“Clan Bouda bet on wealth to expand its influence and got all the problems that come with loaning people money,” Karter continued. “And no, not all of their reputation is deserved, but it’s the perception that matters. No matter how hard Ascanio tries, he can’t separate himself from the clan’s reputation. Jim has integrity and commands respect, but he won’t be endorsing Ascanio. The kid needs someone to vouch for him if he’s going to succeed in his bid for the Beast Lord’s chair.”
Curran glanced at him. “What is it you’re asking?”
“I’d like to know if Ascanio Ferara has asked for your blessing.”
“No. And if he had, I wouldn’t give it to him.”
Endorsing Ascanio’s claim to the throne would be signing the kid’s death warrant. Karter was right. Ascanio simply didn’t have the kind of Pack-wide loyalty needed to hold that spot. It was that loyalty, that mixture of trust, respect, and a bit of healthy caution that kept the shapeshifters from challenging their alphas.
If he somehow took the Beast Lord title, they would challenge him again and again, until someone killed him, and the Pack would be thrown into chaos. I ran that gauntlet when Curran had fallen into a coma. I had endured it, but only because stepping down meant being separated from the man I loved while he lay unconscious in his bed, and nobody had known if he would wake up. Ascanio was a smart kid. He understood all this.
“Why is he so desperate?” I asked.
Karter decided it was a great time to drink his beer.
Here was our chance to figure out what the hell was going on with the Pack. We needed to get Karter talking.
“I know the Medranos,” I said. “I know how Andrea and Raphael run their clan. They wouldn’t put Ascanio in harm’s way, and he wouldn’t disobey them. He worships the ground Raphael walks on. Last I checked, Jim was in good health and his position was secure. Why this urgent need to replace the Beast Lord?”
“Because the Pack is heading toward a cliff,” Karter said. “We can all see the sheer drop ahead. The Medranos are just trying to turn the horses.”
“And what’s this cliff?” I asked.
“I’m debating whether I should tell you. After all, your husband created this problem when he put that bleeding heart in charge.”
Bleeding heart? I laughed.
Karter eyed me.
“Some years back,” I said, “I came across a crime scene where a shapeshifter had been assaulted. Back then Jim was running security for the Pack. His crew found me in the middle of an empty plaza trying to make sense of the blood smears. Jim knew me. We’d been partnering up for gigs in the Mercenary Guild for four years at that point. He knew I worked for the Order and had a reason to be where I was. I fought for the Pack and with the Pack. I had Friend of the Pack status. I greeted his crew with my hands up in the air and he let them maul me, and when I called him on it later, he said, ‘Here you have trust when you grow fur.’”
Curran turned to me, and his eyes were pure gold. Karter leaned back slightly. Keelan set his beer down very carefully and sat still.
“You never told me this,” my husband said. “When did this happen?”
Crap. “It’s water under the bridge.”
“When?”
“During Derek’s thing. My point is, Jim Shrapshire the Bleeding Heart doesn’t check out.”
Curran turned to Karter, his eyes still on fire. “Tell me. All of it.”
“On paper, the Pack has seven thousand members,” Karter said.
“How many are there really?” Curran asked.
“We don’t know. Jim refuses to open the official rolls. I’d estimate upward of eleven thousand.”
Curran’s face was harsh. “How? There are admission protocols in place. They require an eighty percent majority vote of Pack Council to repeal.”
“Oh, they’re still in place,” Karter said. “The background checks, the waiting lists, and the provisional period. Everything is still there. He’s getting around it with the Imminent Danger exception.”
I remembered that law. Curran was always very careful about whom the Pack admitted into their ranks. The Pack’s organization was unique, with each clan segregated by animal form. A clan was led by two alphas, who were assisted by two betas and a number of people in administrative positions like treasurers, heads of security, and so on. The seven pairs of alphas made up the Pack Council, which met once a week, and was presided over by the Beast Lord and their Consort.
The Pack guaranteed personal freedoms and rights and protected its members from abuses of power. A higher-ranked shapeshifter couldn’t challenge a lower-ranked one. When criminal conduct like theft or assault occurred, there was due process, and limits and nature of punishment were clearly spelled out by the Pack’s laws. The Pack was born as a defense to chaos and constant slaughter among the emerging shapeshifter groups. It was designed to keep its members safe and enable them to live their lives without fear.
In return, the Pack demanded strict discipline. You had to be where your alpha told you to be when they told you to be there. Sometimes you had to go into battle when the Pack overall was threatened. Breaking the law wasn’t tolerated.
All of this took a lot of getting used to, especially for shapeshifters who were fleeing smaller packs where abuse could be rampant. Fitting them into the Pack’s hierarchy took time and patience, which was why all the safeguards Karter mentioned had been put in place. But sometimes the situation was too urgent, which is where the Imminent Danger exception kicked in. A shapeshifter could appeal directly to the Beast Lord or the Consort, and if they proved they were in immediate danger, the alpha couple themselves had the power to admit them into the Pack, sidestepping all the other regulations.
In the entire time I served as the Consort, we used this exception only twice—once for a woman who was pursued by an aggressive alpha, and the other time for a family of four who had been wrongfully accused of murder.
“You know what Jim’s problem is?” Karter asked.
Give me paper and a pen, and I’ll make you a list.
“He knows he’s done some fucked-up shit for the Pack’s sake. I had a front-row seat to a lot of it. It haunts him,” Karter said. “That story you told, Kate, that’s on point. Things are very clear-cut for him: Pack shapeshifters are good, everyone else is bad, and as long as he’s on the right side of that line, he’s golden. But all that baggage is still eating at him. Jim’s goal in life is to be a savior. He wants to be the guy who finds you when things are at their worst, taps you on the shoulder, and says, ‘Come with me. I will make everything alright.’”
Curran’s face still had that Beast Lord expression, and his eyes were still on fire.
“That’s a dangerous road to walk,” Keelan said.
“He isn’t walking,” Karter said. “He’s sprinting as hard as he can. As it stands now, doesn’t matter what you’ve done or how long your rap sheet is. If you tell Jim that you’re in danger and humans are after you, he will let you in. He admits everyone and he does it personally. You’re put in a holding cell, not knowing what will happen, you sit there for a while, worrying, and then the Beast Lord walks in and personally tells you that you are in.”
“Personally?” Curran asked. His voice was almost a growl.
“Every time,” Karter said. “He’s addicted to it: the smiles, the thank yous, the sudden jolt of happiness. It’s gotten worse since his child was born. He takes his son with him now, so he can see what a great guy his father is.”
This was bad.
“The newcomers see him that one time,” Karter said, “and then they never see him again, because the moment they’re admitted, they are assigned a clan and they become our problem. I had to kill a man last week who should’ve never been allowed in. He was a serial murderer. Not a loup. Just a psychopath who would do anything to get what he wanted and had a rap sheet to prove it.”