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from. Love and hate were separated by the thinnest of lines. She drew on both emotions, and her desperate will to live and save the life of her unborn child.
    With each beat of her heart, typhoon strength power gathered in Falon’s belly. As it crested, reaching a terrifying crescendo, she opened her eyes. Fenrir’s narrowed menacingly. But behind the menace, fear flickered unsteadily. Not fear of her, but fear of losing her.
    One by one she peeled his fingers from around her neck. With each finger, blessed air filled her lungs. It was when she was finally free of him, her breath restored, that Falon understood: he would not kill her. His desire for her was too great. And that would keep her alive. For now.
    Slowly she rubbed her neck as she regarded him.
    “You belong to me now,” he said roughly.
    Unthinking, Falon smiled. How many times had her proud Lucien said those exact words? And how true had they proved to be? So true that there was nothing left of her for any other except Rafa to claim.
    Shoving Fenrir away from her, Falon stood. Her power simmered impatiently beneath the surface, her beast on the prowl, cautioning the Corbet blood to keep a low profile.
    “I belong to Vulkasin and Mondragon. Not only will they never release me, I would never accept you.”
    “Not even for the lives of your lovers?” the wolf threatened.
    A chill so deep it froze her blood momentarily paralyzed Falon before she could speak. “Not even for their lives,” she lied.
    “For your mother’s life?”
    “Leave her out of this.”
    Fenrir smiled, the gesture turning uglier. “Come here, lovely, come see what I can do.”
    Not wanting to witness his power but knowing she must understand its boundaries if she was going to defeat him, Falon stepped closer to where he stood.
    He cast a circle of stones on the dewy earth. Extending his arms over it, he opened his hands palms down and slowly began to rotate them over and under each other. The earth began to steam and take the shape of—Layla, crying in the woods.
    “Mother!” Falon lunged toward the circle.
    “She can’t hear you but—” Fenrir made a quick stabbing movement, and her mother cried out as she doubled over.
    Falon snarled and slapped his hands down. The mist evaporated and the stones sizzled as if they reclaimed the magic.
    Fenrir hissed in surprise.
    “I have power, too, Fenrir. Don’t forget that when you threaten someone I love.” Moving closer to him she stood so close to him she could see the pulse of the yellow striations in his red eyes. “And understand I would do
everything
in my power to save them from you.” She moved within inches of his face. “And understand this even more: if you hurt one hair on any one of their heads, any chance you have of winning my heart would die with them.” She looked hard at him. He was a pitiful creature to be sure. For nearly millennia shunned not only by his own people but scorned by humankind. He had no place in either world.
    “You admit there is a chance for me?” he asked with the excitement of an adolescent boy. By his hand alone, thousands of Lycan had died. By his hand alone he had perpetuated deep-seated hatred that should have died centuries ago. He alone was responsible for the continued persecution of Lycan. But she would give him a sliver of hope, buying time to escape.
    “I admit nothing. My heart belongs to Lucien Mondragon and Rafael Vulkasin. It will as long as the three of us live.”
    “If you can love two alphas, you can love three,” he pompously declared. He pulled her into his arms. “Accept me and I will give you the world.”
    Not in your lifetime, Wolf.
    “Release me, Fenrir, and I will accept you into my packs.”
    His arms tightened around her. “I don’t want them. I will begin my own pack. With you,” he growled.
    Tipping her head back Falon calmly threatened, “Find another to found your line because I will kill you if you force my hand.”
    “I am immortal.”
    Maybe, but