Free Silver by Rhiannon Held

into trouble. He just hunkered down and waited for someone to come fish him out. Even the times Andrew had beaten his ass to teach him a lesson, he’d absorbed it with good humor.
    “I thought you were on the road loning it for the foreseeable future,” he said, eyeing the boy. He’d grown into himself a lot, and looked more graceful in his size now.
    “Fell in love,” Tom mumbled, tipping his head until hair fell forward into his eyes. “So I got permission to join.”
    Michelle coughed, and Tom seemed to realize that he was keeping a guest in the doorway. “C’mon in,” he offered, gesturing through a side archway into one of the living areas.
    It looked much more lived in than any such room in the Roanoke house, where Sarah’s decorating scheme had added coordinated paint and window treatments. This room had two battered couches with matching slipcovers but different profiles beneath, and books and magazines and bills scattered over most flat surfaces. Michelle escorted Silver to a couch and gave Tom and another girl a pointed look—it was probably their responsibility to keep the place tidy. They hurried to corral the clutter into the next room where the guests wouldn’t be invited.
    “Well, that’s one endorsement for you anyway,” Michelle told Andrew sardonically, returning to lean her shoulder against the side of the archway into the room. Craig gave a grumpy half-growl from behind her.
    Tom stopped with a bundle of newspaper in his arms. “What? No, he’s cool. I was such a punk-ass kid, I deserved everything I got. I used to do things like go out to the dog park to lick the cute chicks’ faces. Ended up in the pound several times.”
    “So not everything was a killing offense?” Craig shouldered into the room and flicked a glance to his alpha, but she didn’t stop him. Wanted to see how the argument played out, Andrew assumed. Lovely.
    “What in the Lady’s name are you talking about?” Tom put the newspapers back down on the end table they’d come from.
    “Oh, you know Dare. Practically European himself, with his Spanish wife. Didn’t you guys in Roanoke hear about what he did to the Madrid pack?” A muscle in Craig’s jaw clenched.
    “Barcelona.” Andrew squared off with Craig but kept his gaze on a point just over Craig’s shoulder. If he met Craig’s eyes now, it would turn into a straight dominance contest. He didn’t want to have to deal with the consequences of walking into a strange pack’s house and challenging their beta. He was secure enough in his masculinity not to have to challenge every new Were he met. “I was part of Madrid.” It was so hard to keep himself to those few polite words when he wanted to scream at the man. Would the rumors never die?
    “So? They probably deserved it.” Tom’s staunch tone bolstered Andrew’s shredding control. Oh, youthful idealism. He hadn’t earned the approval, but he appreciated it nonetheless.
    Craig growled outright. “Deserved to be beaten, maybe. Not killed. Not killed like that.” He jabbed a finger into Andrew’s chest. “What did happen, Dare? I heard they surrendered, and you just ignored it.”
    Andrew pressed one hand into the other, popping his knuckles. Control. He had to keep control. But he couldn’t help thinking the beta would have trouble throwing insults if Andrew was beating him.
    “Craig.” Michelle’s tone carried the snap of command. “He has permission to be here.” Craig looked back at her, weighed his possible punishment visibly, and then ignored her.
    “I heard you mutilated them. Burned the bodies to try to hide it.” Craig pushed forward into Andrew’s personal space. “How could you?”
    Andrew gave in, let the pounding of his blood swell up, and smashed his fist into Craig’s jaw. Craig rocked a step back and waited as the bruise on his jaw bloomed through a rainbow of healing colors. Then he smirked and raised his fist for a return blow, what he’d clearly wanted an excuse for