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GUNNAR

My mother's tea parties were terrifying in their own right. Pack matriarchs gathered around linen-draped tables, sipping tea from cups older than most countries while deciding marriages, alliances, grudges, and occasionally who deserved to die. Wolves with functioning survival instincts stayed away.

Today, men had brought guns.

My brothers and I came around the side of the venue together. My body kept moving for three more steps before my brain caught up with what my eyes were seeing. My mother was in handcuffs.

Mei Ling Blackwood stood in the center of a garden with her wrists bound in front of her. There were six uniformed officers that I could see and at least two plainclothes. I clocked each one. Where they stood. Where their hands rested. Which ones had their fingers too close to their holsters. Who was right-handed. Who was left. Who had planted his feet like he'd been trained to hold a line and who was already shifting his weight toward the exit.

The nearest officer had his hand on my mother's arm. His fingers were wrapped around her biceps. Five fingers. Twenty-seven bones in the hand. Eight carpals. Five metacarpals. Fourteen phalanges. So many possibilities.

Around us, the garden had gone silent. Dozens of women watched from the windows and the doorway. The scent of their indignation was nearly as thick as their perfume.

These weren't women accustomed to seeing the police crash their parties. They were women accustomed to having the police lose their parking tickets in the system.

"Take my mother out of those handcuffs before I end more than your career."

The officer holding our mother puffed out his chest at Magnus' words. The man was maybe six feet. Two hundred pounds. Fit enough to pass his department physical, but there was a weakness in his right knee. Old injury, judging by how he favored the left. His vest protected his torso. His neck didn't have the same advantage. Magnus was a step ahead of me. I was pissed that he'd get there first.

The dead man's eyes flicked over Magnus, then Vidar, then me. "Is that a threat?"

"No, officer," said Vidar. "A threat would be telling you that by nine tomorrow morning, every bank holding your debt will have sold it to me. Your mortgage. Your car. Your piddling pension leaving you without a pot to piss in. A threat would be you finding out how cheap it would be for me to ruin your pathetic excuse for a life."

"No, Vido," I said conversationally. "A threat is me telling this weak boned piece of shit that I can put his ulna through his skin before his fucking partner clears their holster."

"Gunnar, language," said my mother.

"Sorry, Ma."

The first officer looked between us. Magnus, who knew who owned the people above him. Vidar, who knew exactly what he was worth. Me, who knew exactly how to break him. And Ivar. Our youngest brother stood just behind us, glaring daggers at the cop.

And then there was our mother, who was completely unconcerned about the predicament she was in. But it wasn't until he heard the low growl that the officer finally began to understand the level of fuckery he'd stepped into.

The sound came from behind us. Low. Deep. Not quite a growl, because my father hadn't opened his mouth. The vibration rolled out of his chest, so low that every person would feel it behind their rib cage.

Every Blackwood son moved. Not away. Just aside. So that Fenrir Blackwood could walk between us.

I'd seen my father angry. I'd seen him furious. I'd seen him covered in another man's blood and irritated that he'd gotten it on a good shirt. This sight was terrifying.

His gaze was fixed on my mother's wrists. The steel around them. The chain between them. The red began to show beneath one cuff where the metal had rubbed her skin. His wolf surfaced in his eyes.

"Daddy's here," Ma beamed. "You're in trouble now."

The officer's phone rang.

"Answer it." Dad growled.

The officer's hand trembled when he reached into his pocket. He looked at the screen. Whatever name he saw there made the blood drain from the rest of his face.

"Sir?" He turned away, pressing the phone closer to his ear. "Yes, Commissioner."

Dad had already forgotten the cop existed. So had Mom. She lifted her cuffed hands and looped them over her husband's head. The chain settled against the back of his neck.

"Have you been a bad girl, Mei Mei?"

Ma nodded. "I probably need a spanking."

Four Blackwood sons groaned in perfect unison. "Ma!"