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‘Still hear you,’ he said.
‘Shut up,’ I replied. ‘It’s been a while.’
‘Too long.’
“All right, listen up you furry-assed fuckers.” Cole was last to shift, which made sense, considering he made the rules. We stood in pairs: me with Sam, Cade with Isla, and Maverick with Axel. Danica stuck close to her brother in wolf form, complete with cornstalk blonde fur—how had I not known she was blonde?
‘It’s the blue,’ Sam told me. ‘It throws you off.’
‘Fuck,’ I muttered. Behind us, Lucas and Finn broke out laughing—definitely at my dumbass. In wolf form, my brothers and I could communicate with one another. It was a Byrne thing. None of the other wolves could hear us. While they were still in their human form, my brothers could hear us talk. ‘Sorry, I’ll get used to this shit again.’
‘Don’t on our account. We’ll start using it against you at some point.’
‘Asshole.’
“Now, I got three of my guys out in the desert with your fuckin’ flags. They got water, they got beer, hopefully, they got fuckin’ snacks if Ted ain’t ate it all already.” Cole shook his head. “And they got all fuckin’ night for you fuckin’ losers to pretend like you can beat us.”
‘Cocky little fucker, isn’t he?’ Sam chuffed.
“Don’t be sassy, Byrne,” he chided. Waltzing past each of us, he dropped three strips of fabric at our paws. “Get a good whiff of that, boys.”
Isla growled, baring her fangs to show her offense.
“And ladies,” Cole corrected. “And ladies. I ain’t used to havin’ anyone but one of my sisters out here.”
“And we ain’t ladies?” Alice demanded. The collective sentiment of Cole having stepped in his shit was amusing. “Dare you to come over here and tell that to my pretty fuckin’ face, Cole. I’ll show you just how ladylike I can be.”
“I’ll kick your ass, hot shot,” he snapped. “God fuckin’ dammit. I’m goin’ to disqualify all you fuckers if we don’t get fuckin’ started. Each of my guys has a fuckin’ flag for you furry shits. Get all three and get your tails back here. Same shit, different year. My rescue team is on standby for when one of you fuckers gets lost. Lookin’ at you, Byrnes.”
I turned to see Lucas shrug. Clearly, there was a story in there.
‘Two years ago, Lucas did this run with me,’ Sam explained. ‘Only his dumbass slipped down a fucking canyon crack. He was dead set he could get out on his own.’
‘Only to end up lost?’ I guessed.
‘The Fall Games turned into a two-day search for him,’ he said.
Jesus fuck, Lucas.
“Let the Fall Games begin!” Cole shouted seconds before he shifted. He was off like lightning. Why wouldn’t he? We were in his terrain.
My nose hit the ground, and so did Sam’s. One sniff… two… and then three for good measure. God, these fuckers needed a good fucking shower and deodorant.
At least they’d be easy to find.
Sam and I took off at breakneck speed.
Three flags.
Two of us.
One desert.
We had this.
We won by the fucking fur on Sam’s neck. Snout to be more accurate. It’d been so fucking close the whole way, and he managed to pull ahead—much to Cole’s dismay. For the first time, the fucking Byrnes lead the Fall Games right out of the gate.
“To the Byrnes!” Lucas shouted over the bar noise as he raised his glass. We sat with the Stones and the Ironwoods in the bar attached to the clubhouse. It was busy, most were fucking drunk, and the energy was goddamn addictive—even with Cole’s sour mood.
