Surely his scars were worse than mine.

Dean stepped into the light, and for the first time since we’d met, his face made me smile. His scar was thick and knotty, and unlike mine, he could trace it from the inside with his tongue. His nose had healed straight, but was still kind of swollen, even after a full week and ample time to speed his recovery by Shifting. But the faded yellow bruises around his eyes and the darker one on his cheek only made Dean look scarier and more pissed off than I’d ever seen him.

Maybe my father was right. Maybe we should have killed him.

For a moment, I regretted my decision to come by myself. I’d assumed Malone and his men were staying in the cabin on the other side of the main lodge, where they’d stayed last time, in which case I wouldn’t have run into any of them alone.

Either I was wrong, or Dean had come looking for me.

He stalked toward me, and my options raced through my head. I could run, but then he’d chase me, either for fun, or because he truly couldn’t control his cat’s instinct to pounce on anything resembling prey. Or because he didn’t want to control it.

I could stand up to him and fight. But that would be stupid with the vote coming up. I couldn’t risk doing anything that would make my father look bad.

I could yell for Marc and Jace, but that would label me even more a coward than running would.

Or I could keep walking and hope Dean had orders not to touch me—surely Malone wouldn’t want to get his hands dirty, either, this close to the election.

I walked on, and Dean altered his course to intercept me. “How many stitches did it take to hold your guts in?” I asked, clenching my fists in my coat pockets as he fell into step beside me, like we were old friends.

“Nowhere near what it’ll take to sew you back together when I’m done with you.”

“That sounds like a threat.” My voice came out cool and confident, and I hoped my racing heartbeat didn’t ruin the impression. Yes, I was a damn good fighter, but Dean outweighed me by more than a hundred pounds and had been training at least as long as I had. Probably much longer. And his grudge against me had moved far beyond the desire to see me dead—he wanted me broken and humiliated first. If he wasn’t under orders to play nice, we were both going to walk away from this one with new scars. Assuming we walked away at all.

“Caught that, did you?” His shadow stretched past mine on the brown grass crunching beneath our feet. “Sooner or later, you’re gonna find yourself alone with me, and I’m gonna find out what it takes to make you scream like the bitch you are.”

I shrugged without pulling my fists from my pockets, relieved to see that we were now within sight of the main lodge. “We’re alone now. What’s stopping you?” Aside from the dozen or so enforcers in the lodge ahead, well within hearing range, should one of us shout.

“Formalities…” Dean growled, stepping in front of me to block my path. “But after the vote, the council’s gonna put you in your place, and I’m one of the toms who’s gonna keep you there.”

I raised both brows in silent challenge, confident now that if he was going to throw a punch, he’d already have done it. “You have no authority over me, and the council can’t change that.” Even if Malone became council chair, he couldn’t reassign me to his own Pride, nor could he make my father hire Dean as one of our enforcers. No council chair had ever even tried anything like that. There was no precedent to support it.

“In case you haven’t noticed, things are changing around here, and Cal knows exactly how to purge the impurities your Pride breeds so the rest of us can live clean.”

Impurities? Motherfucker was talking about Marc! I pulled my fists from my pockets, but before I could act on my rash impulse, Dean was talking again.

“Cal has plans, including consequences for little girls who step beyond their boundaries. And I just might be one of those consequences.”

I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help it.

Dean’s eyes flashed in anger and suddenly I realized his fury was completely impotent. He was goading me because Malone had him on a tight leash, at least for the moment.

My fists relaxed. I propped my hands on my hips and looked up at him. “Can I see it?”

He blinked, still scowling. “See what?”

“Your scar.” His expression darkened like a sudden eclipse, and I let my gaze grow cold. “You want to hear me scream? Give it your best shot. But until then, every time you take off your shirt, you may as well be handing out my business card. I shoved my blade deep inside you and loved every single inch of it. When I can’t sleep at night, the memory of you screaming like a little bitch is my lullaby. And everybody knows exactly what that scar means—that you got your ass handed to you by a little girl. Again.”

“You fucking bitch…” Dean picked me up by both arms, and my toes barely brushed the ground. It took every ounce of self-control I had to let myself hang there, instead of kicking.

“Do it,” I said, staring straight into his eyes. Daring him. “Hit me. Throw me. Pick a fight, hours before the vote. I’m sure Malone will understand.”

Dean growled. His hands tightened around my arms, and my fingers twitched when he squeezed a nerve.

“You fucking moron, put her down!”

I couldn’t see the speaker—couldn’t make myself look away from Dean while he held me like a rag doll—but I’d know Alex Malone’s voice anywhere.