Finn stumbled, fear lodged in his throat.

Then his bad leg caught on a tree root, and he lurched backward. Dante?

The fall backward stopped his heart. Finn flailed, trying to catch onto something, anything, so he wouldn’t crash against the ground. My pups!

Hands caught him, but Finn landed hard on the ground anyway, pain jolting up his tailbone. He cried out, and Dante turned to look.

Humphrey took the chance to drag Dante back, punching him hard in the jaw.

Finn’s chest squeezed. Humphrey was capable of killing, too. And if he murdered Dante... no one in the pack would protest.

Finn shut up, afraid of distracting his alpha. Didn’t know what to do. If Dante proceeded with the fight, he’d kill. If he didn’t, Humphrey would kill him.

Someone behind Finn asked, “Are you hurt?”

Finn tore his eyes from the fight, finding one of the omegas who had spoken up for Dante—Ruth. She peered at him in concern, her brows drawn low.

“I’m...” He touched his belly, his hands shaking. His pups kicked. Finn closed off his surroundings and reached deep into his belly, listening. Heard the thrum of life in his pups—no flicker of distress. The pups were fine.

If he’d fallen a different way, if Dante had clawed just a little further... Finn could’ve lost his pups. They were just a month from being born.

“I’m okay,” he mumbled, swallowing hard. “I guess.”

“I’m glad,” Ruth said, frowning. “You need to stand back, Finn. Don’t get too close.”

When Finn looked back at the fight, Humphrey had grabbed Dante’s collar, reeling him back in. Then he clocked Dante on the jaw. Finn grimaced.

He needed to step in, needed to drag Dante away. His wolf bristled just beneath his skin.

Dante snarled, punching Humphrey so hard his cheek hit the dirt. Then, fangs glinting, he shoved Humphrey’s chin up to expose his throat. Dante lunged.

He would rip Humphrey’s throat open.

Wolves broke through the ring of onlookers. Silver fur gleamed—Arnold, the pack leader.

“Dante,” Finn yelped, panic surging through his gut. “Stop!”

An inch from Humphrey’s throat, Dante paused, his nose bloody, his face splotched with newly-formed bruises. He blinked at Finn. Maybe Finn’s fear had gotten through to him.

“Back away,” Finn said. “Please.”

Humphrey shoved Dante off. Slowly, Dante backed away, stopping beside Finn. Cocked his head in question.

Finn’s heart sank. It was clear that Dante’s wolf had taken over.

“Enough,” Finn said. “No more violence.”

He held his breath as Arnold and the other wolves shifted into their human forms. Arnold strode up to Humphrey, scanning him with a sharp glance. “What happened here?”

In his human form, with his steady, purposeful gait, Arnold commanded respect. His voice boomed through the forest, and the pack wolves bowed their heads.

The pack alphas came to stand behind Finn and Dante—they were blocking Dante’s escape. If Dante lashed out at them, if Dante tried to run... Finn slipped his hand into Dante’s, felt the fuzzy fur on the back of his hand. Dante, I need you to return. Please.

Dante twitched his ears, looking blankly at Finn.

And maybe this was the end of Finn’s place in the pack. Maybe Arnold would exile the both of them now.

“Humphrey started it,” one of the omegas said. “Dante brought Thom back.”

Humphrey sat up, squinting past his swollen eyelids. “You trust your pups with that murderer?” he sneered. “I almost died.”

The pack wolves murmured. “Dante was defending Finn,” Ruth said. “Humphrey threatened him.”

Arnold turned to look at Finn, waiting for his opinion. With everyone’s eyes on him, judging, Finn grimaced. “I wasn’t comfortable with Humphrey saying those things, no.”

“Maybe if you treated omegas better, you’d be better at finding one for yourself, Humphrey,” Ruth said.

“But Dante attacked him first,” another wolf said. “Almost killed him. I don’t want him around my pups.”

“He made Finn fall, too,” a fourth wolf added. “And Finn’s pregnant.”

Some of the wolves nodded in agreement. Arnold narrowed his eyes, glancing at Dante. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Dante blinked, as though he didn’t understand. Finn’s heart sank.

Arnold glanced at Finn. “Is he with us? Or is he wolf?”

“He’s wolf,” Finn said quietly. “I’ll get him back. We’ll leave.”

Arnold narrowed his eyes, nodding toward Dante. The pack alphas stepped forward, gripping Dante’s arms. As though they would haul Dante off, and Finn would never see him again.

Dante growled.

Finn bit his lip, tears choking him up. Wolf or not, they couldn’t take Dante away. He pressed his hand to Dante’s chest, so Dante looked at him.

“It’s okay,” Finn said. “Don’t move.”

Dante met his eyes, his throat working. He looked lost, confused, like he didn’t know why the alphas were restraining him, why there were so many wolves around.

Finn could kiss him, bring him back. But in front of such a large crowd... he didn’t want to draw attention to themselves. Bad enough that he was so much older than Dante.

He squeezed Dante’s hand, but Dante’s attention had wandered. Instead, he was eyeing the younger omegas who had ogled him.

Finn held his breath. His ankle twinged. Bad enough that he’d tripped. His leg had failed him time and again. He wasn’t certain he’d be a good father, or that he could keep himself from falling again, and losing the pups.

If Dante’s wolf would rather have better omegas, if Dante had a choice, instead of anchoring himself to Finn…

“It has been two months since the vote,” Arnold announced, looking around at the gathered pack wolves. “Although he has helped the pack on various occasions, today’s fight proves that he isn’t able to remain non-violent.

“I hereby terminate your stay in the canyon, Dante of the Weregrits. The safety of the Topanga Pack comes first.”

With each word, Finn’s heart sank further into his shoes. He glimpsed his brothers on the edge of the crowd, and his mother frowning behind them. Daisy had carried Thom a little further away, and she, too, wore a frown.

The reactions of the pack were mixed, but Finn couldn’t tell if they’d miss him if he left. Probably not.

Next to him, Dante grimaced and shook his head.

Then Dante looked around them, tensing. Recognition flickered through his eyes. Finn watched as Dante stared at Arnold first—he knew the significance of the pack leader’s presence.

What happened? Dante asked, his grip tightening on Finn’s hand. What... what did I do?

You became wolf, Finn said.

Dante swore. He scanned the crowd, his eyes locking on Humphrey. I did that?

You did, Finn said.

Pride swelled through their mental connection. Then Dante looked at Arnold, and the emotion faltered, replaced by dismay.

“You have two days to leave the canyon,” Arnold said, his voice carrying over the pack. “Finn, you may remain with the pack if you so choose. But Dante is no longer welcome.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

Disappointment filtered through their mental connection; Dante’s hand tightened around Finn’s. “I understand,” Dante said. “I’ll leave.”

Arnold nodded once, solemn. “Good.”

“I’ll leave with you,” Finn said.

Dante met his eyes, his shoulders sagging. “But...”

“I made my choice two months ago, Dante,” Finn said, squeezing his hand. “I expected this.”

“The meeting is hereby closed,” Arnold said. “There will be no other pack matters discussed today.”

There were boos as the crowd around them dispersed. Someone threw a balled-up newspaper at Dante; it bounced off his shoulder. Other wolves turned without saying goodbye. A few came up to hug Finn.

“All the best with your pups,” Ruth said.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” an older omega added. “Attacking your pregnant omega!”

Dante tensed. “I... I attacked him?”

The omega frowned. “You weren’t even aware of it?”

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head as she walked off.

Dante’s alarm seeped into Finn’s mind. He turned, raking his eyes over Finn. “Gods, Finn. I attacked you?”

Gabe and Kendrick stepped up. “You swiped at him,” Gabe muttered. “I was about to murder you right there, if he’d gotten hurt when he fell.”

“I thought you knew how to treat your omega,” Kendrick added.

Dante stared at Finn, horror scrawled across his face. “You fell?”

“He did,” Gabe said flatly. “You struck out at him with your claws. Thirty witnesses here to tell you the same.”

Dante’s anguish seeped through their connection; Finn squeezed his hand, wishing he could comfort Dante somehow. Dante had been wolf. It wasn’t his fault.

“I should’ve controlled my wolf better,” Dante muttered. “Should’ve done everything better. Fuck. Gods. Damn it! Are the pups okay?”

“The pups are fine,” Finn said, rubbing his belly. “I tripped on my bad leg.”

If he could spend his life without his bad leg, if Finn hadn’t had to deal with his leg at all...

“I’m sorry,” Dante said, rubbing his face. He touched Finn’s hand, then sank to his knees, pressing his forehead against Finn’s hip. “I’m so sorry, Finn.”

“Not your fault,” Finn said.

“It was his fault,” Kendrick said flatly. “He snapped at you. You backed away to save yourself, and then you tripped. Could’ve prevented it if he knew who the hell he was attacking.”

Dante’s face turned red. He looked down, and Finn didn’t know how to comfort him. Dante had been working on controlling his wolf. He should’ve been able to recognize Finn.

Old Bill hurried up to them, frowning deeply. “I heard Arnold,” he wheezed, leaning on his walking cane. “Ya leavin’?”

Finn watched as Humphrey scowled and stalked away. Then Arnold left, too, and only Finn’s brothers and Bill remained. “We have to,” Finn said. “It’s not like we have a choice.”

“What if your wolf takes over again?” Kendrick asked, studying Dante shrewdly. “What if you lose control around Finn and the pups?”

Dante opened his mouth, about to answer. But he looked at Finn’s belly, then Finn’s bad leg.

What if you turn feral? Kendrick didn’t say, but it hung in the air like a shroud above them all.

“Finn’s safer with the pack,” Gabe said.

Dante stared at the ground, his brow furrowing. “I... I can’t promise Finn’s safety out there.”

Finn felt the raw edges of Dante’s fury through their connection, the pain, the certainty that Finn was better off without him.

But if Dante was free of Finn, if he were free to seek out better, younger omegas, maybe even have a brand new beginning where no one knew him...

He felt Dante’s consternation, the slow horror that was dawning on him.

“I can’t leave you behind with the pups,” Dante said, meeting Finn’s eyes. “I’m not that kind of bastard.”

“You’re Finny’s alpha,” Old Bill said.

“But I can’t be Finn’s alpha if all I do is hurt him,” Dante growled, balling his hands into fists.

Finn wanted to say Dante hadn’t hurt him. But his scar tissue ached, and his tailbone throbbed. Finn remembered the jetty again, the cold, suffocating grip of the ocean, the corals that had cut his leg open.

“I almost hurt the pups today,” Dante muttered. “I gave you that bad leg. If I stay and lose control again... we might not even have you, or the pups left.”

And there the solution was, hanging crystal-clear between them.

I should leave, Dante said to himself, his voice loud in Finn’s head. So I can’t hurt Finn again.

Finn’s gut wrenched. He didn’t want this. And yet… Dante was young. At twenty-five, he could easily find another pack, another omega who wanted him. He could have a new beginning. He didn’t have to be tied down to Finn, and a pack who hated everything he was.

“You should leave,” Finn croaked, his voice stuck in his throat.

Dante looked up, his eyes wide, dismayed, vulnerable. “So we—we break the bond?”

And now Finn felt Dante’s pain, the crushing anguish.

“It’s better if we do,” Finn said, the words sharp on his tongue.

“I can’t love anyone else but you,” Dante said, his breath catching. “I can’t just start a different life.”

“You can.”

The moment he said it, Finn knew it was true. Dante was adaptable. He was young. He was strong, capable, intelligent. He knew how to protect, to love, and somewhere out there, a more deserving omega awaited him.

Dante frowned. “I don’t—don’t want to leave you.”

“So you’d rather hurt him than leave?” Gabe asked, his eyes narrowed.

Dante gulped. He leaned back on his heels, then stood, stepping close. His gaze raked hungry and yearning over Finn’s face. I want you to be safe, Dante thought.

Finn wanted to kiss him. Wanted to step into Dante’s arms and forget about the world. But the sooner he helped Dante move on, the less pain they’d both be in.

Dante touched his fingers to Finn’s chin, tipped his face up. His skin was warm, his eyes blazing hot. Finn trembled, just looking at him. Alpha, his instincts whispered. Bring him home.

“How do you... how do you even break a bond?” Dante rasped.

“You cut it out,” Finn mumbled. Then he tipped his head, showing Dante the bite mark on his neck.

Kendrick fished a folding knife from his pocket. “I can do it now, if you want.”

Finn’s stomach twisted.

Dante opened his mouth, his dismay flickering in Finn’s chest. He stared at the scar on Finn’s neck, then at Finn’s belly. Finn swayed on his feet, sick with dread.

He didn’t want Dante to leave. But if it would free him, if it would give Dante a better future...

As Dante’s teacher, all Finn ever wanted was for Dante to flourish, to grow into someone respectable. Then he’d taken that away from Dante, clipped his wings.

“Go ahead,” Finn said, his voice so soft he barely heard himself. “Ken.”

Dante watched as Kendrick pulled a lighter from his pocket. Flicked it so an orange flame licked the edge of his knife. Dante’s dread whispered through the connection.

Finn felt the moment Dante changed his mind, when he thought, This is wrong.

“No,” Dante yelped, stepping closer. “Finn, please.”

Finn hesitated, his chest aching. He’d spent years with Dante, Dante’s grins and jokes and his breath on Finn’s throat. The past two weeks, Dante had been storing wood in the shed to build cots for the pups.

I love you, Dante said in his mind. I don’t want to leave.

“Ready?” Ken asked.

Dante reached into his pocket, pulling something out. Finn didn’t recognize what it was at first. But Dante caught his wrist, pressed the little round object into Finn’s palm.

It was a ring. Half-finished, black walnut streaked through with two fine lines of cherry-wood. Its inside edges were angular, not sanded down yet. It was what Dante had been working on in the shop this morning—the surprise he was saving for Finn.

Finn gulped, turning the ring around in his hand.

It almost fit on his finger. Finn remembered an afternoon not too long ago, when Dante had knelt by his feet, and proposed.

“You said you’d marry me,” Dante whispered.

Finn bit his lip, knowing he couldn’t follow through on that promise. A pup kicked in his belly.

“Give this to someone who’s better for you,” Finn said, catching Dante’s hand. Then he placed the ring back in Dante’s palm, and closed Dante’s hand around it.

Dante opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He stared at Finn. Squeezed his fist around the ring, his knuckles turning white.

“Ken,” Finn said. “Please.”

Kendrick pushed the scorching tip of his knife into Finn’s skin, just above Dante’s bite. Then he slid the blade down, carving a line of fire around Dante’s teeth marks. He made quick work of the scar—two arcs to remove the upper row of teeth marks, two arcs to peel away the lower row.

Finn’s neck burned. And when the second piece of skin slipped off, the background hum of Dante’s thoughts vanished from his mind.

Dante was no longer his alpha.

Dante wheezed, as though his breath was punched out of his lungs. He had to have felt the shattering of their connection, the disconcerting silence in his mind.

Finn couldn’t hear him anymore, and it felt so damn wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Finn croaked, looking at the ground. His chest hurt. He couldn’t breathe. “We should’ve done this from the start.”

Dante made a low, pained whimper in his throat. He stepped toward Finn, reaching up, as though he wanted to run his fingers through Finn’s hair, touch his belly.

Finn wanted to fall into his arms, feel Dante’s embrace a final time. Feel Dante’s lips on his skin, where they should be.

Instead, Finn stepped back. “You’ve hurt me enough,” he said quietly. “It’s time for you to leave.”

With an agonized whine, Dante let his hand drop, his gaze raking over Finn. He tucked the ring back into his pocket.

Then he shifted into a wolf and ran, disappearing into the forest. Finn swayed on his feet, his ears ringing. Felt like Dante had taken Finn’s heart away with him.

“Oh, Finny,” Old Bill whispered. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Finn turned away, his face crumpling. Dante was gone—it was for the best. He would hurt, and then he’d recover. He’d start a new life with no one to judge him.

It should have felt like a new beginning. But all Finn could feel was the hollow in his chest, where Dante used to be.