The door to the den is closed, but I can still hear raised voices through it. Cormac. And Faolan.

I guess I can’t blame them—if someone had just tried to kill me, I’d . . . . Yeah, well . . . I guess I know exactly how I’d be. But it leaves me with a problem. Nothing good comes of being around Faolan when he’s angry. Nothing. He’s never been very careful about his targets.

I look past the den again, to the staircase at the front of the house. But that’s a silly idea. There’s no reprieve there, either. I can’t get past Conlan’s room unless the door’s closed, and probably not even then. Too many creaky floorboards. And I know Tara too well; right now, she wants to kill me.

And, for all I know, when I see Conlan . . . I might want to help her do it.

If only Sheridan hadn’t seen me, I could just turn around and leave. Come back in the morning, when everything has blown over. Well, as much as it’s going to.

But she has. And I’m stuck.

“Tiergan?” she says, and I drag my attention back to the present. I hear concern in her voice. Or maybe just puzzlement.

Either way, I’ll take it.

There’s a thin cloak on the back of the door. It’s Faolan’s, but he won’t miss it for a while. I grab it and pull it on.

“Have you got extra?” I ask, and step into the kitchen. “I’m feeling kind of hungry.” I’m not—I can’t taste his blood any more, but I can still taste it, and even the thought of food turns my stomach. But I need an excuse—any excuse—to delay.

She looks at me—definitely puzzled—but only says, “Sure, hun. Pull up a stool and I’ll make you a sandwich.” She smiles at me, then busies herself cutting some bread for the loaf.

I step to the sink to pour a glass of water.

And I notice that my fingernails aren’t quite clean. I thought I’d gotten it all off in the river on the way home, but there it is . . . dried blood against the cuticles, and under a few of the nails. In some of the folds of skin over my knuckles too. I thrust my hands under the stream and start to scrub. She didn’t ask about it, so maybe I got lucky—maybe she didn’t notice. No reason she would.

So why do I feel so terrified?

I steal glances at her reflection in the dark window, but she’s still busy making my sandwich. If she noticed anything, she’s not letting on.

I check my own reflection; my face seems clean. But there’s a weight there, in my eyes, that I don’t remember seeing before. And I look so tired.

The anger isn’t far beneath, and it blazes up without warning.

Get over it, Tiergan! Grow the fuck up! You killed him. So what? He was trying to kill Faolan, and if you’d given him the chance, he’d have tried to kill you, too. You are such a fucking pup, sometimes. Now, grow! the fuck! up!

I realize what I’m doing at last and pull my hands apart, but too late. There’s new blood in the water now, and this time it’s mine, dripping form a fresh fingernail-shaped cut on the back of my right hand, between the thumb and forefinger.

“Tiergan?” Sheridan asks. I look up and meet her eyes in the glass. “Are you going to run that water all night?”

“Oh,” I mutter, and stare back down at my hand. “Sorry.”

I fill my glass and turn the water off, then grab some paper towels. I squeeze the cut hard, for a few seconds, in hopes of stopping the bleeding, then toss the towel in the garbage and arrange myself on a stool.

I leave my right hand on my lap, out of sight, and force a smile onto my face. It doesn’t feel like I’m quite managing it.

Sheridan smiles, then returns her attention to my sandwich. “You want to talk about it?” she asks casually, her eyes on her work.

I watch her hands as she finishes up. Lettuce, then turkey, then tomatoes, more lettuce. She’s already put exactly the right amount of mayonnaise on the bread.

But there’s a question pending, and more to follow, if I ignore it. “What’s to talk about?” I reply.

She places the bread on top, runs the knife through the centre, and hands me the plate.

“Thanks,” I say, as I take it from her. With my left hand. But, from the look on her face, she knows something’s up.

She eyes me for a moment longer, then says, “You don’t have to worry, Tiergan.” It’s her best comforting voice. “Faolan really will be fine.”

I smile. And almost laugh.

Fuck. And I was worried she could see right through me.

“Thanks, Sheridan,” I reply, with all the sense of relief I can fake. “I know it’ll all work out okay.”

I don’t know how anyone can be as effective as her when hunting, as brutal as her in a fight, and still be totally clueless about what’s going on around her.

But I guess I should be glad.

“Do you mind if I take this up to my room? I should get dressed.”

“Sure, hun,” she nods, and starts putting stuff away.

That little voice at the back of my head taunts me again: “You’re just upset she didn’t make you spill it. That’s why you’re going up to your room now. You want Tara to drag it out of you.

I pause at the door of the kitchen. He waits, too, to see what I’ll do.

But not for long. For me, the jumble in my head means nothing at all, but, for him, it seems to be all the confirmation he needs.

“You are such a worthless little shit. Can’t even kill in self-defense without turning it into a pity party.”

Fuck off.

“You fuck off. You little turd. Go on, go cry to Tara. You know you want to.”

Fuck.

There’s only one other place I can go. I glance over my shoulder, to make sure Sheridan doesn’t see me, then duck into the stairway, and head down to the cellar.

Chapter 3

The back gate looms ahead, its white paint oddly bright in the grey night.

To see me running here, you’d have thought there’s no place I’d rather be. And I guess I thought the same, too. But . . . suddenly things seem different. The demons I thought I’d left behind in the dust have caught up at last. They stand at the door, waiting for me to go in.

I don’t know how I’m going to face Conlan. Or the look on Tara’s face when she sees what I did to him.

He’ll forgive me, I’m pretty sure. But she might not. She’s going to see things rather differently.

At least Faolan isn’t going to crush me for it. I did save his life, after all. He has the flesh wound to prove it. Or so Tara said. But I can’t help think that we’ve won very little, tonight—a brief reprieve before a long slide into war. Nothing’s going to change in the short term. Not yet. That’s not the way we do things. But Rian has made this whole thing very personal, and Faolan isn’t going to forget it.

Sooner or later, he’s going to want payback.

As soon as he has Keaira’s family on side, probably.

The pain has caught up with me, at last. It’s been okay when I’m running, but now that I’ve stopped, the cuts on my back burn like they’re on fire. And what was my elbow hasn’t appreciated the exercise, either. It throbs with a deep, swollen ache. I crane down to lick it clean, but that only makes the pain worse.

The image of that man, arched up in agony, clawing at the ground as his life slips away, flits around the edges of my mind.

Dead. It’s so permanent, that word.

And nobody knows but me.

I don’t know whether to be proud, or ashamed, or indifferent.

No, not indifferent. Not ever indifferent.

But who do I tell? Faolan? He’d be proud of me, for sure. And I’ll admit, I want that. For once. It would be nice.

But I’m not sure I want him to be proud of me for this. I know I should, but just I can’t feel right about it.

I guess, eventually . . . that’ll change.

The night air smells of autumn—wet, decaying leaves and cold earth. I can smell the river, too, in the mist that is slowly rising from the forest around me. I shiver, despite my fur. But I’m just restless.

Screw it.

I step through the gateway and into the back yard. There are lights on in several windows. One of them Conlan’s. Tara’s is dark.

Whatever. It’s done.

It’s so done.

I change and step inside.

“Tiergan!” Sheridan says, from the kitchen, as I enter. “We were starting to worry. You’re the last one in.”

“Yeah, sorry,” I say and nod. “I needed to run a bit.” It’s sort of a lie, but . . . .

“Of course,” she nods. I feel as if she is looking straight through me, but she betrays nothing about what she’s seeing there. “Tara told me what happened. It was a good call, tonight, Tiergan. Faolan owes you his life. Cormac, too, probably.” She smiles. Like I’d done nothing but right, tonight.

I nod. I should be flattered, pleased. But it just won’t sink in.

“Conlan made it back okay?” I ask, looking down the hallway to the front door.

Tara’s shoes are sitting on the mat.

“Mmm, hmm. Tara’s with him now.” My heart sinks as she says it. I’d hoped I’d get to tell her before she saw him.

“Don’t worry. He’ll be okay in a few days.”

I nod, but don’t turn.

“Faolan’s in the den. He won’t be running for a week or so, but he’ll be okay, too. Get dressed, first, then go see him.

“He’s waiting for you.”

I crouch at the edge of the roof and stare down into the space between the buildings. I see nothing but movement. The spinning red and blue lights from the police car in the street cast an eerie, pulsating light into the night: it careens off the walls and down the alleys in odd, scurrying shapes. They seem almost to run in horror from their glimpse of me.

And I guess I can’t blame them.

There’s still blood in my mouth. And in my nose. I can’t seem to get it all out. And my attempts to wipe it away have only spread it around. It grows cold and sticky on my face, on my chest. And on my hands. I can feel it tightening as it dries, pulling at hairs and skin; a cold, angry embrace.

The wind mutters in my ear. It says nothing good.

When did it get so cold?

I try to shake the growing, dark swirl from my mind, but it refuses to go.

He lies still behind me. I should check him, to be sure, but . . . . Fuck it, it’s done, and . . . it’s time for me to go. I’ve been here too long already.

I reach out to grab the conduit, but something’s wrong. I’m forgetting something, I think.

Oh. Right. Fingerprints.

I just murdered somebody.

Come on, Tiergan. Hold your shit together please.

I look down at my hands, though I can’t really see them in this light, with these eyes. But the problem is clear. There’s so much blood . . . still wet . . . I’m bound to leave indelible proof, all the way down.

I haven’t touched much. Only the conduit already has my fingerprints. And maybe the metal flashing on the top of the wall. There’s nothing I can do about my saliva all over everything, but that, at least, won’t be so easy for them to use.

Fuck! Why am I worrying about this! It was self-defense!

Yeah. A dead guy on a roof with his throat torn out. Human teeth marks. That’s sure going to play as self-defense.

I turn to face him.

It’s strange—he seemed so big when I was grappling with him. But now . . . he’s just some guy. Cold. And alone.

I shake my head again and force my eyes to the task at hand.

His shirt might work, but his jeans would probably be the better choice. Coarse cotton, lots of texture. I can hold onto the conduit with it and brush away any proof.

Yeah, the thought surfaces, and you could get rid of even more proof if you change and maul him a bit.

My stomach heaves violently at the thought, and I clench both fists. I force myself still.

No! Enough. I’ve done enough to him already.

I’ll take my chances.

I don’t want to touch him again, don’t want to feel his lifeless, slack muscles, under my hands. His cold, clammy skin.

And I’m afraid, too. That he’s just playing. That as soon as I go near him, he’ll be on me. And this time, I won’t be so lucky.

Tiergan! that cold, always-in-control part of me yells. Time! Let’s go!

I step forward. Without a knife, I won’t be able to do anything with his jeans. I pull up his shirt instead, take it in my teeth and tear. It takes some work, but I get a strip. The second is easier.

I jump away from him the instant I’m done, then arrange a strip in each hand. I grab the conduit and lower myself over the edge, and wipe the pipe as I descend.

My bare feet hit the ground more loudly than I expect. It’s really not that far of a drop. But I guess my muscles aren’t working quite right. They feel slow, and heavy, like I’ve just run a dozen miles at full speed.

The adrenalin seems to have left me to my own devices.

I shiver as I look around. The alley is still, and I can’t detect any noise. Except from the police in the street. On foot, from the sounds of it—I can hear chatter on a radio. Approaching.

I take the strips of cloth in my mouth and change, then run down the space between the back of the buildings and the school yard fence, toward Taylee. If I have to run towards trouble, better it be the police. The alternative . . . they know what I am. They won’t mistake me for a dog.

And besides . . . I have to know.

I stop at the last building before Taylee, and slink back towards the street. The lights of the police car are dazzling, up close, so bright in the dark. But my wolf eyes are up to the job, as long as I don’t look straight at the lights.

And the street’s empty! Except for the police car. No Tara. No Faolan.

I want to go out and check. If only the wind was blowing the other way, I’d know more. But it isn’t. Still, no body, no pool of blood that I can see.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

It’s stupid, it’s reckless but I can’t help it. I let out a howl to the night: Sound off.

The first response is almost instantaneous. And it’s Faolan! Across Taylee and to the north of me. He’s okay!

Cormac follows. Then Saraid and Findlay, together.

My breath becomes short and ragged, I’m so relieved.

Brennan, Sheridan. Brennan sounds angry, and I almost start to laugh.

But I startle at the sound of a footstep behind me. I spin and bare my teeth, ready to attack.

“Tiergan!” Tara whispers as she steps into the gap between the buildings. “I called the cops. You need to go. Now!”

I cover the distance between us in two breaths and leap at her. She giggles softly as we hit the ground, my tongue in her face, my body a furious wiggle.

Puppies have more dignity than me, when the time is right.

“Come on,” she says softly. “I can worry about the police tomorrow, if they come by.

“Let’s go home.”

Shit!

A police car siren blares somewhere just south on Taylee, and everything changes. The sniper reacts instantly, pulling back from the edge, and I grab the conduit and dive back down over the side to avoid being seen.

I pull up short against the wall and peek back over. He kneels down and quickly pulls his gun apart in a few easy movements, then stuffs them in a duffle bag. The precision of it all chills me to the bone. Two seconds to turn and fire. Two seconds! And I thought I’d had a chance. Fuck. I am so lucky. He’d have killed me for sure.

Yeah, like I’m out of danger: he rises partially and starts backing toward me.

I’m such an idiot! It’s a flat roof of a one-story building, and I’m hanging onto the only way up or down! And it’s too late to drop now—he’ll hear me for sure.

I duck down beneath the edge.

So? What are you going to do, Tiergan?

The question seems so open. But there’s only one answer, and I know it.

Deal with it. You came here to kill him. That’s just what you’re going to have to do. Head in the game. Now.

He approaches. I can hear his footsteps in the gravel. Maybe ten more feet. I quickly shift my feet further up the wall, closer to my hands, and crouch in. I’m going to need all the spring I can get. I just hope he doesn’t look down before he steps over. Things are going to get a lot more difficult if he sees me while he still has his centre.

The image of Tara flashes before me again, lying on the ground, her blood pooling around her. But this time I cling to it.

He did that. And he enjoyed it.

He, doesn’t! get! to leave!

But what if he has another weapon?

I reach over and drive my fingernails into the damage on my right arm, and the pain erupts from dull ache to blazing fire. I grind my teeth as it races up my arm and into my skull, a brilliant white light that burns everything else away.

He killed Tara. Maybe Faolan. Maybe your whole family.

Kill him.

Rip his fucking throat out.

Two more steps.

One more.

He looks down and I laugh at the look of shock on his face as I launch upwards. I want to change, but I haven’t quite enough time.

I grab him around the waist instead, pinning the slow arm to his side as we fall backwards onto the roof. His quicker hand scrabbles for something behind him, but too late. He hits hard and his right hand is trapped beneath him. But that won’t last for long. The muscles under his clothes feel large, much larger than I had expected.

There’s no time to think. There’s no time to change. If he has a weapon, he’ll have it in the second it will take. If I lose the surprise, I lose my life.

I plant my feet and leap forward. With all my weight, I drive my left hand towards his nose, hoping to drive it into his brain, but he sees what’s coming and jerks his head back. I land the heel of my palm on his chin instead, driving it back, fully exposing his neck. I land my knees on his right shoulder and chest, and land my jaws around his trachea.

My human stomach rebels as it realizes what I’m doing, but it can’t be helped. I bite down and tear.

His blood rushes into my mouth, hot and metallic. The taste is disgusting to this form. My stomach heaves and I manage to spit out his throat just in time. The contents of my stomach follows, down and into the jagged hole in his neck.

He hasn’t even had time to scream. Air rushes ineffectually out the hole instead. He sucks in his own blood and my vomit on the return gasp, writhing in agony and sputtering horribly as the acidic mixture tears at his lungs. He grabs at me with his now free hand, but it’s no longer an attack. It’s a plea for mercy. And God! I would give it to him.

But there’s nothing I can do.

I pull away from him and my stomach heaves again. With my weight off of him, his back arches up from the ground, and he scrapes at the gravel with his hands. He must be trying to cough stuff out, but all he can manage is a sickening gurgle.

And all I want to do is run away.

It’s such a brave idea, this killing people. You’d think it would be just like killing a deer.

What a fucking lie.

The metallic taste of blood and the rotten butter taste of vomit linger stubbornly in my mouth. I heave again, but there’s nothing left. Tears burn my eyes, but I refuse to wipe them away.

I force myself still.

You did this, Tiergan! You did it because you had to. And you did it because you wanted to.

You will watch until it is over.

For both our sakes, I pray it won’t take long.

Faolan!

Tara!

I launch into motion. Brennan dives at me, but too late. No! he orders from behind, but in a straight out run, he can’t catch me, and he knows it.

I leap the gate into the back school yard and race toward the old industrial park on the other side. I haven’t a clue what I’m going to do when I get there.

Except rip her fucking throat out. That sounds like a good start.

Fuck, this is nuts! Why am I running right into a trap?

Because, asshole: you have no choice. Now shut up and run.

A vision of Tara hangs before me. She’s lying on the ground, blood spilling out. And somebody’s lining up another shot.

I drive my feet harder into the ground with every pace.

And if it’s Faolan . . . then Rian’s already killed us. Cormac trying to take over . . . Sheridan, Brennan . . . fuck, me even . . . it’ll be a war, and we’ll all lose. Then Rian can just waltz in. All he’d have left to do is clean up the blood.

No! It’s not going to happen! No, fucking, way!

The back fence looms ahead. It’s twelve feet high if it’s an inch. I scan the bottom edge for a gap, and find one. It’s too small, but I don’t have time to dig. The metal tears at my already torn back as I scramble through. But there’ll be plenty of time later for the pain. For now, it just makes me clearer. Or something.

I need a plan.

Yeah. Note to self, right?

But the picture’s becoming clearer. And more difficult. I can smell five of them. Five! All human. Gun oil and burnt powder, too. Fucking snipers. The closest one is above me, I’m pretty sure. On the roof of the nearest building. And there’s no way up.

In this form, anyway.

There’s an electrical conduit attached to the wall, about seven feet up, and it extends vertically to several feet above the flat roof. Probably live wires at the top, but I should be able to get under them.

I leap at the wall and change mid-air. I miss with one hand, but manage to grab the bottom of the conduit with the other. Fortunately, bare feet against a brick wall, I haven’t made much noise.

I haul myself up and peek over the top of the wall. He’s there, lying on the far side of the roof, a rifle aimed down the street. Right about where Faolan’s call came from.

I have no idea how far Tara got.

I can’t be certain with these eyes, but I think there’s another guy on the roof of the building opposite.

It’s a fucking shooting gallery. And somebody I need is the target.

The roof between me and the near one is covered in gravel. The second I step out, he’ll hear me. Fuck! It’s 30 feet, easy. Even with a jumping start, it’s still a couple of seconds to cross the distance. Plenty of time for him to turn.

Though maybe not enough time for him to aim.

Too bad. It can’t be helped. If he’s still here, he’s hoping for another shot at whoever he’s got pinned down. And I just can’t let him do that.

Never did like long decisions. And I’m out of options.

I pull myself up and onto the top of the wall, my heart in my mouth. He doesn’t turn.

Maybe I could get closer to him if I climb along the wall. But if he notices me while I’m doing it, it will be me with the late start.

Just do it, you fucking coward!

I shake the noise out of my head and fix my eyes on his back.

Just stay low. On three.

One . . . 

Two . . . 

I round the corner and Elish is just ahead, on the far side of the street, still heading south. I can’t see Brennan anywhere, but he must be close: his scent is still strong in the air. As I hoped, the area around the new high school is dark and quiet.

I bark a warning again—stop, danger—and race across the street toward her. She stops and turns her head toward me.

And snarls.

I pull up short, a few paces away from her, and say again—stop, danger. But there’s no word for trap. It’s not like it would get much use . . . . Wind change is the best I can come up with.

She continues to growl, but seems to understand—her hackles drop a little, and she withdraws some of her teeth. I knew she’d give me a chance. And I need her. Because the others won’t listen to me.

More, she demands.

But there’s not much more I can give. Wind change, stop, danger, I say again and glance around to see if I’m clear to change.

I’m out of luck. There’s no one around, but there are security cameras on the school building, and across the street in the parking lot.

Fuck.

I look back to her and whine, Mercy. It’s the closest I can get to please.

A low, dark movement in my peripheral vision startles me and I spin to the right to face it, just in time to see Brennan launch himself at me from a full run. I yelp and try to jump out of the way, but it’s way too late. His teeth are on my neck and his momentum yanks me off my feet. He releases me as I thud into the ground and he spins as he lands. He’s on me again before I can recover.

Stop, danger, I try to say, but his claws sink into my chest and shoulder before I can finish.

Home he snarls. Now!

I whine Mercy, but, this time, I can’t tell if I’m begging him for his help, or for him not to hurt me. And he won’t be able to tell, either. The few words I can use have just lost their meaning, and we’re all fucked.

His jaws are open, his teeth in my face, dripping saliva. His growl resonates down his legs directly into my chest.

And I don’t really have a choice left. It’s a long shot, but with him on top of me . . . maybe I can get away with changing, maybe the cameras won’t see. I need a full language, and I need it now.

I reach down into myself, to find all the threads I need to pull together.

And Elish stops us both with a loud, plaintive howl into the night air. A warning to the pack.

Brennan yelps and looks up, still growling, but his attention now on her.

Danger. Wind change, she barks at him. To him, and too me. Warn. Now.

His claws dig a little more deeply into my chest, and his growl rattles up my spine and into my head.

But Elish is decided. Now! she barks again.

Brennan raises his head to the wind, and they howl the warning together. I wait. My voice in the call won’t help its credibility. So I just listen.

Then, a bit to the south and west, I hear Sheridan take up the call. Relief floods over me. And Brennan’s claws loosen on my shoulder.

It’s a strange thing about the warning howl. Something instinctive about it. Once you commit to it, the reasons for it become irrelevant. You want it to work. You need it to work. And you can’t stop until it does.

Findlay joins next. Then Saraid. Cormac.

And, at the very last, Faolan.

They’ve stopped! We’ve done it!

Sure, Faolan’s going to kill me when I can’t explain why I called them back, but I’m okay with that. Everyone’s safe! And I know it was a trap, even if I can’t prove it.

Maybe the fact that she works for Rian will be enough to convince Faolan.

Brennan steps off me and orders us, Home.

And it sounds like a great idea to me! I roll over and climb to my feet.

The shock of the gunshot is so loud, it almost knocks me down again.

Alleyways, yards, parks, and short sprints across side streets. Easy. Humans don’t see well at night, especially if you stick to the shadows and they to the light. Which is always the way.

Stay out of the headlights of cars, though. Another hard-learned lesson.

I can smell Brennan and Elish ahead. Nobody else yet. But I’m behind, so that’s not surprising.

I need a plan.

Perhaps I should just keep it simple. Catch up to them, tackle her, and tear her throat out. Problem solved. That would certainly be Faolan’s approach.

Somehow, though, I doubt he’d thank me for taking it. And if we aren’t at war now, we would be after. Maybe not.

Until I have proof.

No sound of cars, I tear across a side street and back into an alleyway. But I need to get further south. I slip through a break in a fence and across a small, deserted yard. The house lights are all off. I leap their front gate and into a quiet residential street.

There’s a couple up ahead, but they are walking away from me. No problem. I love these old streets. Parked cars and long, dark stretches between bright, white street lights. Nothing but shadow to hide in. If I wanted to be spotted, I’d have trouble doing it.

There’s a run-down looking house ahead. I run up its front porch for height and leap over its rotting fence. I should be able to cross Taylee from the next street—there’s a dark stretch by a school that should be deserted—then it’s much more open.

The back fence is in similar disrepair; too high to jump, but with rotten wood . . . . I dive through a gap—too narrow, but I knock through.

The only thing I can do is get to someone who will listen. Not Cormac, for sure. Probably not Faolan, either. Elish might. Sheridan, too. If I can get to one of them. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to get past Brennan, first. And I don’t think that’s going to go over well.

I catch a stronger whiff of Elish on the wind. I bark a warning, but downwind . . . I doubt she can hear me. And, either way, they are going to need more convincing than I can put into this voice.

Hey, Tara, too! I must be level with them. I can see the lights on Taylee, just ahead.

I’d better figure out something soon. I’m running out of time.

The smile isn’t even a temptation any more.

In charge. I haven’t really thought that part through, have I. He really does think I’m going to fuck this all up, and that Faolan is going to take it out on him. Because he’s in charge. And that’s what Faolan does when you fail him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Conlan,” I plead. But he’s not going to give me a choice. I guess he doesn’t have one to give.

He launches himself at me, arms wide. I drop down beneath him, grab his jacket, plant my foot in on his waist and launch him hard against the wall. He crumples as he lands, head and hands first. Even the sound of it hurts.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t,” I spit at him, hoping to change his mind. The blood is pounding in my ears, and it takes every ounce of strength I can muster not to run over to him to help.

But he wants this. He needs it. I know exactly what he’s thinking. And he’s right.

It’s better I do it than Faolan.

He flops—more than rolls—down, and struggles back to his feet.

“Stay down, Conlan. It’s enough. Please.”

“Fuck you,” he snarls and lunges forward, throwing a punch at me with his right. It’s a surprisingly good punch, considering, but he telegraphs his intent with his whole movement.

I step in and direct the punch aside, then knock my hip back into him and throw him over and down. He manages to drag his nails sharply across my bare back as he goes—maybe grasping for a hold, maybe just putting up a good fight. I barely notice the pain.

He arches his back up from the ground as he hits. There’s broken glass and sharp stones scattered everywhere. I feel his pain instead of mine, and it is raw.

I could stop him. Hold him, maybe lock his elbow, maybe start to pry a joint apart. That would be the humane thing to do.

But I get it. It’s not that kind of fight. He needs proof. That he tried. It’s the only way he’ll be safe from punishment for letting me walk over him. When he was in charge.

My eyes sting, but I clench my teeth and blink it away. He struggles to his feet, again. His balance is off—his movements are awkward and clumsy. He’s having trouble catching his breath. He’s holding one hand behind his back. Maybe in pain. Maybe getting ready for another punch.

“Please, Conlan. Just stay down. We’ve done enough.”

He stumbles forward again. He’s not a threat any more. I could leave him. Change and take off now.

But for that, he’d never forgive me.

I plant a scissor kick on his chin. His block is far too late. His head snaps back and blood sprays into the night air. His legs spill out from under him and he collapses in a heap.

It’s over, almost before it began.

I step into the alcove and pull my shoes and pants off. My hands are shaking, but I can’t worry about it now.

“Tara, where are you?” I ask into the phone.

“South. Taylee. Approaching the old factory. What’s taking you so long?”

“Nothing,” I reply, but the vileness of the lie tears at me as I say it. I shake my head to dislodge what’s building there. I don’t have time for it, now. “I’m coming.”

I drop the phone and change, then pause over Conlan. His breathing is shallow and ragged. The scent of blood is so much more intense than it had been. It oozes through this clothing, from his head, from his hands. I carefully lick a smear of blood away from his eye.

I could spend forever, and I’d never be able to put it all back.

Sometimes . . . I think maybe this family needs to end.

But it can’t be tonight. Not at Rian’s hand. That would make this a tiny prelude to what would come.

Conlan will be okay. I touch my nose to his. Then take off into the night.

She’s right: in my natural form, I’ll have more options. My voice will carry better, for one thing. A called warning might be enough. Though knowing Faolan, probably not. But I’ll be able to see better, and find the others by scent. Human form is pretty limiting for this kind of thing—especially at night.

I run down a side street and cut into an ally. It’s dark, but not dark enough. Changing where I might be seen . . . not gonna happen. I’ve caused one “werewolf” panic in my life, and that was enough. Last thing we need is some yokel with a rifle going on a “mission from God”. Fuck.

Silver bullets don’t hurt because they’re silver—they hurt because they’re bullets!

There’s a darkened alcove ahead. It’ll have to do.

I glance around, but there’s nobody in sight. No lights on in nearby windows, either. Some noise from restaurant kitchens, but I think I’m behind a store or something that’s already closed.

I put my phone down, pull off my jacket, and tug my shirt over my head. The night air is freezing, but I won’t have to put up with it for long.

But somebody tears into the alley at a full run.

I push myself back into the dark corner and wait for them to pass, but the running slows, then stops, barely a dozen feet away.

I can feel whoever it is, peering into the darkness. Him, from the gait.

Fuck, I wish I could catch a scent. But the wind is blowing the wrong way.

He advances slowly, only a few steps away. I silently lower myself to a crouch. A confrontation is the last thing I need. But I may not have a choice.

Three feet away from the wall. Maybe four. And he’s still slowing. How does he know I’m here?

But I can’t avoid him. Not if he’s looking for me. It’s not dark enough.

Only one choice left.

I launch out at his legs and tackle him around the waist. He yells with surprise, but I feel him recover way too quickly. Something smacks into my upper back and nearly knocks me free. But not quite. I hold, and he thuds into the ground while I roll over him. I hear something hard and hollow-sounding hit pavement beneath me.

Good.

I roll to my feet and rise to face him.

I recognize him instantly. “Conlan! What the fuck are you doing!”

He climbs unsteadily to his feet, holding one hand to his head. I can smell blood on the air.

“Stopping you,” he says, “from getting me killed.”

Shit. I didn’t think he had it in him.

“Conlan, go home,” I say, shaking my head. But, I’m so proud of him. I feel the smile spreading on my face, and I almost can’t contain it.

“Go home, now. Okay? You’ve done your duty. You’re in the clear. I think it’s great. But I’ve got to go. Now.

“You can take my stuff back with you, right?”

He drops his hand from his head—the smell of blood in the air gets stronger—and he crouches down. He’s either a lot braver, or a lot more scared than I thought.

“Fuck you, Tiergan,” he snarls. “I’m in charge! And you’re not going after them.”

“Tara, keep up with them,” I say as I jump between two couples at a run, “I’m on my way.” Someone curses behind me, but I’m already gone. I glance over my shoulder, then forward along the street, but there is traffic in both directions.

“No!” Conlan’s voice snarls. “Tiergan, stay where you are! Tara, let them lose you. We’re done!”

Of all the . . . . “Conlan, didn’t you hear me? We’ve got to warn the others!”

“About what? You screwing up? Plenty of time for that later, Tiergan. You’ve made us obvious. There’s nothing subtle left to do. Tara: don’t make it too easy, but, let, them, go.”

Oh, Conlan—you fucking idiot. Be afraid, if you want. But don’t let it make you stupid.

I leap over a parked bike to avoid a threesome walking abreast, then glance again into the street. Still no way. But the far sidewalk is nearly clear.

“Tara, the girl: she was at Rian’s estate last summer, when Faolan took me hunting.” Oh, screw it! I leap across the near lane and stop short on the center line. A car zips past on either side. The one behind leans on his horn.

Wait—“I saw her after,”—wait—“she was taking instructions from Rian.”—now! I launch across the gap to the curb and bank off a concrete planter to avoid a young woman. Tires squeal behind me, but I’m clear.

“So why would Rian get us to follow someone who works for him, right?”

Tara: ever the voice of reason!

“Exactly! And if he lied . . . I don’t know what he’s up to, but it can’t be good.”

“Tiergan,” Conlan snarls again, “I told you to stay where you are! I’m in charge of this team!” The panic in his voice is sharp and clear.

But he’s wrong. On both counts.

“Conlan, if you were up to the job, Faolan wouldn’t have had to tell you you were in charge.”

And I’m tired of this. Conlan’s a good friend, but . . . . I hate that things always come down to who is bigger and stronger. And more willing to use it.

But that’s the way it is.

“Let me make this real easy for you, Conlan. Come over here and stop me, or shut the fuck up!”

The line goes silent.

Good.

“Tara, things are bad with Rian, right now. He’s up to something—I know it. Faolan thinks he can manage it, but . . . I don’t think he can.

“We’ve got to warn them.”

I glance down a side street and tear into the intersection at speed. People ahead see me coming and scatter out of the way. I think I see Tara up ahead, but it’s too dark to be sure.

I haven’t a clue what I’m going to do when I get there.

“Okay,” Tara says. “Go find a place to change.

“I’ll stick with them until it’s done.”

Now, why didn’t I think of that?