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Pax, who spent fifth grade spreading rumors that I ate my own boogers on the bus. (I did not.) Pax, who made me sniff his armpit every time we crossed paths in junior high, grabbing the back of my neck and shoving my face into his stinky pit while his friends laughed and cheered him on.
Pax, who by high school had developed a taste for whiskey and girls who told him what he wanted to hear and didn’t appreciate the fact that I refused to kiss his ass. I might have been a nerdy pack reject with no friends, but I had my pride. My integrity. I didn’t have a death wish—I bowed to the Alpha like the rest of the pack, but Pax wasn’t the Alpha. He was a drunk kid obsessed with his own stupid penis, and I had better things to do with my time than court his favor.
Like read. Or study.
Or have my eyeballs repeatedly stabbed with dirty toothpicks.
Aside from the random unpleasant run-in, I largely escaped Pax during our undergrad years. He rarely went to class and when he was sober enough to make it on campus, his business courses weren’t anywhere near the science building.
And the last two years of grad school have been a Pax-free delight.
Even knowing that I’d eventually have to work under Victor’s insufferable son when he took over as Alpha couldn’t bring me down. I was so excited to be getting my master’s in chemistry that most days I managed to forget the only reason I was being allowed to get my degree was so I could join the pack’s drug development division when I graduated.
The Blood River pack used to be known for its accomplished fishermen and women, excellent daycare centers, and some of the best diners in Parallel Brooklyn.
Since Victor’s father took over in a bloody coup fifty years ago, however, we’ve become known for violence, crime, and drugs.
Half of Parallel New York is hooked on Victor’s latest designer high at one point or another. He has the best chemists in the city working in his labs. Dominating the drug trade is so important to him that even Shit List wolves like me can get a job if they’re smart enough.
And no, I wasn’t looking forward to making drugs that hurt people, but I’d convinced myself I could find a way to create minimally damaging compounds with relatively few side effects. I thought I could serve my Alpha and my conscience at the same time, and that I was on the verge of turning things around for my family.
I was going to make good money, enough for Mom to quit working her fingers to the bone as a housecleaner and for Dad to go back to school Human Side and become a lawyer again.
And then my name was drawn for the mate claiming ceremony last week, signaling it was my time to couple up and make some big, strong wolf babies for Victor’s army.
Cannon fodder.
That’s what the nurses whisper about baby boys these days, a fact that was enough to chill any urge I might have had to reproduce.
I didn’t want to marry, mate, or risk getting pregnant, but I couldn’t skip the ceremony. The best I could hope for was that I’d be mated to a decent man who would understand my reticence to have a baby right now and help me take precautions to ensure we didn’t have children.
And then tonight…
Tonight, everything went to hell.
Straight to fucking hell.
As if summoned by my thoughts, a rage-filled howl cuts through the cool air. It’s coming from somewhere behind me and probably has nothing to do with me or the drunk monster I hit over the head with one of his tacky imitation Greek statues, but it sends a jolt of terror dumping into my veins.
I remind myself that wolf packs fight every night in The Parallel.
In the human dimension, Brooklyn has become gentrified and trendy. In our world, life for wolves gets deadlier with every passing year. It used to be just the vampires and their taste for shifter blood we had to fear, but lately it’s been one bloody battle for dominance after another.
The packs who could afford to get out when things first started going south, did so a long time ago. The rest of us are killing each other for scraps, and I don’t see that changing any time soon.
So maybe this is a blessing in disguise—being forced to run for my life with nothing but the borrowed clothes on my back. Maybe there is a light at the end of the tunnel. If I’m clever and quick and play the few cards I have just right, maybe I can escape and get a fresh start.
I hold onto that spark of optimism as I reach the center of the bridge and the first pissed-off howl is joined by another and another, until it sounds like the entire borough is keening for blood.
There are other portals to Human Side. Easier portals. Portals that don’t involve stress or mess or braving the freezing East River in the middle of October.
But those portals are guarded by Victor’s men. They have lines and I.D. checks and fees for passage.
A wolf on the run has only one option.
And so, once I reach the bridge’s apex, I don’t hesitate, I swing one leg over the railing and then the other, suck a final breath into my heaving lungs, and jump.
As I plummet toward the water, I send out a feverish wish that Maxim Thorn is home tonight and in the mood for vengeance.
