At Jeff’s suggestion, a small corps of trustworthy shifters took positions outside in the dark, hidden from view but keeping an eye on the church and its access points. If—or when—Tom tried anything, we’d have eyes on him.
The interior of the church would have the same setup. A few friends of the family, all shifters, sat in the pews as if preparing to witness Connor’s initiation. But they were armed and prewarned—and they were as excited as shifters could be about the possibility of a good, solid brawl.
Jeff and I, both dressed in respectful black, stood on the church’s front steps, peering into the darkness. The snow still fell, powdering the neighborhood in white.
“You’re nervous,” Jeff said.
“It’s not every day I use my family as bait.”
“They can handle themselves,” he said. “It’s a good plan.”
“I know. And it was your good plan.”
He nodded, and we stood in silence, so much unspoken between us.
“We should go inside,” Jeff said. I turned to walk into the church, but he took my hand and pulled me against his body. Before I could object, his lips were on mine, mouth insistent.
He kissed me there on the steps of the church, with snow falling like tears around us. When he pulled away a moment later, my breath was short.
“Jeff,” I said, but he shook his head, leaned his forehead against mine.
“Every time I breathe, I breathe for you. Every time I speak, I speak for you. And every time I howl, I howl for you.” He pressed his lips to mine, so softly. “This isn’t over,” he said, and walked inside.
My hands and knees shaking, I followed him.
Gabriel stood in the back of the church with Eli. The rest of my brothers had taken their seats, dressed in suits as if we’d planned to proceed as normal. But Tanya and Connor were secure in an anteroom with Berna and a few of her minions. She didn’t look like much of a threat—squat figure, bleached hair—but she was, as Gabriel liked to say, a wolverine when it came to her family.
“Any sign?” Gabriel asked us.
“Not yet,” Jeff said. “But I have to think he’ll be along soon enough.”
“He’ll be along,” Gabriel said. “If he’s brassy enough to walk away with the crown, he’s brassy enough to try and make the initiation his. Take your positions.”
Jeff nodded and took his place on the other side of the aisle. I walked to the second pew and slid across slick wood to join Ben and Christopher.
Gabriel stepped up to the dais in front of the church and looked out over the shifters who’d come to witness history.
“The Pack exists only because its members allow it. The Keenes rule only because the Pack allows it. My father kept this Pack safe, and we have tried to do the same, to enforce the Pack’s will. We are lucky enough to have given birth to a new generation. To the twelfth generation of Keenes to hold the Pack.” His gaze went cold. “And one way or the other, he will be brought into the Pack in his rightful place.”
The doors burst open, magic rushing inside like water. The crown’s magic was unmistakable. But when I looked back, it wasn’t Tom who wore the coronet.
It was Patrick.
I was too stunned to move, to speak. He’d played me. Played all of us. He’d feigned innocence, pretended shock at Tom’s reaction, and faked interest in me. Fury rose, hot and needle sharp.
“Patrick,” Gabriel said. “I’m disappointed.”
Patrick swaggered forward, the coronet glinting atop his dark hair. “Why? Because someone outsmarted you? Because you’re not the only one who thinks he can run the Pack?”
Gabriel’s expression stayed flat, but his magic had surged forward, filling the air with heat and power. “Because you used people. Because you betrayed your father and your Pack. And because you think any of those things qualify you to be Apex.”
Patrick smiled thinly. “I’m wearing the crown. That’s the only qualification I need.”
“That’s an unfortunately short-sighted view. A leader needs soldiers. Where’s Tom? Or the rest of your family?”
Patrick’s eyes narrowed, but just for a moment. “Tom did his part. He’s done. And my family is irrelevant.”
“Family is never irrelevant,” Gabriel said. “Family is Pack, and Pack is family.”
“Speaking of which,” Patrick said, “where’s yours? No wife? No kid? I guess you can’t have an initiation without a crown.”
“Oh,” Gabriel said, his tone deceptively smooth, “don’t worry yourself, whelp. There will be an initiation yet.” He let out an ear-splitting whistle, and we fell into place. The shifters emerged from the foyer, the balcony, the sanctuary’s hidden wings, surrounding Patrick and the crown.
Patrick’s expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked excited by the challenge. “Twenty to one odds,” he said. “You want to grab five or ten more shifters for yourself to make it even?”
His arrogance was staggering. Is that what he thought made a good Apex? Exaggeration and brute force?
But Gabriel didn’t move. It was Jeff who stepped forward to face down Patrick.
Gabriel smiled. “I’m afraid I’ll have to get in line. Mr. Christopher has dibs on you, my friend.”
“Fallon’s tiger pet? This should be fun.”
Jeff’s eyes were cold and hard. “Not fun so much as incredibly satisfying.” He flexed his fingers menacingly, rolled his shoulders.
“You want to fight like humans?” Patrick asked, mild amusement on his face. He thought he’d lucked out. Thought fighting Jeff’s lean human form would be an easier victory than fighting the tiger.
As if the man was somehow less tenacious, I thought with the smallest hint of a smile.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want you to lose that crown by shifting,” Jeff said. “I think we can take care of this the old fashioned way.”
“I’m game,” Patrick said, motioning him forward.
Jeff didn’t waste any time. Patrick braced himself, turning his body to the side to prepare for Jeff’s onslaught.
“I’ve got a twenty on Jeff,” Ben murmured to Christopher, both of whom sat on the pew in front of me.
“No deal,” Christopher said. “I’m not betting against the house.”
A wise decision. I’d seen Jeff fight before, knew he was a capable soldier. But this battle was about emotion. It was about Gabriel, the Pack, the crown . . . and me.