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He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and looked up, staring into the night sky as if one of the stars there had the answer to his pain.
Glen spoke softly. “The only pack Flor has ever seen up close was deeply abusive. Many of the matings were nonconsensual. The Hunt has made her see all mate claims as cages. Mom was right. Flor needs more time to heal and get to know us, away from Southern.”
Finnick nodded. “If you fight among yourselves, it will make her feel hunted again. You need to keep your wolves in line somehow.”
Your wolves? I narrowed my eyes, wondering why he was denying what had been so obvious in the battle, and even before. Finnick was every bit as smitten as the others.
Glen nodded. “My parents will take her to Ontario, and we’ll all go with her.”
I put a hand to my stomach where the wound still ached. “Except me.”
Brand settled a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Will you be all right?”
“I have to be,” I replied. “I have to try to save the good shifters here at Southern. The unranked, the children and women. And even if I went to Northern with you, I don’t deserve her.”
“The Moon Goddess may think you do,” Brand rumbled.
Finnick sighed. “He can’t leave Southern without an Alpha. Sometimes we have to make choices for the greater good.” His green eyes glittered with deep pain.
Brand huffed. “This pack doesn’t deserve an Alpha.”
My laugh was humorless. “I don’t deserve to be their Alpha either. Hell, I don’t want it—these people, the pack I’ll serve, is the same one that tortured and tormented my mate.” I let out a shuddering sigh and stepped away from Brand. “I’ll serve the pack, and when it gets to be too much, being away from her… One of you must come down here and help me.”
I saw my meaning dawn on them, one by one. I needed one of them to come back and put me down if I went insane.
When I went insane.
“Don’t give up hope,” Brand said quietly. “My father found a way to stay alive, alone.”
“I don’t want to live without her,” I whispered to them all. “Promise that you’ll come. Please.”
Finnick opened his mouth to answer, when a flurry of shouts and screams from the other end of the compound distracted him.
“It’s him,” I gasped. I could smell him, a hint of his old man funk riding the breeze to us. Had they taken him out of this cell for the execution? Why hadn’t they just killed him down below?
“Is Flor safe?” Brand demanded.
“There’s a guard outside her door who has orders not to leave his post,” Glen shouted.
Brand shook his head. “One of us should go to her,” he insisted.
We all hesitated, but then the decision was taken from us. We heard Margarette screaming, “Bradley!” and the sounds of battle. Samuel roared for his son, and Brand and Glen sprinted away, with Finnick only a breath behind.
None of us had weapons, but the others had all trained for years for situations worse than this. I waited a few seconds, knowing I would have one advantage: my own pack wouldn’t understand that I would be fighting against them.
I rounded the corner and paused for a split second, taking in the horrific scene. The space that had been a fighting ring for the Enforcer Games had become a battlefield.
In the center of the dusty ring, Glen’s mother stood over her mate’s bloody form. Bradley was still alive, but bleeding profusely. She was using one hand to hold a gaping chest wound closed and had shifted her fingernails into claws to keep our Head Enforcer away.
Van was holding a long silver blade in his enormous hand; Margarette was outmatched. Glen was desperately trying to get to his mother’s side, but he was almost buried under a wall of Southern’s Enforcers.
Brand’s father Samuel was fighting off eight Southerners and wasn’t doing well. He was armed only with what looked like two hunting knives, and his attackers all had small metal shields and swords. He was bleeding from dozens of slashes, but he ignored the wounds. Behind him, three Southern Enforcers lay on the ground, their necks slit wide. As I ran, more Enforcers poured in from the side yards.
The shifter from the Borderlands was harrying a group of them, making strange movements with his hands, like he was lassoing them, preventing them from entering the courtyard. I couldn’t see any rope, but whatever he was doing was working. The nine or so Enforcers he was harassing were tripping over themselves, dropping their weapons.
Weapons. Brand and Finnick had raced to Brand’s father and grabbed the swords the dead Enforcers no longer needed. Finnick dashed away to help Glen, who had gone down on one knee, still fighting.
Brand attacked the three shifters who’d managed to circle behind his father. They didn’t see Brand coming, and one of them was dead before he could even blink. The other two whirled, teeth bared, and charged the Alpha Heir.
