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I’d liked the responsibility and the closeness. I’d even liked the way she fought it.

I liked Markie, and even Bobbi’s relentless questions—she accepted my answers without suspicion.

Being here had made me feel like I belonged.

Shaking that off, I stepped off the curb and shifted.

The change was smooth, familiar, my body settling into its other form with precision.

As my paws hit the ground, every scent intensified. Pine sap. Damp earth. A faint trace of lake water drifting in from the east. The metallic tang of a nearby snowplow parked early in preparation for a forecast that would probably miss us anyway.

I ran the perimeter of her building once, then again. Past the narrow strip of grass. Along the back fence. Between the maples that lined the property and dropped leaves thick enough to muffle sound. A deer had crossed through here earlier. Fresh tracks. No threat.

This was unnecessary. There were no rival packs circling this block. No territory disputes. No boundary threats.

Still, I ran to make sure all was well.

When I was younger, the pack and my parents had drilled this into me. Alpha blood meant responsibility. Responsibility meant enforcement.

My father believed enforcement was love.

He believed pain built strength. He believed correction created loyalty. When I failed to meet his expectations, he corrected me.

Publicly.

My mother stood by and told me later that he pushed me because I had potential, and he was preparing me for leadership.

They believed they were protecting me.

They were wrong.

I slowed near the back entrance of Zoey’s building, ears pricked for any sounds that didn’t belong.

One night, a younger wolf had misjudged a boundary. Minor damage. No injury. My father ordered me to discipline him.

I refused, told him it didn’t warrant punishment.

So, I received it instead. I still carried the scars along my ribs, across my back, and one on my collarbone.

I left soon after that. Left the land. Left the title they expected me to inherit. Left the version of leadership that required fear.

I didn’t want the instincts that came with it. I wanted a carefree, untethered life, to be a lone wolf with only myself to be responsible for.

But now those instincts were back.

For her.

I slowed at the front entrance again. The porch light cast a steady glow across the concrete. A mosquito buzzed near the bulb, then drifted off toward the trees. She was inside. Hopefully resting. Likely annoyed that I’d infiltrated so much of her home.

She had told me I was unnecessary, but had still agreed to let me come by in the morning.

I knew I should go home, but instead, I turned and ran around the block one more time.

12

LIAM

I pulled into a parking spot across from Zoey’s building at 7:52.