“You’re not eating,” her mother said.

Alison picked at the steak on her plate. She thought she’d been eating, but now that she looked, she realized she hadn’t. She hadn’t been paying attention. Her stomach was in knots.

It was two days after the day on the ridge, and she hadn’t been back to Brody’s house. She hadn’t called him. And he hadn’t called her, probably because he thought it was over and done. Whatever had begun between them was dead now.

I’ve broken the first rule of my kind, Alison. I killed a shifter, my own kin.

It was horrifying. The good man she’d known since she was twelve was nothing like she thought. She’d always known he was tough, strong, dangerous when backed into a corner. But she had never thought he was a killer.

I pinned him down as he slept and put an ice pick in the base of his skull at the back of his neck, up into his brain.

“Alison?” her father said.

She looked up at him. He was watching her with concern—the special kind of concern shifters were capable of, because they could sense more than humans could. She didn’t know exactly what her father sensed from her right now, but her best guess was apprehension and nervousness. And maybe misery.

If he could scent misery, she probably reeked.

“What is it?” her father asked.

She gave him as much truth as she could. “I can’t say,” she said. “I just can’t.”

He leaned back in his chair, his thoughts moving behind his shifter’s gaze. “It’s Brody.”

“It isn’t what you think.” No, he hadn’t made inappropriate advances. He hadn’t tried to sleep with her. Maybe it would never happen now. She thought of that with a wrench in her gut. She’d never sleep with Brody, never sleep with anyone. At this rate, she’d die an old maid.

“You don’t know what I think,” her father returned gently. “You’ve been happy working for him for three weeks, and now something’s happened.”

“If it’s pack business, honey, you don’t have to tell us,” her mother added. “We understand.”

Of course they did. Alison put down her fork. Stared at nothing.

For two days, she’d sat in her house alone. Thinking nothing. Watching television, eating toast, sleeping hours at a time. She’d been lost in a fog. Brody had killed his own father, and she was the only one who knew. The only one.

It felt like a burden, and she realized now what he lived with every day. That knowledge. What did it mean, that the man she loved was a murderer? She couldn’t sort through her own feelings. Did it mean she was afraid of him? Did it mean she thought he would do it again?

Charlie had killed Brody’s mother. Was it simply a matter of justice? Was there any justification for putting an ice pick in a man’s head while he was sleeping?

Did it mean he should be banned from the pack by his brothers, or even executed, like he’d said? Put to death—those were his words. Brody, put to death. The thought hurt her so much she made a little sound in her throat. But if it didn’t happen, if he just continued, was he a danger? And if she let him, was it her fault?

A hand reached out and took hers. Her father’s hand. She’d been sitting here in silence at the dinner table for God knew how long, but that didn’t matter to him. Shifters didn’t need to make senseless conversation all the time. They were capable of sitting in silence, thinking, even when they were in social situations. Capable of watching each other and communicating without words.

“Baby girl,” her father said softly.

Alison took a breath. “Dad, have you ever seen a pack execution?”

He blinked in surprise at the question, but answered. “A few times. The last one was the day Brody became alpha.”

She remembered that. After Charlie’s death, there had been an attempted coup from within the pack. The rogue wolf had kidnapped Anna, Ian’s mate, in a play to make Ian show weakness. Instead, Ian and his brothers had united behind Brody as their new alpha in a show of strength—right after Ian had executed the rogue wolf by snapping his neck.

She hadn’t been there that day. She’d been in the diner, listening to everyone talking about it. Silently shocked that the Donovan brothers had taken her advice about which of them should be their leader.

The execution itself was upsetting, but Alison was a Falls girl. That was how wolves were—when they had to dominate and show power, they didn’t hesitate. Because the wolf who hesitated was always the dead wolf. What wolves understood deep in their bones was that sometimes it truly was kill or be killed.

I’ve never felt a minute of guilt. Not one.

Kill or be killed.

She started to think that Brody hadn’t told her everything two days ago. In fact, she was sure of it.

Damn him.

She patted her father’s hand, and her fingers brushed the scar on the back of it. She screwed up her courage and said, “I have another question.”

“What is it?” her father asked.

“This scar.” She ran her finger lightly over it. “When I was a kid, you told me not to ask. But I’m not a kid now, Dad, and it’s important. I’m asking.”

He frowned. “Okay. It just wasn’t a story I wanted to tell a little girl, that’s all.”

“I’m going to the kitchen,” her mother said abruptly, pushing back her chair and leaving the room. Alison stared after her in surprise.

“Your mother doesn’t like this story,” her father explained. “I’m going after her, so I’ll make this quick. When you were about five, Charlie assigned me to follow a man he considered his enemy. The reason doesn’t matter now. What matters is that I was assigned to keep an eye on the man, and he slipped away when I wasn’t looking. I failed.”

Alison was still, listening.

“As punishment, my alpha called me to a back room in the Dirty Den. He had me put my hand on the table, and he took out a hunting knife and dug it in. He drew the blade just along here.” He traced his finger along the silver line of scar that bisected the back of his hand. “He severed nerves, bones.”

“Oh, my god,” Alison said.

“Wolves heal,” her father continued. “Even nerves and bones. We scar, but we heal. This injury was so bad that it took hours.” He flexed his hand, clenching into a fist and out again with no problem. “I’ve never felt such agony in my life. But it wasn’t the injury that was the punishment. It was the words he said to go with it.”

“What words?” Alison asked.

Her father flexed his hand again, spreading the fingers, then clenching them into a fist. Out, then in again. “While he drew the knife through me, he said, Next time you fail, this will be your daughter’s throat.”

She felt the blood drain from her face.

“I hated him forever for those words,” her father said softly, “even as I did his bidding. And I did his bidding, every time, even after that. Because he meant it.”

“Dad,” Alison breathed.

He raised his eyes to hers. Her father wasn’t an alpha, but in that minute his eyes were almost silver, as if his wolf was looking at her. “The day Charlie died was the best day this town has ever seen,” he said. “I thank God for that day every minute of my life.”

She met his gaze, stared back at him. Kill or be killed, she thought.

Next time, this will be your daughter’s throat.

Kill or be killed.

“I have to go,” she said, and pushed her chair back from the table.