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Jeremy sprang at Malcolm and hit him in the flank, knocking him to the ground. Malcolm’s surprise lasted about a millisecond. Then he jumped to his feet and charged.

Jeremy tried to feint, but the momentum of his spring left him off-balance and Malcolm hit him square in the rib cage. Jeremy skidded sideways to the ground. Malcolm lunged for a throat hold, but Jeremy managed to scuttle backward fast enough to get out of his way.

As Malcolm swung around again, Jeremy leapt to his feet and dove out of his path. Jeremy barely had time to recover before Malcolm twisted around and rushed him. This time, when Jeremy tried to evade, Malcolm was ready. He swerved in midlunge and caught Jeremy by the hind leg, throwing him down.

As much as I wanted to believe otherwise, I knew Jeremy was no match for his father. Malcolm was a werewolf in his prime, having the experience of age yet none of its disabilities. The only wolf in the Pack who could beat him was Dominic, and even that was being called into question as age slowed Dominic’s reflexes.

Mutts came to Stonehaven for one reason: to challenge the best. That “best” was not, and never would be, Jeremy.

I waited out the first few minutes, hoping I was wrong, and afraid of getting in Jeremy’s way. Jeremy recovered from the first throw-down and managed to slice open Malcolm’s foreleg, but that was the only hit he scored. Within five minutes, Jeremy was bleeding from his hind leg and his left ear, and the froth around his mouth was tinged with pink.

I knew then that no amount of luck was going to get Jeremy through this. So I leapt in, snarling, and threw myself on Malcolm’s back.

For a full-grown wolf, this is a good offensive move, pitching your weight onto your opponent and bringing him down. For a pup, it was like dropping a terrier onto a bullmastiff. I executed my leap perfectly and landed square on his back, fangs finding purchase in the loose skin behind his neck. And all Malcolm did was huff in surprise, then fling me off.

When I got back to my feet, I changed tactics. If I couldn’t be formidable, at least I could be annoying. While the two wolves fought, I darted around Malcolm’s legs and tail, nipping and tripping him. It distracted him enough to prevent a quick victory, but not enough to let Jeremy win.

Finally, Malcolm tired of snarling and snapping at me. With one full-on charge, he knocked Jeremy flying into the undergrowth. Then he turned on me.

I should have run. But running would mean leaving Jeremy behind, and I’d never do that. I pulled myself up to my full height, braced my forelegs, lowered my head and snarled. Malcolm stood there, watching me, head slightly tilted, an unreadable expression in his eyes. Then he lumbered over, lowered his head until we were muzzle to muzzle and growled. I growled back.

Malcolm met my eyes and I swear he smiled. Then Jeremy hit him from behind, knocking him away from me, and the fight began again.

Any hope we had of besting Malcolm faded fast. Jeremy was hurt, and getting worse by the minute. I was only wearing myself out. Soon Malcolm had Jeremy pinned by the neck.

I went wild, attacking his head with every ounce of strength I had left. He just pinned Jeremy with his forepaws and threw me off. By the time I recovered, he had Jeremy by the throat again.

Jeremy’s eyes were closed. When I saw that, everything in me went cold. Then I saw that Jeremy’s chest continued to rise and fall. Malcolm loosened his grip and lifted his head. The fur around Jeremy’s neck was wet, but with saliva, not blood. Malcolm hadn’t bitten Jeremy, only choked him until he lost consciousness. Malcolm backed off then, gaze fixed on Jeremy.

Had he realized, in that last moment, that he couldn’t kill his son? Yes. But only because, if he did, he would lose everything. Edward Danvers’s will not only gave Jeremy Stonehaven and all its assets, but stipulated that on Jeremy’s death—no matter how he died—the estate would go to charity. And, perhaps even worse, a letter would be delivered to Dominic or his successor, detailing crimes that would guarantee Malcolm’s execution. Should Jeremy not die but be permanently incapacitated, the same provisions took effect. So Malcolm was trapped. His life and his livelihood depended on the continued good health of his son.

After a long, regret-filled stare at Jeremy, Malcolm turned to me.

I raced forward, swerved past him and wheeled, positioning myself over Jeremy’s head. When he stepped toward me, I lowered my head and growled. He took another step. I snapped at his foreleg, teeth clicking hard when he pulled back. For a moment, he just looked at me. Then he turned to his original quarry: Peter, who was still unconscious.

I waited until he was far enough from Jeremy that I could be sure he wasn’t trying to divert my attention. Then I sprang over top of Peter and growled. Malcolm stopped short, eyes widening. This, I suppose, he hadn’t expected. Again, he stepped toward his prey. Again, I warned him off, forelegs braced, fur on end, making me look, oh, at least a good five pounds heavier.

I drew back my lips and snarled. He stopped and tilted his head, gaze locking with mine. I could feel the depth of that gaze as he studied me. He feinted left. I blocked him. He darted forward. I snapped, this time in an awkward swipe at his throat. He pulled back and, again, I saw a smile in his eyes.

Several more times he tried to get around me. I know now that he’d been toying with me, testing my willingness to protect Peter. At the time, though, I truly believed I was the only thing standing between a Pack brother and certain death, and I put everything I had into countering Malcolm’s moves.

Once I even managed to snag his foreleg. When that happened, he pulled back, as if in shock. He looked down at the small wound, then at me, and I saw something in his gaze that made my stomach turn: admiration.

I lunged at him, snarling. He grabbed me by the throat and pinned me to the ground. For a minute, he held me there, not clamping down, just holding me, like a wolf with a misbehaving pup.

While holding me, he glanced at Peter. Resolution flickered in his eyes, as if he’d decided something. Then he backed off me, huffed once, billowing steam from his nostrils, and loped into the forest.

I kept watch over Jeremy and Peter until they awoke. Jeremy was first. About ten minutes after Malcolm left, he started twitching and moaning as if struggling to wake up. Then he shot to his feet and looked around, lips pulled back in a snarl. When he saw me, he relaxed. Jeremy circled the clearing once, sniffing the air, but Malcolm was long gone. Peter stirred then and, after a few prods from Jeremy, opened his eyes. He looked around dazedly, then his lids drooped.

When Jeremy prodded him again, he snapped at him. Jeremy snarled back and jostled Peter until he got to his feet. Peter shook himself, then blinked, as if suddenly remembering what had happened.

Jeremy herded us back to where I’d left my clothing. We took turns Changing while the other two stood guard.

Once we’d all finished, Jeremy assessed injuries, beginning with me. I had only bumps and scrapes from being thrown around by Malcolm.

“I’m sorry,” Jeremy said softly as he fingered a rising bruise on my wrist, making sure the bone wasn’t broken. “I shouldn’t have brought you along.”

“I’m okay.”

A wry quarter-smile and a pat on the back. “I see that. But it shouldn’t have happened. I should have guessed what he was up to back at the house.”

“And what was he up to?” Peter said. “Besides trying to kill me.”

Jeremy motioned for Peter to sit on a rock and began checking his head injury. “That, I’m afraid, was his only goal. To kill you.”

“Why?” I asked.

Jeremy looked at me, as if trying to decide whether this was information I needed to have just yet. “What Peter did—killing a human after leaving the Pack—is grounds for execution.”

“I know,” I said. “If Dominic found out, he’d order someone to kill Peter.” I paused. “And that’s Malcolm’s job, isn’t it?”

“Oh, it’s not a job,” Peter muttered. “It’s a pleasure.”

“So Dominic found out about Peter, didn’t he? He sent Malcolm after him.”

“Shit,” Peter said, staring at me. “How old is this kid again?”

Jeremy shook his head. “Dominic didn’t send Malcolm. Ordering a Pack member—or a former Pack member—to be killed isn’t, well, it isn’t easy for an Alpha. It would be simpler for all concerned if that Pack member died before the Alpha had to deliver the order. Dominic would…appreciate that.”

“Oh, I get it now,” Peter said. “Malcolm kills me. Then he tells Dominic, probably saying I ‘resisted arrest’ or some shit like that. Saves Dominic from ordering an execution. So Malcolm earns himself a pat on the head from the Alpha for solving an ugly problem.”

“I believe he hopes to earn more than a pat on the head. He may win Dominic’s gratitude, but I think he’s more interested in making a point to the rest of the Pack, proving that he can take care of problems like this swiftly and efficiently.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Don’t tell me he’s angling to make Alpha,” Peter said.

“He’s been angling for years,” Jeremy said. “Now he’s campaigning.”

Jeremy’s own wounds were much worse than ours. Besides bruises around his neck, he had a gaping wound down his leg and he winced each time he bent over or straightened, probably from bruised ribs. The leg would require stitches, but for now he wrapped it with strips from his shirt. Then shrugged on his jacket, brushed off our concern and headed back to the car.

As we walked, Jeremy kept looking from side to side and discreetly sniffing the air as he searched for signs of Malcolm. He had us stick to the middle of the deserted dirt road, as far from the shadows of the embankments as possible.

Jeremy moved slowly, and although part of that was caution, it was also necessity, as his injured leg kept giving way. As we rounded the corner to where he’d parked, his foot caught on a root. He tripped and instinctively threw his weight onto his injured leg for balance. His knee buckled and he inhaled sharply.

“Physician, heal thyself,” called a voice in the trees.

I caught Jeremy’s arm to brace him, but he only patted my shoulder, slipped from my grasp and pulled himself up straight. When I peered into the darkness, I could make out Malcolm, perched on the trunk of our rental car.

“Leg giving you some trouble?” he said. “That’s funny. I feel fine.”

To prove it, he leapt off the car and sauntered over. Peter hung back, but Jeremy kept moving forward. When he skirted Malcolm, their eyes met and Malcolm laughed.

“Was that a glare, boy? An actual glare? Well, that’s a start. Of course, a real man would take a swing at me, but that would be too much to hope for, wouldn’t it?”

Jeremy put a hand between my shoulder blades and steered me toward the car.

“Not even going to ask what I want?” Malcolm said.

“We know what you want,” Peter said, struggling to throw some bravado into his voice. “Me. But you’re too late. You caught me off guard once. It won’t happen again.”

“Of course it will. You’re a child. I could take you down any time. Could have done it back there if I’d wanted. Bet you’re wondering why I didn’t, aren’t you?”

“I know why you didn’t,” Jeremy said as he unlocked the car. “You could justify killing Peter quickly, and argue self-defense, but once Clayton and I became involved, things got more complicated. Kill him under those circumstances, and the Pack will wonder why you carried out his punishment yourself, instead of bringing him in. So now you’re falling back on plan B—demanding that I turn him over so you can bring him to Dominic.”

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

“No, but you asked what I thought, so I told you. Clayton? Peter? In the car, please.”

“He’s not going—” Malcolm began.

Jeremy turned to his father. “I called Dominic this afternoon. He knows I’m with Peter, and that I want to negotiate his return to the Pack. If you bring Peter in and tell Dominic what he did, then he has to order Peter’s death. Given the choice between negotiating a pardon and killing a former Pack member, which do you think he’d prefer?”

“You’re bluffing,” Malcolm said. “You haven’t called him.”

Malcolm searched his son’s face for some sign that he was lying, but Jeremy’s shuttered expression gave nothing away.

Malcolm rolled his shoulders and leaned against the car. “You know you’re being played, don’t you?”

“By Peter? No, I told him to call—”

“I don’t mean Peter. I’m not a fool, boy. I know why you’re doing all this. You think it’ll help you weasel in closer to Dominic, prove what a good Alpha you’d make.”

“I—”

“You think you’re being clever, proving yourself to Dominic, taking over his duties. But the truth is, you’re being played and you don’t even know it. Sure, Dominic might name you as his choice. In the end, though, that doesn’t mean piss-all and we both know it. Even he knows it. So why is he going through all this trouble, making the Pack think he wants you to succeed him? Because it buys him time. No one seriously considers you Alpha material, so no one’s going to push for Dominic to step down. He looks like he’s doing his job, planning for the future, but the truth is, he’s just securing his place for another ten years.”

“No one’s playing me,” Jeremy said softly.

Malcolm threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, but you’re a fool. A fool twice in one night, too. That must be a record. You know, I could have killed your boy out there. You led him right to me, and then you couldn’t even protect him.”

Jeremy flinched. He tried to cover the reaction, but couldn’t.

Malcolm smiled. “Piss-poor guardian you are. Hell, he protects you better than you protect him.”

Jeremy saw me still standing beside him and waved me into the car.

“He’s not moving until you’re safe in that car,” Malcolm said. “You should have seen him when I had you down—a regular little ball of rage, all fangs and fury. He’s got it. Whatever you lack, boy, he’s got in spades. You know that?”

Jeremy met his father’s gaze. “Yes, I do.” He rumpled my hair, a rare show of affection, and nudged me toward the car. “I’m getting in now, Clay. Go on.”

“I want to train him,” Malcolm said.

Jeremy stopped, hand on the door, and slowly turned to his father. “You want…?”

“You heard me. I want to train the boy. Teach him how to fight.”

Jeremy stood there, struggling to make sense of this request. Was he joking? I almost hoped not. As much as I loathed Malcolm, I saw the benefit in what he was offering.

Jeremy and Antonio had taught me a lot, but after that night, I knew it wasn’t enough. If I wanted to protect Jeremy against Malcolm, there was only one person who could teach me how to do it: Malcolm himself.

As for why he was offering, even at that age I knew he had to have an ulterior motive, probably to turn me against Jeremy, but that would never—could never—happen.

“Let him train me,” I said.

Jeremy blinked and, for a split second, I was afraid I’d made a horrible mistake, that even considering Malcolm’s offer would make Jeremy doubt my allegiance. But after that first blink of surprise, he gave a slow nod.

“Let me take Peter back to Dominic,” Jeremy said. “What happened here—all of it—is never mentioned again. In return, I’ll allow you to train Clayton. But only under my supervision.”

“Fine by me,” Malcolm said. “Who knows, you might even learn something.” He looked down at me. “I’ll see you back at Stonehaven then, Clay. Make sure you rest up. We have a lot of work ahead of us, unlearning all those bad habits.”

He smiled, clapped me on the back, then strolled off into the night.