Finn listened as Dante growled. Dante kept his eyes on Gabe, nuzzling Finn’s ear. His nose was warm, damp. Where hurt?

“My ankle,” Finn said. “I think I sprained it.”

Gabe approached them slowly, his lips pressed thin. “He’s not pack.”

Finn snorted. “You knew when you saw the markings, Gabe. Damn straight he’s not pack.”

“Whose mark do you bear?” Gabe asked Dante. Then he looked at Finn.

Finn shrugged. Dante didn’t answer. Gabe scowled.

With another look at Gabe, Dante stepped to the side. Lean on me.

As a wolf, Dante was big—his shoulder came up to Finn’s ear when Finn sat. His face was handsome, his fur thick. Finn wanted to bury his face in it.

“I don’t want to dirty your fur,” Finn said. “It’s so beautiful.”

Dante rolled his eyes. Finn’s leg hurt. Fur not important.

And it all came back to Finn’s bum leg, the one thing that caused him the most heartache. “You were supposed to stay away.”

Won’t, Dante said.

Finn shook his head, smiling wryly. Then he slung his muddy arm across Dante’s back, heaving himself up. Dante licked the mud off Fin’s face, and coughed—he’d gotten pepper paste on his tongue.

Gabe stopped five yards away, his hands shoved in his pockets. “Fine, don’t answer me, then,” he said. He had that overprotective look in his eyes, like he did whenever Finn got too close to an alpha. “But hurt Finn, and you’ll pay.”

Dante growled. Only idiots hurt omegas.

“He says he won’t,” Finn said.

Gabe dragged his hand down his face. “Gods, Finn. You went and imprinted with him? You can’t change that.”

The only way you lost an imprint is if you cut the imprint out, or your mate died. Finn shuddered. “I’m not changing it.”

Gabe’s eyes sharpened. “You got into this quick. I haven’t even seen you with anyone in the last year.”

Finn hesitated. “I trust Da—I trust him,” he said eventually. “I’ve loved him a long time.”

Dante snuffled, pressing his snout to Finn’s ear. You love me?

And the wave of emotion that rolled from him—delight, surprise, disbelief. Finn blushed. I do.

Dante growled, licking Finn’s cheek. Then he pressed his nose to Finn’s ear, and his jaw. Licked down his throat. Love you. Finn is mine. Dante’s tail wagged.

Finn’s cheeks scorched, but he had no wish to push Dante away.

“He seems young,” Gabe muttered. “Really, Finn?”

Finn narrowed his eyes. “My alpha, Gabe. Not yours. You don’t get to judge.”

“I haven’t seen any young ones around here.” The crease on Gabe’s forehead deepened. “If you can’t tell me who he is, then he’s someone the pack will run out, isn’t it?”

“Then we’ll leave,” Finn said, knowing it was the path he would take, if it came to that. “I’ll sell the property.”

Gabe stared at him, incredulous. “It’s Dad’s. You can’t just sell it!”

“It’s not like I want to,” Finn said.

He loved the canyon, loved the gurgling river and the tall oak trees. He loved the birds that nested in his eaves, and the coyotes that came out to play with Crumpet. Most of all, he loved it because it was where he’d met Dante, and fallen in love.

“But I’ll do anything to protect my pups,” Finn said. “That’s most important.”

Dante nuzzled his cheek, and sneezed. Love Finn most in all the world.

You’re going to smother me with your sap, Finn thought. Then he cradled Dante’s face, and kissed his nose. Dante flicked his tongue against Finn’s chin.

Gabe looked at them a long time, before he finally sighed. “I’d really rather you stay with the pack.”

“Me, too.”

The thought of leaving the pack scared Finn. Pack was everything he knew; he’d grown up with his family and neighbors and packmates. To leave them meant leaving Mom, leaving Old Bill and Daisy and Little Thom, and Gabe and Kendrick. It meant leaving his family, and everyone he cared about.

“But I might anyway,” Finn said. “We can’t stay here forever. I won’t have my pups hunted down.”

Gabe narrowed his eyes. He stepped closer, eyeing Dante. “Who is he?”

I shift, Dante said. Tired of hiding.

Finn groaned. His stomach flipped. It was risky, Gabe finding out. But if Gabe had seen Dante’s tenderness toward Finn, if Gabe could understand why Finn took Dante as his alpha... Maybe they would have a chance with the rest of the pack.

“Fine,” Finn said, bracing his feet against the ground. He’d shift if he had to, break up a fight between them. “Do what you want, Dante.”

Dante shifted in a shimmer of silver light. His snout shortened; his fur drew back into his skin, his paws lengthened into fingers. Then he crouched by Finn’s side, staring at Gabe.

Gabe sucked in a sharp breath. “You—”

“He’s my alpha,” Finn said, holding his arms out between them. “Please don’t fight.”

Gabe strode forward, his eyes flashing. “He’s a murderer.”

“He’s my alpha,” Finn said again, his heart sinking. This shouldn’t have happened. “I have my reasons, Gabe.”

“You’ll lose your pups if anyone finds out.” Gabe shook his head, staring between them. “I can’t believe you’re this sick, Finn. Wasn’t he your student?”

Finn’s face burned. He deserved the disgust for mating with someone so young.

“Don’t listen to him,” Dante growled, pressing his palm against Finn’s heart. “You’re perfect.”

“That’s how he got you? With sweet talk?” Gabe raised an eyebrow.

So maybe Finn needed sweet talk. Maybe Finn was weak, and Dante had given him what he needed.

But what if his packmates looked at his children with revulsion? What if they condemned his pups? Finn couldn’t allow that to happen.

“Shut up,” Dante said to Gabe, his eyes burning. “If you can’t see how torn up Finn is about this, then you don’t deserve to be his brother.”

Gabe closed his mouth with a click of teeth, glaring.

Dante pulled Finn against himself, kissing Finn’s temple, his ear. He rubbed his thumb down Finn’s hand, exposing faint blue lines.

Then, he stroked his hand down Finn’s calf, until he found Finn’s throbbing ankle. He pulled Finn’s shoe off, then pressed down on his tendons. Finn cried out, pain punching through his leg.

“Sorry,” Dante muttered. Carefully, he rubbed his thumbs into Finn’s ankle. “Does it hurt here? Or is it numb?”

“Hurts,” Finn said.

“Any sound when you fell? Did it crack?”

Finn shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Dante smoothed his thumbs over Finn’s ankle bones. Then he pressed into the soft flesh around Finn’s ankle, and pain jolted down his leg again. Finn jerked.

“Seems like a sprain,” Dante murmured, leaning Finn against his chest. “Gonna get you some ice. You’ll be okay here?”

“Yeah.” At least, Gabe wouldn’t attack Finn. It was Dante that Finn was concerned about. “I’ll be fine.”

“Be right back,” Dante said. He leaned away from Finn, his gaze raking over Finn’s face. Then he caught Finn’s chin with his fingers, and pressed their lips together. Finn’s cheeks flushed hot.

Dante’s lips were soft, damp. He flicked his tongue into Finn’s mouth, and Finn barely bit down a moan. If they ever bonded officially, Finn knew he wouldn’t be able to keep any of his sounds down; Dante’s touch was magic on his skin.

But with Gabe’s reaction, the chances of them bonding in public... were probably close to zero. Gabe was watching them kiss. As much as Finn savored his alpha’s touch, his face burned.

Dante broke the kiss, nuzzling Finn’s temple. “Back in a minute.”

He looked askance at Gabe, then straightened, jogging over to the cabin.

Finn watched as Dante disappeared into the back door. Then he looked at his feet, unwilling to meet Gabe’s eyes. Gabe had seen enough. Hell, Finn had never kissed any alpha in front of his brothers.

The look on Gabe’s face was indecipherable. “He’s murdered people.”

Finn swallowed. “I know.”

“He’s younger than you. By decades.”

“Eighteen years, yes. I know.”

“You know what Mom will think about this. Hell, she’s the strictest teacher I’ve ever known.”

Finn groaned, hiding his face in his sleeve. Mom had taught him the philosophies of teaching. Put your students before yourself. Don’t be lazy in teaching them, because they may not understand. They may get hurt by your negligence. Do not exploit them with your power.

He imagined her deep frown, the horrified look she’d get, when she somehow discovered Finn had broken a cardinal rule as a teacher.

There were so many better omegas for Dante out there—omegas who had years of childbearing ahead of them. Finn had a few left. He couldn’t run after his pups, couldn’t make sure he’d always be by their side in time.

Because of Finn’s slip-up during his heat, Dante felt obliged to be there for Finn’s pups. Dante wasn’t even certain about being a father.

I told you, Dante said in his mind, it doesn’t matter.

Saying, and feeling, were two different things.

Stop that, Dante said.

Easy for you to say, Finn snapped, when you aren’t responsible for the actions of your students.

Dante fell silent, then.

Finn lifted his chin, looking Gabe in the eye. “The bond has already been forged. What else would you have me do?”

Gabe’s throat worked. He shoved his hands into his pockets, kicking at a stone. “It’ll be difficult here on out, Finn. You know that.”

Finn looked at the mud on his feet, his ankle pink with the sprain. “Yeah. I know.”

“Then why...?”

“Because he was never a murderer to me. He was my student first... and also my alpha.”

Gabe looked at him in horror. “Since... since then? He was just a kid!”

Finn wanted to bury his face in the ground, cool it off some. “He was my alpha before you thought he killed me. That’s how far back we go.”

Gabe stared at Finn, his mouth hanging open. “That’s a whole new level of insane.”

Finn sighed. It felt like his cheeks would never stop burning. “I know that, too.”

Silence stretched between them. Gabe grimaced, like he had a bad taste in his mouth. Like Finn and Dante’s relationship made him want to spit. Finn sighed. He’d known this was a consequence, and yet he’d gone and done it anyway.

“So... what’re you gonna do?” Gabe asked.

Finn shrugged. “Damned if I know.”

The birds chirped around them, as though there was nothing wrong with the world at all. Finn rubbed his arms, feeling unclean.

Half a minute before Humphrey came into view, they heard him. He squelched around the side of the cabin, his pants muddy, his face flushed with exertion. “You coming to help, Gabe? I’ve been working in the yard while you guys slack out back.”

“I don’t need any more help,” Finn said, turning to look at him.

“Finn,” Gabe said sharply. Finn stopped, frowning. Gabe tapped twice on his own cheek, and strode toward Humphrey. “We’re done here, Humphrey. Time to go.”

Finn blinked. Had the flour paste on his cheek come off? He held his breath, afraid to look at Humphrey in case Gabe was right.

“See you sometime, Finn,” Gabe said. “Take care.”

“Thanks, both of you,” Finn said.

“Before I forget,” Gabe said. “Old Bill had his garden washed out by the storm. He was asking if you’d head over to help.”

“I will.”

It felt awkward, not meeting their eyes as their footsteps trailed away. Humphrey complained. Gabe hushed him. As the truck started up in the driveway and drove off, Dante stepped out through the back door, looking around. “They left?”

“Yeah,” Finn said. “Are there lines on my cheek?”

Dante knelt by him with towels and an ice pack, his eyes raking over Finn’s face. “Yeah, a couple.” He trailed his thumb down Finn’s jaw. “Here, and here. Think I might’ve licked it off earlier. Sorry.”

Finn’s breath rushed out of him. “Oh.”

“I can’t believe he helped you.” Dante’s forehead crinkled.

“I can’t believe he did, either. I thought he’d throw a bigger fit.”

Maybe they had an ally in Gabe. Or maybe Gabe was just waiting for something worse to happen before he snapped.

They mulled over it, Dante wiping down Finn’s ankle. Then he wrapped the ice in a towel, and pressed it to Finn’s ankle. Finn hissed. Dante slipped his arm around Finn, hugging him. “It’ll stop hurting soon.”

Finn pressed his nose into Dante’s shoulder, breathing him in.

“Your brother’s still a jerk.” Dante said eventually. “Seriously? Saying all that shit about you?”

Finn twisted the hem of his turtleneck around his fingers. “It’s all true. But it seemed like he wasn’t going to tell Humphrey, so.”

“Doesn’t mean he had to say it in front of you.” Dante kissed Finn’s temple. “Or ever.”

“I guess that’s what brothers are for.” Finn smiled weakly, wriggling his toes. Dante rubbed them. His hands were warm, and Finn leaned into him, even as the dampness from the mud soaked through his pants.

“I had no brothers,” Dante said. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Were you lonely as a child?”

Dante shrugged, his eyes melancholy. “Who knows? Maybe my dad would’ve kicked all of us out sooner than that. I haven’t spoken to him in... years.”

Finn bit back his words about Dante’s father. Dante’s father was a terrible example of a parent—you didn’t beat your child. You didn’t treat your child like a burden. Sometimes, Finn thought about striding over to the Weregrit pack, so he could give Dante’s father a earful. But it wouldn’t solve anything.

Sometimes, the best path to take was forward. Shed the pain, and surround yourself with things to soothe the hurt.

He squeezed Dante’s hand. “Let’s never do that with our pups, okay? Don’t lose touch with them.”

Dante’s eyes lit up. “Yeah?”

“You’ll be a great dad,” Finn said. “Our pups will want to talk with you forever. They’ll hang off your legs and beg you to teach them how to howl. And then they’ll bounce off our bed, howling the roof down.”

He’d heard the little nagging thoughts in Dante’s head over the past few days. There had been moments of quiet between them, knotted together on Finn’s bed. Dante had looked at Finn’s belly and worried.

“I’m a murderer,” Dante said. “If you stay with me... your pack will react worse than Gabe did.”

Finn’s stomach squeezed. It was a possibility. “Maybe not everyone will.”

“I was on the news, Finn.”

“Yeah, but... you’re not a terrible person,” he said. “You regret killing those people.”

Dante looked away, his eyes shadowed. There weren’t any words coming from him, but Finn felt the weight of his regret, and the trace of despair. It was something he wanted to ease Dante out of.

How did you bring people back to life? How did you fill in the flesh of a mangled leg?

Finn slipped his fingers into Dante’s. Their hands fit together, and in the silence of the forest, Finn felt a little more at peace. No one was here to judge them, two halves of a broken whole.

There were people in the world who were perfect, and that was great for them. But for those who had made terrible mistakes... for the people who weren’t perfect... They needed a safe place, too.

“I love you,” Dante said, looking sidelong at him. Something in Finn’s heart unfurled.

“I love you, too.” And now Finn was smiling a little.

Maybe it would be okay, if they left the pack. Maybe they should say their goodbyes and pack up.

“When my leg’s a little better, let’s go to Old Bill’s,” Finn said. “He needs some help.”

“I’ll take you there,” Dante said, brushing his lips over Finn’s cheek. “Anytime.”

Finn had Dante. Despite all the things setting them apart, Dante cared.

And maybe if Finn left the pack... no one would miss him at all.