Early the next week, Dante drove Finn to Old Bill’s place. Old Bill lived in a small house with a garden, down the road from Finn’s cabin. The storm had washed Bill’s garden out, leaving a few patches of artichokes, and some weeds.

Dante felt the wave of dismay coming from Finn. “Were there a bunch of crops?”

“I planted rows and rows of peas.” Finn peered out the truck window, his shoulders sagging. “And I tilled the soil, and made the prettiest row markers—they’re all gone.”

Dante winced. With Finn’s bad leg, that had to have taken a while.

“Stop thinking about my leg,” Finn muttered.

“I can’t help it,” Dante said. “I caused it. I’m sorry.”

Every time Dante looked at the angry scars, every time Finn reached down to knead the muscle, Dante thought, I should’ve done better. I shouldn’t have failed him.

It had been one mistake. And that had led to tragedy—injuries and grief and death.

Lives had ended at Dante’s claws. Finn had been in agony.

And now, by bonding with Dante, Finn was ashamed of himself—nothing Dante told him helped. If they weren’t already bonded, if Finn wasn’t carrying Dante’s pups, Dante would’ve told Finn to look for a better alpha, someone who didn’t have another’s blood on his paws.

Finn reached over, squeezing Dante’s thigh. “I don’t regret bonding with you. I would do it all again, if it meant you returned.”

Dante’s heart ached. “You aren’t supposed to be in pain.”

Finn snorted. “I’ll be in greater pain when I birth the pups.”

That made Dante’s heart sink. “No.”

“Yes,” Finn said. “It’s a fact of life.”

Worse pain than he’d already been through? Dante grimaced. All it had taken was a few days of mating with Finn, knotting inside him. And then there would be pain for his omega.

“And pups,” Finn said. “They’ll be worth it.”

Dante wasn’t sure he believed that.

He parked behind a copse of trees in Old Bill’s front yard. Finn opened the door, stepping out. “Finn!” Dante yelped. “Wait for me, damn it!”

“I’m not an invalid,” Finn muttered.

On top of his sprained ankle, Finn had been tired lately. At a week pregnant, his body was changing rapidly to harbor the pups.

Dante raced around the hood of the truck, where Finn had one foot on the muddy ground. He caught Finn in his arms.

“Dante!” Finn yelped. Then he looked around, making sure there wasn’t anyone looking at them.

At 8 AM on a Monday, most folks were busy heading out of the canyon instead of lingering around to chat. From Bill’s yard, all they could see were high, overgrown hedges separating the garden from the neighbors, and tiny birds fluttering in the birdbath.

Prey, Dante’s instincts said.

He tried to suppress that voice. Bad enough that he’d murdered people. Didn’t need to kill someone’s pet birds, too.

After Gabe’s visit last week, Dante was half-afraid Old Bill would react like Gabe had. If Finn lost his friends because of Dante... what would Dante do?

Finn pulled his shovel from the truck, then wedged it into the ground, leaning on it.

“Bill asked about you after you left,” he said, squeezing Dante’s hand. “Five years ago. I told him it was an accident.”

In his last hours at the canyon, all Dante had remembered were the snarls, the claws ripping into his back, the growls of Murderer and What did you do to my son?

Before that, the Topanga pack had tolerated his presence. Even when he’d watched them from afar, they’d seemed like decent people.

In the Weregrit pack, the adults had fought between each other over the smallest things—a missing shovel, a dent in a car. Dante’s mother had died when he was young, and his father had resented Dante’s very presence.

If Dante had been born in a different time, or a different place, would all this have happened? Maybe Finn wouldn’t even have suffered at all.

“I don’t know,” Dante said. “I’ve still been to jail.”

Finn sighed, his nervousness humming in Dante’s chest. It wasn’t only that Dante had murdered—they’d kept their relationship secret from Bill from the very first day it began.

Dante slipped his hand around Finn’s waist, taking half his weight as he limped up the path to the front door. “I told you, your ankle’s not fit for walking on yet.”

Finn waved his concerns off. “I’ve had a bad leg for years, Dante.”

It was still Dante’s fault.

“Stop that,” Finn said, squeezing Dante’s shoulder. “I’ve forgiven you.”

But Dante wasn’t convinced.

They stopped on Bill’s doorstep, Finn hammering on the door. To prevent himself from fidgeting, Dante slipped his hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

Something crinkled against his fingertips; he pulled it out. It was the news clipping about him released from jail.

Finn sucked in a breath. “You saw that?”

“Found it at the market,” Dante said. “On the notice board. I found your notice for help there, too.”

Surprise flickered in Finn’s eyes, then wariness. “The card—I left it on the board. What if someone else sees?”

“I took it with me,” Dante said, fishing out the pink card from his other pocket.

Finn relaxed, leaning into Dante. But the fact remained: Finn did not want anyone else to find them together. Everything about this—even showing up at Bill’s place together—it was a risk.

Dante looked down at his hands, expecting to see blood under his nails. He wiped them on his jeans, but the sick, oily feeling remained.

In prison, the inmates had treated him as one of their own. There, everyone at his facility had killed someone or other, and Dante had felt... decent. Not quite as outcast.

But back in the forests of Topanga, where no one else had seen the dank inside of a jail... The sweet joy of freedom had slowly worn away. Dante’s presence carried repercussions.

“We’ll find a solution,” Finn murmured.

Footsteps sounded behind the front door; a latch rattled.

Dante held his breath as the door squeaked open. The scent of strawberry preserve washed over them.

Behind the door, Bill beamed. He was a foot shorter than Dante, his back hunched, thick glasses perched on his nose. He smelled like the loam of a wolf, but nothing else—a beta. Dante could’ve sworn Bill looked the same as he had five years ago.

“Wasn’t expectin’ ya so early, Finny-boy!” Old Bill said, squinting at Finn. “Ya weren’t at Market Day yesterday.”

“Sprained my ankle.” Finn winced, lifting his bandaged foot to show Bill.

“Ah, damn, son. I was wonderin’ where ya went. Good ta see ya got it all wrapped up.” Then his rheumy eyes landed on Dante, and his mouth fell open. “That… that you, Dante-boy?”

Dante gulped. Finn said, “Dante’s back, Bill.”

“I saw ya on TV,” Bill said, his voice wheezy. “What did ya do, son?”

Carefully, Dante extended his hand. He was alpha. He’d been in jail. He shouldn’t be afraid of an old wolf’s opinions... but he was. Old Bill was Finn’s friend, and he’d watched Dante grow up.

Felt like all Dante had done was disappoint everyone he knew.

“Hello,” Dante said awkwardly, trying not to squirm.

Bill shook Dante’s hand with a surprisingly firm grip. Then his nostrils flared, and his gaze flickered between them. Dante knew what he smelled—cherry-wood and dill, mixed together as surely as a mated pair’s scents would be.

And below that, there was the powdery scent of Finn’s cosmetics. Finn had slathered his face and hands with a layer of foundation to hide the pregnancy markings.

Bill’s forehead crinkled. “Finn? And… and you, Dante?”

Finn blushed so red, he looked like one of the strawberries Bill had been preserving.

Maybe you should’ve stayed home, Finn said to Dante.

Dante fought down a growl. Not if you’re carrying my pups.

Bill looked hard at Finn. “Back at the market… I thought you said you didn’t want an alpha.”

He left out the fact that Finn had mentored Dante for four entire years.

“My alpha came back,” Finn said, looking at his feet. Then he swallowed. “It’s Dante.”

Bill’s mouth fell open.

Dante remembered the times Bill had dropped by Finn’s workshop in the day, bringing preserves.

He’d almost walked in on them a couple times—Finn had doused himself in pepper spray, and sent Dante to the sawmill so it wouldn’t seem suspicious. Once, they’d been knotted together in Finn’s bedroom—Bill had come knocking on the front door, and they’d both held their breaths, pretending no one was home. Finn’s guilt had rolled off him that day.

Then there had been the times when Dante had followed Finn to Market Day, and he’d itched to touch Finn, kiss him, press him against a tree. A couple times, Bill had almost caught him, but Finn had steered Bill’s attention away.

“He’s… he’s ya alpha, Finny?” Bill looked between them, incredulous. “Ya never told me! An’ I’ve known ya since ya were a lil pup!”

Finn quailed. Dante felt the heat of his blush, his joy and embarrassment. “I was afraid of what you might think, Bill. It’s just… Dante is young. I taught him.”

He slid his palm protectively over his belly. Bill’s gaze dropped to it. Then he sniffed again.

“So the pups…” Bill said.

Dante could feel the weight of Finn’s shame; it was enough to crush someone.

Finn bowed his head. “They’re Dante’s.”

Bill shook his head, the corners of his lips turning down. “Thought ya trusted me, Finny. You kept this from me for years.”

“I’m sorry,” Finn said, squirming. “I didn’t know what you’d think. Dante and I… this probably shouldn’t have happened.”

Dante couldn’t help growling. It shouldn’t have happened. Still hurt to hear it from Finn.

“No one knows about Dante, or the pups. You’ll… you’ll keep it a secret, won’t you, Bill?” Finn peered worriedly at him.

“Oh, Finny.” Bill’s frown melted away. “I’m sorry ya had to go through all that. And ya too, Dante-boy. Ya know I’ll keep ya secret. Happy for ya.”

Dante relaxed. Bill pulled Finn into a hug, patting him on the back. Then he looked shrewdly over Finn’s shoulder at Dante.

“And you’ll be there for him, won’t ya?” Bill asked.

“Yeah,” Dante growled. “I’m not leaving.”

He heard nothing from Finn, except a quiet, bubbling joy.

“Good,” Bill said, leaning away. “Now, I’m gonna put ya both ta work. That front yard needs some cleanin’ up.”

“That’s it?” Dante blurted. “You’re just gonna make me work?”

Bill raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with that?”

“I’ve been in jail for murder,” Dante said. Best get that out in the air, so he wasn’t dreading Bill’s judgment the entire time. “Multiple people.”

Bill shrugged. “I’m nearin’ the end of my life. Not much ya can do ta hurt me, boy. ‘Sides, I’ve seen ya with Finn. Never seen ya once hurt him.”

“There was the jetty—”

“The accident?” Bill asked.

“The accident,” Finn said. “That’s all that was.”

Dante stared. Finn cracked a smile, slipping his hand around Dante’s elbow. “C’mon,” Finn said. “We’ll need to till up the soil again. Do you still have the hoes, Bill?”

“Over in the shed,” Bill said, waving at a lean-to further down the house. “‘Least that didn’t get washed away.”

Dante helped Finn down the mud-covered path, his thoughts whirling.

You weren’t expecting that, Finn said in his head.

Hell no, Dante answered. I’ve killed people.

“But that’s not all of who you are.” Finn leaned into Dante with each limp. “You’re more than that.”

Am I? “I’ve taken lives, Finn. As far as I can see, they were innocent.”

Finn sucked in a sharp breath. Then he exhaled, his fingers tightening around Dante’s hand. “Even then, I’m not letting you go.”

“I can’t forgive myself,” Dante said.

“And I can’t look past my scars.” Finn slanted a lopsided smile at him. “That makes two of us.”

“But you fell down the jetty. That wasn’t your fault.”

“I pushed you away, didn’t I? That was why we even went to the jetty. I was trying to run... because I couldn’t accept your love.”

“Now you do,” Dante said, something roaring in his chest.

Finn looked down with a blush. “Now I do.”

It had been a sunny afternoon five years ago. Finn had been gone from his workshop. The day before, Dante had carved a ring for his omega. Finn had rejected it, and Dante had chased him all the way to the sea. Then Dante had pressed the ring into Finn’s hand, begged Finn to be his omega.

Finn had climbed to the end of the jetty, and flung the ring into the waves. Dante had been furious. He’d shoved at the wagon that had followed them along.

And then Finn had fallen into the sea.

“It’s never good to think about that,” Finn said quietly.

“I can’t forget it.” Dante sighed. “Gods know how many times I’ve replayed it in my head. You falling into the sea. I’d thought you’d died.”

Finn shrugged. “I never contacted you after I recovered. I was hoping you’d gone elsewhere and started a new life.”

Dante had nothing to say to that.

Finn touched the steel padlock on the latch of the shed, leaning in. “With permission from Bill,” he murmured.

The lock shivered at his words, clicking open. Finn unlatched the door.

“Never did like those locks,” Dante muttered, glancing askance at the gleaming steel. “You never know what they’re thinking.”

“They’re loyal to a fault.” Finn handed Dante a larger hoe from the shed. He took a smaller one for himself. “Didn’t you have locks back home?”

“I’m guessing you meant when I lived with my dad,” Dante said dryly. “But that wasn’t ‘home’. Dad had metal locks. Never spoke to them, though, just beat them. They chewed up his keys.”

Finn snorted. “I’m surprised he even had fingers left.”

“His fingertips are missing.”

Sometimes, Dante wondered what it would be like, if there were no magic in metals.

All metals started out with magic in them. Through the ore-refining process, their magic accumulated. Then, when metals were formed into objects with moving parts, like carts and locks and faucets, the constant grind of metal on metal changed the magic. The objects came alive.

To neutralize the magic, you had to run electricity through metal—not that Dante had seen Finn do that to his carts.

Finn’s wagons had been hammering on the shed door for the past few days—Dante had let them out to help with the yard cleanup. Then they’d gotten mud all over the boardwalk, and Dante had to wipe down each of them, one by one.

The smile Finn had given him after—well, that had made everything worthwhile.

Giddy with happiness, Dante had taken Finn’s truck, and driven out to two towns over, where he’d bought different tubes of foundation for Finn’s face and hands. Some for his leg, too.

He couldn’t improve Finn’s opinions of his scars, but he could help his omega feel better about himself.

When Finn pulled the tools they needed from Old Bill’s shed, Dante set them against the wall, then scooped Finn into his arms.

“I can walk,” Finn said, lifting his bad leg.

“Your ankle’s sprained.” Dante rolled his eyes. “Let it rest.”

He set Finn down in the wicker chair on Bill’s doorstep, and silenced Finn’s protests with a deep kiss. Finn moaned into Dante’s mouth, his fingers curling into Dante’s shirt.

It was an underhanded method. But it made Finn feel good, and Dante loved the way Finn looked after the kiss, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with desire.

Finn wanted him. It always made Dante’s heart skip, seeing that.

“Sit there and enjoy the breeze,” Dante murmured. “I’ll come get you when we need the seeds sown.”

Finn chuckled. “Fine. I’ll see if Bill has some sticks I can make row markers with.”

Dante began with Finn’s corner of the garden. Bit by bit, he tilled the earth until it was all properly turned, wide rows with footpaths in-between. By the time he was done, the sun had risen high in the sky, and he was sweating, his shirt drenched through.

Finn had accumulated a pile of sharpened sticks by his side. He looked up when Dante strode over, his eyes raking down Dante’s chest. “Bill left some water,” Finn said, handing Dante a cool bottle. “Drink up.”

The water was cold on his tongue, down his throat. Some of it splashed down Dante’s chin, onto his chest, and Dante felt the hum of appreciation coming from his omega.

So he leaned in, slipped his fingers through Finn’s hair, and kissed his omega again, thoroughly. He nipped on Finn’s lip, sucked on his tongue, until Finn made a low, hungry sound in his throat, musk coiling from his skin.

Dante considered pinning his omega down, kissing his throat, making him squirm.

“I made lunch,” Bill said suddenly. His footsteps paused. “Oh.”

Dante broke the kiss. Inches away, Finn’s cheeks flushed a bright red under the concealer. He looked so damned pretty, that Dante had to drag his gaze away to look at Bill.

“Bad moment?” Bill asked, his eyes twinkling. “I’ll come back later.”

“No!” Finn yelped, scrambling against the chair. “I, um. I’m ready for lunch. And so is Dante.”

You didn’t even ask me, Dante said.

We’ll finish that when we get home. Finn glanced at him, his face turning redder yet. Not in front of Bill.

He doesn’t seem to mind, Dante said. Sides, if we ever bond officially, everyone will watch us fuck.

Finn’s blush spread to the tips of his ears. “My stomach is growling,” he said. “I need to feed my pups.”

That cooled Dante off some. He sighed, helping Finn out of his chair. With a smile, Bill led the way into the house.

Bill’s home was cozy inside—there was a thick rug in front of the hearth, a couple of worn armchairs, and a howling wolf carved from spalted maple. Dante pulled the front door shut, then supported Finn through the dim hallway into the kitchen.

The kitchen itself was shadowy, baskets of root vegetables and fruits hanging from the rafters. Jars of strawberry preserve sat cooling on the counter. On the small kitchen table, Bill had laid out place settings for three.

The last time Dante had been invited anywhere for lunch... that had been to Bill’s place, too.

“Steamed a couple of the biggest artichokes this harvest,” Bill said with a bright smile. “Ya like them, don’t ya, Finny-boy?”

Finn stiffened against Dante. “Yes, I do.”

You don’t, Dante said.

I don’t want to hurt his feelings! Finn winced briefly, then plastered a smile across his face when Bill set the green flower buds in the middle of the table.

With their petals closed tight, artichokes were Dante’s least favorite vegetable. Since the beginning of crop failure in recent years, artichokes had become more common in kitchens around the world. They were hardy and cheap, and during the winter months, they had been the only vegetables served in the prison.

I didn’t think you disliked them, Finn said, glancing at Dante. Dante shrugged.

In jail, he’d been desperate enough for zucchinis and pumpkins that he’d volunteered to start a vegetable garden at the facility. Best thing he’d ever done in prison.

He sat Finn at the dining table, then rinsed his hands and helped Bill with the rest of the serving dishes. There was beef stew with celery and tomatoes, and mashed potatoes with garlic and gravy.

Dante’s mouth watered. He got Finn a glass of water, then turned to the table, where Finn and Bill were waiting for him. As though he were pack.

“I appreciate ya help with the garden,” Bill wheezed, waving at the food. “Dig in.”

Dante ladled the stew for Finn and Bill, then himself. Did the same for the mashed potatoes. He watched as Finn pulled a few leaves from the artichokes, biting hesitantly into them.

“I’ve got some artichoke seeds.” Bill beamed. “Take some when ya go.”

Finn almost choked. Dante thumped his back. You gonna take them?

I probably should. Finn coughed again. He bit off the fleshy inner bits of the artichoke petals, then spooned some stew into his mouth. “Sure thing, Bill. Thanks.”

Dante wolfed down his stew, eyeing the artichokes. Couldn’t bring himself to touch them; they reminded him of his days behind bars.

“There’s room at Finn’s place for ya, Dante-boy?” Bill asked. “Not much space in that lil cabin.”

Dante stared. After the crimes he’d committed, he hadn’t expected Bill to speak with him as though he was just a regular person. “There’s enough. I was sharing the cabin with Finn before I left.”

“Finny never told me that.” Bill raised his eyebrows, looking pointedly at Finn.

Finn blushed. “I guess I forgot to mention it.”

“You back to helping Finn in his shop?” Bill asked.

“I did. I’ve been helping him with the sawmill this week. Took down a huge oak.”

“Good, good,” Bill said. “Finny’s a headstrong one. Been building heavy things lately. Gotta be careful with him, or you’ll be helpin’ him move dressers ta the market every other weekend. Back-breakin’, that work.”

Had Finn been doing that by himself? Dante frowned, eyeing Finn’s thin body. “I’ll help.”

Finn huffed. “I’ve been working on children’s drums lately, Bill. It’s not back-breaking.”

“Take care of ya body,” Bill said, shaking his spoon at Finn. “Ya carryin’ pups.”

“I’m not even showing yet!” Finn protested.

“Youngins.” Bill shook his head, spooning stew into his mouth. Finn sniffed.

Dante tried not to smile. He loved watching his omega, Finn joyful, flustered, hungry. Every moment of being with Finn felt like a blessing; Dante was almost afraid that if he looked away, Finn would disappear somehow, fall back into the ocean.

And, sitting in the kitchen, their forks clinking against the plates, Dante felt as though he was part of something larger. As though maybe there was space for him in the Topanga pack.

“Help yourself to the artichokes, boy.” Old Bill waved at Dante, jabbing his finger at the flower buds. “Best o’ the harvest, right here.”

Dante took a few petals—a few more bites couldn’t hurt.

“I have to go to the bathroom for a bit,” Finn said suddenly. He covered his mouth, glancing through the kitchen doorway. “Be back soon.”

“Mornin’ sickness?” Bill asked.

“I think so.”

Dante panicked. What was he supposed to do? He stood, helping Finn to the bathroom.

When he’d shut the door, Finn leaned over the toilet, throwing up. Dante felt Finn’s nausea now—he hadn’t recognized it at first. Then Finn heaved, and Dante brushed Finn’s hair back from his face, trying not to let Finn’s nausea affect him. Didn’t need to be puking right along with his omega.

“I’ll get you some water,” Dante said. He hurried to the kitchen, grabbing Finn’s mug from the table. Water sloshed. Bill raised an eyebrow. Dante hurried back, offering the fresh water to Finn.

Finn sipped from the mug, and then heaved again.

Dante winced. This was only the start of the pregnancy, wasn’t it?

Finn’s nails bit into Dante’s leg. They stood in the bathroom together, Dante rubbing Finn’s back, Finn spitting into the toilet, coughing.

In three months, Finn’s belly would be swollen. Then he’d go into labor, and he’d birth their pups. Dante wasn’t sure what he’d do with their babies. All he had experience with were the kids in Finn’s woodworking workshop.

He’d taught five-year-olds to dip their paintbrushes into blue paint and smear it over wooden blocks. But being responsible for more than that? Teaching them how to control their wolves, when he couldn’t with his own?

Even if Dante tried to learn... would he be good enough to raise his own pups? Or would he fuck up like his dad had done?

“Sorry,” Dante said.

“What for?”

“For knocking you up.” Dante winced.

Seeing the markings on Finn’s skin, hearing him retch, Dante was starting to get an idea the sort of toll pregnancy would take on Finn. And it made him worry, too—Finn wasn’t all that young anymore.

Don’t you start on that, Finn said in Dante’s mind. First my leg, and now my age?

Dante grimaced. I just don’t want you to hurt.

Finn sighed, leaning tiredly into Dante. I’ll be fine.

But there were the scars across Finn’s belly, too. Finn frowned.

“I’ll shut up,” Dante said.

He rubbed his omega’s back, wiping the sweat off Finn’s forehead. Flushed the toilet. Then, when Finn was ready to return to lunch, Dante slung Finn’s arm across his shoulder, helping him back to the kitchen.

“Well?” Old Bill asked, looking between them.

Finn cringed. “I’m not sure I should be eating anything else right now. In case I throw it back up.”

“You should still eat something,” Dante said. “Gotta feed the pups.”

“Listen to the boy,” Bill said. “Sage words, those.”

Finn looked between them both, exasperated. “You’re going to watch me eat, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Dante said, at the same time Bill said, “Yep.”

Dante glanced over; Bill winked.

In that moment, Dante felt as though he had a second friend. He’d never really known anyone in Topanga aside from Finn, and this lunch and conversation with Bill... it was nice. It felt like what pack should be like.

Dante helped Finn into his seat, then scratched at his own bicep, where his pack mark was. Bill glanced at it, raising his eyebrows.

“The Weregrits, huh?” Bill said.

Dante shrugged. “I haven’t been back in years.”

“Should ask Arnold if he’s willin’ to take ya in,” Bill said, nodding at Dante’s arm. “Sometimes he does. Not sure if he’ll accept a Weregrit, though.”

But Dante had killed. He’d been in jail, and he’d given the police information on his accomplices.

Those same accomplices were out there somewhere, hunting him down for revenge. If they discovered that Dante had mated with Finn... If they got their hands on Dante’s omega...

Dante’s stomach twisted. How the fuck did I forget? He’d gone and mated with Finn, put pups in Finn’s belly.

You were in a rut, Finn said in his head.

Dante groaned, rubbing his face. Even so. If he were responsible only for himself, it would’ve been fine. But he wasn’t.

“Fuck. There’s people on my tail.”

“Why?” Old Bill asked. Finn squeezed Dante’s thigh, his forehead furrowed.

“I told the cops about them,” Dante said. “I was part of a tech god’s info-dealing ring. Rumors are that Octogod’s dead, but his men aren’t. I gave the police all the info I had. The people I worked with—they probably traced it back to me.”

And with every minute he spent in the Topanga Canyon, Dante would put Finn in greater danger. Their pups, too. How long could he run? He couldn’t possibly drag Finn and their family along.

Dante ran his hands through his hair, his stomach twisting. Can’t believe I fucked up again.

“Ya can always shelter here,” Bill said with a frown. “Or Finn could.”

“I’m not putting any of you in danger,” Dante snarled. He glanced out the windows, listening for footsteps. Sniffed the air just in case. As much as he hated to say it, Dante muttered, “I should leave.”

“No,” Finn said, the corners of his lips pulling down. “Or I’ll follow you, Dante.”

Dante stared at Finn, his heart torn. He couldn’t put his omega in danger. “Your life is more important than whether I get to see you,” Dante said.

“And I’d rather be with you.” Finn laced his fingers with Dante’s, his lips pressing into a line. “I don’t—don’t want to return to before. Not without you.”

Dante stared. I’m just a kid, Finn.

You were the only alpha who saw me for who I am, Finn answered, meeting his eyes. As much as this is forbidden, I am your omega.

Mine, Dante’s instincts whispered.

He pressed his forehead to Finn’s, breathing in Finn’s dill scent, the musk of his sweat, and the trace of his morning sickness. Some of his concealer had washed off, leaving faint blue lines on his jaw.

There were pups in Finn’s belly. Dante could not forsake any of his family.

“Get ya some emergency packs.” Bill stood, moving around the kitchen surprisingly quick. He pulled boxes of things from his cabinets. “I have some rations ya can take along.”

“I don’t want to run forever,” Dante said. “Can’t do that to Finn.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Finn mumbled, his eyes dark with worry. He brushed his fingers through Dante’s hair, kissing his forehead. “This time, we’re doing this together.”

“Gods, I love you,” Dante whispered, nuzzling Finn’s temple. His heart swelled; he dropped kisses all over Finn’s face. “Can’t believe you’re mine.”

“Believe it,” Bill said. “‘Cuz we’ve got company.”

Dante’s stomach dropped. He released Finn, striding to the window where Bill stood.

Past the tilled garden, in the undergrowth further in the forest, there were three dark shapes prowling toward them, downwind. Large black wolves, their eyes trained on the house.

“They’re not from Topanga, are they?” Dante asked. Can’t believe I didn’t hear them coming.

Bill shook his head. At the table, Finn sucked in a sharp breath, his worry rolling into Dante’s chest.

None of them had seen this coming. Dante’s past had caught up with him. In his chest, his wolf reared its head, teeth bared, violence surging through his veins.

Kill, his wolf said. Protect mate.

It was all Dante could do to hold his wolf back. He needed control. Needed to know what he was doing.

Finn made to stand, but Bill shook his head. “Stay low,” Bill muttered. “Ya most important, Finny-boy.”

“I’ll go,” Dante said.

“Three of them against ya?” Bill frowned. “You’ll get torn up bad.”

Dante wanted to say, I’m alpha, I can do this. But complacency would only get him killed.

“I’ll go with you,” Finn said.

“No,” Dante and Bill both snapped. Finn narrowed his eyes.

“I’ll get reinforcements,” Bill said. “The pack will come.”

Dante exchanged a glance with Finn. There was no time to run. And if they continued to stay... there was no telling how long Dante could keep them both alive.

Dante had to deal with this today, get the wolves off their trail.

He pulled on the wolf inside him, just enough for the wolf to lend him its body. His bones compressed, his fur bristled across his skin. His claws pushed out of his paws.

Then he leaped out through the kitchen window, his heart pounding.

He would defend his mate, or die trying.