Page 31 of A Pack of Lies and a Big Bad Wolf

"Why?"

I’m starting to get straight-up pissed off now. He has no idea how lucky he is that he is Olivia’s baby brother. I’d have backhanded any other shifter off his feet by now. "Because I said so."

"That's not a reason."

"It's the only one you're getting."

Stephen's jaw sets. His hands are shaking — I can see them trembling at his sides — but he doesn't drop his eyes, and he doesn't back down.

"Rose deserves a life," he says. "You can't keep her locked up forever just because you're scared of losing her. That's not protection. That's a cage."

I let out a snarl, leap up, and stand between him and Rose.

And Stephen shifts.

It happens mid-breath. One second he's an eighteen-year-old boy with his fists clenched and his chin up, and the next second there's an explosion of light and sound and a wolf is standing in my kitchen.

A small wolf, lean and narrow, with brown fur and bewildered golden eyes, standing in a pile of shredded clothing, shaking from ears to tail.

The wolf looks up at me.

I am a full Alpha, six foot five, two hundred and forty pounds in human form, and my wolf is approximately the size of a small horse. Stephen's wolf has just challenged me to my face and realized, in the space of one heartbeat, exactly what it has done.

The wolf pees on my kitchen floor.

I throw back my head and laugh. I can't help it. The boy just achieved the single most important moment of his life, in my kitchen, while arguing about a dance, and his wolf's first official act was to urinate on my tile in sheer terror. This is the funniest thing that has ever happened in this house, and I include the night Olivia swept my legs out from under me.

Olivia leaps out of her chair. "Stephen! Oh my God, Stephen!" She's crying and laughing at the same time, dropping to her knees in front of the trembling wolf, grabbing his face in both hands. "You shifted! You actually shifted! Look at you!"

Stephen's wolf whimpers and tries to simultaneously hide behind his sister, which is difficult because he's already the smallest wolf I've ever seen. His tail is tucked so far under his body it's practically in his chest cavity.

"It's all right," I tell him, still grinning. "You're fine. You're on my territory, under my protection. Nobody is going to hurt you. Although somebody is going to clean my floor."

Rose gapes at him.

"Oh," she says softly. "Oh, Stephen."

The wolf's ears prick forward. Just slightly, just for a second, before flattening again. Rose crosses the kitchen slowly and kneels down next to Olivia, and she puts her hand on the wolf's head, gentle and sure, the way a healer touches, and Stephen's wolf stops shaking.

And that's when it hits me.

The wolf was faint. Amaryllis said so herself — buried deep, barely there. Ley-line energy and examinations don't produce a spontaneous first shift in an eighteen-year-old with a diluted bloodline. Something else did this. Someone poured enough healing energy into this boy, day after day, week after week, to drag a half-human wolf to the surface and give it enough strength to break through.

I know what it costs to do that. I know exactly what it costs, because it cost me my mother.

I turn around and Amaryllis is standing in the kitchen doorway. She's been watching. Her face is pale, and she's leaning against the door frame with one hand and the other is pressed to her chest.

She knew this was coming.

"Amaryllis," I bark.

"It worked," she says quietly.

She goes down.

No stagger, no warning, no dramatic clutch at the doorframe. Her eyes roll back and her knees fold and she drops to the kitchen floor.

The kitchen explodes.