"Sit down, Tovar."
"I don't want to sit down."
"Then talk."
"It's not just supplies anymore." He's pacing, can't hold still. "She taught Liara how to cook the grain. Told Bren his wrap was wrong in front of everyone. Built a shelf. And now she's got Dara—Dara—" He turns on me. "She's showing thepackshealer new techniques. And Dara's listening."
"Is the technique better?"
"That's not—"
"Tovar. Is it better?"
"I don't care if it's better!" His voice cracks. "She's human. She has no standing. No rank. She walks into our territory and starts teaching your pack how to do things and you just let her because—"
I stand, unfolding myself slowly, towering over him.
"Becausewhat?"
He stops pacing. The words are right there. I can smell the intention.
"Choose carefully."
His nostrils flare. Hands fisting, releasing, fisting again.
"Vara would hate this."
His face cracks. One second. Then sealed shut.
"Vara's dead." Harder than I mean. "The pack is alive. Every decision I make is for the living."
"Is that what she is? A decision?"
"Every call I make is a decision."
"Then that's the problem. You're making the wrong ones."
The bond presses. Raw heat. I step into him. Close enough his head tips back.
"If you have a problem with how I'm leading this pack, challenge me. Right now. Throat or belly, your call."
He goes still.
"If not, you walk out of here and you keep your grief off my healer."
His breathing is harsh. Ragged. He doesn't move.
"If she gets us killed," he says. "That's on you."
"Everything'son me."
He leaves.
The wolf's still pushing. Shift hours away, not close enough. I need walls.
Through the common ground. Fast. Someone calls my name, keep walking.
My dwelling. Door shut.
