate. But I’m not.”

That was a lie, but at least it made his face get even redder.

“I’ll kill you.”

“Maybe. But you’re not going to do it today. Now, I’m going to tell you for the last time: get the fuck off our land.”

His angry flush only intensified, and his scowl twisted up into something truly hideous, but he did finally turn to walk away.

He did look over his shoulder to get in the last word: “Clock’s ticking, Lydia.”

Lydia opened her mouth to throw out some meaningless retort, but a sudden idea knocked everything else out of her brain. By the time she pulled herself together again, Reeve was already back in wolf form and loping at a good clip.

Fine, he could have his last word. She almost owed it to him. Against all odds, he had actually helped her out.

She shifted back so she could run back to her grandmother’s at a breakneck speed her human body couldn’t match. She barreled into the bedroom, breathing so hard she almost drowned out the sound of the beeping monitors.

Ruth’s still-keen gaze fixed on her. “You’re all keyed-up. What happened?”

“I thought of something.”

Very, very few people would have noticed the flicker of relief on her grandmother’s face, and Lydia was glad she was one of them.

“About time,” Ruth said. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get a co-alpha. Someone who’s bigger and stronger than I am. Reeve will have to take us both on to gain control, and I can make the odds a hell of a lot worse for him this way.” It was a wild, improbable plan, but it was the only one she had, so she was going to make it work. “I’m going to get a mate.”