I jerk my hips and push against her neck, creating enough space to flip us around. I twist her hand, pull it under my armpit, and lock her in an armbar. “Why was the Northwest divided?” I ask. Since she’s so eager to talk, I’d rather it be about something that isn’t me.
“That’s a much smarter question than I expected from you,” she chokes out, failing to free herself.
“Yeah, well. I used to think of myself as a smart person.”
“Used to?”
“Not realizing what species I was for the better part of two decades had me reassessing,” I huff.
“That must f**k you up real good, huh? I don’t envy you.”
“Why? It’s been so fun.” I think she might be chuckling. I strengthen my grip and ask, “When did the pack split?”
“Forty years ago. Little less.”
“Why?”
“A disagreement between the former Alpha
