Devon’s hair might be gray, and his hands, especially, are mottled with age spots, but he hasn’t begun the rapid decline that marks the end of a shifter’s life. He still has bulk, and his stoop doesn’t slow his gait.

He hunts more than fights these days, but he still puts in hours at the gym, usually late at night with Calvin and his crew. Telling them stories about the good old days when he was beta to my father and folks knew their place.

I have his number. He can’t win against me in a fight, so his challenge has to be more insidious. I know he’s been poisoning...