But if I couldn’t take him on two legs, there was no way in hell I could take him on four.

“Flesh,” I replied at last, and on my right, Marc exhaled slowly. “Do I get to change, or do I have to kick your skull in wearing three-inch heels?” Not that I’d actually fight in heels; I’d go barefoot if I had to.

“Go change. But don’t dawdle,” Kent said, snatching the spotlight back from his “champion.” “We don’t have time for you to worry about what you’ll be wearing when you die.”

So furious I had to grit my teeth to keep them from Shifting, I turned an abrupt about-face and marched back into the house, grabbing Parker’s arm on the way to haul him in with me. My mother, Marc, and Jace came on their own. Owen, Vic, and Brian stood watch on the porch.

“Faythe, you don’t have to do this,” my mother said, as soon as the front door closed behind us.

“Yes, I do, and we don’t have time to argue about it. Call Michael and give him an update. Tell them not to stop driving until they hit the free zone.”

“But…”

“Please, Mom.” I unbuttoned my blouse as I walked, and they all trailed me to my bedroom. “If you really think I can handle this job, this is the time to prove it.”

She stopped just inside my doorway, frowning. But she nodded and was already dialing on her way back into the hall.

“Faythe…” Marc began, but I cut him off with a one-minute finger.

“Parker…what the fuck?” I gave up on the buttons and ripped my shirt open, barely noticing when the shiny black disks rolled silently across my carpet.

Parker was misery given form. “I’m so sorry, Faythe. He called yesterday, all apologetic, talking about how Dad had really lost it. It just slipped out.”

“Yeah, and then it slipped from him to your dad, and from your dad to Malone. And now I have to fight some giant psychopath who’s only regret in this whole thing is that I’m going to die with my pants on.”

“You don’t have to…” Jace started, but I silenced him with one furious glance, then turned back to Parker.

“You were drinking, weren’t you? You were drunk when he called?”

Parker didn’t reply, but we could all see the answer in his face. “I’m so sorry.”

“You sure as hell are.” I unzipped my skirt and let it pool around my ankles, then stepped out of the material, wearing only my underwear and heels. “You’re either with us or against us, Parker, and so far, it’s not looking much like the former.”

“No. I’m with you. I can make this up to you.” Parker closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. “Please give me a chance.”

I hesitated. We needed him, now more than ever. And he needed us. “You know I love you, Parker. But I love the rest of the Pride, too, and I can’t let you break us. You mess up again, and you’re out.”

“Okay.” He sniffled again. “I’m sorry.”

I kicked my heels into the corner of the room. “Get yourself together and get back out there.”

Parker left and Marc closed the bedroom door, as I dug through my drawer for a shirt. Something warm, but that would let me move freely. “Faythe, please don’t do this,” he said, and I could tell from the quiet, carefully controlled quality of his voice that he was struggling to keep from ordering me not to do it.

“We’ve been over this…” I pulled a snug black turtleneck from the second drawer and held it up. No holes, no stains, no defects. And blood would barely show against black.

“Faythe, look at me.” Marc grabbed my arm and pulled me toward him. “You’re scaring me. You are scaring the living shit out of me, and it kind of looks like you don’t care.”

I exhaled slowly and made myself meet his gaze. “I care. I really do care, and I’m sorry. But I have bigger things to worry about right now than your fear. Or even my own. If I lose, we all lose this territory. Also, I might be dead.” I pulled out of his grasp and tugged the shirt over my head, then pulled my hair free from the thick, loose neck.

“Jace, help me out here,” Marc said, and I froze in the act of turning down the collar, surprised into silence to hear him actually ask Jace for help. With me. “I can’t deal with her when she won’t listen.”

“I’m listening.” I selected a pair of dark jeans from the bottom drawer. They were well-worn, but still intact, so they wouldn’t inhibit movement.

“But you’re not hearing him,” Jace insisted, as I stepped into the jeans. When I stood straight to button them, Jace wrapped a hand around each of my arms. “Faythe. We’re asking you not to do this. Dean will kill you.”

“Only if I don’t kill him. And we all know I have a better shot at this now, in a fair fight, than on an open battlefield. When there are no rules, he’ll bring a knife or a gun to the party. This is the only way I can take him. When you guys are there to make sure it’s a fair fight.”

Jace leaned his face down until his forehead met mine, and I could hear his heart beating too hard, his pulse rushing faster than it should. I could smell stress mixed with his personal scent, and that fueled my own anxiety. “But, Faythe, it doesn’t have to be you taking him on. Let one of us fight him.”

“No. It has to be me. And Marc knows why.” Jace looked up, and Marc frowned, but held my gaze. “What did you say to me last week, Marc? What will happen if…someone challenges you, and you don’t beat him?” That someone was Jace, and while he no doubt picked up on that fact, I wasn’t going to say it out loud.