He had been through so much with the Leashed Dogs. But the Wild Pack had accepted him as one of their own. He had shared the Great Howl with them, where Spirit Dogs ran before his eyes. He had felt the power of their bond, even as he balked at Alpha’s strict hierarchy.

Then there was Sweet. . . . He stole a glance in her direction and she met his eye. He saw pain and confusion there, but also hope.

She raised her muzzle. “Lucky fought bravely to defend the pups from the foxes. Whatever he may have done before . . . he’s no Leashed Dog. He’s one of our Pack now.” Her velvety ears twitched and she looked away. Her voice was uncertain, despite her words.

It’s as though she wants to believe it, thought Lucky. She wants to believe that I’m who she thought I was. . . .

Lucky barked gratefully, even though he wasn’t sure where he belonged.

He looked at his litter-sister. Bella stared hard at him, head slightly cocked.

She knows it’s true. A part of me has grown loyal to the Wild Pack.

For a moment he felt guilty. Then he reminded himself that it was because of Bella that he had joined the Wild Dogs in the first place! And it was she who had brought the foxes into their home! She must have been crazy to trust those wily creatures. They’d betrayed her as soon as she’d led them to the camp, attacking Moon and threatening to eat her pups. He remembered how dogs from both Packs had broken off their battle to defend the pups when the foxes attacked them—first Daisy and Mulch, then the others. They had come together, repelling the vicious foxes. They had worked as a single, powerful Pack. . . .

Lucky noticed Moon and Fiery standing a few paces behind the others, their pups Squirm and Nose—the ones who had survived—nuzzled between them. Lucky’s chest tightened with sorrow when he remembered the terror and turmoil, the frenzied barking, and the dogs who hadn’t made it: little, helpless Fuzz, and poor Mulch.

Alpha growled low in his throat. “Lucky may have served our Pack for a time, but that does not excuse his treachery. What do you have to say for yourself, City Dog?”

Lucky licked his leg where a fox had mauled it, playing for time. His quick thinking rarely let him down, but this time he couldn’t find anything to say in his own defense.

It was so much easier when I was a Lone Dog. A Lone Dog answers to nobody. But what if I’m not meant to be a Lone Dog at all?