In the time it took for them to reach a consensus, they’d be easy targets.
Sitting ducks.
Open.
“Senate Law forbids taking another alpha’s wolf,” I said slowly. “But if there’s no alpha, then technically, there isn’t a pack.”
If the psychics killed me, if they killed Macbeth, there would be an opening, however brief, for someone else to come rushing in.
I thought of Othello’s wolves, lined up and down the edge of our border. Waiting.
“Mac can’t fight,” I said, coming to a conclusion that crept under my skin and hung in the air all around me. “If I fight, Macbeth can’t, and I have to fight.”
Callum didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. I was the alpha, and an alpha couldn’t run and hide, couldn’t send the pack off to fight, die on their own. The pack needed me there, the same way th
