The kick hadn’t missed; it was the start of something beautiful and dangerous. Adam’s left leg hit Paul’s shoulder with such force that Paul’s blow went wide, flailing at empty space, as he spun in midair before crashing to the mats.

Paul hit like a pine tree falling, and the sound of his arm breaking was loud enough for everyone to hear. Adam landed on his stomach, one leg trapped under Paul’s body, which was perpendicular to Adam’s. Unlike Paul, Adam’s landing was deliberate and controlled. Before Paul could react, Adam twisted his body and drove the shin of his free leg into Paul’s chest.

In karate movies, they break celery to mimic the sound of breaking bones. Trust me, my hearing is acute, and I know these things: Paul’s ribs didn’t sound anything like celery. A human might have died from that blow; he certainly would have needed CPR. Werewolves are tougher than that.

Paul’s hand slammed the mat.

“He yields,” said Adam.

“Adam wins,” announced Darryl. “Do you accept Paul’s yield, Alpha?”

“I do,” replied Adam.

“This fight is over,” said Darryl.

Adam leaned down to Paul. “That edge you lost in your fight with Mary Jo is what allowed me to take the time to find something that would hurt you—instead of kill you. You can thank her for your life.”

Paul moved his head, exposing his throat to Adam. “I will, Alpha.”

Adam smiled. “I’d give you a hand up—but we’d better have Warren look at your ribs first. One punctured lung is enough.”

I’d been keeping an eye on Henry throughout the fight. I glanced at him just as he stepped onto the mat.

“Alpha,” he called. “I chal—”

He never got the whole word out—because I drew my foster father’s SIG and shot him in the throat before he could.

For a split second everyone stared at him, as if they couldn’t figure out where all that blood had come from.

“Stop the bleeding,” I said. Though I made no move to do it myself. The rat could die for all I cared. “That was a lead bullet. He’ll be fine.” Though he wouldn’t be talking—or challenging Adam—for a while. “When he’s stable, put him in the holding cell, where he can’t do any more harm.”

Adam looked at me. “Trust you to bring a gun to a fistfight,” he said with every evidence of admiration. Then he looked at his pack. Our pack. “What she said,” he told them.

Chapter 12

WHEN THE PACK ESCORTED ADAM IN A TRIUMPHANT procession into the house, I hung back with Jesse and Sam—both of whom looked pretty wrung out.

Paul had left the dojo the same way Mary Jo had, in the stretcher—and he should be resting beside her in one of the downstairs bedrooms that were considered pack property rather than Adam’s. Any member of the pack could and did claim one for sleeping or reading or whatever they needed. With Adam in the house, neither Paul nor Mary Jo would have a problem with control while they healed—their wolves knew their Alpha was in residence to keep them safe.

There were some awful things about being a werewolf. Lots of them. But there were some okay parts, too—and some that were nice. One of those was knowing that as long as the Alpha was around, you had a safe place to be.

Henry hadn’t died from the blood loss, so far as I knew, and had probably already healed. A bullet is a small thing, and the hole it cuts is clean if it doesn’t hit anything hard on the way through—like bone. He’d be up before either Mary Jo or Paul. Of course, what happened to him after that was in question. I suppose it would be Adam’s decision.

Warren hung back until everyone else except for me, Sam, and Jesse were gone. And then he shut the door.

“Adam will miss you in about five minutes,” he told me. “And in six minutes you’re going to need to get him upstairs and in bed without letting the whole pack know that in ten minutes that man is going to be unconscious on the floor.”

“I know,” I told him.

The big cowboy smiled tiredly, though, like me, all he’d done was watch the challenge. “That was a nice bit of fighting. I suspect he could have taken Paul without Mary Jo stepping in.”

I nodded. “But now Paul is back in the pack again, happier than before. And I don’t think that could have happened without Mary Jo.”

“I hate this part,” said Jesse shakily.

“The part where everyone is safe, and you want to find a quiet corner and bawl like a newborn?” Warren glanced at me. “I reckon it’s better than when people aren’t safe—but it’s not my favorite, either.” He wrapped his arm around Adam’s daughter’s shoulder and she snuggled into him.

“There you go,” he said. “You go ahead and cry, baby. Ain’t no one going to say you don’t have the right. Get it over with and cry some for me—’cause if Kyle catches me crying, he’s gonna think I turned into one of those sissy boys.”

Jesse laughed, but left her head where it was.

Warren looked at me. “You go on. You got someone else’s shoulder to cry on. You tell him I got Jesse’s back. And, Samuel, you stay with me, too. We don’t need any more drama, and I doubt that Adam is up to showing his weakness to someone who could be his rival until the adrenaline eases a bit.”

Sam stretched, yawned, and lay down.

“Thanks, Warren,” I said.

He smiled and tipped the front of his imaginary cowboy hat. “Shucks, ma’am, I’m only doin’ my job. Darryl’s gonna feed the masses again, and I’m riding herd on the stragglers.”

Jesse pulled back and wiped her eyes, a smile on her face. “Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite cowboy?”

“Of course I am,” he said smugly.

“You’re the only cowboy she knows,” I informed him.

He glanced at his watch. “You got about two minutes left.”

“Mercy?” Jesse asked, catching my arm before I could go. “What about Gabriel?”

“We’ll find him,” Warren said, before I could respond. He smiled at me. “I have good hearing, and the house was plenty quiet enough last night to hear a phone call in the kitchen.” He bent down so he could look Jesse in the eye. “Running around when we don’t know anything won’t help him. Zee’s looking into it, and waiting for him is our best option at the moment.”

“If Zee couldn’t help us, he’d have told us by now,” I said, looking only at Jesse. I wasn’t talking to Warren; I was talking to Jesse. No oath breaking here. “We’ll get Gabriel out of this.”

“Maybe we’ll sic Sylvia on them,” said Warren.

“You heard?” Of course he had. News travels fast in the pack.

“Heard what?” Jesse was coming back online, I thought. Warren’s hug had been exactly what she needed.

“Sylvia threatened to set the police on me if I darkened their doorstep again. Gabriel isn’t working for me anymore.” I frowned. I hadn’t thought about it, but it might affect Jesse, too. “I don’t know if you’re considered one of the prohibited people—but since she got mad because I didn’t warn her that Sam was a werewolf before Maia adopted him as her new pony, I expect that werewolves of any kind are going to be a hot button for a little while. Once we get him home, you need to talk it over with Gabriel.”

She nodded. “If we get him home, I’ll be happy to fight with Sylvia about my right to hang out with Gabriel.”

“Good for you,” said Warren.

She stepped back from him and almost fell over Sam. “Hey,” she said to him. “How come you let Warren and Dad take care of Mary Jo?”

“He’s not himself,” I said. “It wouldn’t have been a good idea.”

Sam gave me a look full of guilt and turned his head away.

I thought about that guilty look all the way in the house and into the living room where the pack was scattered all over the furniture and the floor. There were more wolves—latecomers receiving the blow-by-blow account of the fight. And I hadn’t seen Adam’s pack this relaxed since . . . ever. I hadn’t hung out with the werewolves much until this last year—and it hadn’t been a peaceful one for the pack.