Page 114 of The Wolf in My Tavern

But I am not alone.

Nor am I an individual.

I am a pack, and the pack is me. So what if we are scattered? There is no path before me but to rise. Perhaps Saul thought his words would cow me. They do not. No, they give me hope that not all my former pack is as weak and vain as he.

I shift to human and, turning to Callum, put my hand on his shoulder, relieved when he accepts that simple touch. He is not yet a part of the pack bond, but I see all he feels on his cold, empty face. We each blame ourselves for our part in this, wallowing in our inadequacy.

“I do not claim to know Rufus well, but I know enough of him and his ways. He has built his empire on crumbling ground, using brutality and threats to keep his subjects in line, and that will be his downfall.” I turn to each man: Callum, Drake, and Arlo. “He took our mates to weaken us, to control us, and make us reckless. His actions will only strengthen our resolve. We must be one entity with one purpose and one goal. And that is why we shall prevail. My heart can endure no other way.”

Chapter Forty-One

Callum

The four of us are not enough to get our mates back. Even supposing we had the time to gather the scattered members of Gray’s pack, we would not have the numbers. There is no choice now but to try and reach the Halket clan before Rufus or his pack members can.

So we travel by horse because I cannot yet command my shift.

I was too slow.

My beast whines inside before lifting his head and howling. He shares all my sentiments and then some. We had one job to do, getting Ada to safety, and we failed.

“Are you listening to me, whelp?”

Gray is in my fucking face again.

We are standing in the forest where he wastes valuable time trying to teach me how to shift for the second time today.

“I am fucking trying,” I growl back.

“It was not your fault,” Gray says with disarming quietness. “This failing is on me.”

“Not my fault?” My heart is pounding out of my damn chest. “Do not give me your fucking leader bullshit motivational talk,” I snarl. “I tolerate you on a good day and hate your guts on the bad one.” This is a lie. I am too far gone to care. “But you told me to get her to safety. I took too long to shift. What is the point of having a giant beast if I cannot call him?!”

“Damn whelp,” he snarls back. “I all but gave Ada and Lizbeth over to our enemy. Do not presume you are the only one with failings today.”

“I trusted Saul and Don, too,” Arlo pitches in from where he sits on a fallen tree at the side of the clearing where we stand. “Bastards.”

“Arlo,” Drake says, voice low and warning.

I only have eyes for Gray. “You are right. This is your fault. We would not be in this mess if you had never snatched Ada from Bleakness!”

“I will bloody your damn hide,” Gray snarls back.

“Technically, he cannot shift, so it would be hard to bloody his hide,” Drake says.

Arlo huffs out a humorless chuckle.

I would roll my eyes if I were not so pissed.

The world begins to distort. I cannot get enough breath. Distantly, I realize Gray is taking a cautious step back, but I am too busy contorting in agony to care.

The pain becomes all-consuming. It feels like every bone in my body snaps, and then scents and sounds assault me, and I shake out my coat.

Coat?

I look around the forest to see three other wolves. Gray is, well, gray. Arlo is a darker gray, and Drake is black, gray, and tan.

“Finally,” Drake says. “You should piss him off more often.”

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