I signal I’m okay. To be calm. Smart. I have no idea if it gets through.
My shoulder aches from where I hit the rock wall, my leg throbs from rough handling, and my heart lifts in happiness. Here comes my mate. He’s racing to me, and he’s going to do what he’s always done—protect me. Rescue my girls. Make the pack safe.
And he’s going to decimate our numbers. None of these males are leaving these woods. There’s no doubt in my mind.
My wolf’s hackles raise. She senses her mate closing in, and she’s eager to watch him bleed out her enemies. I want that, too. They put their hands on me. They terrorized my girls. Destroyed our cabin.
Worse, this whole plot is about taking us back to a time where the males are the only ones with a say, and there’s no need to work anything out with a female because might makes right. They look around at happy females, and think: There’s something wrong with this picture.
It’s a little ironic that my mate is about to shut down their little insurrection with the might of his fists. Or claws. Probably both. But I have no pity for Eamon or Lochlan. They’re trash. The Last Pack males are enemies, pure and simple.
But for the other Quarry males—especially Fallon—it doesn’t have to be this way. They must have been convinced somewhere along the line that females with phones and ice cream dates are a hell of a lot more dangerous and offensive than they are, and that points to them being stupid, not necessarily evil.
They’re going to die in these woods, too, though.
A lot of females will lose mates. Ma Campbell—who took me in when she already had five of her own— will lose her son.
And in the chaos, what happens to my girls? The one called Justus is still laser focused on Annie and Kennedy.
I can’t let this happen to my pack. For good or ill, this is my family. We rise and fall together, and that’s a lot harder, and a lot messier, than it sounds.
I have to stop my mate from slaughtering a dozen misguided males who don’t want my friends and I to have phones. Because they’re going to change. We’re going to make them. We’re not leaving them behind. Like I’ll never leave my girls.
But Killian is flying in with claws unsheathed. He won’t hesitate. There’s only one thing that’ll make him pause.
I really don’t want to do this. And I am going to regret it so hard for the split second it’ll take for the Byrnes to kill me if this goes south.
I can’t think of another plan, and time is running out.
Fuck it. I’m reckless in a tight corner. That’s my origin story.
I step forward, heading for the firepit. Lochlan and Eamon look up.
“Una,” Mari hisses. “What are you doing?”
“Bitch, sit your ass back down.” Eamon points his knife.
I keep coming, sucking down a deep breath. My bad knee hurts like hell, but I make my way toward the pair of them. They’re still sitting like they haven’t got a care in the world. The Last Pack wolves are sniffing the breeze, growling low in their throats.
Killian’s almost here.
I don’t want to do this. My leg drags more than usual, but I put one foot in front of another.
I round the log the instant Killian’s wolf breaks into the clearing. Lochlan seizes me at the same moment. There’s a prick at my neck. His arm crushes my chest, and his knife presses against my carotid.
This is the worst idea I’ve ever had.
Killian’s wolf rears back, lifts his muzzle, and goes insane, howling at the sky, lunging and snapping his fangs. He doesn’t come any closer, though.
The other males creep out of hiding, careful not to get too close to his beast, surrounding him in a loose semi-circle. Last Pack backs up to form a cordon around the perimeter. Our males are all in human form, and they carry weapons. A tire iron. Knives. They reek of fear.
Adrenaline gallops through my veins. I’m betting on Killian, but what if he’s already been pushed too far?
I have to trust him.
How do I do that?
I shout down the bond with all my might—simmer down. Think. Don’t kill everyone. It’s like hollering into a paper towel tube, muffled and garbled. There’s too much static from his panic and rage.
So I try something else.
“Shift.” I make my voice sound as much like his as I can. “Shift now.”
With a righteous howl that sends birds as far as the foothills into the sky, Killian shifts back to a man. His shoulders heave, and he curls his lips back to show his fangs. He is every inch the fighter who’s never lost a bout.