“They’re going to handle it because they have one another. And because they have you.”

When I looked into his eyes, I could almost believe it, because he believed it, but when I blinked and he refocused on my arm, that confidence drained from me, leaving me cold. I couldn’t escape the truth. “I’m not what they need. They need a real Alpha.”

He screwed the lid on the bottle of peroxide and set it on the floor, then faced me on the bed, as grave as I’d ever seen him. “You are the Alpha now, Faythe. And that’s very real.”

I shook my head slowly and said to him what I couldn’t have said to anyone else in the world. “I’m not ready.”

“If you weren’t ready, he wouldn’t have named you.”

I sighed and blinked back more tears. Would they never stop? “He was wrong. He didn’t have any other choice.” This rarely happened—an Alpha dying without a qualified son-in-law to leave in charge of his Pride.

Marc took my hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb, and I tried not to read too much into that. He was upset about my dad, too, but that didn’t mean he’d forgiven me. “He had choices.”

“He should have named you.” Marc had more experience, as well as the respect and loyalty of the entire Pride.

“The council would never stand for that. Naming me would have caused more problems than it would solve, and more problems are the last thing this Pride needs.”

“Yeah, like the council’s going to be thrilled with me.” No woman had ever been more hated in U.S. Pride history. But I couldn’t argue with his point. It wasn’t fair that my father was limited—even in the afterlife—by stupid, pointless bigotry. “So why didn’t he name Michael? He’s the oldest. And the smartest.”

Marc actually laughed. “Michael is great at gathering information and he throws a mean punch, but he’s not a leader, Faythe. And he likes the law too much to leave his practice. His heart wouldn’t be in it, and an Alpha without heart is… Well, an Alpha without heart is Calvin Malone. A soulless megalomaniac who abuses his power to keep everyone else from having any.”

So true, but… I stared at my lap, horrified to see that my hands were actually shaking. “What if I don’t have it, either? What if my heart’s not in it?” What if my heart died with Ethan and my dad? And with the part of my mother we would never get back? What if they were the heart of the Pride, and I was just the impulsive, stubborn bits of cardiac pulp left over in their absence?

That soft chuckle was back. “Oh, don’t even start.” Marc rolled his eyes, but when his gaze met mine again, his shined with sincerity. “You’re all heart, and we both know it. You care about the people in this Pride more than you’ve ever cared about anything else in your life, and even when you mess up, you do it trying to defend one of them. One of us.”

When I tried to look away, he turned my face so that I had to look at him, or make an issue of my refusal. “You’re in this for the long haul, and you have been since the first time the council tried to force you into a marriage and kids before you were ready. Since you figured out they’d do the same thing to Kaci and Manx, and that neither of them would be able to fight for themselves. You belong here, Faythe. You have purpose, and you have vision, and you have exactly what it’s going to take to see both of those through to the end. You know things have to change, and you know exactly what those changes should be. And the only way any of that’s going to happen is with you leading the call to action.”

He reached out to run his thumb over my bottom lip. “Besides, this mouth was made for shouting the truth and demanding justice. Among other things…”

I wanted to return his smile. Hell, I wanted to pull his thumb into my mouth, just to have a taste of him. But our problems now transcended our personal relationship, and I couldn’t afford to lose focus.

Marc was right. He was right about all of it. But that didn’t change the bottom line: the south-central Pride deserved the best, and I wasn’t there. Not yet. “Marc, I can’t do this on my own. I’m not ready.” And it hurt to admit that, a pang of angst that echoed the trail grief had already clawed through my center. But painful or not, it was the truth—my calling, according to him.

“I know.” Marc’s smile was smaller now, and bittersweet, like he’d swallowed a memory that didn’t taste good. “That’s why he asked me to help you. He made me promise to, even if…” He closed his eyes, took a breath, and the soft smile was gone. “Even if you and I don’t wind up…together.”

My heart thumped so hard I was sure he could hear it, and this time I didn’t even know which one of us I was hurting for. “And you did it? You said you would?”

“Yeah.” He blinked again, and his jaw clenched. “I swore to a dying man. And I meant it. I’ll be there for you, Faythe. No matter what happens. You can do this. He believed in you, and so do I. And if you give them half a chance, so will everyone else.”

I threw my arms around his neck and held on like he might dissolve in my grip. After a moment, Marc returned my embrace, lightly at first, and though his hesitance stung, I understood it. I deserved it.

But then he hugged me for real, his chin resting on my shoulder, his stubble rough against my exposed skin. “Thank you.” It came out half whisper, half sob. “I can’t do this without you.”