HE BOASTED A SWORD and I had nothing but my daggers. All other weapons had fallen into the underground caverns along with our mansion. No matter. I drew two of my blades and lowered my stance into a crouch.
The old Ash, the Ash who made me pancakes every morning, would have dropped his sword and requested daggers to match mine. This Ash extended his three-foot-long blade in my direction point first, something dark glinting in his eyes.
“We fight for the role of Alpha,” he growled, “not Beta.”
Around me, the pack rustled their distress. I hadn’t explained about Lenny’s wife and the Guardian—couldn’t with the glitter embedded in my cheek. But the hole Ash had stepped out of spoke for itself. None of this was right.
Fighting, however, came easily. My plan was to capture Ash’s sword betwee
