Four days later, Finn woke to warm breath puffing in his hair. Someone lay behind him, his warm, solid chest pressed into Finn’s back, his callused palm stroking over Finn’s belly.

You awake? Dante asked in his mind.

I think so. It still felt strange, hearing Dante’s voice in his head. Knowing Dante could listen in on almost all his thoughts.

Finn could hide nothing from Dante now—not his desire, not all the ways he wanted his alpha to claim him. And Dante had done so very thoroughly.

Over the past days, the storm had raged down on the Topanga Canyon, flooding the stream, washing debris through the woods.

Finn had stayed indoors with Dante, only leaving the bedroom to feed Crumpet and themselves. The rest of the time, Dante had curled around him, spreading Finn open, touching Finn inside. Knotting them together.

Finn had lost count of the number of times he’d come. More than once, he’d stood shakily, only to have Dante’s come dribble out of him, leaking down his thighs. Dante had licked it off, pressed his come-stained tongue into Finn’s mouth. And then he’d fit himself into Finn again, fucking Finn until Finn trembled and groaned, his body clenching tight around his alpha.

If Finn hadn’t conceived that first night, he certainly had by now.

His face burned.

“I can’t believe this happened,” he rasped, his throat scratchy. Dante had held up his end of his promise—I’ll make you scream. If it weren’t for the storm, the neighbors would’ve heard them, even if they were a quarter-mile away.

“I can’t believe it, either,” Dante growled. He stroked up Finn’s chest, and back down. “But it’s starting to sink in.”

Dante kissed Finn’s shoulder. Then he paused, sucking in a quick breath. “You... you have the markings now.”

Finn looked down at himself. In the watery light streaming through the window, he found faint blue lines on his body, thick as his finger, traveling down his chest, his arms. At his belly, they curved into gentle swirls around his navel, then straightened down his thighs.

I’m pregnant.

His heart squeezed. It had been one thing, knowing he’d conceived. But to see it painted across his body... Finn couldn’t help smiling. He carried Dante’s pups. Dante growled, sliding his fingers down the lines on Finn’s back.

Finn shuffled around in bed, turning to look at his alpha. Dante’s eyes raked over his face, growing wide.

“It’s on my face, too?”

“Yeah.” Dante touched his thumb to Finn’s forehead. There, he followed the lines—four spots on Finn’s cheeks, and a line down his jaw. “We made them together.”

Finn heard the disbelief and hesitation in his voice. It was obvious, now, that Finn had mated with someone outside the pack.

Pregnancy markings were different on everyone. If your alpha belonged to the pack, the markings were pink. If your alpha came from a sister pack, the markings were green. And if your alpha came from an outside pack... then the markings would be blue.

Everyone would want to know who he’d mated with. It could be someone from any other pack, too. But Dante was from the thieving Weregrits, and the Topanga pack had no lack of contempt for them.

“I’ll cover it up,” Finn said. “It’ll be best if we keep it low for now.”

Dante swallowed, unease flickering through his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. These pups are wanted.”

Finn took Dante’s wrist, kissing his fingertips. Then he rolled out of bed, his breath hitching when Dante caught him by the waist, pulling him back.

“What’re you doing?” Finn yelped, thudding back against his alpha’s hips.

Instead of answering, Dante leaned in, pressing a kiss to Finn’s belly. “Mine,” Dante whispered. “I’ll protect you. And our pups, however many there are.”

Finn’s chest squeezed. “How do you plan on that?”

“Helping you. Working whatever jobs I can.”

“I have students coming in next week, Dante.” Finn bit his lip. “I don’t think it’ll be a good idea for them to see you.”

How would this even work, Dante’s movements in and out of the canyon? Sooner or later, people would find out. The pack would stumble across Dante, or Finn’s pregnancy.

“I’ll keep to the back, then,” Dante said, meeting Finn’s eyes. “You need someone working the mill, don’t you?”

The mill was by the river, deep enough on Finn’s property that no one should wander there. Finn didn’t need logs every day—he had a supply drying in his shed—but it was the safest place for Dante to be at the moment.

“Sure,” Finn said. He held his breath as Dante stroked down his thigh, leaving his own scent across Finn’s body.

After years without an alpha, Finn’s wolf sung every time Dante touched him.

Dante kissed Finn’s belly again, buried his face right against where their pups were. Finn’s throat grew tight.

This was the closest he’d gotten to having his own family.

Somewhere in the house, Finn’s cell phone rang. Crumpet barked. Jolted from the peace, Finn groaned, looking around for the phone. He’d forgotten where he’d left that damn thing.

Then the ringing grew louder. Crumpet scampered through the open door, the old flip-phone between his teeth. Finn took the phone from him and patted his head. “Good boy!”

Crumpet wagged his tail, looking adoringly up at Finn.

“Please tell me I don’t look the same when I stare at you,” Dante said.

Finn grinned. “No, you don’t.” He wiped the dog slobber off on the bed sheets, then answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Finn!” Gabe rumbled across the line. “Thought you might’ve gotten mucked up by the storm. Humphrey and I are here to help clear up.”

A trunk honked outside. Finn jumped. Gabe’s here? He rolled off the bed and hurried to the window. Then he remembered he was utterly naked, and squawked. Hid himself behind the curtains, peering out awkwardly.

Dante snorted.

Outside, the storm had cleared. Thin clouds stretched across the sky like brushstrokes, and in Finn’s front yard, mud had swamped the walkways, rocks and larger branches scattered on the edges of the property.

Finn pressed his face against the window, peering out to the west, where he saw the hood of a yellow truck at the end of the driveway. Gabe really was here. Shit.

If this had happened last week, Finn would’ve been overjoyed with his brother’s help. Right now, with Dante’s gaze lingering on him, Finn dreaded heading outside. There was no way Gabe would miss the pregnancy markings on Finn.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Finn croaked. His voice was still hoarse.

Gabe clicked his tongue. “C’mon. You should’ve expected me by now. I’ve done this every storm!”

Finn turned, finding Dante with his eyebrow raised—with his sharp hearing, he’d caught the entire exchange. Finn couldn’t help looking at the bite scars on Dante’s face, his arms, from when the pack had attacked him five years ago. He couldn’t bear the thought of Gabe attacking Dante now.

I’ll need you to keep out of sight, Finn thought apologetically. Maybe in the shed?

Dante narrowed his eyes. I’m not leaving you.

Except his presence meant Gabe—and perhaps the rest of the pack—would sniff him out. And then they’d discover the pups in Finn’s belly. Finn bit his lip, touching his abdomen.

Dante sighed. Fine.

I’m sorry, Finn thought.

Dante shrugged. His lips were pressed into a line, though. I’ll deal.

“Hello? Finn? You still there?” Gabe asked.

“Yes! Sorry, I’m kind of distracted right now,” Finn said, heading to his dresser. I need something to hide the markings. “I’m, uh, I slept in and I’m just getting up. Be out in half an hour?”

“Sure,” Gabe said. “We’ll start on the yard right now—I can’t even drive up close to the cabin.”

It was a good thing that he couldn’t—he’d probably glimpse Dante through the window. Chest squeezing, Finn closed the curtains. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll be out soon!”

He ended the call, tossing the phone onto the bed. Dante was gone from the bedroom.

Finn rummaged through the old walnut dresser, opening one drawer after another. Couldn’t find any foundation, or powder for his face.

Giving up, he hurried out of the bedroom. Dante was in the bathroom brushing his teeth. When Finn paused in the doorway, Dante glanced over.

Get out, I know. Dante looked at the counter, his eyes narrowed.

Finn squirmed. He shouldn’t encourage Dante’s relationship with him.

Who’s the Humphrey guy? Dante asked.

The bathroom was just as cramped as the rest of the cabin—a tiny square shower, a small counter with a polished, hollowed-out log for a sink. On a shelf next to the mirror, a row of little wooden dogs clustered together, made from all colors of wood—red, ivory, deep brown.

Dante had whittled them all for Finn, years back.

“Humphrey’s from the pack,” Finn said, squeezing into the bathroom behind Dante. “I think he’s Gabe’s friend from work.”

Dante was familiar with some of the pack—Finn’s students and family—those who had visited Finn over the course of the years. Mostly, Finn’s family had tolerated Dante, back when they’d only known him as Finn’s student. Now, though...

Finn could already imagine their looks of distaste. Maybe it would be better if Finn sold his property, and moved elsewhere with Dante.

“I don’t want you to give up your life just because of me,” Dante said, gurgling his mouth.

Finn bit his lip. Would there be any chance of the pack accepting Dante?

He slipped his arms around Dante’s waist, burying his face in Dante’s strong back. Dante smelled like old sweat and cherry-wood, and Finn wanted to breathe him in forever.

“I’ll have to make some paste for my skin.” Finn sighed. “I can’t find any cosmetics. I might have thrown them away when they expired.”

“You had cosmetics?” Dante raised an eyebrow, meeting Finn’s eyes through the mirror.

“Back when I... when I tried to cover up the smaller scars.” Finn blushed. “So I could wear skirts. I gave up after a while—it’s difficult to walk nicely, anyway.”

Finn felt a tug in his mind, a sinking sort of feeling—it came from Dante, he realized. Like Dante’s stomach had dropped.

“Damn it, Finn.” Dante turned, gathering Finn into his arms. Then he kissed Finn on the lips, all freshwater and mint. “You walk fine. But I’ll get you some if you really want.”

And now Finn felt the waves of adoration from his alpha, the need to please him, the whispers of I want my omega to be happy between each of Dante’s kisses.

Finn’s face burned. It wasn’t only Dante who could read him—he could read his alpha now, too. And it was comforting, knowing Dante meant everything he said.

Dante really didn’t mind Finn’s bum leg at all.

He sniffled, burying his face in Dante’s shoulder. “There’s not enough time. I said I’d be out in half an hour.”

“Is there time to make a paste?” Dante asked, nipping at his ear.

“If I hurry, yes.”

There were bits of toothpaste on Dante’s cheek, and droplets of water on his chest. Lower, on his bicep, Dante carried three silver lines—the mark of the Weregrit pack—a swipe of the pack leader’s claws.

The mark on Finn’s arm was different—a single scratch between two rows of tooth marks. The Topanga pack leader, Arnold, marked every pup when they were ten.

With Dante’s origins and his history of murders, there was no way the pack would accept him. Maybe it would be safer for their pups if they moved out of the canyon.

But Topanga was pack, and Finn loved his family too much to leave.

Dante kissed Finn’s forehead. “Whichever path you take, I’ll be right there with you.”

“Thank you.” Finn’s heart swelled. He leaned into Dante’s warmth for a heartbeat, savoring his alpha’s strength. Then he pulled away. “I’m running out of time. The cabin smells like you, too. Gabe’ll know if he steps in.”

Dante winced. “What d’you suggest?”

“I’ll cover up the scents,” Finn said. “Maybe with pepper and cayenne—you’ll have to take Crumpet with you to the sawmill. He’ll sneeze the cabin down.”

In the hallway, Crumpet growled.

“I don’t like you, either,” Dante said to Crumpet. They bared their teeth at each other.

Finn sighed. “Come on, you guys. We don’t have time.”

Dante ignored Crumpet and pulled his clothes back on, following Finn to the kitchen. There, they mixed flour, water and honey to form a thick paste. Dante darkened it with ground pepper.

When the consistency was right, Dante smeared it on Finn’s face, then his arms, going past the lines so it looked like smudges of paint.

“Ain’t working so well.” Dante licked at the paste on Finn’s cheek, rolling it on his tongue. “Spicy. Looks like you were messing with some art project.”

Finn cracked a smile. “That’s better than the alternative.”

They paused for a moment, acknowledging the risk of Finn being dragged away, his pups beaten out of him.

Dante snarled, but kept his hands away from Finn—they couldn’t afford to have Finn smell any more like cherry-wood right now.

The risks were horrifying. Depressing. Finn shoved them out of his mind. He pulled on a sweater, then some pants. Chased Dante and Crumpet to the back door, where Crumpet whined.

Rather not leave you alone, Dante thought, his eyes dark. I just found you again.

Finn’s breath caught. I’m not alone. You’ll always be with me now.

And that was the most comforting thought he’d had all week.

Aloud, Finn said to Crumpet, “You’ll have to stay with Dante. The pepper will hurt your nose.”

Crumpet whined, giving Finn the most pitiful look he could muster.

“I don’t want to be stuck with you, either,” Dante said. “Be good for your owner.”

He scooped Crumpet up into his arms, growling when Crumpet bared his teeth.

“If you’re my alpha, then he’s your pet, too, isn’t he?” Finn said.

Dante met Finn’s eyes. Then he smiled, the worry from his face falling away. He looked young again, boyish. “Yeah. That’ll work.”

Finn’s heart fluttered. Crumpet snapped at Dante, unconvinced. Finn shoved at them. “Head out while you’re downwind—hurry!”

Dante leaned in, pressing a quick, deep kiss to Finn’s lips. I’ll be listening out for you.

All right. Finn watched as Dante carried Crumpet off the back porch, striding into the forest. The mud was thick; Dante’s shoes sank into it, slowing him down.

With his alpha disappearing into the trees, Finn grabbed the bottles of cayenne and ground white pepper, shaking clouds of spice around the doorways, throughout the living room. He filled the house with pepper, until his eyes watered, and he was sneezing nonstop.

Then he squinted in the mirror and smeared the rest of the flour paste on his cheeks. Slathered some on his hands and neck for good measure.

It wasn’t any sort of long-term solution, but for now, it would have to do.

Finn stepped out of the front door, pausing on the porch.

After the storm, the air in the canyon was cool and crisp, smelling like wet soil. Finn liked these days best, when everything was just a little quiet. The flour paste sat heavy on his skin, and the grains of pepper tickled his nose. He sneezed.

I hear you, Dante said in Finn’s mind. We’re at the old split oak now. Finn couldn’t help smiling.

“Hey!” Gabe called from the driveway, where he and Humphrey were in the middle of moving a branch.

“Hey, Gabe!” Finn yelled back. His voice was hoarse, squeaky. Gabe frowned.

When they’d moved the branch off the driveway, Gabe left Humphrey behind and trudged through the mud, toward the house. Finn hobbled down the porch stairs, pausing on the lowest step. Couldn’t help the limp—it sucked when he was the only one who couldn’t walk straight.

“What’s with that paint all over your face?” Gabe said as he drew closer. “New artwork?”

Finn laughed awkwardly. “Close, but not quite.”

Gabe was alpha, strong and handsome like their father had been. He was Finn’s littermate, with Finn’s auburn hair and blue eyes. But everything else about them was different—where Finn was slender, Gabe was broad-shouldered. Where Finn frowned, Gabe smiled.

And unlike Dante’s cherry-wood scent, Gabe smelled like cypress.

Gabe sniffed at Finn now, narrowing his eyes. “Smells like you were painting with pepper.” Then he sneezed. “Where’s Crumpet? Thought he’d be barking the house down.”

“He’s somewhere out back,” Finn said.

He’s chewing on my ear, Dante said in Finn’s mind. Sank his teeth into my arm, that bastard.

Finn bit down a smile. Maybe they should’ve bonded years ago—it wasn’t quite as lonely, having Dante in his mind all the time.

’Specially when you come. That’s my favorite part. Your thoughts are just pieces of words.

Well, maybe not when Dante talked about sex, when Finn could do nothing about it. Shut up, Finn thought.

Dante sent a plume of emotion—mischief, maybe a grin.

Finn’s heart warmed. Even when Dante was deep in the woods, perhaps a quarter mile away, Finn felt his presence, his alpha’s unyielding protection.

And, without Dante saying it, Finn knew that the moment he got into trouble, Dante would shift, race over so he could help Finn out.

“Thanks for coming over,” Finn said when Gabe stopped next to the porch stairs, pulling him into a hug.

Gabe released Finn and sneezed again. “Damn! That’s some pepper!”

Finn breathed in deep, and sneezed. At least Gabe hadn’t picked up on Dante’s scent—the pepper overrode their scent, made their noses itch. “I got into an accident with the pepper grinder,” Finn said. “It exploded all over me.”

“Mercy help you,” Gabe said. “Work on some other food art the next time. And give me a warning.”

“Same to you.” Finn swatted at Gabe. “I was still sleeping when you called!”

“You’re such a sleepyhead.” Gabe swatted back. Then he raised an eyebrow. “And your voice’s shot to hell. Are you coming down with a cold? Mom’s gonna make you that nasty potion again.”

Finn shuddered. Mom’s potion was a terrible mix of dried gall bladder and bitter-root—Finn never ever wanted to fall sick, if he could. “No, I’m not sick. Please don’t tell her I am.”

Gabe eyed him. “So how’d you lose your voice?”

Well. Finn blushed. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Gabe’s eyebrows rose higher.

Tell him you were well-fucked, Dante said, his voice carrying no small amount of pride.

“I was shouting at a mangy dog,” Finn said.

Hey! Dante grumbled.

Hush, Finn told him.

Humphrey stepped up behind Gabe, his hands in his pockets. He smelled like ginkgo, one of Finn’s least favorite trees. Didn’t help that ginkgo trees smelled like human waste.

“Hey,” Humphrey said, his eyes coasting down Finn’s body. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Finn. Nice face paint.”

“It’s a pepper paste,” Finn said, trying not to grimace. “Improvements in face mask technology.”

Gabe’s eyebrows could’ve reached his hairline. Finn sighed. Gabe knew Finn wasn’t a fan of Humphrey—he’d never been.

Humphrey was an alpha in the Topanga pack, but Finn had always kept his distance. Maybe it was the smirk Humphrey always wore, or maybe it was the way he eyed Finn like Finn was a piece of meat on the butcher’s block. Humphrey was strong, with a thick neck and too-small eyes, and Finn leaned away.

“Sorry,” Gabe said. “Kendrick’s busy. I kind of need four hands to clear some of the debris around here.”

It wasn’t like Finn could help, with his bad leg prone to twisting in the mud.

Humphrey stood to the side, looking expectantly at Finn when Gabe stepped away. So Finn stuck his hand out for a handshake. Humphrey took his hand. His palm was clammy, sticky, and the hair on Finn’s neck stood on end.

Don’t touch him, Dante growled. It’s not like you wanna.

He’s helping me with the front yard, Finn answered. It’s only polite to.

When Humphrey released him, Finn wiped his hand discreetly on his pants.

“Always good to see you,” Humphrey said, sniffing at the pepper paste that had smeared on his fingers. Then he looked over Finn. Finn had worn a turtleneck shirt—no one could see he’d recently bonded with an alpha.

“I appreciate your help,” Finn said stiffly. To his side, Gabe winced. Maybe he regretted bringing his friend over.

There was nothing wrong with Humphrey, not in the criminal, murderous way. But he’d never sat right with Finn, either, when things seemed to go missing whenever Humphrey was around, when he’d always looked at every other omega with those lascivious eyes.

“Still living by yourself, huh?” Humphrey asked, as though he thought Finn would invite him over for tea.

“I’ve got company,” Finn said.

Gabe looked hard at him, sniffing again. “Mangy dog?”

“Yeah.”

Would be nice if you could tell them I was your alpha, Dante muttered.

Finn’s stomach twisted with guilt. He wanted to. But at the same time, he was afraid. I would if I was sure it wouldn’t harm the pups.

Dante growled, but he didn’t answer.

I am sorry about the mangy dog remark, though, Finn said. I shouldn’t have said that.

Dante grumbled. Fine.

“Right, I’ll leave you to your catching up,” Humphrey said when Finn ignored him as best as he could. Humphrey wandered off, but Finn could tell he was still listening in.

He sighed, looking at the muck on the ground. There was just so much debris from the storm—snapped branches, rocks that had rolled along the canyon floor, layers upon layers of mud.

Before the storm, Finn had made sure the supports for the shed and cabin were steady. But everything else... It was always a pain when soil washed through the canyon.

Gabe glanced at Finn. Then his eyes dropped to Finn’s hand, and he frowned. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Finn lifted his hand. Froze when he found a tint of blue on his skin, where the pepper paste had smudged off during Humphrey’s handshake.

Gabe’s eyes flew up to meet his. Finn stopped breathing. He knows I’m pregnant.

Shit, Dante said, a coil of worry blooming from his direction.

“You wore a turtleneck, huh?” Gabe said slowly, his gaze lingering on the covered crook of Finn’s neck.

“It was cold.” Finn glanced askance at Humphrey, making sure he was out of hearing range. Then he sagged. “I’m fine, Gabe.”

“Who was it?” Gabe muttered, leaning closer. His eyes flashed. “If anyone mistreats you...”

“It’s someone I trust,” Finn said. “You don’t have to worry.”

“Damn it, Finn. You were supposed to let me vet your alpha!”

“I’m forty-three. I don’t need help.” Finn scowled.

Gabe looked pointedly at Finn’s leg. “You don’t, do you?”

Finn flushed, turning so Gabe wasn’t looking at his bad leg. But he understood why Gabe said that. If Finn had never met Dante, he wouldn’t have lost his mobility, his smooth skin.

Deep in Finn’s mind, Dante growled. A surge of guilt accompanied it.

It’s not your fault, Finn told him.

It is my fault. I’m really sorry, Finn.

Stop apologizing, Finn said.

“You’re bonded, aren’t you?” Gabe asked, his eyes shrewd. “Why isn’t he here? At least, he should have the guts to face me.”

I’m coming, Dante said.

No, Finn snapped, his heart stopping. It’ll be worse if you do.

Gabe stalked around the cabin, sniffing at the air. “Smells familiar.”

Finn’s heart sank. He hobbled off the porch stairs, hurrying after his brother. “Gabe, stop that.”

They stepped out of Humphrey’s sight, Gabe still sniffing, Finn picking his way over the soft earth. The mud squelched beneath his shoes, slippery.

“I promised Dad I’d protect you,” Gabe said over his shoulder. He narrowed his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Because you’d hurt him again. Aloud, Finn said, “I can clear the yard myself, Gabe. You don’t have to help today.”

“And, what, let you do it yourself? With that jerk who isn’t here?”

Finn winced. “I told him to go.”

Gabe slanted a sharp look at him. “Why?”

“Because the both of you won’t get along.”

“Pretty sure there’s a reason for that.”

Gabe strode into the forest, about twenty-five yards deep. “I know you’re out there,” he said. “Face me like an actual alpha.”

In Finn’s mind, Dante snarled.

Stay there, Finn said.

I’m not a dog, Dante answered.

Finn groaned, picking his way between the fallen branches and slippery leaves. He should’ve brought a cane with him—his leg twinged with every step. It was cold. Somewhere in the forest, Crumpet barked.

Finn stepped over a particularly jagged rock. Then his leg slid out sideways from beneath him, pain shooting through his ankle. A spike of fear lanced through his stomach. He fell, expecting pain like he had when he’d tumbled down the jetty.

A sharp branch jabbed into his palm; his side banged into the rock. Finn groaned, pain throbbing through his body. Stupid fucking leg!

Finn! Dante yelped. He swore. Then there was silence, and the squelch of mud as Gabe turned.

“Finn!” Gabe said. “Damn it, I turn my back for a second...”

The leaves stuck to Finn as he tried to push himself up, his fingers sinking into the cold mud. His ankle throbbed. There were so many other times Finn’s leg could’ve given out on him, but it had to happen now, in front of Gabe. He didn’t need Gabe to pity him more.

Gabe frowned, trudging toward him.

Then a flash of gray shot out from between the trees, right at Finn. Dante.

Dante growled, paws flying across the earth. He skidded to a halt as he approached Finn, planting himself right over Finn, his teeth bared.

Mine, Dante growled. Stay away.

Ten yards away, Gabe stopped, his eyes narrowed. “That him?”

Finn groaned, his heart clenching. You were supposed to be in hiding.

Tired of hiding, Finn.

It hasn’t even been half an hour!

Am alpha. Alphas don’t hide.

Finn sighed exasperatedly, a wave of fondness swelling in his chest.

But Gabe had seen Dante now. He didn’t know who Dante was in his wolf form, but sooner or later, Gabe would find out.

“You didn’t answer me,” Gabe said.

Finn looked up, his head brushing against the warm fur of Dante’s chest. “Yes,” he said. “This is my alpha.”