"It's disgusting."

He paces in front of me. I resist the urge to rise. Better to be the mirror and hope he listens.

"Please, brother," I drawl. "I thought you were over that by now."

He whirls around, face twisted. "Over it? You don't bloody get over something like that, it's disgusting and wrong and -"

I tune out his ranting. At my feet Tristan growls, hackles rising, not comfortable with the anger directed at me; I tangle my hand in his fur and press him back down. Dan still respects me too much, and I know too many of his weak points.

"What about the guy you work with?" I cut in. It takes a moment for him to realize I said something.

"What?"

"The Jamaican guy. You never get upset about him."

"He's not my brother."

I roll my eyes, making sure he sees: his face tightens. "So it's okay if it's not family? Bright, Dan, real bright."

That ticks him off. In three steps he's looming over the chair I'm in, and I almost laugh because I know he doesn't realize his own body language. But it wakes something in me at the same time, the alpha protective of her pack; I want to snarl. Tristan does it for me, rising, and this time I don't press him back.

Dan scoffs. "No it's not, but -"

"-But what? Come on, brother, you know better than that."

"I don't have to watch it!" he shouts at me, and spins, stalking away. He stops in front of the window, frame taut as a guitar string wound too tight and just as ready to snap; his fists quiver at his side.

"And that's it, isn't it," I say, and he turns to look at me. "You don't have to watch it so it's okay, but if you can see it it's automatically bad. That why you still like me?"

His eyes go wide. "You're not -"

I snort. "Oh please, brother, you've known for years, don't be such a bloody hypocrite."

"No," he whimpers brokenly, then stronger. "No! It's wrong and it'll send you to hell and he can't be -"

"Shut up, Dan," I snap, and he does, glaring at me. "That's kind of God's business, not yours. And he is."

"Well he shouldn't be!"

I shake my head slowly and focus on the window behind him because if I don't the wolf will wake up. Gold and red and green and blue, sunrise over sea, and the light coming through the stained glass dances on his skin. My fingers smooth through Tristan's fur.

"You're not going to listen, whatever I say." The words come out calmer than I'd expected.

"That's cause there isn't anything you can say! It's disgusting, he's -"

"-Don't you dare finish that," I growl. "He's your brother -"

"No he's not!"

The words shouldn't shock me so much. "You cannot be serious," I say, catching his eyes. "He's your brother, Dan."

He trembles, and that change comes over his face, and I know no words will make him take back what he's about to say. "Not if he's like that he's not."

It's too much. I snarl, rising, because he may be overwhelmingly dominant but he's in my home talking about my youngest brother who only ever wanted everyone to be happy and he forgot that I am an alpha, too. I step forward and I know it must be a ridiculous sight, he twice my size and the two of us facing off like wolves, but I don't care.

"Get out."

His eyes widen. "What?"

"If you aren't his, you aren't mine either." I move forward, deliberate, menacing steps, and he falls backward until he's a dark silhouette pressed against the sunrise and sea. "And I don't like people who hurt my family."

He cringes before me. I don't care. He's old enough to make his own choices and I will not let him hurt the little ones. But then he starts to recover himself, wrapping himself in his rage and arrogance. "I -" he begins.

"Get out of my house."

"No," he snaps back, trying to reassert himself.

Too much.

My hands come up and I lunge, shoving hard, and he stumbles backward with a yelp and the chime of shattering glass. A few moments later I hear him cursing as he gets to his feet and stumbles away; Tristan whines, still standing by the chair.

The sunlight bounds off the glass at my feet and sets splintered colors dancing on the walls and ceiling and floor.