Martha, Bruno, and Daisy turned instinctively to Lucky, used to following his advice. Lucky licked his chops. What choice did they have? Without Alpha’s permission, they would not have access to food or clean water, which was in the Wild Pack’s territory.

Before he could say anything, Alpha spoke again. “Foolish Leashed Dogs, looking to him. Don’t you know that he’s the lowest-ranking member of your new Pack? The Omega.”

Alpha glared at the Leashed Dogs, challenging them to respond, but none of them dared. Lucky saw Whine smirk, his ugly face a crisscross of wrinkles. Lucky lowered his head, biting back a snarl. He remembered all too well the humiliations that Whine had faced as the lowliest Pack member.

But Alpha wasn’t finished yet. “And the new Omega will be given a permanent reminder of his treachery: a scar on his flank so that none can forget what he has done.”

Lucky yelped. He thought of Mulch, who’d been blamed for eating out of turn . . . framed by Lucky and Whine, to get him demoted to Omega. Alpha had sprung at Mulch, scraping and gouging. Sweet had backed him up, adding savage bites to Mulch’s wounds.

“Oh, Alpha,” whined Martha, the huge Leashed Dog with webbed paws. “Be merciful!”

By her side, little Daisy yipped: “Please. Lucky will do everything you say; we promise. You don’t have to do this.”

Lucky whined softly with gratitude as Twitch and Spring joined the chorus of protests. “We agree,” barked Twitch. “Becoming Omega is enough punishment.”

Fiery cocked his head questioningly and even Sweet seemed unsure, though she stayed silent.

Alpha howled to be heard, his wolfish cry cutting through the whines and yaps. “The Pack will need stricter rules if it’s to survive with all these extra dogs! That will be the price of Lucky’s treachery and deceit.”

Lucky couldn’t imagine any stricter rules—Alpha’s Pack was already so organized, the hunting and eating rights clearly regimented. A dog’s rank even dictated where he slept!

Lucky had risked his life to battle the foxes, and yet the Wild Pack’s leader was determined to hurt and humiliate him. His leg throbbed and his head felt thick and heavy, a grim reminder of that furious tussle.

The dogs were growling, barking, arguing with one another—divided over Lucky’s fate.

“Wait!” snapped Mickey, the Farm Dog. He stood over his longpaw’s glove, his ears flat but his head held high. “We’re wasting time fighting with one another. We should be devoting our energies to surviving in this strange world, not arguing about who is higher in the Pack.” Mickey tapped the glove absently with his paw. “Bella and Daisy are good hunters. The Pack would benefit from their skills. Why wait to use them?”