When I reached out to touch him, my claws were sprouting. I arched my fingers and brought my arm down hard, slashing him. I caught flesh and saw a splash of red.

He snarled, a sound like wood ripping, and writhed away from sudden pain. He wheeled, gained some distance, and clutched his side. I'd slashed the skin on his left side, under his rib cage. No telling how deep I'd cut. He looked more angry than hurt, his face grimacing in a snarl, his eyes blazing.

Then something grabbed my neck and hauled backward. Meg.

She held me in a headlock, her left arm pulling back on her right arm, which was braced across my neck. I gagged, choking while she crushed my throat. She dragged me until I was flat on my back, lying almost on top of her. She used all her strength to strangle me.

I slashed at her arms, reached back and tried to cut her face. In a panic now, I was having trouble keeping my shape. Fear made me want to melt, because Wolf could run away faster than I could. I struggled, both against her and myself, to break free of her, and to keep anchored to my body.

Her sugarcoated voice spoke by my ear. "I think we're done now. Would you like to finish her off, or should I?" She looked up at Carl.

Carl's arms thickened, his claws growing. He came toward me. I had time to think about how stupid I'd been to not watch my back. To think I could face them both. That was what I got for winning a fight. Made me think I was some kind of fucking Caesar.

I kept clawing Meg's arms. Blood covered my hands; I was ripping her to shreds. But she didn't let go. She was going to hold me for as long as it took Carl to finish me off. I whined, however much I wanted not to.

My legs were still free. I'd kick him. I'd fight for as long as I could.

Then Carl froze, his head tipped back. A shadow had appeared, broken away from the growing darkness to stand at his side.

T.J. held Carl's neck. His nails—too thick to be nails, they were almost claws—dug into the larger man's neck. All T.J. had to do was squeeze, pull, and he'd rip out Carl's throat. He was naked, like he'd shifted back from wolf recently. He said he was going to the hills. He must not have gotten too far. He'd come back.

He said, "Let her go, Meg. Or we both lose."

She let up some of the pressure on my neck. Not enough for me to escape. But I could breathe a little easier.

"On the other hand," she said. "This could be an opportunity for both of us. We both finish our rivals here, and the pack is ours."

Did she really hate Carl so much? What did he see in her, that would make him defend her? I knew the answer to that. I remembered: The first time I saw her, she was this wild goddess whose presence flared around her in an aura of strength. She was beautiful.

T.J. chuckled, lips turning in a half-grin. "You're not my type." Then he looked at Carl, and the smile disappeared. "You're not a very good pack alpha, Carl. Bullying only gets you so far. Maybe I can do something about that."

"This isn't a fair fight," Carl said, his voice stifled.

"Neither is that." T.J. nodded at me and Meg.

"If you really wanted to kill me, you'd have done it already."

For a minute, I thought T.J. was going to tear his neck out right there. He waited for several agonizing heartbeats before he said, "You're right. I want a deal. Let Kitty and me go. We'll get out. We'll leave this territory for good and you'll never have to worry about us again. You can have your little show here and run it however you want."

On one hand, that sounded like a great plan. Save my skin, not have to fight anymore. Didn't want to think beyond getting to safety. But I still had issues with Meg's being a traitorous bitch. And I had a life here. KNOB, the show, friends even. The pack. The pack that had gone to hell somewhere along the line. But I didn't want to leave. I shouldn't have had to.

I deferred to T.J. He'd earned alpha status. Above everyone else I knew in the world, I trusted him to protect me.

Carl was breathing heavily, but T.J.'s hand never let up its grip. Finally, he said, "All right. Let her go, Meg."

Glaring at T.J., she did. As soon as the pressure left my neck, I squirmed out of her grip and scrambled away. I stood and backed up, getting ready to run. My arms and claws shifted back to human, the Wolf fading. As soon as T.J. was with me, we'd run and never look back.

T.J. let go of Carl. They each took a step back, putting space between them.

Then Carl attacked him. He was, in the end, cut from the same cloth as Meg. They were made for each other.

Carl pivoted on one foot and drove up with his hand, a massive undercutting punch, claws outstretched. T.J. backed away, but not quickly enough. Carl didn't gut him as the move had intended, but he caught T.J.'s chin, whipping his head back, throwing him backward. Blood sprayed from rows of cuts on his face.

I screamed, which came out almost like a howl.

When I started for T.J., to help him against Carl, Meg ran toward me. Looked like I was going to get my catfight after all. In a manner of speaking.

I bent and charged, tackling her in the middle, catching her before she had anticipated reaching me. I drove with brute strength I didn't know I had, lifting her off her feet for a split second, long enough to knock her off balance and slam her to the ground. I got on top of her, pinning her.

No teasing, no playing, no mercy. I laid my forearm across her neck and leaned with all my weight. She choked, her breath wheezing, whining. I brought my face to within a couple of inches of hers. She snapped, snarling, a wolf's actions showing through her human body.

I slapped her. Claws raked her face, ripping open her cheek. My claws had come back; I hadn't even felt them. A noise, not quite a growl, of pain, anger, hopelessness welled up in my chest. I hated her. I hated this.

A keening squeal, part human cry, part wolf in pain, distracted me. I looked to the scrub-filled yard beyond the patio. Shadows, I saw only black shapes against the darkening sky. I lifted my nose to a breeze that had started licking through the trees. I smelled trees, rain, pack, territory, wolves, and blood. The tang of blood crawled down my throat. A lot of blood, and the stench of waste along with it.

Two figures huddled on the ground. One of them stood, rolled back his broad shoulders, turned his bearded face toward us. Carl. The other figure lay facedown, unmoving. I bit my lip and whined.

I'd never moved so fast. I forgot Meg and ran to T.J. Carl, his right arm bloody to the elbow, reached for me but I dodged, skirting around him and sliding to the ground near T.J.'s prone form. He lay half-curled, one arm crooked under him as if he'd tried to get back up, the other arm cradling his gut, which had been ripped open. He was holding in glistening mounds, strange lumps of tissue—organs—which were straining through the gashes cutting upward through his abdomen, to his rib cage, under his rib cage. His heart's blood poured out of the wound.

We healed quickly only if we survived the wounds in the first place.

Crying, gritting my teeth to keep from making noise, I lay on the ground beside him. I touched his face. "T.J., T.J.," I kept saying. I brought my face close to his, our foreheads touching. I wanted him to know I was here. "T.J."

He made a sound, a grunt ending in a sigh. His eyes were closed. His lips moved, and I leaned in close. If he tried to speak, I never heard what he wanted to say. I kept listening for the next sigh, the next breath, and it never came. I said his name, hoping he heard me. Hoping it gave him a little comfort. I tangled my fingers in his hair, holding him.

I kept… hoping.

Then Carl was there, looming over us. I wasn't scared; I wasn't even angry. I was hopeless. Despair had made my face flush with tears.