Breslin sat at his computer and punched in a security pass code for the website of Fitzpatrick Investments and Securities. He picked up the soft tread of Italian leather-soled shoes in the hallway.

His beast tracked the slow, measured pace along the hardwood floor outside the office and the soft whoosh of the door as it opened and closed at his back. He didn’t bother to turn, instead mentally tracked his office mate as he traveled to the far wall of bookshelves instead of the partner’s desk on the other side of Breslin’s.

Curious at the change in ritual that had earmarked Callum Mann as a professional driven by habit for most of the last century, Breslin waited, his fingers paused over his keyboard. He waited for the unfailing morning greeting and family update that carved minutes out of their day.

Instead, silence deepened in the large space until anticipation had him quickly searching for some egregious social error on his part: a birthday missed, failure to return Gillian Mann’s call, one of the children whose visit he’d missed, or some other infraction that would gain him Callum’s cold silence.

“Doesn’t it ever occur to you that we share a room larger than the footprint of some people’s homes and all the space you claim is one bookcase and a desk?” Callum’s even tone broke through Breslin’s self-reflection, and he steeled himself for the inevitable lecture. As brilliant as Callum was with managing the clan’s finances and hunting out new business opportunities, he and his mate were equally tenacious on their personal pet project of drawing Breslin out of his shell.

Not happening. He didn’t need to shed his delicate shell before he embraced—hell, the world? His soul was mortared with stone, and tempered by past horrors and the cold-fired need for revenge. Nothing would change him.

“I don’t need overstuffed chairs and couches picked out to match the red walls to do my job.”

“I remember Gillian saying the paint for these walls was Terracotta Sunset, and what tools you need to do your job isn’t my point.”

Braced for a more tedious lecture, Breslin shot back, “I don’t have diplomas to paper the walls. Wouldn’t do it even if I did.”

“No. Instead, you have books.” The leather of Callum’s shoes squeaked as he squatted. “Efficient Building Design. Environment Psychology for Building Design. Adaptive Management of Renewable Resources. Climate Change Biology. Dry stuff. Yet the books overflow on the shelves from floor to ceiling. Every spine is cracked and the edges all worn, with sticky markers sprouting like weeds.”

“You had children. I invested my time elsewhere,” Breslin lashed back, getting tired of the forced distraction. “Since I’m not having children, be my guest and mount my books on the wall next to your family’s college accolades and graduation photos.”

“Pictures of my wife and six sons,” Callum responded, his voice tight. “You do remember accepting the role as their Protector when they were born? In spite of your open reluctance to bond with children, I’ve never doubted your promise if something happened to Gillian or me. Despite your dismissive attitude, I still don’t.”

Yes, he had agreed, with equal parts trepidation and awe, to be the Mann children’s Protector. Some part of his cold heart understood the privilege of being asked to take responsibility for the youngsters’ lives, and he’d lived in fear that something would happen to their parents. Every day he’d dreaded the possibility, until the last Mann child successfully shifted for his beast rite of passage and then later graduated from college to flaunt his brilliant genetic DNA. He took small, if hidden, pride in each of them as they created legacies within the clan. It also didn’t slip his notice that Callum and Gillian could easily have asked their alpha to assume the role. The title of Protector was an honor. However, he understood their choice in choosing him was a calculated attempt to connect him to family.

It hadn’t worked. He’d done his job by the boys and kept them safe when they strayed too far outside the lines of the sanctuary and the territory. But he left love and comfort to their parents, because he knew love couldn’t be tendered from a distance. And he’d kept his distance. He’d also lost the right to a family of his own a long time ago.

“I’ve kept my word,” Breslin said. At Callum’s continued silence, he added. “I’d still make certain they were okay. Even though they’re grown.”

Callum grunted and moved toward his desk, the large picture window behind him framing the tall, lanky man who looked much the same now as he had when Breslin had first seen him in a small diner in Lester, Washington.

“Did you and Gillian come up with a new strategy for saving me, or is there another reason for this walk down memory lane?” What in Mother Earth’s name did the bobcat shifter have up his craw? However, years of experience warned him Callum wouldn’t get to the point until he’d had his say. Still, he didn’t have time for a lecture.

“Gillian sends you her love. She also recommended I not try to fix something you refuse to change.”

“Smart woman. You should listen to her.”

“I’m stubborn.” Callum crossed his arms over his chest. “Most people keep libraries for their egos, but since you’ve actually read most of the tomes in this office, I consider you a smart man.”

“Your point?”

“If this new contract bid you’re pushing succeeds, it will ruin Rutland Mill and Lumber.”

“Precisely.” Breslin registered Callum’s rising annoyance, yet returned his focus to the monitor in front of him and refused to look up. He flipped open a file folder on his desk to check information on the first page and turned back to input the verified figures on the financial screen. Rutland was poorly run with inevitable bankruptcy within eighteen months. Their acreage close to Vancouver’s growing metropolis made them prime for acquisition in order to convert the land to homes. And the forestation that used to be plentiful to feed their business had diminished by sixty percent. “They’ve mismanaged funds and aren’t competitive in their marketplace.”

“Maybe. But the mill employs clan members who won’t be able to put food on the table after this financial coup of yours.”

Breslin glared his way. “Not our clan members.”

Callum shook his head and released his rigid posture. “Granted. But we’ve turned around businesses in worse shape for Deacon.”

True. They’d both worked hard to salvage some of Deacon’s holdings after first one world war and then a second had unsettled many family-run businesses. But helping the enemy survive? No. Destruction was the whole point of this exercise. “People in Alpha Karndottir’s territory should have restructured their businesses with the changes in market trends years ago. This will give them incentive to move on.”

Callum gripped his hair for a moment and actually growled. “They don’t have the freedom to make decisions given the alpha who rules them with an iron fist. I don’t blame you for hating Gauthier, but you’re almost as much of a coldhearted bastard as he is for destroying innocent people to get to him.”

“No. I haven’t torn apart families, raped women, and killed children, much less stolen from my own people and driven them into the ground until they can’t put food on their tables.” Gauthier had done all that and worse for centuries. He’d hidden behind his alpha title as a justification for every heinous atrocity he’d committed. He deserved what was coming to him. And so did the enforcers who did his bidding.

Callum had the decency to wince and Breslin waited for a dent in the too-familiar numbness he’d experienced more and more over the last few years. Since he hadn’t killed for a living in decades, some semblance of humanity might have crept back in.

He glanced at a charred piece of wood on his desk for a full moment, his fingers still hovering over the keyboard. Three inches by two inches, the memento looked like nothing special. In fact, visitors to his office assumed it was a paperweight from rebuilding Black Haven. In a way, they were right. It served as a visual reminder that the man he sought to destroy was worth every moment of Breslin’s painstaking efforts.

He could no longer remember his mother’s smile with crystal clarity or his older brothers’ smirks and laughter. Occasionally a stranger on the street with their identical carrot-colored hair gave his heart a jolt. Otherwise, the images were fading.

Their cries and screams, however… Those rang as clear in his mind today as the day they were viciously murdered.

He’d never surpass the alpha of the north for the title of the most ruthless and vile. Gauthier Karndottir won every time.

So—regret for his actions? Not in this lifetime.

Remorse? The iron-tough shield around his heart blocked even the smallest twinge of guilt. He’d developed a thick skin during his years of tracking and executing the worst criminals in the territory. Enforcers couldn’t afford feelings. Assassins like himself who delivered justice for Deacon, even less so.

The charred wood sat unassuming on his desk, functioning better than any Pavlovian trigger. It required a soul to feel, faith to find a new direction.

Breslin knew he didn’t warrant blessings or salvation. He didn’t miss either one.

He understood the impact of the atrocities he’d committed in his past. Understood that, even though sanctioned by his alpha, the blood work he’d taken on exiled him from a normal life forever. What he did now seemed tame in comparison. Because each financial strike he planned hit deep into Gauthier’s pockets. Each was another opportunity for Breslin to bring his enemy to his knees.

“If it’s any consolation,” he offered, “they can leave the clan and find safe haven.”

“Not everyone can drop everything and live like the Ghost.” At the not-so-subtle tone layered somewhere between reprimand and challenge, Breslin shot a glance toward his alpha’s chief financial officer—his best friend—if a man who was only half-alive could have friends. Callum’s comment warned of dimming respect and triggered an uncomfortable sensation somewhere beneath the bone and muscle in Breslin’s rib cage. His cougar grumbled, but he rolled his shoulders and shrugged off the irritation.

“These are the profiles of all the employees and their families,” Callum said as he threw another folder on top of the pile beside Breslin. An inch thick and worn as if someone had searched through the papers often, it sat like a rock on top of the Rutland financial reports. “I don’t know how you can do this year after year. It’s giving me prematurely gray hair.”

“You’ve had gray hair since I first met you—a long time ago.” Breslin leaned back in his chair and waited. He knew Callum well enough. Until he finished, he’d continue interrupting Breslin’s final Rutland coup. The last thing the acquisition needed was a fat-fingered mistake that might leave an opening for someone else to claim the mill.

Fists on his desk, Callum leaned closer. “Some people have extended families and elderly who need care. They can’t just up and leave.”

“You didn’t have a problem pulling up roots.” Breslin scowled back at the numbers on the screen. In forty-five seconds, his login to the trading account would time out. He needed to finalize his transaction for the available shares. Even with his low bid for delivery of the lumber to the buyer Rutland desperately needed, his clan’s holding of Hampton Mills would clear a profit while stealing the business from Gauthier.

Suddenly noticing the lack of lecture, he shook his head and realized Callum now stood again at the far windows with his back to him. He’d never seen him so exasperated. After a quick click to save his offer, Breslin refocused his attention. “You didn’t struggle with the Karndottir clan’s well-being after changing your alpha allegiance to Deacon. Why take an interest in the old territory now?”

“I—we didn’t have a choice but to choose Deacon. My loyalties to him are unwavering, but if Gauthier hadn’t been a threat to our unborn child and seeking to make Gillian his broodmare, we wouldn’t have forsaken our home,” Callum said over his shoulder without turning back. “Mix-breed matings are still outlawed in that territory. Yet, even though she’s a cougar instead of a grizzly, the alpha hypocrite would have taken her to give him a son. You’d think more than a hundred years would have changed his outlook, yet—”

A hundred years hadn’t changed Breslin’s outlook, not that he excused Gauthier’s narcissistic ego.

“The only thing that saved Gillian was her mother’s determination to keep her hidden and the shaman’s potion to suppress her from shifting,” Callum added.

That and Callum’s quick action in taking his very young, pregnant beloved over the territory line before others became aware of her breeding potential. The thought left a sour taste in Breslin’s mouth.

“We were lucky Deacon accepted us.” Callum turned back and leaned against the glass. “But I’d have sworn an oath to the devil himself to save her.”

Breslin moved the file Callum had dropped aside. “Luckily, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Gillian’s relieved our children, your godchildren, grew up safe, and received excellent educations. I owe you for that.”

“Of course, I was their Protector,” Breslin muttered. The good news was that following all the Mann children around had paid off. They’d survived childhood and puberty, and blossomed into productive adults. “Shifters don’t have godparents, but someone needs to provide backup.”

Callum continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “But there are consequences to what you’re doing. People fleeing your financial persecution and changing their alpha oaths could incite Gauthier to wage war. Don’t you worry for the families who live on the border?”

Like Breslin’s own family? He closed his eyes and pushed back images of flames. At a loud crunch, he glanced down at the fractured bits of his computer mouse in his palm. He swept the worthless plastic into the trash and sucked in a deep breath. “Precisely the reason I refuse to stop. If he wages war, the alphas have to intercede.”

Callum blanched. “Right, I forgot. Your goals are more important than everyone else’s.”

Breslin didn’t answer, focused again on the financial data streaming down his screen—Karndottir’s total net worth. An easy cyber-hacking job allowed him visibility into what was once a profitable portfolio of land, businesses, and cash, but which now reflected a negative balance. Gauthier could run in the wild and feed himself if he went bankrupt, but without jobs, his people would leave in droves and he’d have nothing—no money, no clan, no power. For without shifters to rule, the alpha power would leave him. Maybe he’d even go insane and kill himself as Deacon’s father had.

A few months more and Breslin’s plan would come to fruition. He hadn’t yet delivered the final strike and was still considering several options. One thing he promised himself—he’d witness Gauthier’s ruin. The alpha would know who orchestrated his downfall. The best part of his plan—no other alpha in the international shifter alliance would come to Gauthier’s aid.

The grizzly alpha had swindled and betrayed anyone who’d ever dealt with him. He’d dug his own grave. Breslin was more than happy to shovel the dirt over him as he lay twitching.

Callum wanted to reach some tender part of Breslin’s heart. It was a waste of time. Nothing would stop him, especially so close to culminating his revenge. “If you’re getting tired of helping me, you know the way to the door.”

At Callum’s deep inhale, Breslin wondered if he’d pushed too far. Callum’s sense of loyalty wouldn’t let him walk away, and Breslin counted on that weakness despite the annoying tweak in his gut that tried to dissuade him.

Callum sank into a chair beside the desk. “I should. Should have long ago, even though I understand why Deacon gave you free rein to attack these holdings. I always figured you’d eventually realize you didn’t have it in you to harm innocent people,” he muttered. “Rather like Deacon assumed you’d come to reason someday too.”

Assassins didn’t reason, they performed on command and delivered with precision. “I’m sending you my latest transaction details. Get back to me when Deacon’s Hampton Mill Lumberyard is awarded the new lumber contract instead of Rutland.”

As a timid knock rattled the door, Breslin shut his browser. “Come in.”

“Can I talk to you?” The mop-headed youngster hanging from the door handle didn’t look prepared to take no for an answer.

“Does your mother need something, Trevor?” Breslin asked.

“Nope.” The boy slid inside and closed the door, leaning against it as if he needed a prop. He cast a quick glance Callum’s way but paid him little attention. “I—well—I…”

Reining in his impatience to finish his task, Breslin slid the folders on his desk into a drawer and stood. The world seemed to be conspiring to delay him today. He waved toward the armchairs in the corner next to the unlit fireplace.

Trevor Philmont clenched his fists with his lips pursed, but he nodded and walked toward the chairs. Right before he reached them, he spun around. “I want you to teach me.”

“Teach you what?” Breslin stopped beside him, puzzled.

Trevor looked up at him as if they both already knew what was on his mind. “You know. What you do.”

Buying himself time, Breslin sank into the deep leather of the nearest chair. He ignored the gruff snort from Callum’s direction and took the time to stretch his legs out and cross them at the ankles. “Start at the beginning.”

“I want to be like you.” Trevor frowned and shoved his fists in his jean pockets. Which might have been more impressive if he weren’t four years old and barely three feet tall. “So I can do what you do for my alpha.”

His alpha? Ah yes. The child had attached himself to Deacon’s new mate, Lena. “Hansen is handling Lena’s protection detail. Trim will be back from her mission in a few weeks.”

“She’s a girl.”

Breslin lifted a fist to cover his laughter. Good thing Trim wasn’t around to hear that. As Deacon’s previous second-in-command for decades, Trim had made a name for herself as a force of retribution and justice. Nobody questioned her abilities. Not and lived. “Don’t let your mom hear you say that.” At Trevor’s wince, he added. “Or Trim.”

“’Kay. But if I learn fast, I’ll be on Lena’s team before Trim gets back.”

“Each of the alpha pair needs a full team. Not just one superpowered bodyguard.” Evidently, Trevor’s recent rescue by Lena from a group of mercenary feral shifters had solidified his allegiance and determination to become a warrior for her cause. Not that Lena’s causes were many yet. She’d recently mated Deacon Black and married him. Still, Breslin couldn’t fault Trevor for having big goals.

But even having taken on Trim’s previous position, Breslin was the last person to train an impressionable youngster in defensive skills. He’d crafted his arsenal during the blackest periods in his life, experience grown from bitter seeds no child should willingly embrace.

“Your first lesson,” he said as he rested his chin on his fist and stared at the child. “Women are formidable foes. Do you know one of the most formidable predators in the wild?”

Trevor frowned. “The wolf?”

Points for Trevor’s mom and his alpha, both wolf shifters. “No. A mother bear.”

“A grizzly,” Trevor added with a grin.

“Any mother bear,” Breslin said as the boy’s luster dimmed. “Actually, any mother in defense of her young is a fierce predator. Don’t ever rule out the female of any species.”

Head bowed with his tiny body rigid, Trevor wasn’t ready to concede defeat. Breslin closed his eyes for a brief second, then caved. He could teach him something, at least train him enough in the basics of control to distract the boy.

“You do realize you’re too young to be trained in shifter skills? Deacon has a trainer for all the new shifters. Chisholm is good at his job.”

Glaring at him from beneath a mess of dark curls, Trevor shook his head. “No. I can’t wait until I’m old enough to shift. I need to learn now.”

“Why?” Breslin leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, and waited.

“I watched you when the others attacked on the mountain. You’re good with your cat. But you shifted into human too and were still fast.” Trevor pivoted, holding his arms out with his fingers curled in a claw shape. “And you can jump and move.” A foot kicked out as if vanquishing an invisible foe. He locked his gaze on Breslin. “The guys came at you, and you didn’t even turn around to look at them until the last minute. Then—pow! I want to be able to do that. Now.”

Disturbing. “Quite a list of skills.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Callum muttered behind him.

“Do you think I learned it all at your age?” That would have solved many things.

Trevor’s frown deepened, and Breslin rubbed his jaw, searching for a way out of babysitting duty. What the child wanted would take years. Breslin lacked the compassionate DNA for dealing with a youngster’s sensitive feelings. Or hell, anyone’s feelings.

“I don’t think—” He sensed Callum walk up beside him.

“How long could it really take? You eventually learned.”

Breslin raised a brow, knowing his partner in financial espionage wanted to delay the final plans for Gauthier’s upheaval. Callum also had no idea how motivated Breslin had been to learn—to survive long enough to kill.

“And I want to learn how to climb up trees, go really high like your cat can,” Trevor added.

“No.” Breslin hadn’t meant to bark, but Trevor flinched and leapt back.

Breslin sprang from his chair and stalked to the doorway, prepared to eject the boy and Callum both, if only to get back to business or escape this troublesome discussion. “Your mother can’t possibly know you’re in here.”

“She said I could ask you,” Trevor insisted, his mouth now twisted into a determined line, though his shoulders slunk lower, and glanced toward Callum as if expecting an ally there.

Unrelenting, Breslin scowled and avoided what he suspected was Callum’s fierce glare of parental censure. “Ask your father. He’ll have better sense.”

Chin lifted, Trevor faced him and smiled. “My dad is waiting for me in the hallway.”

“That’s where I’d be,” Callum added with an irritatingly satisfied smirk.

Breslin spun away and counted to ten, then whipped back and glared at them both. “It’s not like I’d hurt—” He waved his hand around the room and realized his response failed on so many levels. “Anyone.”

Trevor beamed and looked at Callum with a nod. “My mom said he’d never hurt me. He’s a big pussy—”

“Right,” Callum jumped in, cutting Trevor off. He palmed the boy’s head and added. “Breslin, you have time for a plan. Just a small one to get him started?”

Breslin shook his head. Trevor’s mother might be his alpha’s personal assistant, but she wasn’t safe from petty revenge. Not since she’d sunk low enough to sic her firstborn son on him for youngster combat training. However, the Philmonts’ approval for this effort meant Deacon likely also knew of Trevor’s request and sanctioned it, and his female alpha, Lena, as well. Not to mention an ever-growing list of people determined to infuse Breslin’s day with childhood joy and draw him out of his proverbial shell.

All right, then. He was exceptionally well trained, too much so to allow a minor delay to thwart him. The best way out of this dilemma was to train Trevor until the boy realized the error of his request. What child had a longer attention span than a gnat?

“Training takes a great deal of work,” Breslin said with new conviction as Trevor, now looking solemn, nodded. “Which only starts after all your chores are done.”

Trevor was already shaking his head. “Climbing—”

“No trees,” Breslin said. Callum lifted a brow at that, but fortunately didn’t interfere.

“But all the other boys know how to climb trees,” Trevor insisted softly. “And they won’t teach me.”

“You’ll stay on the ground, or I won’t teach you at all.” Trevor looked crestfallen, though still too determined for Breslin’s satisfaction. He withheld a sigh. It wasn’t going to be the last time he heard about trees. The sooner he forced Trevor to the conclusion of this agreement, the better. “First lesson. Sit with your eyes closed and notice ten things with only your hearing or you sense of smell—for ten minutes.”

Trevor’s eyes widened with obvious dismay.

“In the morning and evening. Give the lists to your mother and have her write them down.”

Trevor’s hands curled into fists at his side. “That’s not training.”

Callum looked equally annoyed behind the boy, but that wasn’t what swayed Breslin to push further. He crouched in front of Trevor and brushed his fingers over the boy’s clenched fists. “Loosen these. Now.”

Reluctantly, Trevor relaxed his fingers.

Breslin lifted his hand toward Trevor’s eyes. “Close them. Now.”

Mouth tight, the boy obeyed.

“First, take a long, slow breath through your nose and hold it for the count of…one, two, three, four. Release the breath through your mouth. Keep your eyes closed.” A gust hit Breslin’s face. “Tell me what you smell.”

“Nothing.”

“Not even the cookies just out of the oven in the kitchen?”

“Yeah.” Trevor inhaled again, loudly this time. “Deacon made me peanut butter cookies.”

“That’s one. What else do you smell?”

“Mr. Mann smells like flowers.”

“I suspect that is probably…” Breslin encouraged.

“My sweet Gillian’s favorite wildflowers,” Callum whispered into Trevor’s ear with a smirk at Breslin’s scowl for cheating.

“What do you hear?” Breslin continued.

Trevor tilted his head. “The clock on the wall. And…something that sounds like a bug.”

Considering for a moment, Breslin glanced around the room and back. “That’s four things. The bug sound is the hum from the computer monitor. Give me one more. But this time, try something harder. Can you hear something outside this room?”

For a moment, the boy said nothing. He sighed and cocked his hip and his head as if thinking. Then he smiled, and his eyes shot open. “I hear my dad tapping on his phone outside.”

“Good. That wasn’t so hard.”

“It takes too long.”

Breslin stood and crossed his arms. “Too bad. In order to know how to do things quickly, you have to be very good at knowing what is going on around you. Twice a day.”

“’Kay. Five things,” Trevor said, pivoting on one heel toward the door.

“Ten,” Breslin corrected.

“I don’t know why the children trust you,” Callum muttered from behind him. “Experts say they’re good judges of character. Insane.”

Ignoring Callum’s comment and Trevor’s blinding smile, Breslin opened the door and acknowledged Matthew Philmont leaning stiffly against the far wall, typing into his phone. He had the good sense to remain within earshot of his young son; however, the look of relief on the man’s face was comic.

Not that Trevor’s human father could do much to save his child against a deadly shifter. But Breslin had never killed a child. Never would.

There were moral lines he didn’t cross, and he held tightly to those few. They were the neutral zone between who he was and the evil he pursued. That was what he told himself.

“He said yes,” Trevor yelled as he crushed his father’s legs in an embrace.

Matthew tilted his head, his lips twitching. “Good for you. Did you remember your other task?”

Mouth wide in a silent O, Trevor turned back. “Deacon wants to see you. He said it’s important.”

Breslin bit back a curse and the temptation to deliver a second lesson on priorities before he stalked away from both of the Philmonts.

* * *

Breslin strode into Deacon’s office, not having to look far to find the alpha pair on the couch surrounded by thick file folders. He looked pointedly from Lena to Deacon. “I understand you wanted to see me.”

However, Deacon didn’t smile or meet his gaze, which triggered a spark of interest. “I need you to take a security vehicle and retrieve a prisoner.”

“Can do, but issues within the cities are normally handled by your lieutenants.”

Deacon rose and strode toward the fireplace. “This prisoner is coming from outside my territory and being brought here to Black Haven.”

“Outside—” Breslin sorted through his knowledge of shifter laws and interterritorial scenarios for a reason to bring a non-clan prisoner to Black Haven. “A tribunal?”

Deacon turned back, holding his gaze steadily. “Exactly.”

Driving meant it was close, ruling out Alarico’s territory in South America and likely Whitman’s territory along the eastern United States as well. Alpha tribunals only judged interterritory offenses. Then the implication hit him like a thunderbolt. “Who am I retrieving from Gauthier’s territory, and why?”

“The alpha has been assassinated. I need you to bring the accused here. The tribunal is set for the week after next, assuming all the alphas show up on time.”

Poleaxed, Breslin stood stock-still, his mind a blank for the first time in—well, he couldn’t remember when. He took a step toward his alpha, his jaw rigid and his hands fisted. “He was mine. You promised me.”

Lena glanced between them and rose from her place on the couch. “I’ll leave you two to discuss this in private.”

“I promised you justice,” Deacon continued, moving forward, allowing his mate to exit the room behind him.

“It’s too late to extract justice from a dead man.” Rage had taken hold, blood burned in his veins, and Breslin couldn’t control the challenging growl in his voice.

“Justice has many different meanings. Opportunities exist for winning now that didn’t exist with Gauthier alive.”

“He’s gone. He won,” Breslin ground out through his clenched teeth, and he blinked, holding back a shift. A death move if he took on a combative form before his alpha. But his cougar raged, leaving his human side struggling for control.

All this time and effort for nothing, and he had been so close.

Unable to focus on anything in front of him as red washed across his vision, he debated whether death by his own alpha was a proper end to his fury. A wave of power slammed against him, invisible iron bands tightening around his lungs.

“You’ve inflicted a great deal of damage to his financial holdings.” Deacon said with a hard edge to his voice, his eyes glinting dark gold. “Cracked the bedrock of his clan’s well-being. Those acts have further-reaching consequences than justice.”

“You told me the impact to his clan didn’t matter.” Breslin choked through the constriction his alpha pressed around his throat. He was dishonoring his oath to Deacon, and he knew it. But he couldn’t contain the rising chaos inside him. He felt a visceral kinship with Trevor all of a sudden. But embracing the recklessness of a four-year-old wouldn’t help control his temper.

Deacon moved to his desk and shifted through a large stack of files before he looked up. “I know I sanctioned your actions. There were few enough of Gauthier’s clan at the time. Knowing him as we do now, I suspect he would have sacrificed every single member before he even considered defeat.”

“The plan was to destroy him,” Breslin ground out as he narrowed his eyes, scouring Deacon’s face for some sign of what he was thinking. The powerful hold on him hadn’t increased, but it also wasn’t loosening. He could feel the ripples like tiny blade points along his skin. Breslin didn’t know what was going through Deacon’s mind, though he didn’t like the dark thoughts that were going through his own.

His alpha wouldn’t betray him. He believed in that above all else. Deacon promised him in this very room that Breslin would someday make Gauthier accountable. That in doing so, Breslin no longer needed to use his assassin skills to punish the man who had murdered his family.

Leaning against his desk, Deacon appeared to be evaluating him as well. “I didn’t stand in the way of your efforts, if that’s what you’re thinking. But you’re aware that you aren’t the only one whose life was ruined by Gauthier’s actions.”

What? Maybe true, yet he’d always felt Deacon supported his cause before all others. Now it seemed that wasn’t the case.

“We had an agreement. And unless you can bring him back—” Breslin pushed through the power, barely making headway. Pure stubbornness drove him as step by staggered step, he moved dangerously close to Deacon. Despite the sizzle of alpha power whipping around the room, he didn’t back down. Deacon’s eyes turned a threatening shade of bloodred, and still Breslin’s cat snarled for release.

“Consider your next words carefully.” Deacon’s voice came out in a harsh rumble, the vibration rippling against Breslin’s eardrums. “You swore an oath to me. Does your word mean nothing?”

Breslin tried to breathe through the constriction deepening around his chest. Deacon hadn’t moved, and his power squeezed as if Breslin were no more than a doughy dinner roll. He’d likely sport bruises, but his devastation from the goal lost so close within his reach unhinged rational thought. However, the pain and lack of oxygen dampened his haze of rage.

Then the alpha power pulled back.

Gulping air into his lungs, he chose the sanest option and dropped to one knee. He bowed his head and spoke the only truth that had ever existed for him—in so many empty ways. “My oath is the one thing I have left.”

The alpha power dissipated without a trace. Comfort Breslin didn’t want buffeted at his soul as Deacon’s palm cupped the back of his head. “I understand your shock, but I still hold to my promise to you. Do what I ask, and I will, yes, help you triumph over Gauthier.”

Unable to fathom the possibility, Breslin didn’t bother to argue. While he’d lived long enough to see unbelievable things, he didn’t care. Alphas commanded powers none of the rest of them did. The bone-numbing pain of failure clouded his ability to see how Deacon could be right, or perhaps alphas weren’t infallible. Deacon couldn’t know everything. Breslin couldn’t fault a man who’d supported him for years even if he was now wrong.

Years of rigorous training without concern for his own needs allowed him to stand. He forced his head up, though he refused to meet Deacon’s gaze.

He was a soldier standing before his alpha as a pawn, not a friend. And because he’d begun his adult life as Deacon’s enforcer, the ghost assassin all clan shifters feared, stepping back into that role was a seamless transition. His role required only obedience to complete a mission, not acceptance or understanding, not a soul.

“Who is the accused?”

Deacon slid out his phone and handed it to him.

Official Request to Alpha Deacon Black from Shifters Unlimited Secretary — Alpha Karndottir found murdered inside his home — Assailant in custody — Clan demands right of Alpha Board Tribunal — Request Alpha Black retrieve and hold assassin Rayven Karndottir until trial.

“None of the people who escaped from his territory ever mentioned he had a daughter,” Breslin said as his gaze snapped back to Deacon. His alpha’s eyes had at least dimmed from red, though the solid black was disconcerting.

“Evidently, she was a well-kept secret,” Deacon said with a dead tone. “She’s being held at their clan stronghold. I received a call from Vendrick. You should expect trouble. Gauthier’s team has a reputation as violent and undisciplined. Their request, Rayven’s delivery to us, and the publicity this will cause are likely part of a larger plan.”

“I’ll look forward to trouble.” It would be a good way to dole out his aggression. He didn’t fool himself it would diminish his fury, but the enforcers had killed his father, allowing Gauthier to steal across the territory border during Deacon’s father’s reign as alpha. If he had an opportunity, he’d kill them all, regardless of the consequences.

His cat growled, bucking inside him. Killing a few of the alpha’s guard wouldn’t siphon off any of Breslin’s venom. Instead, he could vent it on the greedy, power-hungry daughter who’d stolen his life mission.

Breslin had never killed a woman, based on a promise he’d made himself decades ago. One he now considered breaking and defensible. In order to have taken out Gauthier, she had to be harder and colder than her old man, making her a worthy opponent. One who didn’t need him to hold back his skills. Ridding the world of Gauthier’s bloodline seemed an appropriate final gesture.

Of course, Deacon would be pissed.

“What will happen after she’s found guilty by the tribunal?”

Deacon’s eyes never wavered from their midnight pitch, and a strange gold sparkled there instead of the red Breslin associated with irritation. His alpha was plotting again. An uneasy shiver slithered down Breslin’s spine.

“She’ll be put to death by alpha challenge.”

“Only by an alpha?” Breslin growled, finding the end of his patience. All these years and the bastard had slipped through his grasp with the help of his demon spawn. He’d gladly offer himself as the executioner. At this point, one Karndottir was as rotten as the next.

“All the alphas. There’s no chance of survival.” Deacon’s brows lifted slowly. “However, first, she needs to be proven guilty.”

Was his alpha plying him with sarcasm? Breslin shrugged and headed for the door. “That won’t take long. Apple. Tree.”

* * *

“I don’t think he even saw me on his way out,” Lena said, entering the room again. “I’m not insulted or anything, but he’s the most frighteningly focused person I know, and he looked…zoned out.”

“Be glad he was distracted. It means he’s thinking instead of allowing his creature to take control.” Deacon wasn’t quite certain what to make of Breslin’s emotional state. He’d anticipated a violent surge. Instead, the shock of Gauthier’s death had broken through the ice Breslin kept around his emotions of late, resulting in close to a total meltdown. He’d need a little time for what was happening to sink in. The fact that a Karndottir heir existed might prove a godsend. With any luck, the cold logic Breslin usually wore like a second skin would have a chance to resurface during the long drive to the Karndottir clan stronghold.

“Are you sure he’s the right choice for this pickup? I thought you told me Gauthier killed Breslin’s family in front of him.”

“He’s the best person to send. She will be all he can think about.”

Lena’s brow pulled together. “Not in a good way.”

“Once he brings her back across my border, I can put her into someone else’s custody.”

“Nope.” She tapped him on his chest. “There’s more to your reasoning. Spill it.”

“It’s time Breslin acknowledges that vengeance, not justice, rules him. From the little intelligence I’ve received, Rayven Karndottir has a bull’s-eye on her back. A ticking clock set by her father’s followers. On the slim chance that she’s innocent, she’ll need him. He’s not only one of the cleverest fighters in our clan, he’s also instinctual in battle. But at his core, he is one of the most honorable men I’ve ever known.”

“He appeared anything but clearheaded. That was also a hard blow to have the object of his hate disappear.” Her lips twisted in thought in a way that tempted him, yet the focused look in her eyes held him back. “You suspect she didn’t kill her father?”

“Hosting the tribunal assigns me with the role of finding evidence for the accused. But I doubt whether she’s guilty or not matters as much as what is really going on in the Karndottir clan. Another alpha will see this as an opportunity.”

Lena’s eyes widened for a moment. “That sounds a bit Machiavellian for this day and age.”

“Nothing’s more primal than men and women with great power and the opportunity to possess more.” Deacon frowned and then ran a finger across her lower lip. “I have no designs on the Karndottir territory.”

“Never thought you did,” she said with a hint of laughter. “So, back to Breslin.”

“If someone attempts to kill Rayven before she reaches this compound, he will stop them. Right now, he’s convinced himself he wants to be the one to end her life.”

“Not if she’s innocent.” Her muscles tensed beneath his hands as she examined his expression with worry. She’d taken to his team. Whether he wanted it or not, Breslin had fallen beneath her umbrella of protection—making him one of those special people she looked out for personally. Losing any member of their team was not an option. “He could barely restrain his growl. Hate will cloud his judgment.”

“He will bring her here, unharmed.”

“Pretty sure of yourself.” She remained stiff in his arms as he brought her soft body tight against his and tugged playfully on her long braid. “I hope so, for his sake. Have you met her?”

“I didn’t know she existed until I received the tribunal request.” At her scoff, he pulled back to look at her with an incredulous expression. “What? I’m not omniscient.”

But he did have suspicions. The unusual energy he’d felt flow from across the border and the current situation with Rayven set his instincts flaring. However, revealing his thoughts at this point would only muddle both his and Lena’s thinking once they assessed Rayven for guilt or innocence.

Unfortunately, his mate’s rigid stance and crossed arms intimated he wouldn’t get a second more of her attention until he gave a little ground. He’d give her a tidbit. “Gauthier was a bastard. Even Vendrick gave him a wide berth, though he dropped into that territory every now and then to remind him that he wasn’t immortal.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t take Gauthier out.” She tilted her head. “Vendrick would have known about a daughter.”

Good point. Why hadn’t Vendrick told him? He’d had Breslin as his ward and disciple for decades before the cougar submitted to pledge to his alpha, and he obviously hadn’t told him either.

“Will Vendrick be here for the trial?”

Deacon nodded.

Lips pursed and head cocked, she examined him as if she could see into his brain. “The tribunal would be the ideal opportunity for a spy to sneak into your pack. Given Gauthier’s reputation, this will draw a crowd to see what happens.”

“My thought as well. A distraction intended to keep us off guard. Gauthier was more than unpopular. He bedded an untold number of females in his clan in order to produce a son.” He noticed Lena’s nose wrinkle as one eyebrow rose. “Rumors were that Gauthier discarded those who bore him no children and killed all who bore him daughters—and their infants.”

“His pack let him kill his mates?”

“Not mates. Breeders,” Deacon said with disgust. “He ran his pack like a medieval fiefdom. He took other men’s daughters, wives, and pledged mates.”

“Creating a long line of enemies,” she added with a hard look.

“Silent ones. No one who questioned his actions survived. His clan members earned few collective and no individual rights. Their family units—at least as far as my sources tell me—existed at his whim.”

“Why was no tribunal called for his actions?” Disdain colored her voice. He didn’t blame her.

“Alphas tend to stay out of each other’s business, though I accepted a number of people from his clan into mine.” He reached for her hand, and she held herself just out of reach. “But Breslin’s point is valid. For the clan officially to charge Rayven using the surname Karndottir, they’d have to claim her, legitimizing her as a child of Gauthier’s mate. It would explain why she survived while others died.”

Lena was silent for a moment and then said slowly, “With so many out there with anger like Breslin’s, Rayven Karndottir will likely have more enemies who hate her because of her name.”

“Or she could be a coldhearted killer.” With a harsh exhale, Deacon pulled his mate against him and sank back into the couch, considering the options.

“When you claimed me in front of the clan, you and I agreed to an equal exchange. I believe you still know more than you’re telling.” Lena laid her hand on his chest and glanced up with a primal seductive gleam in her eye. He opened his mouth slightly and inhaled, searching for a sign of arousal. He growled with pleasure as the sweet scent of lemon and jasmine teased his taste buds.

Her fingers slipped between the buttons of his shirt and brushed with liquid heat against his skin. “I’m tempted to use my wiles to make you talk.”

“By all means, please torture me. But if I reveal all my secrets, we’ll have no mystery left between us.” This time she melted into his arms with a soft laugh that made parts of his anatomy forget about clan business and tribunals.

“I think our near-death challenge on the mountain—which wasn’t that long ago—is all the excitement we need for a while. I’ll make you a deal. Bring me up to speed on the tribunal details, and I won’t go off and dig up information on my own.”

He smoothed his thumb over her skin until she relaxed in his hold and lifted her fingers for a kiss. “Remind me why I didn’t choose a docile mate.”

“Because you need a strong woman at your side and would have been bored to tears.”

“True.” He kissed the top of her head and breathed her scent deep into his lungs.

A perfunctory knock at the door saved him from more questions. To be fair, he had too many questions himself. Ones he needed help from his allies to answer. “Come in.”

He held Lena as Shanae Philmont popped her head inside.

“Alarico is waiting for you to call him. Whitman is scheduled to call you at two this afternoon. Alpha Ping has confirmed a private meeting with you. She and her mate land six days from now.” She wiggled her fingers to fend off his question. “She doesn’t trust having the conversation over the phone, so she’s arriving early.”

With a nod, he retrieved his cell phone and waited for the closing door. Then he pressed a kiss to Lena’s temple. “First, let’s see what our allies can add to clear up this mess.”

“I’m gathering not all the shifter alphas on the international board are your fans.”

“They don’t need to like me to abide by the rules we’ve agreed to in blood. You up for this?”

She slid off his lap, onto the couch cushion beside him. “Please. I never expected making a life with you would be easy. Let’s get started.”