I didn’t have to think about it; I already knew what he was saying. According to traditions that were already wel in place when the first colonists came to America, it was my responsibility to mate a man qualified to become the new Pride Alpha, someone capable of getting all the toms in line and keeping them there.

Marc was saying that if I married him, I could be in charge—that when Daddy turned the Pride over to him, he would hand it over to me. I would be my own boss, and his too. Sure, I would have the independence I’d always wanted, but it would come at a steep price: I’d be responsible not just for myself but for the entire Pride.

Not counting his enforcers, my father had more than thirty loyal tomcats spread across Texas, Oklahoma, and parts of Kansas, Louisiana, and Arkansas, each living his own life in his own way, just like Michael. They’d sworn loyalty to their Alpha and to the south-central Pride, and they would be available for more active duty should the need arise. But until then, they lived in relative peace under their Alpha’s protection, secure in his ability to lead and protect them.

And protect them he did—Daddy was a damn fine Alpha. But if Marc was right, and my father got his way, every tom in the territory would one day depend on me to lead him and keep him safe. Unfortunately, unless the job description included a translation of the prologue to The Canterbury Tales, I was dreadfully underqualified. And completely unmotivated to remedy the situation.

Marc thought he was offering me a deal I couldn’t refuse, but he didn’t understand. Giving me the Pride wouldn’t be giving me freedom. It would be chaining me hand and foot to a responsibility I didn’t want, and probably couldn’t handle.

Or maybe he did understand. Maybe he wanted me tethered to him and to a life I’d already rejected.

In the foyer, my mother’s antique grandfather clock chimed, and I counted along with the tones. Both of them. It was two o’clock in the morning, and I saw no end in sight for what had already been one of the longest evenings of my life.

“You’ll have to give them a leader one day, whether you like it or not,” Marc said on the tail of the last chime. “You can’t lead them by yourself.”

“The hell I can’t.”

Damn it! I stopped, squeezing my eyes shut in frustration. I’d been so ready to argue with him that I hadn’t actual y listened to what he was saying.

Wood creaked as I leaned against the bedpost and rubbed my forehead, trying to clear away a thick mental fog. “I don’t want to lead them—with or without you.”

Opening my eyes, I stared at him, letting him read the conviction on my face. “I don’t know anything about defending a territory, and I’m not interested in learning.”

Marc favored me with a patronizing smile, yet another of my many pet peeves.

“You know, for a smart girl, you sure can act dumb.”

I frowned, unsure how to take the combination compliment/insult. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You already know most of what you need to know. All you need now is some experience.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I snapped, clenching the footboard behind me. I rubbed my fingertips over the polished grain of the wood, using the sensation to ground myself in reality, in the world where I spoke with poise and confidence, and Marc spouted his usual nonsense with the fervor of a true fanatic.

My mind rebelled against the idea that Daddy had been cultivating me as his replacement for years and I’d never even noticed. That wasn’t possible. Was it?

“Shut up and think about it for a minute.” He pulled out my desk chair and sat, staring at me with an irritatingly smug confidence. “Have you ever taken dance lessons?”

“Is there a point to this question?” I put my hands on my hips, tapping my foot with exaggerated impatience.

“Just answer me. Have you ever had a dance lesson? Or a shopping spree?

What about a manicure?”

My decidedly unmanicured hand clenched around a handful of denim, one finger snagging in my belt loop. “If this is a joke, it isn’t funny. You know me better than that.” Unfortunately.

“So does your father. He never encouraged your interest in anything frivolous, but he made sure you had a say in every decision about the Pride from the time you were twelve years old, even if he didn’t actually use your input.”

Marc let his gaze slide to the floor, clearly searching his memory for another example to support his harebrained theory. “He taught you how to fight.” His eyes snapped back to mine, as fast as a flash of lightning. “Why would he do that? None of the other Alphas teach their daughters to fight. You’ve never worn a tutu, but how many afternoons have you spent in sweatpants, sparring with the guys?”

I studied my fingernails, bitten to short, jagged edges. “Too many to count.”

The sparring sessions had started when I was ten and wanted to take karate with a girlfriend from school. Daddy wouldn’t let me. He was afraid I’d real y hurt someone.

My first face-off against Ethan had proven him right, to my simultaneous horror and delight.

“Who taught you to control your breathing when you sprint and how to pounce from the trees?”

My father. There was no need to say it aloud because, like any good prosecutor, Marc never asked a question unless he already knew the answer.

“What about council diplomacy?”

I groaned and glanced at the clock on my stereo. Apparently time really could stand stil . “What about it?” I asked, turning back to him reluctantly. My father had dragged me to at least one Pride council meeting a year until I left for school. After listening to two Alphas negotiate interterritory traveling rights for their college-bound sons, staving off boredom in Advanced Grammar class hadn’t even been a chal enge.