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words were like a slap.  Yes, the kid was annoying, but using the slur "meat" for the son of a werewolf, even if he would never shift, was extreme.  Somewhere beneath his alpha exterior, I'd always assumed my father harbored an ounce of compassion for his favorite child, if not for the rest of us.  It seemed I'd been wrong about a lot of things.
    I would have to worry about Ethan later, though.  If my stepmother was a half-breed descendant of a werewolf and a human, that meant any other sons she'd borne would have a 50% chance of being "meat," while 50% of her daughters would be halfies like herself with the same tendency to produce human sons.  I had no clue if I had other little half-siblings running around, but from my father's expression, it was clear none of them would make the cut as his precious heir.
    My mother, on the other hand, could have traced her werewolf bloodlines back to the Mayflower.  Any hypothetical sons I had would be just what my father was looking for, and I cringed at the thought.  This had been my worst nightmare ever since I wrapped my mind around werewolf succession and my father's plans for the pack.  I was pretty sure I didn't want children at all, if only because 10% of werewolves were born as bloodlings, which produced tough odds for werewolf mothers.  But if I ever did reproduce, I definitely didn't want my sons to be raised in their grandfather's image.  Who wants to be the mother of Genghis Khan?
    While I worked my way through that train of thought, my father had risen, a smirk on his face.  I wasn't a small woman, but he towered over me, his human form more daunting than the wolves at my back.  Despite my fear, though, I could tell the alpha was playing cat and mouse, which gave me a perverse sense of hope.  If my father just wanted to drag me back to Haven and marry me off to someone with good bloodlines, there would have been no reason for this manipulative chat.  So he still needed something.  But what?
    "You know, your sister had a son," Father continued conversationally.  I did know, because Brooke had sent my father a few letters after she left Haven and before I followed suit.  She'd fled at an even younger age than I had, then ended up marrying a guy in medical school who was thrilled when he found out his girlfriend was pregnant.  But Brooke didn't invite me to the wedding, never offered to have me come meet Dale or their son Keith.  I hadn't heard from her after I left home.
    Wait, had my father just referred to Brooke in the past tense?
    "The silly girl died a few years ago," my father confirmed, and shock made me miss his next few sentences.  I'd felt abandoned by Brooke, but had never imagined she'd be permanently gone before I could forgive her.  I sank down onto the log my father had risen from, my throat closing up as tears tried to force their way out of my eyes, but pretty soon my sense of self-preservation kicked back in.  I could mourn Brooke later.  Right now, I had to figure out what my father wanted, and how to get it for him so I could escape from this mess.
    Then the pieces clicked together.  "You want Keith to be your heir," I mused out loud, not bothering to look into my father's eyes since I was suddenly sure I'd figured out the alpha's plan.
    "You always were a clever girl," my father confirmed.  "A grandson is as good as a son, as long as he's a wolf and in Haven.  That's your choice—teach the boy to shift and bring him to me willingly, or we'll have to go back to plan B."
    I took a deep breath.  This was my way out, as unsavory as it seemed.  I didn't even know the kid, but chances are that if he had my father's blood running through his veins, he was an arrogant alpha and would be thrilled to follow in his grandfather's footsteps.  "Just so we're clear," I said, raising my voice to make sure the wolves behind me heard the deal being struck, "what you're saying is that if I can talk Keith into being your heir, I'm off the hook.