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“Clary called his pack in new Mexico,” I remember. “Did they arrive?”

Colton shakes his head as he sits on the edge of the armchair. “Not yet, but they’re on their way. I mean other help. Your dad was calling every Alpha he knew, especially the ones who had their omegas kidnapped by the Raleighs.”

I sit up in my seat, excited. “And?”

“Half the Alphas refused to commit, and the others thought it was a trap and that Douglas was behind it all,” Colton says.

“That’s ridiculous. Why would they think my dad was behind it?” I frown.

Penny shrugs. “You left, and they figured that since the Boones no longer had an omega, he might have wanted to replace you.”

I stare at her. “They can’t honestly think that, can they?”

“They did,” my dad says from the doorway.

For the first time that I can remember, he looks exhausted.

“So what happens now?” I ask. “Mack is back there, and he’s going to need help getting out of there. And so will the omegas.”

“My pack is on their way,” Clary says, stepping into the room and giving me a small smile. “I don’t know if it’s going to be enough, but its ten more people than we had before. They should be here by tonight.”

“And then?” I prompt.

No one responds.

I start to get worried. We’re up against a lot of Raleighs. A whole house full of them, and Mack is in that house alone.

“We can’t leave Mack there. And we have to rescue the stolen omegas,” I say, my voice rising.

“No one is going to leave them there, Aerin,” my dad says. “Mack doesn’t strike me as a stupid man.”

I blink at him. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

He gives me a look that could almost be amused. “I’m sure he will be busy creating an opportunity for us to exploit. We just have to be ready for it.”

“But that likely won’t be until later.” Ivy steps into the room.

“And by then, my pack will be here to help,” Clary says.

I nod, hoping that it’s going to be enough, but worried that it won’t be.

We’ve spent hours pretty much counting down time.

No Alphas have arrived to help rescue the omegas, but we have received news that Clary’s pack is in Michigan and on their way to the house.

At nearly 9, after a hastily thrown together meal, I go looking for my dad in the backyard to find out why he’s here in Michigan when he has a pack to run in Minnesota.

I find him sitting on a bench next to the back door, staring into the deep purplish-blue late evening sky.

“You don’t do a lot of resting for a heavily pregnant woman,” he says mildly.

“Is that another way of telling me to sit down?”

He points at the bench without looking at me.

I take the seat he offers without complaint. He’s made his point less politely than that before, so I decide not to argue. “I thought you were getting more mellow in your old age.”

“Perhaps,” he says evasively.

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