Marcus' mustache twitches. "You remind me of Delilah," he says. "My mate."

The current of grief, though muted, is clear in Marcus' eyes. I pause for a moment, still a little annoyed that I can't just get a straight answer, but I let the frustration go. Because I think back to that photo he keeps on the mantle, the woman who looks nothing like me, the mate he still waits for.

"Beau told me about her," I say softly. "I'm sorry."

The older man leans back, almost wistfully looking around the barn. As if Delilah might just walk in and join the sparring.

"Can't help but wonder if you'd been around all those years ago, she might have kept her skin." He shrugs. "Can't help but wonder if there are more wolves like you, Miss Dawson, living out in the world."

I lift my chin, meeting his gaze. His words linger, slightly charged. Not with accusation, but with a note of emotion I'm finding hard to place.

"More like me," I repeat quietly.

"Hidden wolves," Marcus says. "Those of you who grew up never knowing what you were. Maybe could live your whole life without knowing." He shakes his head. "Wish we knew more about your parents. Maybe werewolves sometimes just sprout from humans. Maybe you have a shifter for a father. But in a world where wolves are dying out, it'd be nice to know there are more of us out there. Surviving in a way we never considered." He shrugs again, then fixes me with a soft look. "I'd like to think that there might be a little hope for us."

The way he talks, I wonder if he knows more about hidden wolves than he's letting on, if he's been looking into it. Because he's the one with the theories, he's the one trying to figure me out when I don't even know the answers he's looking for. He watches Beau with the quiet fondness of a father.

"He's never been distracted before," Marcus continues softly. "Not once, not even when he was young. Always so focused. Always strong. But now?" The sidelong glance he gives me makes my stomach twist with a little bit of guilt. The twitch of his mustache eases it. "Now I think a little distraction might be good for him."

Heat threatens to bloom across my face, though I don't flinch away. I don't duck my head. Instead, I hold Marcus' steady blue gaze. "He's got a lot on his shoulders," I murmur. The truth seems to pour out of me before I can stopper it behind some calculated phrase, something safe and easy. "I worry that I'll add to that."

Marcus considers me carefully. He squeezes my shoulder, fondly. The contact is getting more comfortable for me, less unexpected. I'm starting to enjoy it. The friendly pats and squeezes and hugs. It makes me feel a part of this community.

"Delilah always wanted a daughter," Marcus says softly. "She always thought she-wolves were stronger, smarter than us males. Always said the bond was the fates making sure to bring the best out of the inferior sex."

"She bring out the best in you?" I ask.

"Sure did." Marcus grins. "And I think she'd be happy to have a niece like you."

He pauses and tracks Beau's movements as he corrects form, demonstrates technique. We stand in silence, watching. I can't help but wonder what I'd bring out in Beau when he already seems pretty damn perfect.

Marcus clears his throat. "Be patient with him, Rhea," he says gently. "And with yourself."

"I'm trying." My chest aches a little with the uncomfortable truth I wish I could ignore: always making sure his coffee has a little cinnamon in it doesn't seem enough.

"That's all any of us can do," he says. He gives me another squeeze on the shoulder, a reassuring nod before raising his voice. "Alright, pups, show me how it's really done."

Beau catches my eyes and smiles as his uncle walks over. It's a small thing, but it's warm. He leans over to the two youngest wolves and whispers something that makes devious grins spread across their faces. Lacey and Mille immediately break off to go tackle Marcus, screeching like harpies as they cling to his legs. He howls in mock protest. The wolves laugh before returning back to their drills. Beau jogs over as Marcus takes over the instructions, two wolf-pups still wrapped around his legs.

Beau wipes sweat from his brow, then meets my eyes. There's a bit of golden in the thunderstorm.

"Learn anything?"

"Sure," I tease. "Don't get into a fight with an alpha werewolf."

Beau grins and holds out his hand. I take it, following as he pulls me to a mat on the side, away from the wolves practicing their punches and kicks. I'd wondered why he'd recommended that I wore gym clothes when he'd promised I'd just be spectating.

"Let me see your guard."

The rest of the world falls away as Beau's intense gaze notes the position of my body, the angle of my arms and hips and legs. I know that he's teaching, assessing, but the weight of his eyes on my body makes my skin flush. He repositions my shoulder, my hips, with his hands, as if he has no idea the effect his touch has on me. I catch his smirk when he uses his leg to move my stance a little further apart. He's close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, that I can taste the pine and sunshine smell of him.

Beau circles me, correcting my form in teasing increments, until he positions himself in front of me. His eyes are golden as he nods his head, inviting my attack.

As much as I want to launch myself at him, I wait. Even without werewolf strength, Beau is bigger than me, stronger than me. Though I trust him not to hurt me, rushing him will likely only end with my ass on the floor. My wolf agrees. She wants to show that we're strong, fast. We both want to show that we're not helpless.

I throw my first strike, aiming for his chest. He blocks the blow with his forearm.

"Good," he says. "Again. Rotate your hip."

Beau watches each of my punches, blocks them, corrects my form and position with warm hands when he sees a dropped elbow or a misplaced foot. He makes suggestions, compliments my power when I land a particularly hard strike. When he has me switch to defense, his body is coiled in its control. His punches aren't soft, but I know they're nowhere near full strength. He pauses to correct my back leg, grip lingering at my hips.

"Let's put it together. Like this."

He demonstrates the combination of the jab, the cross cut, the return to defense. Jab-cross-guard. Jab-jab-guard-duck. It takes me a few tries before I get the rhythm, but when I do, I can't stop my lips from tilting into a little smile. It's a stupid little dance, but standing so close to him, I can't seem to help myself. With every little touch, every correction, he gets a little closer, a little freer with his hands. He's smiling too.

Though he pretends to drop his voice into a growl. "If you're smiling," he says, blocking my jab. "Then you must be ready to spar."

Without any further warning, he catches my next strike at my wrist, deflecting it. I stumble. Beau doesn't give me time to brace. With a firm tug, he yanks me off balance. My feet skid across the mat, and before I can right myself, he's inside my guard. He linger for a moment, our faces close, before he pushes me away.

A little growl rumbles from my throat as my wolf protests. She doesn't like that he's toying with us, though I'm not sure what she thinks I can do about it.

"Again," Beau says, his voice soft and low. Though he looks perfectly still, I can tell he's balanced on the balls of his feet, ready and waiting.

I adjust my stance, try to make sure my guard is high. Pivoting on my foot, I coil my hip for the next strike, but he's already moving. His hand slides from my wrist to my elbow, directing my punch into air as he steps around me. I twist to meet him, breath loud and panting. I've lost the rhythm, but I move to strike again, throwing my other elbow towards his chest. Beau laughs and leans in, so close I can feel the soft brush of his controlled breaths against my lips.

I inhale the warm, sharp scent of him. My wolf purrs in delight. Because we see our opening. With barely a thought, I close the scant inches between us and press my mouth to that sensitive place where his neck meets his collar bone.

His eyes go gold, his pupils dilate, his hands move to grip my hips, and for a heartbeat, he's not focused on the fight. I edge my foot behind his, tangling our legs, and push.

For the briefest, tiniest moment, I think I've made him lose his footing. I think I've made him fall.

Beau's arm sweeps around my waist and, with a graceful arc, he sends me spinning to the mat. I gasp as I land with a soft thud. Before I can catch my breath, he's above me. One knee flanks each of my hips; his forearms brace my wrists to the mat. His body curves over mine, strong and warm and taut, and the world narrows to the shallow, charged space between our faces.

His storm-bright gaze drops to my lips, then flicks back to my eyes—daring, almost. Everything holds still in that suspended instant.

He stiffens, and I suddenly remember that there are fifteen other people in the barn with us. They all go still, as if listening to something far away. I don't hear anything, but Beau's face shifts from the playful flirtation into something guarded. His head snaps up. His brow furrows. His weight eases off me as he listens to something I don't hear.

I start to ask what's wrong, but Beau's already on his feet. "Caleb," he calls. "Get Rhea back to the cabin."

There's a moment where Caleb looks like he's going to argue, like he might even want to fight, but Beau fixes him with unflinching eyes and drops his voice into that dominance-threaded tone. "Now," he growls.

As if my body cannot help it, I push to my feet, heart still pounding. Beau's eyes are hard, stony, unlike any look he's ever given me before. The wolf in my chest is almost whining, lip curling, tail tucked. Though he's barely said a word, everything about him screams dominance.

"Go, Rhea," he says, softer. "Do not leave until I get back."

Caleb moves in front of me as Beau starts stripping off his shirt. The rest of the older wolves are also shedding their clothes, shifting out of their human skins. Caleb pulls me from the barn, almost threatening to drag me. My legs are a little wobbly with the shock. I'd been bleeding and concussed on the mountainside when I watched Beau take human form. But here? Now? Watching a third of the pack shift into lupine forms seems to make my brain short-circuit.

However, Caleb's grip on my elbow is iron-strong and leaves no room for my stunned curiosity. I catch a glimpse of Beau's skin sprouting with fur at its seams, Marcus' face lengthening as his mustache gives way to whiskers. The rest of the pack is slower, their faces contorted a little painfully as they drop to their hands and knees. A wave of grunts and snarls echo against the promise of fur and fang. That crackling edge of lightening, ozone before a storm, fills the barn, making the hair on my arms stiff.

"Keep moving," Caleb growls, jerking me as I stop. His voice carries that weight of dominance, like he's trying to command me.

My wolf snarls in frustration, indignation. Her instinct is to join the shift, to run with them, to snap at Caleb for daring to command her. But I don't dare argue when I'm tethered to human flesh.

The beta wolf hustles me to the path back to Beau's cabin, eyes scanning the woods like we're behind enemy lines instead of crossing through a re-purposed summer camp. The usual flurry of activity, however, is gone. Silence has descended upon the cabins, the lodge.

A chorus of howls break out behind us as the pack takes off into the forest and the earth seems to tremble with the weight of a dozen wolves crashing through the underbrush. Caleb pulls at me again when I start to slow, start to drift to where they've disappeared.

"Come on," he grunts.

Reluctantly, I follow, pulling my arm out Caleb's grip. The world goes quiet again. No birdsong, no buzzing of insects. Only the sound of the wind carries against the closed doors and windows.

I don't remember how many shadows circled around me on the steep mountain trail. I only had eyes for the giant black wolf staring me down. But I know how many of Beau's pack are strong enough to act as betas, as protectors and hunters. Ten. Ten including Beau. And Caleb, who's now been removed from the count. It doesn't seem like enough.

"I'm fine," I tell him. "Go help Beau."

I'd rather Caleb join the other betas in the forest, seeking out whatever threat lingers out there. Because that's what it has to be right? The Lunar Pack, finally making their move on the pack.

Caleb barks out a dark laugh. "I can't," he growls. "Not until you're safely tucked in bed. So hurry it up."

My wolf bristles at his tone. So do I.

"I don't need a babysitter, asshole," I snap.

Caleb's blue eyes flicker with yellow as he grabs my arm again. "Yes." His voice is gravely, barely human. "You do."

He pulls me down the trail at a punishing pace, fingers digging into my skin. When he pushes me through the cabin doors, he turns to head back outside, as if spending more than any more time with me might make him puke.

"Look, Caleb," I say to his back, "I don't know what your problem is. Is it still the Crestline thing or what?"

He spins with a snarl, his teeth bared. My wolf batters herself against my ribs, howling at the insult, hungry to launch herself at his throat. I'm tempted to let her.

"It's you," he sneers. "I don't like you. You think we like watching our alpha coddle a little human? Beau's risking everything by dragging you around. It'd be different if you were just some little submissive plaything, but an alpha's mate? Fuck. You can't even shift."

His words land like stones in my gut. There's a part of me that wants to scream. To claw him across the face and prove him wrong. But I can't. I don't. I stand there, shocked and silent. Even my wolf goes still and quiet. I wait for rage or spite or something to rise up in me, but even my usual defense of a cool attitude and sharp words falls short.

With an angry breath, Caleb leaves, slamming the door shut behind him. The dull echo of it vibrates through the cabin, into my bones.

For a long moment, I don't move.

I hear wolves howl in the distance. Low and wild and full of some aching, ancient thing I don't understand,

I try.

I try to do the impossible.

"Come on," I whisper.

My pulse pounds in my throat, veins throb at my temples. Heat floods through my skin but no fur grows, no claws burst from my fingertips. The wolf strains inside of my ribcage. I can feel her strength, her anger, her determination. She's just there, coiled under my skin, desperate to tear through it, to run wild and prove she's mighty and worthy.

But when I open my eyes, nothing has changed. My skin is still my own. The air is still quiet and empty around me. My feet are in boots. My hands are just hands.

A tremor shivers through me as the heat fades, leaving nothing but a chill. Though she's close to the surface, it feels like the wolf inside my chest is further than she's ever been before. Panic, frustration, anger clouds my thoughts, threatens to smother the taut threads that tie me to Beau.

That tether between us, the promise of forever, is not enough. Wanting Beau doesn't make me one of them.

And if I can't shift—if I can't protect this pack—maybe this bond isn't enough.

Maybe I'm not enough.