“You spied on us!” Lucky exclaimed, and instantly knew how stupid that sounded.

“I do not spy,” Omega sneered. “I’m better than that.”

Lucky had nothing to say. There was nothing he could say. He did not know which was stronger: the fear, or the horrible shame.

“I was confused in the storm,” the small dog went on. “The rain was so fierce that night, I thought the River-Dog was going to rise and drown the whole world. I got lost and I wanted to hide until it was over. It was your bad luck I happened to be hiding near you and your friend.”

“Bad luck,” echoed Lucky bleakly.

“Bad luck. Well, either that or the Sky-Dogs led me to you.”

I would not be surprised, Lucky thought. They probably never approved of what I was doing. . . . “You’re going to tell the others, I suppose?”

He wondered how fast he could get himself and Bella’s Pack away from here, and how far they would have to go to be safely beyond the fury of Alpha.

“Actually, I haven’t decided yet.” Omega sat down and scratched an ear in satisfaction. “A lot depends on you.”

Lucky did not think his heart could sink further, but he was wrong. It plummeted like a heavy stone in still water. “What do you mean?”

“If you help me, I’ll help you.” Omega snickered. “Well, at least I won’t get you killed. I do not like being Omega. I’m not Omega; my name is Whine.”

Lucky swallowed. His spit tasted of fear, but he understood the small dog’s attitude. He would not want to lose his own name, be called “Omega” in that contemptuous way by the whole Pack. It had never even occurred to him to ask the Omega what his real name was, and he felt ashamed of it now. “I wouldn’t like it, either,” he admitted.

“I want a proper place in the Pack.” Omega padded back and forth, licking his chops. His face was so squashed and ugly, drool kept escaping and dripping from his jaws. “I have been Omega for far too long—taking orders, fetching, and carrying! And half-starving too, since nobody ever leaves enough food for me!”

“I tried to—”

“Not very hard. Not when Sweet ordered you to stop. And why would you leave food for an Omega anyway? Every Pack needs an Omega. I just want it to be a dog who is not me.”

Lucky remembered the way the other Pack members treated the flat-nosed dog: as if he were barely a dog at all, sometimes. They would have given more respect to a sharpclaw.

“I want to help, but what can I do?” he said, cocking his head sympathetically. And he really did want to help. It was not just that he felt sorry for Omega; the simple fact was, he could not let this ugly, sneaky dog go back and tell Alpha his secret. He had to make some kind of a deal—it was that, or kill the little dog.