Page 123 of The Wolfing Hour

“I know. You don’t have to tell me that.” It was true. She wouldn’t have done it otherwise, but damned if it didn’t complicate things.

“We need to get out of here.” Rory had shifted to hybrid to be able to speak.

“Betty’s too hurt.” Ida’s voice was small and soft. “I’m scared to move her until she heals a little more. We’ve got to give the charms, and her own magic, some time to work.”

“Then we wait,” I said.

“Don’t you hear them? We’re in danger. We have to move,” Rory said, her voice trembling with urgency.

“It’s already too late,” I said.

Growls and barks and heavy footfalls heralded the arrival of my father’s most faithful. The wolves he hadn’t yet gotten killed. The fools who thought he cared about them, or at least the ones left who hadn’t considered his vicious treatment of the betas a problem.

Five of the seven wolves who’d jumped me on my way here were among them. Guess they felt a little braver with the rest of the loyalists around.

The wolves crowded into the parking lot in human, hybrid, and animal forms, milling in a semicircle configuration around Floyd’s body and me. Rory shifted fully, and worked the edge of the group, snapping at anyone who tried to rush me. Fennel jumped into action and assisted her, but they were two small animals against what was a solid quarter of the pack.

An unfriendly quarter of the pack.

I was a strong alpha wolf. There wasn’t much I was afraid of, and I certainly wasn’t afraid of anyone here, but as a group they were daunting. If they chose to act together, they’d kill me and everyone else.

“I make your life so difficult,” Betty whispered.

“You’re acting like it was all fun and games before you came along.” For one second, just one, I allowed myself to really look at her injured body. From the claw-torn wounds on her sides, to her head, to an arm that wasn’t hanging right.

Rage devoured my calm like fire gorging on dry kindling. I didn’t fight it as it bled into my eyes, taking them from the pale ale they were when my wolf appeared, to the blazing gold they became when I was consumed. I didn’t need to look in a mirror to know the color, either. I’d seen them in the reflection of thewindows of my stepfather’s truck-stop diner the night he was murdered.

One of the wolves—an alpha female—forced her way to the edge of the circle and stood over Rory’s wolf. She growled and snapped her teeth, nicking Rory’s ear.

Something purple and black streaked past her and then:

Pop, pop, POP!

The female wolf rolled on the ground to put out the flames on her fur then tucked her tail and yipped her way to the back of the crowd.

Nice work, guys.

Another flash of purple, a glimpse of black fur, and a whimper rang out as another series of explosions held the line further down.

The wolves were dangerously angry tonight. It puzzled me that they weren’t also in pain. An alpha leader’s death was traumatic for the wolves he left behind. The new leader hadn’t yet taken over, so they should be floundering. Yet, they weren’t. Angry, sure. But they were surprisingly focused.

One wolf emerged from the crowd and squared off with me. He was nearly my size, gray fur, with teeth so sharp I wondered if he didn’t use a Dremel on them.

Tortuga.

It didn’t get any more Floyd-loyalist than Benny Tortuga. If Floyd was the cult leader, Benny Boy was his right-hand sycophant. Odd to see him alone. Where had his buddy Krane gotten off to?

Tortuga snarled. “I challenge you, traitor.”

“I accept,” I said.

Tonight, I’d battle Tortuga. I’d win.

In the coming days, I’d face countless dominance battles. Because this was how it went when an alpha leader died withoutwitnesses. And when they found out Betty was the one who’d taken Floyd out? They’d come for us both.

And we had so much to lose.

I glanced at Betty, who was staring at me with those big brown eyes that had a way of beaming directly into my soul. Over to my kid sister, who was doing her best to protect me. Ida, Fennel, even the anarchist gnome. The betas. My workers.

There would be challenges on top of challenges. The war I’d hoped to end with Floyd’s death had just gotten a lot more complicated. I’d soon be knee deep in claws, teeth, and blood.

Tortuga took a swipe at my head.

I ducked and took a swing at his.

And that was how the first battle began. Benny Tortuga thinking he was challenging the rightful alpha leader of the Pallás pack, when the actual alpha leader was bleeding on the asphalt ten feet away.

If it hadn’t been so godsdamned terrifying, I’d have laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.

Long live Alpha Betty.