This emptier version of myself was a stranger, but we could agree on some things.
Werewolves existed, and one well and truly fucked my life.
My mother wasn’t my mother. My father was her brother. My cousin was my sister. And Sascha Greyson, tribe enemy number one, wanted me for his baby mama.
Just another Sunday in the existence of Andie.
I jerked at a soft knock.
The office door opened, and Tiptoe Eleanor poked her head in. “Andie? Meeting with the Luthers in ten.”
I forced my cold lips to work. “Thanks.”
The death of a leader warranted a week off Grids for mourning. That grace period had officially drawn to a close.
Glancing around the manor office that Herc once occupied, I stood and twitched my grey sweater dress into place. The slight tremble of my hands only spurred my anger higher. Any weakness would be seen by our enemy.
I headed for the opposite end of the manor, and a shadowed form pushed off the wall.
“Hey,” I said, a slight warmth permeating my chest.
My sister smiled. Rhona was a loyal heart under barbwire. Not a cute feisty barbwire. Layers of the stuff. Her barbwire was now gone. Her defences had been stripped away. Her smile showed me how crappy she felt.
“Head Steward.” Rhona fell into step beside me. “You’re sure about this?”
My stomach churned. I wasn’t sure of anything, but Herc sort of prepared me for this moment without me realising. If I was a Luther, I’d be circling for the kill. They’d see a young leader who barely knew the game.
They’d see the perfect time to strike.
My job was to show everyone our tribe was as strong as ever.
That we were confident.
“Absolutely,” I said. “This is the best path to take.”
I nodded at a few stewards who gawked at us, then glanced at her. “Are you ready to face the pack?”
“You’re asking if I’ll lose my shit?”
Yes.
My sister was, to all external purposes, my twin aside from the year separating us. I grew up scraping for a dollar and she grew up… here. Life had taught me that losing my shit only worked if I had nothing to actually lose. That wasn’t the case here. The tribe needed us. “I’m asking if you’re ready to look at the Luther who murdered your father.”
She sucked in a breath.
“They want to see you crumble.” With Rhona, a challenge was the way to make her perform. Especially when it came to pride. How Herc could have injured that pride so badly blew my mind. Then again, I doubted he intended to take the truth to death.
Closing my eyes, I cleared my mind. I couldn’t afford any distractions against this wolf.
Rhona met my gaze after. “I won’t let you down. The only way to beat them is to stay together.”
She felt a different version of the same revenge wedged in my heart. I gripped her shoulder. “Together, we’ll drive them into the ground.”
Her lips curved. “Sounds like a good time.”
I entered, greeting the head team members. Some I knew the names of prior to ten days ago. Most I’d met over the blur of meetings since life took this… turn.
With the reading of Hercules Thana’s will, a wrecking ball crashed into my already scattered life. For the first time ever, I couldn’t just add the lie to Mum’s overflowing pile.
Because I didn’t belong to her—or anyone—and everyone who could tell me why this had happened was fucking dead—or killed by the Luther bastard.
Sascha Greyson would pay for what he did. The life he’d taken, and those lives he’d ruined. Oh, the irony that fate put me in the perfect position to do just that.
I’d win Grids and exile werewolves from Deception Valley.
Rhona took a seat on my right.
I’d once attended a meeting like this. I was thankful for the accidental experience Herc mistakenly—or purposefully—gave me.
Drawing from memory, I said, “The objective is to show the Luthers we’re a unified and strong front. We are operating as usual. We have taken the change of leadership in our stride.”
The head team hadn’t given me trouble—something I could thank ingrained tribe tradition for, as well as myself. Well before Herc’s murder, I threw myself into learning everything about Grids. That didn’t go unnoticed by anyone, and it had earned me an unofficial probation period when I inherited head stewardship.
“Would you like me to put the call through?” Roderick asked.
I thrummed my fingers on the table. “I think not.”
Herc always put the call through—was the bigger person. He’d waited for the Luthers to pick