presence roughened his voice. "Get out."
Yvette's eyes widened. Then she turned and fled like a startled deer.
Steve's jaguar wanted to chase after easy prey. With an effort, he forced it back down.
Dr. Canis cleared his throat. "With Mrs. Vicario-Lopez's permission, I'd like to perform a quick medical exam and then administer a cognitive test. Depending on what I observe, I may recommend a follow-up brain imaging study."
That sounded expensive. Steve swallowed hard and said, "Okay. Abuelita, is that all right with you?"
"Of course," she said. Her eyes narrowed. "Didn't I already say it was okay?"
"Yeah, you did," Steve assured her. "I just wanted to make sure."
"If you wouldn't mind giving your grandmother some privacy," Dr. Canis said, "I'll come find you when I've completed my assessment."
Steve had never been kicked out of any place so diplomatically.
He kissed his abuelita's cheek, then went to hang out in her large, tastefully furnished living room. One wall was all windows, with a set of French doors opening out onto a beautiful garden with a large swimming pool.
Steve had spent many long summer afternoons splashing around out there with his sister, trying to avoid his brother's attempts to drown him.
In less time than he thought it would take, he heard a car door slam outside, followed by Yvette's outraged voice as she recounted how Steve and Dr. Canis had entered the house and then refused to leave.
On cue, Aarón stormed in. Either he'd broken land speed records on the way from company headquarters, or he'd already been somewhere near the neighborhood.
He looked just like his photos in all those tabloids—expensive haircut, tailored suit, and just the right amount of Hollywood stubble to attract women.
"What the hell are you doing here, Stevie?" he demanded.
"Trying to keep you from locking up Abuelita in some nursing home while you take control of everything!" Steve snarled.
"I'm only doing what's best for her!" Aarón sounded exasperated.
"By drugging her to make everyone think she's suffering from dementia?"
Aarón stared at him. "What the hell are you talking about?" His confusion sounded genuine. "You're crazy."
"And you're a fucking liar," Steve retorted. "When Dr. Canis finishes his assessment, I'm pretty sure he'll find that there's nothing wrong with Abuelita's mind when she isn't taking those pills."
"She needs those drugs! Cousin Guadalupe said so, and she's a doctor," Aarón said. "What the hell are you playing at?"
"Abuelita asked me to help her, and that's exactly what I'm doing. I've hired a doctor of my own, a neurologist, and on Wednesday, he's going to testify at the hearing that there's nothing wrong with her." Steve glared at his brother. "I'm not going to let you and Tina just lock her away and take over the company."
"Is that what you think I'm doing?" Aarón looked genuinely taken aback.
"Yeah." Steve felt a deep, savage satisfaction at seeing the terror of his childhood so off-balance.
It didn't last long. "It's not like you have a lot of credibility. I'll make sure to mention to the judge that you were willing to fake an engagement with the woman that I hoped to marry, just to score a few petty points," Aarón said, in a low, vicious tone. "Judges love seeing a pattern of bad faith."
Rage swept over Steve like a tsunami of red-hot lava. Then his jaguar rose inside him and took control of his voice.
"You're not worthy of leading this clan," it snarled. "I challenge you."
What the hell? Steve demanded of his cat. What are you doing?
"What?" Aarón asked, looking as startled as Steve felt.
Steve fought to regain control from his cat…and failed.
"I challenge you to a duel," it repeated.
"What the hell? Have you gone completely insane, Stevie?" Aarón's gaze flicked contemptuously down at Steve's knee-crutch. "Even if I was willing to participate in that ridiculous old custom…you can't fight like that."
"Try me," Steve's jaguar said in a deep growl.
"I'm not going to fight you." Aarón crossed his arms.
"Yes, you are." Steve pulled his shirt off.
A distant voice in his head reminded him that shifting was going to hurt like hell and possibly worsen his torn Achilles tendon.
But caught in the grip of his jaguar's primal rage, he didn't care.
Aarón just stood there, watching with cool disdain as Steve unbuckled his knee-crutch.
It wasn't until Steve was tugging his sweatpants down over his cast that his brother finally seemed to take him seriously.
He loosened his tie and began opening his dress shirt, his fingers flying down the long row of buttons. "I don't want to fight you, Stevie. Not like