“I’m reckless? Please. You should talk. You fight anyone and everyone. And for your information, I set that fight up on purpose. I wasn’t planning on losing. I would’ve gotten around Mitch somehow.” The statement wasn’t one hundred percent accurate, but I’d had a shot and didn’t regret my choice to fight. “And if I’d been successful, everyone would’ve backed down for a while.”
“Fighting for status is completely different,” Tyler argued. “It’s necessary in Pack. If you’re alpha-born, you have to move up quickly or your wolf gets restless. It’s not natural to take orders from a wolf beneath you. The only way to reach the top is to fight.”
He had a point, but I wasn’t letting him off the hook so easily. “You know as well as I do that I can’t just run and tattle to you every time someone threatens me. If I did that without fighting myself, I’d have seventeen challenges an hour—”
“Unsanctioned challenges—”
I cut him off. “Standing up for myself is all I have. So that’s what I do. Until this year, it’s worked. Once things changed, I was forced to resort to something else. It actually makes perfect sense, if you think about it. Proving to the wolves I had some moxie was a necessary step to ward off further violence.”
“Going into the ring in the middle of the night without telling anyone doesn’t make any sense on any harebrained level. You’re completely delusional. You crossed a major boundary and brought the whole Pack with you. If Danny hadn’t found out and told me, you’d be dead right now. Mitch would’ve torn you to pieces.”
“I’m not as dumb as you think I am.” I pushed my point. “Mitch isn’t that skilled, and bringing the fight into the ring gave me an advantage. You have to believe I would’ve wo—”
“Did someone say my name?” Danny Walker strode into the kitchen, looking his usual rakish self. His chestnut hair tangled in his eyes and a devilish grin played on his lips. Danny was a fairly recent transplant from England, having joined the U.S. Northern Territories, my father’s Pack, a mere five years ago. Changing Packs didn’t happen often—only when someone wanted to relocate, or if their other Pack wasn’t a great fit. He and my brother had been attached at the hip ever since he’d arrived. He winked at me as he sat. “My ears were just burning. So what’s the gossip, then? I’ve just been informed Mitch is barely recovering from quite a thrashing last night. Can’t say the bloke didn’t deserve it, but the rumor is he’s holding on by only this much.” He put his fingers a fraction apart. “Wouldn’t want to be in his shoes right now, poor bugger.”
I was glad to hear he wasn’t dead. If he was still alive, it meant he’d likely get to keep his life. And even though Mitch was a total douche, since the fight had been my challenge, his death would’ve been on me.
“The bastard shouldn’t be allowed to live.” Tyler shoveled another huge bite of food into his mouth. “Fighting…females…is beneath…us.”
“Hello.” I thwacked my spoon on his arm. “I’m sitting right here. I don’t see any females beneath you right now.” I mocked scanning the floor under his chair. “You just wish there were.” My brother was six-foot-five, with blond hair and a ridiculous set of dimples. Getting the ladies beneath him was not a problem. “And females can fight just fine. At least this one can. Especially when most of the young wolves have zero tactics, other than using their brute strength. It’s sad really.”
Danny grinned beside me. “Well, maybe you’d be willing to teach me some of your smart tactics a bit later. I’d be a grateful student, and I could sorely use some good one-on-one. That sounds quite nice, actually.”
I chose to ignore his innuendo, as usual. “Danny, I’ve seen you fight and you don’t need any lessons from me. You’d kill me immediately, and where’s the sport in that?” I had no idea how old Danny was, but he was a skilled fighter and an extremely dangerous wolf. He and Tyler sparred regularly. They were both powerhouses, wolves I knew better than to go up against. “Seriously, that English accent of yours lets you get away with saying the stupidest crap.” I laughed. “And it all sounds like a compliment.”
“I aim to please.” He reached for a plate of blueberry pancakes, along with an industrial-size bottle of syrup.
“We don’t need tactics. All we really need are these.” My brother flexed his arms. His giant biceps bounced once, then solidified into stones like they weren’t playing around anymore. “Why on Earth would we mess with perfection?” He gave me a dimpled smile.
“Ha.” I chuckled. “The last time you came anywhere near perfection was when you were ten and stood up for Nick. You made his life a little more bearable around here, and that had nothing to do with using your big, powerful guns.”