The Thing About Weres

now.”

My Fae recognized the odds, even if mortal-me was beyond calculating them. She gave up before I did, sinking back to my gut, where no one could hurt her. Without her presence to bolster my all-too-mortal fury? My rebellion was pitifully short. My light sputtered, and then—as despair filled me—it flickered out.

Only then did Cordelia ease her pressure. “That was unforgivably stupid,” she growled.

I stubbornly lifted my chin, and stared with watering eyes past her.

My twin’s flight had brought him to the line that divided civilized from quasi-tamed, where overgrown grass gave way to a beaten track leading to the pond. His long blond hair streamed behind him, his feet were light and fast.

Run.

And he did. Fae Stars, he did.

Trowbridge’s muscles tensed, and I thought I saw his finger tighten on the trigger.

“Don’t do it,” I said, my voice thin and small. But I knew, even as I tightened my blistered hand into a useless fist, that what followed would be ruin and despair, and the heavy thing inside my chest would grow, and grow, until I couldn’t take another breath.

“He can’t leave this realm with an amulet,” said Trowbridge, his voice warrior hard. “He’s chosen his end.”

“Then let me take him back to Merenwyn.”

He stilled then said, “I can’t risk you or Merry falling into the Black Mage’s hands.”

I figured that was his final statement—Trowbridge’s justification if there was ever to be one declared. And I prepared myself. Holding my breath, tensing my muscles, knowing—it’s going to happen any moment now. This time I couldn’t stop death.

Then Harry stepped out of the bushes at the edge of the cliff. Old man, my ass. He swung a bat at my brother’s knees with the strength and accuracy of a ballplayer in his prime, and Lexi dropped to the turf. My twin rolled, once or maybe twice—I was losing detail because my vision was so blurred—trying to dodge another blow. The two Weres who’d lain in wait with Harry slunk out of their hiding spots. All three fell on him, with fists and rope. He fought and cursed in my mother’s tongue.

Wolves in human skin, I thought.

My gaze fell to the floor as he was trussed, and I stared at the dark seam between one aged plank of oak and another, telling myself, I’ll think later. I’ll feel later.

“Biggs.” Trowbridge’s tone was as empty of inflection as an old gunfighter’s. “Put the shotgun back where it belongs.”

Red sneakers shuffled past me. “He was after the amulet, just like you said he was,” I heard Biggs mutter to his Alpha. I must have flinched, because Cordelia patted my shoulder—gently, the way you do when very bad news is given.

“Cordelia, step back,” the Alpha of Creemore said sternly.

“She didn’t know what she was doing,” Cordelia said in an undertone, but she did what she was told. Knowing that it was time for my ass-whipping, I lifted my eyes to stare into my mate’s harsh face.

Blue comets spun around his dilated pupils.

Don’t use your flare on a Were. Don’t use that Fae shit in this house. Well, hadn’t I just done that? I’d aimed my flare at a pack member. More significantly, I’d tried to make him submit to it. In front of his people, who used to be my people, but evidently lines had been blurred, and polarities had been exchanged.

And now? I had no people.

Except a brother, who’d hauled ass as quickly as he could from his mystwalking sister, and an amulet whose affection for me was momentarily questionable. I glanced down at her. No, not questionable. My pal Merry had gone chilly; her stone muddy brown. Usually, those were her indicators for being sick, or sickened. I was thinking it was a double dose of the latter when Trowbridge hit me with the true flare of an Alpha.

I thank the Goddess and all her little brats that I was already kneeling.

Oh Fae Stars.

For all my inner resentment toward the pack, overall I’d been a pretty good kid in Creemore. The old Alpha had never had reason to look at me, much less gently chastise me with a spark of his signature flare. And I’d already gone through a spin under Lexi’s light show, which had felt stomach-heaving, but three quarters of that had been shock and surprise.

But this? It was so much worse.

Trowbridge’s flare was totally impartial—and perhaps that was the cruelest thing about it. There was no recognition in it that I was his mate, his One True Thing. I was the creature who’d dared to threaten a natural- born Alpha. It was a full-out reprimand. Solid and heavy—an anvil on my soul, draining me of my pride and self- will.

Crushing.

Hurting.

The urge to prostrate myself under its heat was so crushing that I almost forgot how to breathe. I wanted to prostrate myself under its weight, to stretch out a pleading hand.

Submit, his flare demanded.

No.

So I held my breath—who needed it?—and I bade my spine not to fail me. Even if my inner-bitch howled at me to go on my belly, to beg forgiveness. Even if we both wanted his eyes to soften into approval and his scent to wrap us in its fragrant, loving embrace.

Fold once, and it will be a lifetime of coming to heel.

I ignored her instincts to heel. Shut her down, and listened to one voice, deep inside me.

The me-of-me.

And she said, “Don’t you dare fold. Strongholds hold.”

So I did just that, even if I trembled like a pooch at its first visit with the vet.

Anu uttered a whine as the kitchen turned electric blue. What would have happened if Biggs had taken longer to put the shotgun back in its place over the mantel? Or if the three-man crew who carried my brother back to the Trowbridge manse had stumbled on one of those prairie-dog holes? Or if Cordelia hadn’t made a humming noise that sounded almost like an involuntary protest?

Would I have held tough? Who knows.

I swayed, but I stayed. Upright. Dry-pantied. Stiff-spined.

And yet … Before Biggs had rejoined us, before Harry had laid my brother at his Alpha’s feet, before I’d swooned and plunged into a pool too frigid to swim out of … Before all of those humbling and hurtful things, Trowbridge’s light eased. From harsh blue, to bright blue, to finally, a pair of tired eyes doused of all fire.

We studied each other.

“Why did you make me do it?” his gaze asked.

“Because you wanted to hurt my brother,” I tried to tell him with mine. “Because I’m never going to roll over for you like a well-trained bitch. Because I was angry and part of me wanted to challenge you. Because I forgot where we were. Who was watching…”

Yeah. I know. Too many sentences.

He brought down a shield between us.

And I was glad.

Because the last thing I read in his eyes was pain and a bitter, aching loneliness.

Chapter Nineteen

Situation normal, all fucked up.

The Weres held court, and the Fae waited.

I was good at that, though—waiting. I’d earned a PhD for it, with minors in Lingering Hopefully, Abiding