“Human.” He bared his teeth. “I want to hold your heart in my hands, whelp.”

I snorted, tossing my shirt away from the crowd. If I had kept it on, he could have used it as a handhold. If I’d left it on the ground, he could have used it as a weapon. I didn’t particularly want to be choked by my own shirt. “I didn’t know you cared, Dad. You been practicing that line in prison?”

He growled and I gave him an air kiss and a saucy wink, because fuck that guy.

He snarled, leaping forward, fists swinging.

I ducked, dancing out of the way. We circled each other, wary. I’d kept in shape, and before I left Portland, I’d regularly worked out with a reinforced shifter-grade heavy bag at my gym. I hadn’t got around to finding one to use in Seattle yet. That wasn’t the same as sparring, though. My dad had probably been practicing in prison all he could. When it came to strength and skill, he’d have the edge.

I could fight, but I wasn’t a fighter.

Angus rushed me again. I ducked, barely missing a left hook, as his right fist plowed into my ribs. I countered, driving my fist into his gut. He grunted but kept moving. We tussled, and for several heartbeats, we were in a deadlock.

Then he snaked a foot behind me somehow, and I tripped, falling backward.

I hit the ground hard, dust puffing out in a cloud. The taste of blood filled my mouth.

My dad strutted around, amping up the crowd. He was moving easy, his joints liquid. I’d been giving it my all, but my dad had been toying with me so far. It hit me that I could lose this. I could be seconds away from dying in this shitty barn for no good fucking reason. I felt a flare of rage at the absolute pointlessness of this whole thing.

My own father was going to kill me.

And all I wanted to do was hold Lou one more time. Get her to smile for me.

I struggled to breathe, watching as the pack seethed around us. Calling me names. Snarling. Starting to lose control. My father fed their blood lust, finally turning back to me to finish what he’d started. If I wanted to hold Lou again, I’d have to go through Angus first. So fucking be it.

I bared my teeth at him. He mimicked me, shoulders bunched. Ready to strike.

The crowd started murmuring, the mood changing. Faces turning up to the ceiling. As I watched, something white dripped down into the crowd, hitting Tom’s face with a splat. He growled, swiping it away with his arm. He looked up at the same moment that more of the white stuff came down, hitting other pack members.

I think Tom and I saw them at the same time—pigeons. The rafters of the barn were full of them. Dozens and dozens of pigeons, and all of them shitting on my father’s pack.