“No.” My uncle shook his head slowly. “If the first one loses against you—or against Marc—Malone won’t try that tactic again. He can’t afford for his man to look weak, either. Instead, he’ll take things up a level. Onto a broader scale.”

“War?” Marc asked, and Uncle Rick nodded.

“So, if that’s the bottom line, anyway, why don’t we just skip all the bullshit—” I figured cussing as an Alpha was different than cussing at an Alpha “—and deal out a full-scale slaughter from the get-go?”

Marc frowned. “Because we’ll get our asses handed to us. Again.”

“Not if we work the clock to our advantage.” I unzipped my toiletry bag and shoved in the shampoo and conditioner I’d only had a chance to use once. We’d landed in Montana less than thirty-six hours earlier, and since then, my entire world had crumbled. “We know when the fight’s coming, and this time there’s no reason we can’t call in the reserves.”

“What did you have in mind?” Di Carlo asked, and I looked up to find him standing in the doorway. Behind him, toms moved through the living room, packing bags and loading vehicles. Most of them would fly home, but my men and I would have to drive, with my father’s body wrapped and carefully positioned in the back of the rental van.

I sat on the end of the bed, facing both Di Carlo and my uncle, and pulled Marc down to sit beside me. “Malone said we’d have five days to bury Dad and come up with a new Alpha. Today’s Monday. He’s planning to swoop in with his puppet Alpha on Saturday, so we just have to ramp up our own schedule and make sure he’s too late.”

“A preemptive attack?” Di Carlo stepped into the room and leaned against the wall beside my uncle’s chair. “I see a lot of obvious risks, but we don’t have a lot of options.”

“Or a lot of time,” Uncle Rick added.

I nodded. “And that’s where the creative timeline comes in. We’ll spread the word that the funeral is on Friday, but we’ll actually hold a small, quiet service on Wednesday morning. Friday, we move in on Malone in his own territory. With any luck, we’ll catch him off guard, while he’s still getting his toy soldiers together.” I glanced from Di Carlo to my uncle, trying to read their expressions. “We take out Malone and his men, and without its head, the rest of the political beast should just flop around on the ground and die.”

“I like it.” Marc wrapped one arm around my waist.

Jace stepped into the room with two steaming mugs, grinning at me and pointedly ignoring Marc. “Especially the part with the flopping and dying.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the highlight.” I accepted the coffee he offered, then I turned to the other Alphas, and the gravity of what I was planning truly sank in. “We’re going to need every single tom we have. All of them.” I glanced from one to the other as I spoke. “I know this isn’t really your battle, so I understand if you want to bow out. But I need to know now… Are you with me on this?”

Uncle Rick frowned. “This is my battle, Faythe. Almost as much as it is yours. Your father was more than a friend to me, and more than an in-law. He was practically a brother, but even if he wasn’t, I would never let my sister’s Pride be taken over by an Alpha with no connection to the land or the people.” He cleared his throat, and his eyes looked suddenly shiny. “I was born into the south-central Pride, remember? And even though I’ve been Alpha of my wife’s Pride for more than two decades, the south-central territory still feels like home. It always will—unless Malone handpicks some strange tom with questionable motives and obvious loyalties to the Appalachian Pride or its Alpha.”

He exhaled slowly and looked resolute in the dim glow of the overhead bulb. “I can’t let that happen.”

“Neither can I.” Di Carlo looked as grave as I’d ever seen him, and he seemed to have aged ten years in the past few hours.

“Thank you.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and blinked back grateful tears. “Thank you both so much.” Marc’s arm tightened around me and I wondered if it was okay for an Alpha to snuggle. “What about Aaron Taylor? Do you think there’s any chance he’ll fight with us?”

Di Carlo nodded. “Every chance in the world.”

“He may not think you’re ready to run the Pride on your own just yet…” My uncle began. “But there’s no way he’ll stand by and let Malone put someone else in charge of it. I’ll talk to him and call you to confirm that he’s in.”

“Thanks.” I closed my eyes, going over the preliminary plan for weak spots and faulty logic. “Am I missing anything? Any suggestions?”

“How are you going to make Malone believe the funeral’s set for Friday?” Di Carlo asked. “If you just tell him that, he’ll know you’re lying.”

My uncle nodded and leaned back in his chair. “I think your best bet would be to avoid all contact with the Appalachian Pride, because if you start feeding him false information directly he’s going to know it.”

“Yeah, I figure the only way to make him believe what we want is to make him work for the false information.” I stood and had paced halfway across the room before I realized what I was doing—or that my father had often done the same thing. “So we’ll actually invite everyone for a Friday funeral, including Paul Blackwell. He’s the one Malone will go to for information, since none of his own allies will be invited. Blackwell won’t go out of his way to help Malone, but he won’t outright lie to him, either, and Malone knows that. So when Blackwell tells him the funeral is scheduled for Friday, Malone will believe it.”