
Shifter Origins

Aimee Easterling

Published by Wetknee Books, 2018.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

SHIFTER ORIGINS

**First edition. April 28, 2018.**

Copyright (C) 2018 Aimee Easterling.

ISBN: 978-1386119180

Written by Aimee Easterling.

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# Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

A Sneak Peek Inside...

Shiftless

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Epilogue

Half Wolf

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue

Huntress Born

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Incendiary Magic

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Jaguar at the Portal

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Epilogue

Historical note

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# A Sneak Peek Inside...

Shiftless: After years of suppressing her inner wolf, Terra struggles to forget her old pack. But when her past finally comes calling, she has no choice but reclaim the predator within.

Half Wolf: When half-shifter Fen is cast out of her home, she and an unlikely ally are forced to shore up her waning power in an effort to save half-breeds everywhere.

Huntress Born: Werewolf and baker Ember leaves safety to hunt for her missing half brother. But with danger looming on every side, it's only a matter of time before she gets burned.

Incendiary Magic: A dragon shifter's treasure turns traitor when secrets ignite.

Jaguar at the Portal: She's a veterinarian running from her past. He's a jaguar shifter hunting for his future.

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# Shiftless

Book 1 of the Wolf Rampant Trilogy

After years of suppressing her inner wolf, Terra struggles to forget her old pack. But when her past finally comes calling, she has no choice but reclaim the predator within.

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# Chapter 1

"No, that's just rude and inappropriate." The soft male voice insinuated its way into my reading. A pause, then he continued his one-sided conversation. "Stop for one minute and imagine you're a woman alone in the city and two guys walk up to you. You probably wouldn't feel very safe, would you?" Pause. "Okay, one guy and his dog."

At first, I didn't realize they were talking about me. I was happily curled up in a comfy armchair with a copy of Patricia Briggs' newest book open on my lap, already enveloped by the satisfying welcome of a werewolf pack, albeit a fictional one. Yes, this is what my life had come to--it had been ten years since I'd last seen a werewolf anywhere other than in a mirror, so I relied on books to get my pack fix. Depressing, but true.

Momentary pleasure aside, the whole day had been one long mistake. I usually tried to stay away from the big city, but when I woke this morning, my inner wolf had felt like it was gnawing at my bones and my stomach ached with the absence of pack. Filling the gaping cavity in my soul with an imaginary wolf pack seemed worth lying to my boss, putting my good sense on hold, and playing hooky for the day.

Only after I'd settled in a chair by the bookstore's front window, paranormal fantasy in hand, did I see the error of my ways. Or rather, hear it. At first, I'd merely blocked out the man's words as they drifted over to insinuate their way into my reading, but now I noticed the frustrated, yet loving, twist to the man's tone. Despite my better sense, curiosity made me peer up from my page and crane my head around to seek out the source of the conversation.

The speaker was about my age, and he did have a canine with him, but the slight smile on my lips leftover from overhearing his words was quickly stifled as I realized that the monstrosity was no dog. It was a wolf, and not just any wolf--the man's companion was a werewolf like me.

While you might think that would be a good thing given the yearning in my stomach, I had kept my distance from other werewolves for a very good reason. Now was not the time to go back. I could feel my cheeks heating up, and the man's voice became distant as terror stole blood away from my ears, sending the nutrition to my tensed muscles instead. I had to get out of there fast.

This danger was the precise reason I rarely came to the city. Even though the area was out-territory, not owned by any wolf pack, who was to say I wouldn't bump into another werewolf drifting through? As much as I hated my history, my father was an alpha and I was aware that I smelled like the best kind of mate material to male werewolves. The alphas, especially, were used to taking what they wanted, and one glance into this wolf's eyes was all it took to prove he was as alpha as they came.

The reality was that I had fled my home pack a decade ago to prevent a forced mating. And even though the packless ache in my stomach was a constant reminder of what I'd lost, in the light of day, that pain still seemed like a good trade for my independence. No way was I going to let a momentary slip rope me back into being an alpha werewolf's pawn--I needed to get out of this wolf's sight immediately.

Even though I hadn't paid for my book yet, I figured it was a worthy casualty to save me from being drawn back into the werewolf world. So I dropped the text onto the couch cushions, sprang to my feet, and speed walked out the door, back into the seeming safety of the street. My car--and freedom--were only two blocks away, and I could almost taste how good it would feel to slam the door, pop the locks, and hit the accelerator. I could be back in my empty cabin in half an hour, this close call forgotten.

But my car was still out of sight when I heard the bookstore's door open and close behind me. No longer concerned with appearances, I broke into a run, Stupid, stupid, stupid echoing through my mind in time to the beat of my shoes on the pavement. I couldn't let myself believe that this is how I would be sucked back into a pack, due to a chance meeting in a bookstore while reading about fictional shifters. If I'd picked up Twilight instead, would I have been treated to a sparkly vampire?

Even as that thought drifted through my adrenaline-charged mind, I realized that no one's footsteps pounded after me. I would be able to see my car as soon as I rounded the corner, and for a moment, I thought I might be safe. Maybe I'd misread the acquisitive gleam in the alpha's eyes; maybe a random customer had left the store soon after I did, not a hunting werewolf.

But I knew better. With one short bark, the wolf stilled my flight, then the man's voice came a beat behind, asking me to wait. But it was the alpha's command, not his partner's words, that had stopped me in my tracks. Just like my father's orders had been impossible to disobey, now another alpha had taken away my free will with one bark.

I was so angry and terrified, I almost expected to feel my wolf rising up through my skin the way it used to in the Chief's presence. And for the first time in a decade, I would have welcomed her strong protection rather than being afraid of the wolf's wild nature and sharp teeth. Instead, I heard only my human mind, which reminded me that there was no sense in running now that I'd been snared in the alpha's net. Taking a deep breath, I let my shoulders slump as I succumbed to the inevitable.

***

AS MUCH AS I WANTED to stay in place and ignore the approaching alpha, I couldn't let danger creep up behind me unseen, so I turned and waited for the duo to catch up. As they advanced, I focused on the man instead of the wolf for the first time and noticed that he was clearly a werewolf just like his partner. He was also apologizing profusely even before he reached me. "I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry!" he exclaimed, switching the leash he held into his left hand so he could reach out to shake mine. "I'm Chase, and my very rude friend is Wolfie."

Although I was both terrified and angry, I liked Chase on sight. He was the kind of male werewolf who didn't have an alpha bone in his body--the golden retriever of the lupine world. He was also handsome, but not full of himself, and I could tell that this one werewolf was friend material. In fact, if there had been more Chases and fewer Wolfies in the world, I might have tried to join another pack after fleeing mine, but werewolf packs were inevitably run by alphas, and every alpha was like Wolfie...or like my father.

Okay, maybe not just like Wolfie. As ebbing adrenaline let rational thought once again fill my mind, I realized that it was decidedly odd for the alpha in question to be walked around in wolf form on a leash. But for all I knew, the two were tracking something that required the wolf's superior senses. In human form, we could sometimes use our wolf brain to boost our sniffing power, but the effect was nothing compared to how in tune we were with the world when entirely wolf.

Fur aside, Wolfie had the arrogance of every other alpha I'd ever met. After forcing me to stop running against my will, he was now sitting at Chase's feet and looking up at me with his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth in a doggie laugh. Once he was sure he had my attention, Wolfie reached up one paw as if to shake...then winked.

"I don't think she thinks you're as cute as you think you are," Chase warned his friend when I looked pointedly away from the raised paw. Despite myself, I smiled at the beta's words, amused that a lower-ranking wolf could yank the alpha's chain, even metaphorically. "Like I said, I'm really sorry," Chase continued his earlier apology to me. "But Wolfie is pig-headed and I'm afraid he's not going to give either of us any peace unless you agree to talk to us, just for a few minutes. Maybe you'd let me buy you a coffee?"

As I said, I liked Chase, and his words were perfectly polite, but I was 100% sure that spending another minute in the alpha's presence was the last thing I wanted to do. I closed my eyes in an effort to collect myself, hoping this was just a hallucination brought on by my pack craving. But when I looked back down the street, Chase and Wolfie were still waiting expectantly in front of me...along with a kindergarten-aged kid who was pulling away from his mother's hand in hopes of petting the huge, terrifying beast sitting beside me.

"Don't worry, he doesn't bite," Chase said to the mother, who had taken in the situation just as the boy's hand landed squarely in Wolfie's eye. She had more sense than her son and seemed poised to yank her offspring to safety, but to my surprise, the alpha wolf put up with the mauling good-naturedly before offering the child the same paw trick he'd pulled on me. With the complete lack of self-preservation instinct typical of a human child, the kid took Wolfie's paw and shook it adamantly, before being pulled away by his mother.

Greetings complete, Wolfie looked back up at me and tilted his head to one side, the meaning clear--he wasn't a monster who ate small children. But I didn't allow myself to be impressed. So what if an alpha wolf had let a human child manhandle him? That didn't counteract the same alpha's freeze-in-your-tracks command just minutes earlier. On the other hand, I hadn't come up with any way of wiggling out of a meeting during the unusual interlude, so I shrugged my acceptance and allowed Chase to lead us across the street to a sidewalk cafe.

"Coffee?" the beta asked, handing the wolf's leash over to me as I stood beside an empty table outside the door. I nearly dropped the tether in surprise, the rough fabric feeling like a poisonous snake in my hands as I considered the repercussions of my situation. No way did I want to be in charge of an alpha's leash if the wolf suddenly decided that the restraint was beneath his dignity, but I realized we had to keep up appearances for the sake of the humans around us, so I kept my eyes averted from the alpha on the other end of the line and nodded stiffly. In light of the leash issue (and being dragged to the cafe against my will), it seemed like a small matter that I didn't drink coffee, having found that stimulants were one of the danger points for a female werewolf struggling to control her shifts. But no one said I had to consume the beverage Chase would put in front of me. I probably would have choked on any drink given my current state of mind, so the flavor was irrelevant.

But the wolf disagreed with my unwillingness to state my preferences. Before his beta could leave to collect our drinks, Wolfie nudged Chase's hand to attract his attention, then firmly shook his head. "You're hungry?" Chase asked the wolf, surprised, but Wolfie only huffed in disgust. Then, just as I realized what the alpha was communicating, understanding came into Chase's eyes as well. "You'd prefer hot chocolate?" the man tried again, returning his gaze to me, and I nodded despite myself.

And that's how I ended up in such a ludicrous situation. After spending half my energy over the last ten years hiding from the merest hint of werewolf presence, I was sitting at a cast-iron table of a sidewalk cafe, clinging to the leash of an alpha werewolf while his beta headed inside to buy me a hot chocolate. I wasn't even surprised when the wolf rested his chin on my thigh in search of an ear scratch, but I was surprised that I allowed my hand to drift over his soft ears. The fur was every bit as silky as it looked.

***

"YOU KNOW, IF YOU'D just put these on, you could ask her yourself," Chase told Wolfie, exasperated as he shook a backpack full of men's clothing under the wolf's nose. Despite myself, the two were growing on me as I sipped my hot chocolate and watched them carry out a seemingly coherent conversation...despite the fact that one was a wolf. After the bark that froze me on the street, Wolfie hadn't said another word, but he was quite adept at making his meaning clear, to Chase at least. While taking in the show, I had even started drifting into wolf brain, where Wolfie's nonverbal language was more understandable, but I had quickly pulled myself back to the safety of the human world. The middle of a city was no place to turn my wolf loose, even if we had been on speaking terms.

"What does he want to know?" I asked, when a stalemate appeared to have been reached by the opposing forces across the table from me. Wolfie, for some unknown reason, preferred to stay wolf, Chase was unwilling to continue being his mouthpiece, and I was starting to get curious about the alpha's question.

Only when Chase turned to me with a huge smile on his face did I realize that these were the first words I'd spoken in the pair's presence. So much for the cold shoulder. But I shrugged internally and decided there was no point in freezing out Chase anyway, since he seemed to be a nice guy. I was reserving judgment on the wolf.

"Wolfie just wants to know your name," Chase answered. "But I can tell you aren't comfortable sitting here with us, and I didn't want to pepper you with questions until you had time to see we were harmless." In contrast to his alpha's demand for information, Chase's strategy for putting me at ease seemed to involve talking until the cows came home. So, with an effort, I pretended he wasn't a male werewolf and interrupted the monologue.

"I'm Terra," I answered, looking straight into the alpha's eyes rather than at his beta. It was strange to be chatting with an alpha werewolf as if he were the guy down the street, but the wolf merely nodded his appreciation of the information then peered at Chase as if to say, I told you she wouldn't mind.

I felt okay parting with my given name since I figured neither Chase nor Wolfie would know the first name of the second daughter of an alpha from out of state, but I was careful not to offer a surname, which would have instantly linked me to a pack. Wanting to stay as anonymous as possible, I decided some misdirection was in order to turn the conversation away from a potentially tricky topic, so I shifted my eyes back to Chase. "And his name really is Wolfie?" I parried, hoping Chase would be willing to play along with my obvious attempt to talk about something other than myself.

"Well, Wolf actually," Chase answered. "But I always figured 'Wolfie' made him seem a little more human...." The alpha in question snorted, which sent a tremor of fear running through me until I realized the wolf was laughing, at which point I started breathing again with a jolt.

"That's very...literal...of his mother," I said after a minute. Once my heart rate had slowed back down from the effects of Wolfie's laugh, I could feel my brow wrinkling as I tried to imagine naming a werewolf "Wolf." We did tend to gravitate toward nature-oriented names, but this seemed more like the kind of appellation a two-year-old would give his pet.

"Well, it was my mother, actually," Chase said, turning his attention back to me. "We're milk brothers." The old-fashioned term suggested Wolfie had been nursed by Chase's mother, and probably raised like his brother. It also explained why the less-dominant wolf was able to hold his alpha on a leash, and why the two could communicate without words. Despite myself, I was becoming intrigued by the two werewolves in front of me, but Chase's next words pushed away my false sense of security.

"So, which pack are you from?" the beta asked, and my jitters returned full force. Without meaning to, I stood, my chair screeching against the pavement as it was abruptly pushed backwards by my motion.

Chase's words were enough to remind me that I was packless by choice and could easily be drawn back into this or another wolf's pack, which made my slowed breathing begin to race once again. What would prevent Wolfie from asking around about a twenty-something werewolf named Terra, and what would happen when his words inevitably reached my father's ears? I would end up right back where I started, and all because I'd been stupid enough to imagine I was simply chatting with two strange werewolves whom I'd met in a bookstore.

All of those thoughts zipped through my mind in the span of time it took to rise from the table, and by then the adrenaline had really kicked in. Fight or flight seemed to be my only options, so I fled.

But I wasn't far enough away to miss Wolfie admonishing his friend. The wolf's easy-going demeanor disappeared in an instant as the alpha bared his teeth at Chase, who quickly averted his eyes in submission. If I'd needed any proof that Wolfie was just as overbearing as every other alpha werewolf I'd ever run into, this was it. Not that I'd thought otherwise...well, not for long.

I almost expected there to be other werewolves in the wings, just waiting to rope me back into the pack life from which I'd escaped. Instead, there was just Wolfie's commanding bark, ordering me to stop. But I wasn't a member of his pack, and I didn't have to obey. I ran down the street, and this time I didn't look back.

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# Chapter 2

That evening, I reached for my wolf for the first time in years. But she was gone, squashed beneath layers of iron control built during a decade of painstaking effort. So it was up to my human eyes and nose to hunt down signs of the lost toddler.

Well, it was up to my eyes...and to the eyes of a dozen other park rangers spread out across the rapidly chilling woodland. I'd returned from the city in time to put in a few hours of work at the park, and the monotony of desk-sitting abruptly ended when Mr. Carr barreled in to tell us his daughter had wandered away from the family campsite. I'd yet to meet Melony's mother--she refused to come out of the woods until the little girl was found, but Mrs. Carr did yell her position through the trees when we arrived. In response, we spread out, each taking a vector that started at the campsite and arrowed out into the unknown. And we started to search.

Since then, it had begun to rain. A gentle autumn shower at first, but now the pounding storm was pulling leaves from the trees and was muffling even the sound of my own footsteps. Water was trickling down my spine despite my hooded slicker, and I could just imagine how a two-year-old would feel, cold and scared, lost in the woods. Her father had told us Melony was wearing shorts and a thin t-shirt--she might already be experiencing symptoms of hypothermia.

The light was beginning to fade, and urgency tempted me to push myself into a trot. Instead, I slowed down, took a deep breath...and sat. I would have received a phone call if Melony had been found, which meant everyone else was probably getting these same jitters of a hunt about to be lost. They would be rushing around like crazy people, and the night would likely end with at least a sprained ankle to remind some careless ranger of the hunt. Worse, my gut said that if Melony didn't turn up soon, she wouldn't turn up alive.

But my unconventional childhood left me equipped to handle the tail end of a difficult hunt...if I could just draw upon the memories I'd been hiding from for the last ten years. The problem was that, although I desperately needed to shift forms so I could sniff out Melony's trail, the last time I'd been hunting through rain-darkened woods with my wolf rampant, the day hadn't ended well.

I was seventeen then, newly fled from my home pack and trying to eke out a living in a forest much like this one. The woods had always been my safe, secret place as a child, but after I left Haven, reality set in. Without a home to return to, life was a constant battle against the elements...and against my wolf nature.

That year, it seemed that I was always cold and hungry, and the call of my wolf was endlessly enticing. While I was shivering under my lean-to shelter made of branches and a scavenged garbage bag, the wolf begged me to shift forms so her fur could keep us dry. When I was itching for a warm meal, she whispered that we could stalk a rabbit four-footed and slake our thirst with hot blood. No one will see us here, she breathed in my ear. It's safe to be a wolf.

I knew she was wrong, but I was so miserable that one day I let the wolf have her head. As the days grew shorter, less and less wild food was available for the picking, and it had been over forty-eight hours since I'd found anything other than twigs to gnaw on. In the preceding weeks, I'd caught fish, had set snares, and had even ground acorns between rocks and pinned them in my t-shirt in the running water of a creek to leach out the bitter tannins. And, for a while, there had been enough to carry me through. But this week, no food was to be found.

The hunger gnawed at my belly, but if I was honest, it was the loneliness that really did me in. Werewolves weren't meant to spend so long away from a pack, and the simplicity of my wolf's brain made it easier for the canine to handle lack of pack mates--she missed the company but didn't dwell upon what was absent. So, at last, I gave in to the wolf's seductive promises. I shed my dripping t-shirt and jeans, then let my arms turn into legs and my wolf take control.

As soon as I shifted, my darker side went wild with the freedom, racing down a deer path that my human form had barely been able to make out amid the lush growth. She yipped and cavorted, dancing with shadows, and my human brain went along for the ride, riding the wolf's exhilaration like a roller coaster. It had been so long since I'd felt any pleasure that the wolf's simple enjoyment acted like a drug, impairing my ability to hang onto human thoughts.

After minutes or hours of headlong flight, we smelled a deer. The wolf slowed her pace and began to stalk the prey, even though we both knew that a single wolf was unlikely to take down an ungulate. We circled around behind the doe, our feet padding silently across wet leaves, and my human brain woke enough to remind the wolf of sharp deer hooves, of the necessity to chase a deer until she was heaving from lack of air and had slowed enough for us to puncture sharp teeth through her throat. This was a job for a pack, each wolf running in relay to spell her siblings until the deer collapsed from exhaustion.

So we run, the wolf responded, ignoring the reference to pack mates--to a wolf brain, there was no point in bemoaning an absence beyond our control. But before we could set out after the deer, the wolf stopped in her tracks and scented the air, her tail rising into an excited banner. Not far away was easier prey, tasty, small, and young. Together, my wolf and I salivated at the impending feast.

Human! It took me far too long to realize that in her headlong flight, the wolf had drawn us beyond our usual territory, to the edge of the forest where houses butted up against the trees. Until that moment, I'd steered clear of humanity because a teen runaway had no place in mainstream society, but now I knew we should have given the subdivision a wide berth for another reason. Even to my human brain, the child playing at the edge of the trees smelled like prey, and I was sickened by my own hunger.

As my human brain struggled to regain control of our body, it became the wolf's turn to push me down into her cage. Again, the wolf began to stalk, and now I had to reach up through the bars to fight the canine every step of the way. We sidled and slipped in the leaves as I clawed against my darker half, but with the single-minded focus of her lupine heritage, the wolf ignored all my entreaties. I could only watch, aghast, as a young child came into view, playing in a sand box just beyond the forest edge.

There was no art to the hunt, but my wolf was hungry and didn't care. She lunged out of the trees, her teeth settling around the child's plump arm, tasting sweet flesh even as the girl shrieked at the top of her lungs. Scenes flickered in front of me, blood and terrified eyes, sand turning red. I banged on the door of the cage with all my might, to no avail.

Then an adult human tore out of the house, a gun in his hands. He fired, the bullet grazing our shoulder, and the shock was enough to make the wolf pause, to relax her iron control over my human brain. I leaped upwards out of the cage, pushed the wolf out of the way, and was shifting even as we fled back into the forest. I could hear the girl crying behind us, so I knew our prey wasn't dead, and since werewolves are born not made, she would never start howling at the moon. But that knowledge did little to ease my guilt and horror. With the last of my strength, I pushed the wolf so deeply into her cage that she couldn't even speak to me, let alone run wild, then I clanged the door shut and threw away the key. And although I felt her every day afterwards, gnawing at my bones, I hadn't seen the wolf since.

***

IT SEEMED LIKE POETIC justice that I would be forced to call upon my wolf at last in order to save another little girl alone in the cold autumn woods. I was terrified to even touch my wolf brain, let alone to bring an impulse-control-challenged wolf out to hunt a tasty toddler. I could imagine getting in touch with my wolf brain, tracking down the child, and then doing something unspeakable. But if I didn't find the toddler, would a slow descent into hypothermia be any worse for Melony?

So I closed my eyes, ignored the way the wet ground was soaking through the seat of my pants, and began to count my breaths. In and out, slowing down, until I could hear past the rain dripping off the trees. The metallic chip of a cardinal settling onto its perch punctuated the evening. The musky scent of a fox coming out of its daytime den drifted toward my nose. I heard the snort and stamp of a deer as she pounded her forefoot against the ground to determine whether a strange object was danger, or just a fallen tree.

It had been so long since I'd changed that I almost didn't recognize the first symptom: the sensation of hairs pushing out of my skin at a thousand times their normal speed. As a teenage werewolf, I remember shifting nightly to tempt the hair on my head to grow longer after a bad trim, never mind that I'd always have to shave my legs afterwards, even if the skin had felt smooth as a baby's bottom before the change. Now the tickling itch was so unfamiliar, it almost pulled me out of my meditative trance.

In and out, counting breaths, I forced my focus back onto the shift. For some werewolves, the next sign of the change was the reason they stayed in human form whenever possible. Itching gave way to shooting pains as my bones became malleable, ready to morph into wolf shape. But I had a high pain threshold, and the invisible daggers were a welcome hint that I might actually shift this time, might actually find my wolf (and Melony) before it was too late.

But hope faded as I felt the wolf brain taking over my thoughts. No, erasing my thoughts and replacing them with wordless visions and drifts of feelings. I wanted to shift so badly...but I was terrified of the loss of control. Maybe when I'd lived back in Haven, isolated in our werewolf-only community, I could have let my inner wolf loose. There, if my wolf had gone feral, a dozen stronger wolves would have taken me down. Here, I was surrounded only by weak humans, their scent already making me salivate. I could sense the two-footers all around me, the closest one no more than a hundred feet away. His nose was running and he was out of breath, but I could tell he'd eaten pizza for lunch, the tomato sauce providing a piquant addition to his already enticing odor.

I jerked myself out of the wolf brain as abruptly as I often woke from a night's sleep, but this time the reason was terror of my wolf's appetites. With the wolf brain's retreat came an absence of the extra senses my darker side had made possible, and the woods around me once again seemed muffled by the quiet fall of rain. Dropping my head into my hands, I knew I'd failed. I had hoped to find that happy middle ground between wolf and human, where I could take advantage of the wolf's intuitive understanding of the woods without risking letting a predator loose on the unsuspecting human world. Instead, I'd gone too far and lost it all. Now I was back to 100% human, no intuition, and Venus already visible in the darkening sky.

One of the few good things about being an obsessively controlled werewolf, though, is that if I told myself despair wasn't an option, I actually believed my own lie. Might as well keep stumbling around out here like everyone else, I thought. After all, my co-workers hadn't given up, and they never even had the possible backup of a sharp canine nose to aid them. In human form, I could trick myself into believing that I wasn't any further behind than I'd started, even if I had lost the one skill that might have saved Melony's life.

"The poor dear," my older co-worker Maddie had said when Melony's father showed up at the ticket-purchasing counter. Why her words came into my head now was a mystery, but if Maddie--pushing seventy if she was a day--could head out into the sodden woods with hope in her eyes, so could I.

Wait a minute. The poor dear? Or...the poor deer? The stamping hoof, the startled deer, something where it didn't belong. I could almost believe my nonlinear wolf brain was communicating with me in the best way it could from within its iron-barred prison cell deep in my subconscious. A deer would have run away from a walking adult searcher, but might stamp at a small child huddled on the ground, trying to stay warm and dry. I turned toward my memory of the sound, and could almost imagine the scent of baby shampoo wafting toward me from a bit right of my current trajectory. Leaving my designated sector to follow the imagined smell, I drifted into the near-sleeping state I sometimes enter after hiking for hours, where the world is both distant and present in a way it can't be when my human brain is entirely awake.

A tiny cry of alarm made me turn ever so slightly further to the right. I knew I should switch on my flashlight, but instead I walked gingerly, using the rods in the corners of my eyes to soak up the last dregs of daylight. And to see the dark shape of the child curled into a ball at the base of a beech tree.

That was when I realized that the wolf brain was guiding me, was winning over my human brain. I gasped, alarm freezing me in place even as Melony looked up at the sound and cooed a welcome. I was terrified the wolf would parse the toddler as easy prey and tear into her, killing the child I had come so far to save, and that fear held me in place as effectively as the iron bars I so often hid my wolf behind.

You think we could tear into her with these puny human teeth?

The words seemed to drift through my head with a silent chuckle. Whether or not my wolf brain had a sense of humor, though, the human brain had woken enough that I was able to close and lock the wolf's prison door, drop to my knees, and collect the little girl into my arms. Tucking her chilled body beneath my raincoat, I fiddled with my cell phone one-handed and pushed the device against my wet ear.

"I've found her," I said, and dropped my chin onto Melony's baby-shampoo-scented hair. Relief never smelled so sweet.

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# Chapter 3

The Carrs were so exuberantly grateful for the safe return of their daughter that I was forced to pretend I had a pressing engagement elsewhere in order to escape their praise. Drifting toward the parking lot and my fictional date, though, I stopped in my tracks when I saw my fellow park rangers gathered beneath a picnic shelter at the edge of the lot. They were toasting each other with hot chocolate, high with the relief of having found Melony just as dark truly set in. I knew that my co-workers would have been glad to include me in their circle, and the wolf inside me begged to join the camaraderie of even such an ephemeral pack, but I couldn't stand the thought of talking, so I slipped back into the rainy woods, retracing my footsteps instead. Reaching a spot just outside the illuminated circle cast by the battery-powered lantern in the center of the Carr campsite, I stood in the dark and watched.

For someone who craved a pack, the family tableau unfolding inside the tent was riveting but bittersweet. Looking in through the screen door of the dome tent, I could tell that Mr. and Mrs. Carr were unwilling to take their hands off their little girl, who had already warmed enough within their family huddle that her trauma was receding into the distance. The three curled together on top of an air mattress, intertwined in each other's limbs, and the contact had made the mother's drawn face relax and the father's smile lines spring back to life. The same curiosity that had pulled Melony into the woods that afternoon was in evidence as well. As the toddler reached up toward the swaying lantern, her mother tangled the girl's hands in her own, bypassing the child's urge to leap out of bed and explore.

I could hear the murmur of loving voices, but I was just far enough away that the words themselves were a muddle of syllables, much like the patter that had flowed out of Melony's mouth as I carried her back to the campsite. The babble of sound was familiar, though, since on many days, I felt like everyone around me was speaking another language, like it was all baby talk on the verge of being understandable. Even in daylight, when I showed up at my job, smiled at Maddie, deflected Fred's flirting, I knew I was an outsider looking in. Later, I would go home to a dark cabin and thaw out the soup I'd obsessively stewed on my day off and then frozen in meal-size portions. Two cups of soup for one person, the same day after day. I'd imagine adopting a cat or drinking myself into oblivion, but would reject both avenues of escape as too dangerous. At last I'd crawl into bed with a book and would read myself to sleep.

My life hadn't always been so lonely. When I was Melony's age, I'd felt the same cocoon of love that the Carr's little girl was now enjoying, but mine had been magnified by ten due to the tribalism of a werewolf pack. Haven was a small village by human standards, but was just right for an extended werewolf family made up of a few dozen offspring and relatives of my great-grandfather, the pack founder. If I had crawled out of my parents' home at Melony's age, not only would my cousins' keen noses have found me in short order, someone would likely have picked me up and taken me home with them before I could walk more than a few steps away from my parents' front door. I'd be returned, full of milk and cookies, a few hours later, once my mother had finished whatever task took her watchful eyes away from her baby. No searchers would ever have been forced to frantically stumble through the trees looking for my freezing form because the entire pack was always keeping an eye on its younger members.

With that memory so vivid, and the family in front of me so pack-like, it was hard to remind myself why I'd voluntarily left such a paradise. But as I watched the Carrs, I knew that my corner of Haven had lacked the supportive love that made this family's bond so strong. Instead, the same village that had felt like a protective cocoon when I was two years old quickly morphed into a restrictive wet blanket by the time I reached my teen years. Before I reached my majority, it had become clear that Haven was no haven for me.

There were many factors that made my later childhood problematic, but in the end, I fled our pack's village to escape my father. My mother's death, the absence of my older sister's buffering presence, and the pregnant stepmother who soon moved into our home shook up my world, but my father could have pieced the remnants back together into a family if he'd tried. Instead, the Chief retreated into his role as pack leader and only took notice of me to make the occasional paternal decree, which always seemed to fall on the morning of my birthday.

The first pronouncement came on the day I turned twelve, when I clattered down the stairs from my attic room and found my father waiting at the bottom. "You can't run around like a wild wolf pup anymore," Father told me coldly, taking in my unbrushed hair and bare feet. I had planned to sneak out into the woods to see if the hummingbird I'd been watching the day before had finished building her nest, and although I hadn't really expected a cake and streamers upon my return, a simple "Happy birthday" would have been nice. Instead, I got the world's most painful lecture about how I would soon be changing into wolf form for the first time and needed to start learning my place within the pack. According to my father, learning my place seemed to equate to spending every spare minute helping my stepmother Cricket in the kitchen, making up for the absence of my older sister Brooke, who had fled the family home just months before.

Although I'd immediately missed Brooke's gentle presence after she left Haven, after my twelfth birthday, I realized that I'd taken her role in our family for granted. Without Brooke to fill the good-daughter shoes, my father was forced to turn his attention to me--and we all soon realized I was sorely lacking in that department. The daughter of an alpha was supposed to be a role model for the younger wolves, but I found it a struggle to keep my hands out of the dirt and my clothes clean, let alone to smile and help out around the village. And every time I failed, my father noticed and reprimanded me. For the first few weeks after my twelfth birthday, I hoped my father would eventually give up the struggle and focus on his new son, but instead, his rules simply became stricter and stricter, and Haven began to feel like a prison.

Meanwhile, I'd grown old enough to change into wolf form, and the more upset I got at my father's restrictions, the more my shifts flew out of control. I hated the fact that I'd been born a girl, without the male ability to change form at will. In contrast, those of us unlucky enough to be born with two X chromosomes had to deal with what I liked to call "werewolf PMS from hell." At that time of the month, human women cope with bloating, aches, and grumpiness, but the same hormones in werewolves cause us to change into wolf form at the drop of a hat, no matter how inconvenient fur and claws might be. This fact, more than anything else, was the reason werewolf packs were so repressively patriarchal, because the female werewolf really was the weaker vessel in need of shielding from the outside world. And I was even worse at controlling my shifts than most female wolves, which made my father's disdain of my weakness yet more evident.

By the time I turned thirteen, I was flipping back and forth between wolf and human form dozens of times a month. My father was irate at my inability to control my wolf, and his frequent tirades made me shift even more often. Again, I had a hint of hope when I realized that the Chief was starting to give up on my potential to be a pack princess, meaning that I wasn't likely to be married off to an alpha outside the pack to cement an alliance. But then I discovered that the only other alternative my father saw for me was to become the spinster daughter, hidden away in my attic bedroom for the rest of my life.

That realization prompted me to dive into my education, and for a while, school and books became a relief from my depressing home life. In Haven, all young werewolves studied at the village school, and most of us were expected to voluntarily end our schooling a few years after our first shifts began, when we were old enough to help out at home. But if a young werewolf showed aptitude for learning, he or she often continued studying under the schoolteachers, training to become a replacement teacher in the years to come. Since I wasn't going to be a pack princess and was terrified of turning into a replica of my meek stepmother, I figured teaching would at least let me build a place for myself within the pack. However, on my fourteenth birthday, my father killed that dream just like all of my others. Waiting for me once again at the bottom of the stairs, the Chief informed me that I was no longer a student at the village school.

The ensuing shouting match woke Cricket and my one-year-old brother, the latter of whom soon drowned out my arguments with wordless complaints of his own. In my anger, I shifted into wolf form and fled to the woods, but I eventually came home hungry, my tail between my legs. My father was waiting at the door in his own fur form, and his reproving bite on the top of my muzzle wasn't the ceremonial chastisement most alphas would use against an erring underling. Instead, the Chief's teeth broke through my skin, and I picked at the scabs in human form for days thereafter.

The scabs were what finally pushed me over the edge and made me decide to leave the pack. "A werewolf can't survive alone," Cricket had told me months earlier when I sobbed on her shoulder about my hatred of Haven, and I'd believed her then. But I was starting to realize that my wolf couldn't survive within my father's pack either. It was quite normal for young males to leave the village and hunt down another pack in order to court unrelated females, and teenage girls sometimes spent time in the outside world as well, so the possibility was there. But only if I could learn to control my shifts.

So I began to hunt down the root of my uncontrollable changes to wolf form. Whenever I could slip away, I would retreat into the woods and practice shifting for hours, until my legs were so wobbly with the effort that they could barely carry me home. Out of spite, I maintained the illusion of being out of control around my father, but by the time I was sixteen, my wolf and I were acting more like a team and less like two duelists. As I practiced, I came to the conclusion that any unpleasant emotion could trigger the shift; even seeing a ball flying toward me out of the corner of my eye was sometimes enough to make the wolf pull out her fur to protect us both. So I worked on proving to my wolf that I could take care of myself, and I also learned to smooth over my emotions, even during that time of the month when they were especially hard to control.

I'm sure that Cricket knew what was happening, but she didn't tell my father, and he was oblivious to anything that didn't impact his iron control over Haven's pack. Just learning to work with, rather than against, my wolf gave me a bit of peace, and I drifted through my restrictive life for most of my sixteenth year, not sure I really needed to leave the pack after all. Then my father's eye came back around to his wayward daughter.

When I walked down the stairs on the morning of my seventeenth birthday and found my father waiting on the landing, I couldn't resist thinking that perhaps the Chief had thespian aspirations. Why else would he always pin me down on the morning of my birthday? Unless--depressing thought--that was the only day my father could be bothered to spend a minute thinking about his disappointing middle child.

"What now?" I demanded, deciding to go on the defensive even as I sought to still the wolf inside me. My period had begun the day before, and the wolf was more awake than usual inside my body, making the dim house seem brighter and the sound of my father's harsh breathing louder. I reminded my canine half that I had everything under control, that shifting to fur would do neither of us any good, and she quieted, although my senses didn't diminish.

My father ignored my argumentative opening and merely said, "You're old enough to give me grandchildren." Then he turned on his heel, content in his knowledge that he'd laid down the law and I would obey his orders. But there was no way I was going to give the Chief the illusion of implicit consent by letting a statement like that stand, so I called out to him before he could leave.

"What, you're saying I need to get married?" I asked, my voice turning shrill despite my best efforts. "When? Today? And with whom? I assume you already have my future husband picked out?" I was livid from this latest assault on my independence, and I could feel the fur starting to poke out through my skin despite my silent requests for my wolf to settle. Even though my father hadn't allowed me to continue studying to be a schoolteacher, I'd assumed the Chief would leave me alone as long as I did enough around the house to prevent Cricket from complaining about my laziness. Apparently I was wrong.

My father didn't even turn back to look at me, nor did he grace me with a reply, but I could feel my mind beginning to twist as it worked to obey the alpha wolf's orders. The more specific an alpha's demands were, the less leeway a pack wolf had to work around their leader's command--our biology just wouldn't let us disobey the alpha. It was then, while I struggled with my own body to squash my sudden urge to choose a mate, that I finally understood that while I was living under my father's roof, I would never be able to follow my own path. So I did the unthinkable and broke the alpha's hold over me.

"I'm not getting married," I said slowly and coldly, and wasn't surprised at all when the Chief stopped in his tracks, although the pack leader still didn't turn to face me. "I'm leaving today, and I'm never coming back."

The words seemed to float in the dim air for minutes while my father and I stood, frozen by my insolence. Then the Chief began to laugh, and I felt the first ache of packlessness in my stomach. "Go," he said, when his chuckles finally receded. "I'll be glad to see the back of you. But don't let your wolf be seen by a human or I'll come kill you myself."

And, still without looking me in my face, my father strode out of the room and out of my life. That morning, I hitched a ride to another state, found a forest large enough to hide my wolf, and set into action the chain of events that led to mauling that poor little girl ten years ago...and to saving Melony today. I was packless by choice.

***

THE MEMORY HAD PULLED me so deep into the past that I felt like I was wakening from a dream when I opened my eyes back onto the camping scene in front of me. I wasn't sure how much time had passed, but the bond that held the human family together was even clearer than before. Mr. Carr stroked his wife's damp hair, Melony nestled down into the cavity between the two parental bodies, and Mrs. Carr sat up enough to open her air passages and sing a quiet lullaby, her hand circling over her daughter to embrace both husband and child. As I stood in the chilly drizzle, I could imagine the emotional and physical warmth of the family's hug, but after remembering both the seductive embrace and the strict rules of my own pack, the vision only made me feel colder.

Behind me, I could hear car doors banging shut as my co-workers finally headed home. A screech owl called mournfully in the woods, and I thought the rain had begun to fall harder, then I realized the water dripping down my face was tears.

With twenty-twenty hindsight, I now wished I'd put up with the status quo and stayed in Haven. I wished I'd agreed to marry young and turn into a baby machine, to bow my head when my husband entered the room and to forget my big dreams of finding my own way in the world. I hadn't known then that the outside world was so cold and lonely. I hadn't known anyone without a wolf clawing at their insides would inevitably stay a stranger.

But my vision at seventeen had been clouded by youth, and I'd chosen to leave the only pack I could ever belong to. As my stepmother would say, I'd made my bed, and now I had to lie in it. With one final sigh, I turned away from the lantern-lit scene to head home to my empty cabin and my cold quilt.

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# Chapter 4

I dreamed about Wolfie. He was chasing me through the woods, and I should have been terrified of the huge alpha wolf on my trail. Instead, my dream self was playful and laughing as she eluded the canine, pausing once to rub up against his side and lick his face. Perhaps because of the confusing dream, I woke to an even worse ache in my stomach and to one word on my mind. Packless.

I couldn't miss work since I'd already taken the previous morning off, but a little luck was waiting for me at the nature center. At our morning staff meeting, I learned that one of the back-country cabins an eight hour hike into the wilderness area needed repairs, and I quickly volunteered to do the honors. Carrying fifty pounds of camping gear and tools down the trail wasn't necessarily my idea of fun, but the task meant I could spend three days away from civilization: three days when I wouldn't have to look over my shoulder fearing that Wolfie had tracked me down, three days when I wouldn't have to make inane conversation with my co-workers and pretend to be human, three days to think.

And, at first, the choice seemed to have been a good one. The straps of my pack creaked like the lines on a sailboat as the bulky parcel swayed with my steps, lulling me into a meditative state. Meanwhile, the sun was out and the scent of fallen leaves underfoot reminded me of simpler years. By the time I'd turned twelve, life in our werewolf pack was difficult, but childhood as a wolfling was bliss. I wasn't able to shift forms at that age, but my mind was more than half wolf as I stalked prey in the woods above our settlement. My sister Brooke and I played for hours, only coming home when our mother yelled up the hillside toward us that dinner was ready.

But then Mom had died giving birth to our little brother, a bloodling who had emerged in wolf form and had torn our mother apart from the inside out. My father drowned the tiny wolf in the duck pond, and before long, I had a stepmother, a little brother, and a father who treated me to birthday-morning orders that sucked every ounce of freedom out of my life.

I shook the unwanted memories away and tried to pay attention to my surroundings. I'd already crested the ridge that marked the halfway point between the nature center and the cabin, and now I was following a boulder-lined stream that filled the air with the sound of running water. As I looked down the trail, appreciating the fall colors, I paused at the sight of a man's form resting on a log by the side of the path. Although the human seemed to be napping with his broad-brimmed hat pulled down over his face, the unmistakable scent of wolf drifted into my nose from all sides, and I could feel my adrenaline kick back in. I was as distant from my wolf brain as was possible at that moment, so such strong odors meant there were several wolves around and that they were close by. Trouble.

"Don't you want to say hello to your old man?" the figure called without looking up. I should have been relieved that this was a family reunion, not the ambush by Wolfie's pack that I'd been expecting ever since my trip to the city the day before. But, if anything, the sight of my father was even less welcome than an invasion by Wolfie's pack would have been. I unclasped the waist buckle of my backpack and let the mass fall to the trail so I'd be ready to run, but the Chief had anticipated my retreat. A dozen wolves stepped out of the trees behind me and advanced, herding me toward the father I'd escaped ten years before.

Father had straightened to a sit by the time I reached him, and he patted the log in invitation, but merely shrugged when I chose to remain standing. He looked exactly the same as he had ten years ago, and his commanding presence wasn't dimmed in the slightest by the fact that his face was a foot lower than mine as I stood over him. I trembled as the breath of a wolf blew hot against the back of my legs, then almost laughed when I realized that I was terrified, for once, of someone else's wolf rather than of my own. Another stray thought reminded me that Wolfie, despite his strangeness, had been a perfect gentleman the day before. In contrast, the alpha who was my father preferred fear tactics over subtlety.

"Father," I acknowledged once I had gathered myself enough to speak. Even though I had safely yelled at the pack leader as a teenager, I had a feeling that any lack of respect now would be met with harsh repercussions, so I bowed my head even though I felt anything but submissive. I could tell my father liked the gesture even more because of my resentment, and his eyes took on the mischievous sparkle that I understood most women in our pack found irresistible. I detested it.

"Little Terra, all grown up," the Chief said pleasantly, once my single word had been allowed to sit in the autumn air long enough to be swallowed up by the rushing water of the creek. "I've missed you," he continued flatly.

I couldn't prevent myself from sending my father a shocked look in response to that profession of affection. Was I misremembering the Chief's farewell warning a decade ago? I'd thoroughly believed then that the alpha was willing to kill his own daughter if she made his life difficult, and I saw no reason to change my mind now. So why would my father want to pretend to have missed me?

Even though the memory only took seconds to rush through my mind, my father was apparently bored with my reverie, so he continued without waiting for a reply. "You've had enough running around time," he intoned, making me wonder if perhaps today was my birthday and I'd somehow missed the date. This forced meeting and command felt like those other birthday ambushes, and the similarity was only accentuated when the Chief continued to speak. "It's time to come home," he proclaimed, and I could instantly feel my limbs moving to obey his thinly veiled command. The alpha smirked at the agonized expression on my face, then he added, "Unless...."

I took a deep breath to calm my stuttering heart, then drew my father out the way he clearly intended for me to do. "What do you need from me?" I asked.

"Well, since you're offering," my father began, "An old man like me needs an heir."

***

SO WE'RE BACK ON THE grandchildren train, I couldn't help thinking, before blurting out, "What about Ethan?" By the time I'd left home, my spoiled-rotten half-brother had been good for only one thing, in my opinion--to keep Father's attention safely away from me and Brooke. Ethan had been four years old at the time, and the little despot already seemed to be growing into his future role as alpha. Now he'd be...I added up the years in my mind...fourteen. Just old enough to shift into wolf form and make everyone else's lives miserable with those teen-wolf temper tantrums. Unless.... "Cricket isn't a halfie!" I exclaimed.

If I hadn't been so focused on surviving, I would have been proud of the way my words broke through my father's cold exterior. His reaction was just an angry twitch in one cheek, but it was there. "Your stepmother, unfortunately, does not appear to have come from the quality bloodlines we'd once thought," the Chief confirmed. "Ethan is no use to me as meat."

The words were like a slap. Yes, the kid was annoying, but using the slur "meat" for the son of a werewolf, even if he would never shift, was extreme. Somewhere beneath his alpha exterior, I'd always assumed my father harbored an ounce of compassion for his favorite child, if not for the rest of us. It seemed I'd been wrong about a lot of things.

I would have to worry about Ethan later, though. If my stepmother was a half-breed descendant of a werewolf and a human, that meant any other sons she'd borne would have a 50% chance of being "meat," while 50% of her daughters would be halfies like herself with the same tendency to produce human sons. I had no clue if I had other little half-siblings running around, but from my father's expression, it was clear none of them would make the cut as his precious heir.

My mother, on the other hand, could have traced her werewolf bloodlines back to the Mayflower. Any hypothetical sons I had would be just what my father was looking for, and I cringed at the thought. This had been my worst nightmare ever since I wrapped my mind around werewolf succession and my father's plans for the pack. I was pretty sure I didn't want children at all, if only because 10% of werewolves were born as bloodlings, which produced tough odds for werewolf mothers. But if I ever did reproduce, I definitely didn't want my sons to be raised in their grandfather's image. Who wants to be the mother of Genghis Khan?

While I worked my way through that train of thought, my father had risen, a smirk on his face. I wasn't a small woman, but he towered over me, his human form more daunting than the wolves at my back. Despite my fear, though, I could tell the alpha was playing cat and mouse, which gave me a perverse sense of hope. If my father just wanted to drag me back to Haven and marry me off to someone with good bloodlines, there would have been no reason for this manipulative chat. So he still needed something. But what?

"You know, your sister had a son," Father continued conversationally. I did know, because Brooke had sent my father a few letters after she left Haven and before I followed suit. She'd fled at an even younger age than I had, then ended up marrying a guy in medical school who was thrilled when he found out his girlfriend was pregnant. But Brooke didn't invite me to the wedding, never offered to have me come meet Dale or their son Keith. I hadn't heard from her after I left home.

Wait, had my father just referred to Brooke in the past tense?

"The silly girl died a few years ago," my father confirmed, and shock made me miss his next few sentences. I'd felt abandoned by Brooke, but had never imagined she'd be permanently gone before I could forgive her. I sank down onto the log my father had risen from, my throat closing up as tears tried to force their way out of my eyes, but pretty soon my sense of self-preservation kicked back in. I could mourn Brooke later. Right now, I had to figure out what my father wanted, and how to get it for him so I could escape from this mess.

Then the pieces clicked together. "You want Keith to be your heir," I mused out loud, not bothering to look into my father's eyes since I was suddenly sure I'd figured out the alpha's plan.

"You always were a clever girl," my father confirmed. "A grandson is as good as a son, as long as he's a wolf and in Haven. That's your choice--teach the boy to shift and bring him to me willingly, or we'll have to go back to plan B."

I took a deep breath. This was my way out, as unsavory as it seemed. I didn't even know the kid, but chances are that if he had my father's blood running through his veins, he was an arrogant alpha and would be thrilled to follow in his grandfather's footsteps. "Just so we're clear," I said, raising my voice to make sure the wolves behind me heard the deal being struck, "what you're saying is that if I can talk Keith into being your heir, I'm off the hook. You'll leave me alone. No more surprise visits."

"I'll be glad to see the back of you," my father agreed, the words echoing his dismissal a decade before. Then he pushed his hat back down over his hair, whistled to his wolves as if they were hunting dogs, and brushed past me up the trail.

"One month," he called back without turning. Within seconds, my father was out of sight, but the scent of wolves lingered in my memory for the rest of the day.

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# Chapter 5

My boss tried to talk me into simply taking a leave of absence, but I knew I wouldn't be coming back. During the five years I'd worked for the park, I'd merely been marking time, and I realized now that I'd never so much as gone out for drinks after work, let alone made any deeper connections. There was no one here who I would miss. I might send Maddie a postcard once this whole mess had been sorted out, but that was about it.

As I drove my ancient Toyota back to my cabin to pack my sparse possessions, though, I realized I had no idea where I was going. How long ago had my sister died? Did Dale know his wife and son were werewolves? As much as I would have loved to use the absence of information as an excuse to malinger, my father was efficient in getting what he wanted, so I wasn't surprised to find a dossier waiting on my kitchen table, even though the cabin door was just as firmly locked as when I'd left. I suspected there was an equally thick file on me floating around the Chief's office--just how a daughter hopes for her father to remember her, with a sea of facts in case she can someday be of use.

The contents of Brooke's file hit me hard. I had to sit down to keep from falling when I saw her young face in the top photograph, tilted up to smile at the lanky man beside her. That had to be Dale, and I could tell even from the photo that he was the furthest you could get from an alpha werewolf. My brother-in-law was skinny and unimposing despite his height, the kind of man you might call cute instead of handsome. Just the type of husband my loving and lovable sister would have gravitated toward.

More photos slipped out of the folder, but Brooke didn't get much older. By the time her curly-haired son was three years old, the family was short a mother. My sister had died before I even left Haven.

Although the reality of my sister's early death was shocking, the true surprise came when I flipped to the end of Brooke's folder. The last item was an unopened envelope, addressed to me in my sister's looping hand. Peering at the postmark, I saw that Brooke had mailed it months before I fled Haven, but our father had clearly deemed the letter not worthy of my young eyes. Yet he'd kept it and added the envelope to Brooke's file. Probably after steaming open and resealing the flap in order to decide whether the contents would be an appropriate bait to add to my trap, I thought sarcastically.

Even though I was itching to know what Brooke had wanted to say to me, I stilled my fingers before they could open the envelope. The letter inside was from my sister, but I knew the real message came from my father, and I'd been manipulated enough for one day. So I tucked the unopened missive back into Brooke's file and got to work packing up the few possessions I wanted to keep. Once again, my father's actions were forcing me away from my home.

***

AS I CRUNCHED UP THE winding gravel driveway from the country highway to Dale's house the next day, I realized my brother-in-law was wealthy. Yes, the rundown nature of the yard gave the residence a homey and lived-in look, but the sheer size of the house at the top of the hill made it clear I was outclassed. I pulled to a stop beside a brand-new minivan, and even the soccer balls and scratched bike in the yard weren't enough to keep me from cringing at the comparison between my rusty vehicle and my brother-in-law's van. I knew without turning around that the garbage bags of clothes and cardboard boxes of books in my backseat went even further toward giving me the illusion of being a vagrant. Heck, who was I kidding--I was homeless at the moment.

During the two-hour drive to Dale's house, I'd mostly worried over the issue of how to tackle Dale and Keith's ignorance. My father made it clear in his file that my sister hadn't spilled the beans about our genealogy to her family, so Dale was to be kept in the dark. Keith, obviously, would have to be told since I needed to help him learn to shift, but how would a hormone-addled teenage werewolf take the news? Looking at their house, though, I now realized those problems were secondary to my first big hurdle--insinuating my way into my sister's family. What would prevent Dale from assuming I was some kind of gold-digger, then sending me packing before I even got in the door?

The front porch was bigger than my entire cabin back at the park, and the structure was imposing in its sheer size. I was intimidated enough to try to walk lightly, but my hiking boots were still loud on the boards as I made my way to the glass-paneled door. Cupping my hands around my face, I peered inside, where a beautifully modern kitchen sparkled with cleanliness. My imagination could easily place Brooke in the scene, pulling homemade cookies out of the oven. The role of a fifties-era housewife would have been the perfect fit for her cuddly personality, and it broke my heart to think she'd escaped Haven only to die of cancer four years into her perfect life.

"Can I help you?" I turned so quickly at the words that I nearly twisted my ankle, slipping and having to catch myself on the side of the house to keep from falling. Yep, this is the exact kind of first impression I'd hoped to make, I thought, taking in the form of my brother-in-law in front of me. Dale was older than he'd been in the last photo, but he still exuded the air of kindliness that I'm sure had attracted my sister in the first place. Even when startling an intruder, the doctor couldn't quite make his face look stern.

"This is so embarrassing," I said, trying to figure out where to start with my explanation. Despite Dale's gentle nature, a tall male figure catching me in his territory was enough to set my senses on high alert, and I had to struggle against an urge to jump back into my car and spin out of the driveway. Only the knowledge that my father would track me down and drag me back to Haven if I failed kept my feet rooted to the spot as I tried out a shaky smile.

But then Dale surprised me with my own name. "I can't believe it! Terra?" he asked...then pulled me into a bear hug.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd been hugged, and my body stiffened in response, then slowly relaxed as Dale's brotherly affection washed over me. What kind of man would recognize on sight the sister-in-law he'd never met? Would catch her snooping, but assume her intentions were pure? My sister had clearly found a winner--too bad I was here to turn this kind-hearted man's son into a psychopath.

"And you're Dale," I responded once he released me from the hug. I could just make out the hint of a tear welling up in one of my brother-in-law's eyes, probably because my sister and I had a strong family resemblance. Just thinking about Brooke made my own eyes tear up, so I swiped at them as I turned a more honest smile on Dale. "I only just heard about Brooke," I continued, "and I couldn't stop myself from coming right away to meet you and Keith."

Clearly I'd said the wrong thing. For the first time, Dale's face became shadowed, and he paused for a minute before giving me the brushoff I'd been expecting, but for a different reason. "I'm not sure now's a good time," Dale said, and I realized the unhappiness on my brother-in-law's face was for his son, not for the wife he'd lost a decade ago. Unlike me, Dale would have had plenty of time to put Brooke's death behind him, but the inevitable changes in Keith as he approached his first shift would be worrisome to a human father. Unfortunately, those changes were only going to get worse.

"You're worried about Keith," I said, hoping to get Dale talking while I figured out how to approach the issue. Since my brother-in-law was a medical doctor, I'd be hard-pressed to pretend Keith had any kind of physical disease, but what about a hereditary mental illness? Something very vague and rare...and easily overcome with the proper therapy.

As I worked through the intricacies of a lie about my private therapy practice, Dale was spilling his worries that his son had fallen into a bad crowd in school, had started experimenting with drugs. "There's a major problem in our area with young people abusing prescription drugs," my brother-in-law told me earnestly, and I almost rolled my eyes at him. I had a feeling Keith was as straight as an arrow just like his father, and I was 99% sure any behavioral changes Dale noticed were due to his son's approaching change. "I don't want my son to make a bad first impression on his only aunt," Dale finished. "Maybe you could come back in a few weeks?"

"Actually, I'm really glad I came when I did," I told my brother-in-law, putting on my best pseudo-professional manner. "Did Brooke ever tell you about the...um...mental instability in our family?" Dale paled a bit, and I spun my tale as best I could. Good thing my brother-in-law was an easy mark since my abilities as a con artist left something to be desired. Between Dale's gullibility, though, and facts pulled from his dossier, I was soon being shown through the house and into Keith's bedroom. Where it became obvious from scent alone that the boy had already reached the bone-melting phase of a shift.

"Could you leave us alone for a moment?" I asked Dale calmly, then I quickly shut and locked the door behind him.

***

"WHO ARE YOU?" THE KID grunted from the bed. The curtains were drawn and the lights were off, so the room was dim, but I could feel the imminent shift pushing into my bones. Keith's pheromones were drawing out my own wolf, but I had a plan to use that effect to my advantage. My nephew would have to help me, though, and there was no time to explain what we were doing. I needed to get him to shift back to human, and fast. Now was neither the time nor the place for his first change.

"I'm your aunt Terra," I told Keith soothingly, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. "Brooke was my sister."

"I heard you telling Dad you're a shrink," Brooke's son said, turning to face me with piercing brown eyes just like my own. "He thinks I'm on drugs, but I swear I just tried pot that one time...." He stopped speaking abruptly, twitching involuntarily as the pain hit, and I reached down to take his hand.

"I believe you, Keith, but I need you to trust me for a minute," I said gently. "Can you match your breathing to mine? And keep looking into my eyes." Keith's attention had turned inward when the ache hit, but he clearly had some of his grandfather's iron will because the boy was able to obey my request. I slowed my own breathing to lead Keith into a calmer place, then reached for my wolf brain.

What I was planning to do would be tricky, partly because I had such iron control over my wolf nowadays that I couldn't seem to let her out when I wanted to. But also because I needed to be able to pull my wolf brain out far enough to yank Keith back to full humanity when I stopped my own shift...without letting my wolf escape all the way. Since a younger werewolf like my nephew would mirror any shift of an adult in close physical proximity, I figured my wolf and I could easily shut his wolf down, but only if my own darker half cooperated. It had been so long since I'd let her out that I was afraid my wolf wouldn't go back to sleep willingly.

It was worth the risk, though, because it looked like Keith was going to change all the way if he didn't get a little help. I couldn't imagine how terrifying it would be to perform your first shift without understanding what you were, and the kid's father might get torn apart in the process. I wasn't sure if I owed Brooke anything after the way she had abandoned me to our father's tender mercies, but Dale and Keith didn't deserve to pay for her desertion.

My nephew's breathing had slowed, but I could feel his wolf just out of sight, waiting to return to the surface. Meanwhile, I calmed my own mind enough to let my wolf up out of her cell, and she rose gently, not in the snarling rush I'd expected. I felt the tickling of hairs pushing out of my body, but there was little pain as my senses became more acute. I could smell Dale in the kitchen, pouring a cup of afternoon coffee, could almost catch a confusing hint of wolf scent outside the house. But I'd have to think about that later. Right now, I needed to turn off this shift.

Down! I ordered my wolf, and as I'd expected, she growled at me, pain running up my arms as my fingers curled into claws. But, surprisingly, my wolf didn't put up a fight. Instead, in rare human words, my wolf gave me an ultimatum--I'll go to sleep now, but in five minutes, we're all wolf.

Shit. This wasn't good at all, but I had no choice except to agree. I could feel my wolf and Keith's both descending deep into our subconscious, and my nephew looked up at me with suddenly clear eyes. "Wow, I feel a lot better!" he exclaimed. "That really helped. Thanks, Aunt Terra!"

I didn't have time to answer, though. My wolf was inching her way back up that dark staircase in my mind, and I needed to be far away from father and son's sight before my change hit. I tore through the living room and kitchen like my pants were on fire, and was out the door before Dale could even ask what was wrong. I was shifting by the time I hit the tree line, my clothes ripping off my back as my wolf form howled in triumph. Then she ran.

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# Chapter 6

It had been so long since I'd turned wolf that I'd forgotten how it felt to subsume myself into her moods and desires. The wolf was still me, but the animal side of our nature was in charge of our actions, and everything we saw was filtered through her world view. Both of us were exuberant at the chance to run through the woods--it felt like taking off my bra at the end of a long work day, like reaching the high point of a perfect novel. Unchained hunt, my wolf added. No matter how we parsed the feelings, they were relief and excitement rolled into one.

My wolf was more restrained than I remembered, though. She still took in every squirrel and bird moving through the forest, but age allowed her to choose whether to give chase. We stalked a rabbit for half an hour, then let it go at the last minute. Cheeseburger, she told me, and I was almost sure the wolf was bartering with our human side. She seemed to recognize that spilling blood during her first run in six years would make another shift highly unlikely in the near future, but the wolf wanted to make it plain that she craved red meat. It felt strange to be making a deal with my animal side since I was used to her just taking what she wanted, but maybe the last decade had matured us both to the point where we could act as a team again.

We paused beside a small stream to lap up the cool water, but stopped when our nose picked up the scent of another wolf where one didn't belong. Keith had never shifted all the way, so we shouldn't be smelling my nephew's wolf, but this was obviously a werewolf, and a male. Alpha male, my wolf corrected. We snarled in unison, our mothering instincts aroused by an unrelated male werewolf near Keith during his first shift.

The trouble was that alpha male werewolves had a nearly insurmountable urge to kill unrelated males as the youngsters reached the age of their first change. The behavior was a relic of our more primal days, when a young male in an alpha's territory might be angling for his position, spurring the pack leader to squelch the challenge before it could be issued. The problem didn't often come up, though, because everyone was related either by blood or by marriage in most packs, and some modern males had also learned to ignore the urge even around strangers. But not everyone could overpower his wolf...or wanted to. Keith wouldn't be safe with an unknown alpha male lurking around.

The wolf and I turned to follow the male's scent, and I wasn't sure which of us was in charge as we put our nose to the ground and traced his path upstream through the trees. It smelled like the alpha had been there only hours previously, and the sinuous path suggested he'd lollygagged about, wandering through the woods as if they were his own. Another rumble came deep in our throats as we smelled where the male had marked his territory on the side of a lightning-scarred oak tree at the crest of the ridge.

Another few feet, and the wolf himself came into view. He was lounging on the leaf litter, where a gap in the canopy caused a ray of sun to warm his hide. The huge wolf was clearly well aware of our approach, but he simply yawned and laid his chin back down on his paws as we came closer, closing his eyes as if he was planning on finishing out his nap. And I wasn't surprised by his behavior, either, because I recognized the canine's coloration. The alpha male was Wolfie.

***

MY WOLF URGED US FORWARD to sniff under the alpha's tail, but I pushed her down and fought to initiate the shift back into human form. As a canine, Wolfie was nearly double my size, and I suspected his human form was equally imposing, but I trusted my tongue more than I did my feet to get me out of this mess. I'd simply explain to the mutt that he was trespassing on private property, would threaten him with a restraining order if necessary, and would then head back down the hill to check on Keith. I had no idea why Wolfie was nosing around my nephew, but I wouldn't feel safe until the kid was once again under my watchful eye.

Unfortunately, my wolf didn't want to be locked away. It wasn't just the lost joy of the hunt that made her irritable, it was Wolfie's presence--my annoying wolf wanted to protect me. She also wanted to play with the alpha male for some crazy reason. Bending her forelegs down onto the ground, she lowered her head, raised her tail, and yipped.

Wolfie opened his eyes and tilted his head at us quizzically, then rose to his feet. He didn't seem to know what to make of my wolf any more than I did, but I couldn't spend much time paying attention to the alpha. I was focusing all of my energy on trying to still my human mind enough to initiate the shift back to two feet.

My reverse shifts always felt entirely different than the change from human to wolf. Instead of pain, as fur melted away and paws became hands, I usually experienced supreme relief, a bit like stepping into a warm shower after a long day on the trail. Today, though, I didn't feel any relief...because there was no shift. My wolf was thoroughly in charge. In fact, I could feel her gently guiding my human brain down toward that cage I'd built deep in the dark recesses of our mind to house her. Seeing the trap closing around me, wolf-like, I clawed to escape.

Despite our internal battle, our external form was still dancing around Wolfie, and it soon became clear that the larger wolf was less than pleased by our presence. He turned as if to go, then sighed and walked back toward us. Gently but firmly, the male wolf took our nose in his jaws, just like my father had done years ago, but without the part where his teeth pierced my skin. Even though the younger alpha was gentle, his act of dominance chastened my wolf long enough for me to escape her clutches, and at the same instant when my human brain became dominant, Wolfie shifted, pulling me with him back into human form.

The relief of the change elicited a breathless gasp from me, more euphoric than usual because I'd thought my wolf had won our battle and terror had begun to kick in. My legs were wobbly from the shift and I would have fallen to the ground in surprise if Wolfie's huge arms weren't wrapped around me, his mouth still on top of my nose. "Whoa," he breathed as he steadied me, and I became aware of the fact that we were both naked, the alpha's bare skin pressing against my own.

Kiss him, demanded my wolf just as I clanged the iron-barred doors behind her and locked the canine away in her prison. Ignoring the unsolicited advice, I took a step back and struggled to pull my eyes away from Wolfie's very masculine form.

***

"IT SEEMED LIKE YOU were having a little trouble with your wolf," the man said gruffly, as if prepared for me to lash out at him for his act of dominance. It took me a minute to focus on his words, though, because my brain was still processing the scenery.

It shouldn't have bothered me that the man in front of me was naked since frequent shifts made werewolf packs a bit of a clothing-optional society. But it had been years since I'd spent much time around werewolves, and the human mores around me had sunken in. I averted my gaze in embarrassment, only afterwards realizing that my body language would be read by a werewolf as a display of submission. That thought prompted me to ignore his conversation starter and to go off on a tangent of my own. I turned flashing eyes back onto Wolfie and verbally ripped into him.

"I don't know what you think you're doing here," I growled, "But this is out-territory, and there's a young male down there who's nearing his first shift. I want you gone, and don't come back." Righteous anger carried me through the demand, but one glance at Wolfie's reaction made me want to flee.

"The kid is ours," Wolfie growled back, the apology now absent from his stance as his alpha nature rose to the surface. The man's glare matched mine, and I could feel his wolf rising back up through his skin, struggling to take control. Luckily, my darker half was too firmly locked away to follow.

Just like during our last meeting, my body told me it was either fight or flight, and this time I chose to fight. "Stop that!" I demanded and was proud of myself for not letting a waver enter my voice. Wolfie was terrifying in his anger, but I didn't want him to know that. "I don't want to talk to your wolf right now," I said, stabbing a finger toward the alpha's bare chest. "And that kid is my nephew. I've already told you once, and I'll tell you one more time--stay...away...from...him." I drew out the last words, speaking as I would to a belligerent hiker who needed a show of force to prevent him from pitching his tent in a restricted area. Of course, belligerent hikers usually wore clothes...and they didn't have the tendency to tear you apart with tooth and claw when annoyed.

"Keith is part of my pack," Wolfie said slowly and clearly, his wolf still very much in evidence behind his eyes. "If he's your nephew, where have you been for the last decade since his mother died?"

"If he's part of your pack," I retorted, "why doesn't my nephew know that he's a werewolf?"

For the first time, I seemed to be gaining ground. Wolfie looked away, for all the world as if he were ashamed of his actions. "I'm working on it," he muttered, and when he gazed back down at me, the alpha seemed a little more human. "We really should wait until Chase is here to have this discussion," he continued quietly.

"Why?" I hurled back. "So you can act like a stuck-up alpha and have your friend translate for you? Are you too good to talk to a woman?"

This type of behavior was par for the course in most werewolf packs, where alphas required a husband or father to bring a complaint on behalf of a woman. Just thinking about that made me raging mad, so it took a moment for me to understand Wolfie's response. Instead of answering immediately, the alpha had sunken down onto the ground to sit cross-legged, ignoring the sticks that I was sure were poking into his bare bum. And he added to the non-confrontational attitude by directing his words down into the ground. "No, I want Chase to talk to you because I'm a bloodling," he said. "I always muck these things up."

A bit of a growl had come back into Wolfie's voice with the last word, but I finally realized that he was frustrated with himself, not with me. So I stayed silent as I mentally rearranged the past into different boxes in my head. If Wolfie were a bloodling, that would explain why he'd stayed in wolf form in the city. Most bloodlings were put down at birth, just like my little brother had been, and even the ones lucky enough to survive had trouble with their human forms. Bloodlings didn't shift to become human for the first time until they were Keith's age, and some of them took years after that to learn to speak. Wolfie probably did feel more comfortable with his milk brother acting as his spokesman.

On the one hand, Wolfie's past made me more sympathetic to his prior actions. But on the other hand, the fact that the alpha was a bloodling made me want to keep Wolfie even further away from Keith. Bloodlings were very much in touch with their wolf nature, and knowing Wolfie was a bloodling made me yet more worried that he'd tear into a pre-shift male. The knowledge didn't make me feel any more comfortable being alone in the woods with the alpha either.

While I was silently trying to figure out how to deal with this disaster, Wolfie had kept talking. "What I would have asked Chase to explain to you is that our pack lives on the far side of this mountain." Just speaking about his blood brother seemed to bring out the humanity in Wolfie's face and voice, so I let him continue unimpeded. "This whole county has been officially our territory for the last five years. I could tell you that you're the one trespassing. Not that anyone minds when a beautiful wolf like you comes across the mountain." As he finished, I realized that Wolfie was looking straight up between my bare breasts to get a glimpse of my face, which was turning beet red.

"I'm not a wolf," I stuttered, picking the least useful part of Wolfie's speech to fixate on, and I could see his more primal nature gleaming back through his eyes.

"Sure you are," Wolfie answered. "Even when we're in human form, we're all still wolves." Then he looked back down at the ground and moved on to a safer topic. "I would have asked Chase to tell you that we've been keeping an eye on your nephew, and that we'd be more than willing to help with his first shift."

Just imagining what kind of "help" Wolfie would give Keith made me gasp involuntarily. Then I immediately regretted my lapse because I could have sworn the huge alpha in front of me knew exactly what was going through my head. His shoulders slumped as if I'd slapped him, and the alpha lowered his voice another notch so I had to strain to make out his words. "Chase would have said that better," he muttered. Then, looking at my bare feet, he raised his voice a tiny bit and added, "Chase would be glad to come help with Keith's change. He's friends with Dr. Baker."

I sighed, thinking of the mess I'd left behind me at the mansion on the hill. I'd have to find a way to explain my weird behavior and wiggle my way back into Dale's good graces...plus sneak into my car to find some clothes before someone caught me running around the yard naked. Since Wolfie was currently acting oddly submissive, it seemed like a good time to take my leave and deal with this more pressing issue rather than to keep puzzling over the pack across the mountain. "I appreciate your offer," I told the top of the alpha's head as I turned to go. "I'll keep it in mind."

I was picking my way across the ground on bare feet, trying to dodge rough spots, when Wolfie's parting shot hit me like a rock to the back of the head. "One more thing," he added, the wolf winning out in his voice. "I would have had Chase ask you to go out on a date with me."

Ignoring the damage to my feet, I took to my heels and fled.

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# Chapter 7

When I returned to the house, it became clear how Dale had slept in the same bed as a werewolf for five years without figuring out his wife's secret. My brother-in-law was clueless.

"Just in time for dinner!" he greeted me as I walked in the door wearing a different set of clothes than the ones I'd left in. The house smelled of browned beef and grated cheese, and I could tell my wolf was a little more awake than usual from the intensity of the odors and from the unwelcome ache in my bones, stronger than I'd felt in years. Ignoring the pain, I smiled warily at Dale, expecting the third degree, but all he wanted to know was how long I'd be staying.

"Well, I'm kinda between jobs at the moment," I began, trying to figure out how to invite myself for an extended visit. I needn't have worried.

"Brooke always assumed we'd have people living from the basement to the attic," Dale confided as he pulled warm tortillas out of the oven. "That's why we built such a big house. You'd be doing me a favor if you stayed for a few weeks and helped me get Keith sorted out. He looked a bit better after you left, but I know one session isn't enough to fix everything."

The man was almost pleading with me to come into his home and convert his son, and I felt a twinge of guilt that my purpose here wasn't more charitable. It was either Keith or me, though, and the kid made me feel better about my traitorous plan as soon as he showed up for dinner. Dale had to beard his son in his lair and argue the teenager into sitting down with us, and even then, the youngster refused to eat the soft tacos his father had assembled. Instead, my nephew brought a box of cheerios and a jug of milk to the table and downed bowl after bowl of the floating cereal, ignoring his father's attempts to draw him into conversation. Even as a bystander, the one-sided exchange was painful, and I was relieved when Dale gave up and turned to me instead.

"I understand we have a mutual friend," my brother-in-law said to open the adult conversation. I struggled to figure out who he might be referring to, but Dale was quick to illuminate the mystery. "Chase called about an hour ago, hoping to catch up with you," he continued. "I told him you'd gone out for a run, and invited him to the clinic-cleanup day tomorrow."

I was saved from answering because Dale's words drew a reaction from his son at last, although not the one Dale had been looking for. "Dad," Keith whined. "I don't have to go, do I?" I raised my eyebrows, thinking Dale must be roping people into hard labor, but instead it turned out the doctor was helping get a drug-rehab clinic up and running and was looking for volunteers for the last day of mopping and window cleaning before patients moved in. Like the good guy he obviously was, Chase had volunteered to help out.

And while I had a feeling our get-together was more Wolfie's idea than Chase's, the gathering did seem like safe, neutral ground to hash out our differences, so I acted enthusiastic about the opportunity to meet up with my "old friend." Keith didn't even try to feign excitement, but unlike his dining choices, the volunteer work wasn't optional. "You're going," Dale said simply, and Keith rolled his eyes before returning to his study of the last cheerios melting in the bottom of his bowl.

"I hate to miss the cleanup," Dale continued, returning his attention to me, "but I have to do my rounds at the hospital tomorrow morning...."

"I can take Keith," I offered quickly, my guilt making me want to simplify my brother-in-law's life, at least a little bit. I was eating the guy's food and planning on stealing his son--the least I could do was a bit of ferry duty. But Dale had other plans.

"No, that's all taken care of," he replied. "I didn't want to try to give you directions since it's a bit tricky finding the place, so Chase will pick you both up tomorrow at ten." The gangly doctor smiled at me as if he was doing me a big favor, and he probably thought he was--giving me an opportunity to spend more time with my old friend Chase.

Unfortunately, the last thing I wanted was to be stuck in a car with Wolfie, depending on the alpha's good will to get me home. But there didn't seem to be any way to wiggle my way out of the appointment, so I pasted a smile onto my face, thanked Dale for dinner, and did up the dishes like a good house guest. I might have been trying to turn his son into the heir of a bloodthirsty werewolf alpha, but I didn't want Dale to think I was a layabout.

***

MY BASEMENT ROOM FELT like a retreat after running the gauntlet of Keith's indifference and Dale's kindness during dinner, all while my wolf gnawed soundlessly but very noticeably at my bones. I sank onto the pull-out sofa with a sigh, ignoring the way the bar in the center dug into my back. As a ranger, I'd learned to sleep on anything, and since I was 100% sure the roof didn't leak, this room met with my instant approval.

It was nearly dark outside and I could easily have fallen asleep, wiping the trials of the day away, but I had one more problem to overcome before I'd earned my rest. My father had given me a month to do his bidding, but he wasn't a patient man, and I wanted to deliver Keith well under deadline. That meant teaching the kid to shift ASAP, and I was unlikely to do a good job as a mentor unless my wolf and I were on speaking terms. Our run today had given me hope that I might be able to push myself into a shift at will, and there was no time like the present to test that hypothesis.

After making sure the door was locked and the shades were drawn, I lay back on the couch and slowed my breathing. My most recent change had been the wolf's idea, and my failure while searching for Melony could easily be dismissed as caused by stress during a difficult day. The truth was that I hadn't tried to pull up my wolf in years except for those recent endeavors, preferring instead to act as human as possible while forced to live in a non-werewolf world. So I had no clue how hard or easy the shift would be.

Two hours later, I was forced to admit that the shift was neither hard nor easy--it was simply absent. My wolf refused to nibble at the bait, and I felt entirely as human when I finally gave up and flipped on the lamp as when I'd first laid down to meditate. The only change was that now I was 100% frustrated.

A soft tap on the door drew me away from my brown study. The room was small enough that I could turn the knob without leaving the bed, and I pulled the door open to reveal my nephew's tall form. Keith was built like his father, but was even more awkward-looking since his muscle development was lagging behind his bone growth. There was another difference too--Keith was obviously more clueful than his father, as was evidenced by the first words out of his mouth.

"There's a lot more going on than you're telling Dad, isn't there?" he asked.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. No way did I have the mental energy to have the Talk with an uninitiated werewolf right now. I was exhausted from my run and from the mental gyrations of the last few days, but I also didn't want to blow Keith off when he was giving me an opening into his teenage psyche. Dale's disjointed dinner conversation had proven one thing, at least--teenagers talked so rarely that you should listen when they did.

"Have you been sitting out in the hall all evening hoping my light would turn on?" I asked, stalling for time as I tried to decide on a plan of action.

Brooke's son jerked one shoulder up into a shrug, then his mouth quirked upwards as well. "I had a feeling you weren't sleeping," he answered, and I couldn't help smiling back at him. In that minute, his eyes looked just like my sister's had when she'd stolen the last piece of pie that was supposed to be our father's, then had shared it with me instead. The hint of innocent mischief was enough to raise a lump in my throat. Was I really going to turn this kid over to my father to be turned into a monster?

And, if not, was there any other way to get out of this situation with my skin intact?

Just like figuring out how to help Keith tune into his werewolf identity, that question was far too difficult to answer at the end of the world's longest day. "Look," I said, making up my mind, "I promise I'll tell you far more than you ever want to know very soon, but tonight I'm so exhausted I can't think straight. What do you do for fun around here?"

And that's how I ended up playing Dance, Dance, Revolution with a fourteen-year-old boy at midnight in a mansion on top of a hill. It was the most fun I'd had in years.

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# Chapter 8

The ceramic crack of pool balls drew me into a part of the basement I hadn't yet explored. I'd thought Keith was still sound asleep, recovering from his near-shift the day before, but instead my nephew was carrying on the family tradition--practicing to be a world-class pool hustler. He had his feet apart, one hand resting on the table as he lined up a shot with the cue stick.

"I've been thinking," the kid said without looking up, knowing with a wolf's sensitivity to the surrounding world that I was standing in the open doorway behind him.

"Your grandfather likes to think at a pool table too," I answered, my mind inexorably drawn backwards to childhood memories of my father honing his skills. Business meetings always happened in the pool house, which for us had nothing to do with swimming and had everything to do with pocket billiards. I'd never bothered to learn the game, but Brooke had been nearly as good as our father. No wonder her house had a pool table in the basement.

"That's just what I was wondering," my nephew continued, oblivious to my trip down memory lane. He hit the two ball into the far pocket and walked around the room so he could face me across the table while planning out his next move. "Dad obviously knew you existed, but I had no clue there was anyone alive on Mom's side of the family. Then you show up without calling. Are you in trouble?"

I was glad that Keith didn't look up to gauge my response to his question, and instead just sank another ball into the near pocket. The youngster's lack of attention was helpful because my mind was racing. This wasn't good. Why couldn't Keith have inherited any of his father's cluelessness?

Insightful questions like Keith's weren't going to make my mission any easier, but the ensuing interruption was even less welcome. "Yes, Ms. Wilder, are you in trouble?" Wolfie asked from the open glass doors leading to the outside. I'd scouted the area briefly when I carried in my belongings the previous afternoon, and I'd noted the security issues resulting from the way the house was built on a hill and opened into the woods on the basement side. But I had figured my wolf would keep an eye out for danger. Too bad she'd been caught napping at just the wrong moment.

Now, my wolf woke with a vengeance, causing Wolfie's musky scent to swallow me in a sudden cloud even as pain ran down my arms and legs. Despite the danger, the smell was enticing, and I had to shove my wolf out of the way to focus on the alpha. I could sense Keith behind me feeling the first symptoms of a shift, brought on by my wolf's alertness, so I walked away from my nephew and toward the alpha wolf who had invaded our home.

Not just invaded our home; he'd invaded my past. Wolfie's words made it clear that he'd done enough research to track me back to my father, and his next question elucidated what he thought of said alpha. "How is Crazy Wilder doing?"

"What are you doing in my house?" I growled back, my words low enough that Keith might not even hear if his wolf had drifted back to sleep after I moved away. I knew I wouldn't be lucky enough to get out of this situation without doing some major explaining for the kid, but right now I was more concerned about keeping a bloodling alpha away from my young nephew.

Before either Wolfie or I could throw down the gauntlet, though, a new voice drifted in from outside. "Hey, guys!" Chase was out of breath in his rush to perform crowd control, but I was still able to recognize the more stable wolf without taking my eyes away from the threat in front of me. Although Chase was clearly Wolfie's second in command and probably would obey the alpha's orders regardless of their sadism, I instantly relaxed when I realized the beta was present. Chase seemed to have a similar effect on Wolfie since I could see the wolf retreating out of the alpha's eyes at the same time Keith stepped up beside me, a smile on his young face.

"Hey, Chase," the kid said. "We're ready to go."

***

IF I HADN'T BEEN SO tense, the battle of wills as we piled into Chase's car would have been hilarious.

"Aunt Terra calls shotgun!" my useless nephew noted as Chase got into the driver's side of the car. The teenager shot me a knowing glance, and it dawned on me that Keith probably thought the tension earlier was purely sexual. He'd apparently parsed Dale's description of Chase as my "old friend" to mean that we'd dated, and was bound and determined to throw us back together. But despite the kid's cuteness, there was no way I was letting my pre-change nephew ride in the backseat with a bloodling. Yes, it seemed unlikely that the alpha would attack Keith in plain view, but bloodlings cared a lot less about human social standards than the rest of us did. I wasn't going to risk it.

"No, really, I'd rather ride in the backseat," I demurred, stepping toward the back of the car. Unfortunately, Keith wasn't easy to override.

"You get carsick in the back. Remember, Aunt Terra?" he said pointedly, jerking his head toward Chase. If I actually had harbored a crush on the beta, my nephew's gestures would have been mortifying. As it was, they were just annoying, especially since Wolfie seemed to have picked up on my real purpose in dragging my feet. The alpha smirked at me and began to open the back passenger-side door, and I knew I had to squash this farce right here. Even if Keith was safely ensconced in the front seat, I still wanted Wolfie as far away from my nephew as possible, which meant the alpha needed to get into the other side of the car.

"Thank you," I said to Wolfie, pretending he'd been holding the door open for me, and I quickly slid past him into the car. "I'll really be fine in the back," I tossed out to Keith. "Your long legs would be cramped back here."

Keith shrugged, and I could have sworn Wolfie's smirk grew even wider as the alpha strutted around the back of the car to get in beside me. I should have felt victorious, but somehow ended up thinking I'd been played.

***

"HOW ARE YOU FEELING?" Chase asked Keith a few minutes later as we turned onto another winding country road. It was clear that Chase and my nephew knew each other well and were on good terms, presumably because of the volunteer work the beta performed with my brother-in-law. I gathered that this clinic project had been in the works for years and was just now coming to fruition, so I shouldn't have been surprised to discover that Chase treated my nephew as an honorary little brother.

As Keith chattered away about how his father was pretending he had mono and keeping him home all week, I turned my attention to Wolfie. Despite the fact that the alpha was in human form, I could tell the wolf predominated since he'd rolled down the window so air could rush over his face, a very dog-like thing to do. My wolf nudged me, asking for the opportunity to partake of the same heady array of odors from the surrounding farmland, but I denied her the simple pleasure. We don't have time for games, I warned, returning my wolf's focus to Keith. Remember the young wolf? She muttered sullenly, but shifted her attention back to my nephew and away from the scent-laden air.

"Still having trouble with your darker half?" Wolfie breathed, his voice so low that I was sure Keith couldn't hear. The guy was three for three today--he'd only asked three questions, but each one hit on an issue I truly didn't want to address. I was silent, and Wolfie turned to look at me, leaning in a bit so he could speak even more quietly. "Chase reminded me how strange it is for a female werewolf to be packless." He tilted his head to the side, inviting me to fill in the blanks, but I just shook my head and looked away.

My wolf was now toeing the line, staying below the level of my conscious thoughts, but I could feel her attraction to the striking alpha beside me. As much as I hated to admit it, I agreed--the man was every bit as eye-catching with clothes on as with clothes off, but he was also dangerous, both to me and to Keith. I couldn't figure out how my father's scouts could have neglected to report on such an obvious threat to my nephew, which made me concerned that there was even more going on than met the eye. Was Wolfie part of some plan to manipulate me, and if so, toward what end?

"We're here!" my nephew exclaimed, bouncing out of the front seat before Chase had even turned off the engine. I had never been so glad to see a drug-rehab clinic. I unfastened my seat belt, which had started to feel like a torture restraint, and rushed after the teen werewolf.

***

CLEANING WINDOWS BROUGHT out my anal-retentive side, so I couldn't really blame Keith for wandering off to work with the guys. Unfortunately, it didn't make my task any easier to have to keep my nephew in sight while scrubbing down grimy glass.

"Oops, was that your face?" the kid said. "I thought it was the window." Wolfie wiped a dribble of window-cleaning fluid off his forehead and I tensed, waiting for the explosion that was bound to follow. But Wolfie merely reached calmly behind them for the mop bucket and upended it over my nephew's head, foamy water spilling down over the teenager's ears. Before long, the two were wrestling on the industrial-tile floor, which, given their soapy exteriors, could loosely be considered mopping.

"They're like wolf cubs," Chase said, coming up behind me and handing over a paper mug of hot chocolate. I turned to smile at the beta, enjoying his presence despite myself. The packless ache in my stomach returned in a rush, and the warm liquid I was sipping didn't do much to dull what was obviously a psychosomatic pain. "Wolfie told you he's a bloodling," his friend continued, watching the rough-housing in front of us with fond eyes.

"My little brother was a bloodling," I answered, the non sequitur drawing Chase's gentle attention back to me. "Father drowned him," I added. "I always figured there was no way for bloodlings to fit in around humans, or even around other werewolves, but Wolfie seems to manage." I hated to admit it, but the evidence in front of me also suggested I had been overreacting about the alpha's potential for harming Keith, and I wondered how else I'd misconstrued Wolfie's actions.

"He takes some getting used to," Chase said thoughtfully, parsing my mood correctly. He scuffed his boot against the floor before continuing tentatively. "Maybe you'd like to come and meet the pack sometime. I think you'd understand Wolfie better if you saw the outcasts he's pulled together into a solid family."

"Outcasts?" I was intrigued in spite of myself. Not that I didn't have plenty of issues of my own without getting sucked into Wolfie's drama, but it felt good to spend a minute not worrying over my wolf, Keith, and my father.

"Halfies and full humans, and a few crazy purebloods like me," Chase said with a self-deprecating laugh. "Although Wolfie says you're a werewolf princess, too good for the likes of us."

I turned away from Keith, giving Chase my full attention at last. "I hope you know that's crazy," I chided him. "That's not what's going through my head at all." There was a little zing of heat between me and Chase suddenly, although nothing like what Wolfie had yanked out of my baser nature in the car. Chase was a good-looking guy, and I wished I wasn't irresistibly drawn to the bad boys--troubled alphas like my father. Not that attraction made any difference since I was celibate by choice given the options: human men, who I might accidentally change in front of, or asshole werewolves. Focus, reminded my wolf, for once proving herself the smarter half of our alliance.

"I know," Chase said, checking in with his alpha with a quick flick of his eyes before looking back at me. "I just meant that if you're in trouble, Wolfie will want to help. Heck, we'll all want to help."

He paused, giving me the opportunity to spill my guts. And I wanted to. I really, really wanted to. But no matter how nice Chase seemed to be, he was a male werewolf, and I knew I couldn't trust him.

I wasn't quite sure what I was going to say next, but footsteps echoing off the tile floor put an abrupt end to our conversation. We turned to see who was walking through the front entrance, and I squinted against the strong light beaming in from the outdoors. Werewolf, my wolf reported before my eyes had adjusted to take in the stranger's features.

Only he wasn't a stranger. "Milo?" I asked, recognizing a cousin who had been Keith's age when I left home.

"Terra the Terror," Milo answered, the smile on his lips not reaching his eyes. "The Chief sent me to check on you."

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# Chapter 9

I had forgotten how quickly werewolves could move. Before I had opened my mouth to reply, Chase was hustling Keith down the corridor out of danger and Wolfie had taken the beta's place by my side. And despite my mixed feelings about Wolfie, I was glad to have the backup because Milo, not I, had been the terror when we were kids. My cousin had been one of those boys who enjoyed tearing wings off butterflies, and now he looked like the adult version of that aggressive child--dark suit, glistening leather shoes, and the bulge of a gun under his dress jacket all adding to the image of a mob enforcer. Or, more likely, the Chief's enforcer.

I could feel the hackles of both male wolves rise as they eyed each other, even though they were still clothed in their human skin. "Wolf Young, pack alpha," Wolfie growled, forcing my cousin into a bone-crushing handshake, and Milo's eyes narrowed in response. This was only the third time I'd seen Wolfie use his alpha dominance, and the effort turned him into a completely different person. Gone was the jovial wolf who would let a kindergartner maul him, replaced by a ruthless alpha like my father. Only, instead of being terrified of Wolfie, this time I was glad to have him at my back. "You're on pack land," Wolfie continued ominously.

"I'm here to speak to my alpha's daughter and grandson," Milo replied, his tone nearly as gruff as Wolfie's. But my cousin couldn't quite pull off the alpha persona, and after a moment his eyes shifted to the side, which made Wolfie huff out a canine laugh. Milo ignored the taunt, and although his jaw tensed, he held his physical ground.

"Proper protocol would have been to seek out the alpha of their new pack first," Wolfie said, and I could have sworn the wolf behind his eyes was having fun. I'd heard my father pull rank so many times, the move should have been familiar, but it felt different coming from Wolfie, as if the younger alpha was playing the system rather than being swept up by werewolf machismo. Father had always been on a power trip, requiring interlopers to go through him first to prove the alpha's dominance, but I had a feeling Wolfie didn't usually greet intruders in this manner. He was only being surly because of the potential for danger to me and Keith.

"A pack leader doesn't have to ask permission to speak to his heir," Milo shot back, his eyes locking onto Wolfie's. As much as I hated to admit it, Milo had a good point. Werewolf society was dressed up with all kinds of complicated social rules, the point of which was to keep bloodshed to a minimum. The relevant guideline in this situation was clear: no matter where a pack leader's heir wandered, the heir remained under the alpha's protection and control.

I shivered, imagining my nephew being dragged back to Haven by my blood-thirsty cousin, and I could feel Milo's wolf rising in the extended silence. My own wolf responded by pushing against her bars, but Wolfie didn't seem affected--his wolf had already been rampant, so there wasn't much further for it to go without fur sprouting out of the alpha's ears.

Instead, the young alpha seemed perfectly calm as he responded for both of us. "Keith isn't Wilder's heir," Wolfie replied. "He's mine."

***

MILO AND I BOTH STARED at Wolfie as if he were crazy, and the alpha's lips curled up into a grin. Yes, the bloodling really was enjoying this.

"Brooke and I had an understanding when she brought the boy onto pack land," Wolfie explained, and I realized with a jolt that the man beside me was lying through his teeth. Wolfie's pack hadn't lived on the mountain when Brooke first moved here--Wolfie had been the one moving into another wolf's territory, in part, I was now guessing, to protect my nephew.

But my analysis of the situation simply didn't make sense. Although our animal side was cunning, werewolves couldn't tell outright untruths when our wolf was in charge, and I couldn't quite figure out how Wolfie could be both the most wolf-like person I'd ever met, and still hold onto the human trait of deception. No matter how Wolfie pulled it off, I hoped Milo wouldn't have enough facts to realize the alpha was lying. If my cousin twigged to any inconsistencies, hopefully he'd get caught up in the same mental tangle I was currently pushing my way through.

Wolfie ignored both of our shock as he kept spinning his enticing lie. "The grandson of an alpha would present a threat to my status if the boy wasn't clearly kin, so Brooke and I took a blood oath and I accepted Keith as my heir." He raised a challenging eyebrow at my father's enforcer. "As you probably know, that supersedes any claim your pack leader may have on the boy. So you can go home."

Milo moved as if to obey the outright command, his face turning red at the involuntary reaction to another pack leader's order. Then, with an effort, my cousin turned his attention away from Wolfie to speak directly to me. "I don't know what the deal is with Keith, Terra, but Chief Wilder said to tell you these precise words: 'You or him.'"

"It's only been two days!" I exclaimed, the sentence popping out of my mouth before I could think it through. I could already feel my father yanking me back to Haven, and the tug of his command terrified me. In fact, my father scared me far more than the alpha beside me did, I realized as Wolfie laid a possessive arm loosely around my waist. I would have thought the contact would feel confining, but instead I relaxed slightly, my wolf retreating out of my eyes at the alpha's touch.

I knew that my accidental words would have repercussions, but, wolf-like, the man beside me seemed willing to deal with the present danger first. Wolfie kept his gaze trained on my cousin as he coldly bared his teeth in what would look like a smile to humans...but wasn't. "You've delivered your message," the alpha said coldly. "Now go." Milo jerked his head in a farewell, as if he'd meant to leave anyway, but it was clear that the alpha's command spurred his quick exit.

The two of us stood in silence until my cousin was out of sight, then Wolfie turned toward me and raised that eyebrow that was getting such a workout today. "We need to talk," he began.

"We do," I agreed. "After I check on Keith."

***

I DIDN'T SLOW DOWN until I'd rushed around to the back of the building and could see the beta and my nephew through the dirt-encrusted windows. There was more work getting done now that Chase was Keith's partner, but the kid still seemed to be having fun, if the huge smile on his face was any indication. I could feel the tension in my back easing at the sight.

"They're fine," Wolfie said, grabbing my shoulder to spin me around to face him. Despite my previous conclusions about his good intentions, I instantly shrank back from the alpha's firm grasp, and he let me go as if I were on fire. A wolf-like growl burst up from his chest, and I took another step backwards even though I was at least partially sure the bloodling's reaction was pure frustration.

Unlike every other alpha-leaning male I'd ever met, though, Wolfie seemed to instinctively know how to defuse his dominance. He dropped into a sitting position so I was towering over him rather than vice versa, and I slowly joined him on the ground. The lawn was chilly, but the sun felt good on my face, so I sat silently for a minute, collecting myself, and Wolfie let me take the time I needed.

"That was a lie about Keith being your heir," I started tentatively, once the sun had driven away most of my earlier chill.

"I do consider him part of my pack," Wolfie answered, his correction sufficing as confirmation of my earlier statement. Now it was the alpha's turn to pause as he worked his mind around an undemanding way to ask me what my intentions were toward my nephew. Because my accidental word choice with Milo made it clear that I hadn't showed up simply to help Keith through his first shift.

When I didn't offer any explanation, Wolfie suggested, "Chief Wilder sent you to bring Keith back into the fold." Ashamed of my own willingness to consider the plan, but figuring lying was no longer an option, I nodded agreement. "But you aren't going to bring Keith to Haven," Wolfie continued as if this second statement was as obvious as the first.

"What am I supposed to do instead?" I burst out. "Father said it was Keith or me...." I let my voice trail off, though, as I realized that Wolfie was right. I'd only known my nephew for twenty-four hours, but already I realized that my father would chew the boy up and spit him out. I couldn't set up such a good-natured kid for that kind of soul-crushing. Better that I suck it up and go back to Haven myself--after all, I'd already enjoyed a decade of freedom. I probably had been tougher than Keith even when I was his age, and unlike my nephew, I would survive my father's attention. I sighed, accepting the inevitable.

Wolfie had no such fatalism. "We'll think of a way to fix it." He reached out and took my hand in his massive paw, which woke my wolf up with a jolt. Instead of the pain I'd felt recently whenever my wolf was present, though, a tremor of pleasure rushed through my body. The innocent skin-on-skin contact suddenly felt thoroughly erotic, and my breath caught in my throat. Breathe, demanded my wolf. I want to smell him.

Wolfie's mouth turned up into a smile, almost as if he'd heard my wolf's reaction, and I blushed furiously. "There's just one more thing we need to talk about right now," the alpha rumbled gently.

"What?" I asked, trying to figure out which other disaster had attracted Wolfie's attention.

"Whether you'll go out on a date with me tomorrow," the alpha replied.

***

IT WAS A DAY OF INTERRUPTIONS, but this was one I was grateful for. "There you are," Dale called toward us as he strolled around the corner of the building. "The clinic's looking great, isn't it?"

My brother-in-law was so homely and human that he made the werewolf beside me seem even more dangerously beautiful. Emphasis on dangerous. Despite my wolf's complaints, I yanked my hand free of Wolfie's and got to my feet, dusting off the back of my jeans and turning away from the alpha without a backward glance.

"Rounds go okay?" I asked, and Dale was quick to gratify my curiosity. When I turned to wave goodbye to Wolfie a minute later, the alpha merely looked amused by my escape, rather than angry, so I let my brother-in-law draw me toward his minivan, where a sodden Keith was already waiting in the back seat. My nephew had sunken into avid contemplation of a hand-held gaming device, and in that instant he looked as entirely normal as his father did. I could almost imagine that Keith wasn't a young werewolf, and that I wouldn't have to figure out how to help him change into wolf form and then how to protect him from my father. But as I got into the car, the kid's eyes turned up to meet mine in the rear-view mirror, and I could see the hint of worry in his face. "We'll talk soon," I mouthed, and my nephew smirked briefly before turning back to his game.

I'd never been part of a normal family before, and despite Brooke's absence, I could almost touch the solidity of the unit she'd left behind. I offered to help Dale cook dinner, and it felt comfortable to be chatting about our day as I chopped carrots and he sauteed up a stir fry. Keith was his usual, uncommunicative self over dinner, but when Dale was called back to the hospital in the middle of the meal, my nephew volunteered to help me wash up the skillet and rinse the dishes before they went into the dishwasher. Despite Milo's visit, I was surprised to realize that the packless ache in my stomach had nearly entirely fled.

"So, which one of those guys are you dating?" Keith asked out of the blue as he ferried a load of plates from table to sink.

That pulled me out of my happy, pack-filled glow and my eyebrows shot up. "I'm not dating either one!" I exclaimed. While literally true, the words felt a bit off as they bounced around the kitchen.

"Hmm," my nephew hummed noncommittally. "You definitely like one of them."

"We're not all in high school, Keith," I retorted, but couldn't help smiling at the kid who suddenly reminded me of his mother. Brooke had always known exactly what everyone was feeling in our household, and Keith had evidently inherited the knack. Even though I'd lost my sister far too soon, it felt more sweet than bitter to notice those traits in her son. "Wouldn't you rather talk about your problem?" I deflected, figuring we might as well get the Talk over with while Keith was feeling happy and I wasn't drooping with exhaustion.

"Naw," Keith answered. "We've got all day tomorrow while Dad's at work and I'm home sick. Right now, I'm more interested in your loooove life." He drew out the word in the way only a teenager could, and I laughed despite myself. But I still shook my head, refusing to dish up any more information.

"Girls always like the bad boys," Keith concluded. "That's a shame. Chase is a pretty cool guy."

A day ago, I would have agreed with Keith that it was too bad. But I was starting to realize that Wolfie possessed a depth that the bad-guy image didn't begin to cover. Not that I was interested in either one of them, of course.

Right, my wolf responded, pulling me out of my thoughts. I would have liked to think she was agreeing about my lack of interest in the young alpha, but I knew sarcasm when I heard it.

Focus, I reminded my wolf. And myself.

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# Chapter 10

I had thought it was a good idea to hike up the mountain with Keith before explaining werewolf culture and helping him through his first shift. The uphill climb would smooth out the boy's jitters, and if my nephew freaked out about his wolf form, he'd have a long way to run before he could do any damage.

The flaw in my plan only became apparent as we crested the ridge. There lay Wolfie in canine form, lounging in the same ray of sunlight he'd been enjoying two days before. The wolf barked a welcome as we came closer, and I rolled my eyes, trying to decide whether to turn around and go home.

"That's Chase's dog," Keith explained, sitting down beside the alpha werewolf to give him a belly rub. "He's harmless," my nephew continued, as if my reaction was due to fear of being bitten by a strange dog. I wished a dog bite was the only thing I had to worry about.

The day was already off to a bad start, but I figured I'd better ignore the alpha and barrel on through. "So..." I stretched out the word, trying to figure out how to begin. "If your mother was still alive, she'd be the one telling you this," I started. "Well, it really should be your father, but..."

"...He's clueless," Keith finished for me. "I really hope this isn't all a lead up to telling me about the birds and the bees, Aunt Terra, because I promise, I've heard that before."

The kid's charisma was already shining through despite his teenage gawkiness, and I figured Keith would be putting his sex-ed knowledge to use much earlier than the average teenager. I barely resisted the urge to pat his tousled hair, and I smiled despite myself, imagining Keith's reserved father trying to give his son the other kind of talk. Dale would get so embarrassed about the subject that he wouldn't even be able to start the conversation. "I'll bet you didn't learn about the birds and the bees from Dale," I retorted, laughing at the image.

"He bought me a book," Keith confirmed. My nephew moved his attention up to Wolfie's ears, which apparently were in dire need of scratching from the expression on the wolf's face. Or maybe the alpha was just amused at my fumbling attempt to educate my nephew.

"So, right, not about the birds and the bees," I continued. "I guess I should start out by telling you that your grandfather isn't a very nice guy, which is why your mother ran away from home so young. I did too." That had finally gotten Keith's attention and he watched me as I paced nervously in front of him. After another bout of extended silence (and pacing), I figured I might as well just spit it all out. "I guess I said that wrong," I corrected myself. "Your grandfather isn't a very nice werewolf."

It was only after Keith started laughing that I realized the kid didn't believe a word I was saying. Okay, sure, he probably believed his grandfather was an asshole, but tossing out the term "werewolf" with no lead-in had made my nephew think I was making a joke. And as much as I tried to bring him back down to reality, Keith had determined we were kidding around.

"That's a good one, Aunt Terra," he gasped finally, when his belly laughs were all played out. "But what did you really drag me up here to say?"

"I..."I began, but Wolfie had decided to take matters into his own hands. Or, paws, rather. The werewolf stood and walked a couple of feet away from Keith, then shifted into human form.

***

"WHOA!" KEITH EXCLAIMED. "You weren't kidding!"

"And you're not helping!" I shot at Wolfie. Sure, the alpha had made my point abundantly clear, but I didn't think my nephew was ready to see shifters in action when he probably thought they existed only in comic books. Figuring that I'd better get ready to deal with symptoms of shock, I squelched my anger at the alpha and reached out a hand toward my nephew.

Keith didn't seem as traumatized as I'd expected him to be, though. "You need some clothes, dude," was his first statement to the wolf who had suddenly turned into a man. Clearly, Keith's teenage world view expected to see ten impossible things before breakfast, and Wolfie smirked at me as if to say, I told you so. Okay, maybe the alpha had a better feel for the situation than I did after all.

"You'll get used to the nudity," I told Keith, even though I clearly wasn't. My wolf was fully alert now and begging to come out to play, but I didn't want to make Keith shift immediately after taking in the notion of werewolves being real. It was tough tearing my eyes away from Wolfie, though, especially since he seemed to be giving off an even more enticing aroma than previously. Okay, yes, the alpha's nakedness was a factor in my intense gaze too.

"My clothes are down there," Wolfie answered Keith, pointing over the other side of the mountain, where we could just make out a colony of mobile homes through the trees. "I thought we might go down and meet the pack." The alpha looked at me challengingly, and I shrugged, turning the question over to my nephew with a tilt of my head.

"Are there girls in your pack?" Keith asked, and I rolled my eyes again. Just what I needed--a teenage werewolf more interested in the concept of seeing naked female bodies than in his own shift.

***

"HUMANS IN THE HOUSE!" came the call from the kitchen as we entered the first trailer. "Put on some clothes."

The werewolf compound consisted of six mobile homes lined up in a rectangle with a huge greenhouse atrium filling the center. As we'd walked up from the outside, I saw doors scattered along each wall's length, giving the inhabitants easy access to the outdoors. Inside, walls had been ripped out to join the trailers into one structure, and large windows had been inserted into the atrium-side walls, turning the compound into an intriguing example of modern redneck architecture.

The contents of the first trailer were even more interesting than the architecture, though. Four young werewolves were scattered around what seemed to be a communal living room, and I was surprised that no one stopped what they were doing when Wolfie entered the room. I was used to an alpha's presence having an instant dampening effect on his male underlings, who would have immediately stood to attention in my old pack. Women in Haven were expected to avert their eyes and to make themselves scarce. But no one here seemed particularly interested in Wolfie. Until, that is, the alpha called out an answer to the still-unseen speaker, "There are no humans here, Tia."

That silenced the crowd and trained every eye on me and Keith. Before anyone else could speak, a middle-aged woman walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel and looking us over. "You're right," she said, and a wide smile of welcome sprang out onto her face. "You must be Keith and Terra. Chase has told me a lot about you."

The woman appeared to be the pack mother of the clan, and I guessed from her words that she was Chase's parent. I liked Tia right away, but hated the way my heart sank at her words. Despite myself, I wished that Wolfie had been the one telling this mother figure a lot about me, clear proof that I'd spent too much time lately talking to my wolf.

So I was glad when Keith drew my attention back to the task at hand. "Everyone here is a werewolf?" the teenager asked. In his shoes, I would have been daunted by the prospect, but my nephew just appeared intrigued.

"Well, we're all werewolf kin," a young woman a few years older than Keith answered him. "Some of us are halfies like me, or are technically humans. But, yeah, most of us can shift."

As the girl continued talking, their alpha slipped away down the hall, and I gave my wolf a little slap to remind her to pay less attention to the naked man and more attention to the nephew we were supposed to be protecting. Not that Keith seemed to need any help. I was overwhelmed to be in the middle of a pack again after so long, but the kid was eagerly lapping up the attention as each werewolf introduced himself. Keith was clearly in his element, glad-handing the lot of them like he was a politician on the campaign trail--my nephew's alpha blood coming out at last. But even though I was glad he was happy, I was feeling more overwhelmed by the minute. Loud voices and strong wolf odors were making the walls appear to close in around me, and as I strained to make out Keith's words to ensure he was okay, I realized that even sound seemed to be receding into the distance.

My panic attack was so engrossing that I didn't notice at first when Wolfie ended up back by my side, this time clad in jeans and a button-down flannel shirt. I could feel his wolf, though, and my own darker side rose up to meet it, which had the fortunate side effect of squashing my panic. My inner wolf saw no reason to be concerned about these obviously friendly pack mates, and she saw every reason to be interested in the scents wafting off the alpha beside us. So I let her have her head...or rather our head...for a few seconds as I caught my breath.

"Do you want us to help him shift?" that alpha asked by way of greeting, cutting right to the chase. His brown eyes were piercing as he trained them on my face and ignored everyone else in the room. I, on the other hand, couldn't resist casting one more glance around the common area, noticing that no one had batted an eyelash when Wolfie walked back in. This really did appear to be a very different kind of pack than the one I'd grown up in.

Wolfie's words were also unusual for an alpha, since most pack leaders would have just taken over and decided when a young male was ready to shift. It was traditional for a group of older males to help a younger male through his initial change, and given how hard it had been to pin down my own wolf lately, I figured Wolfie's suggestion was probably a safer move than having me walk Keith through his first change of form alone. On the other hand, I was the one who would have to deal with the aftermath over the next few days and weeks, so I was leery of initiating Keith's shift until I had my own wolf under better control. I muddled my way through the explanation, expecting Wolfie to laugh at my inability to shift, but instead, he just seemed puzzled.

"I saw you as a wolf," the alpha said, confused. Of course he wouldn't understand how much I struggled with keeping my wolf down and letting her rise at will since he'd met me once in human form in the city and once in wolf form in the woods--perfectly appropriate werewolf behavior.

"And she was beautiful. I remember," I answered wryly, recalling Wolfie's words to me on the mountaintop.

"You are beautiful," Wolfie corrected me again, just as he had when we first spoke in human form. "There is no you and she," he elaborated. "There's just us, the wolf."

"Maybe for a bloodling," I countered. "But it's not that easy. Female werewolves change uncontrollably, you know that. When I left Haven, I had to take control of my shifts to protect all of the humans around me. Unfortunately, I seem to have done too good of a job of taking control."

He tilted his head to the side, considering, and then understanding slowly dawned in the alpha's eyes. "You're the opposite of a bloodling," Wolfie suggested. "You've let the human take over. You don't even realize the wolf is no more animal than the rest of you is." He paused, then added playfully, "It's not like you're going to eat small children."

I flushed, thinking of Wolfie walking through the city on a tiny leash that wouldn't have held him back if he'd taken a notion to bite the hand off that kindergartner...and of my own wolf's reaction to an earlier child. "But your wolf is different," I countered. Never mind that bloodling wolves were supposed to be less able to handle life around humans, not more able.

"How so?" the alpha asked, cocking his head to the side again in honest question.

Which is precisely when I realized that I'd been having this entire conversation with the wolf, not the man. To my chagrin, I couldn't quite figure out whether that underlined my point, or belied it.

***

BEFORE I COULD ANSWER, my attention was drawn back to Keith, and to the trio of males who were stripping in the middle of the living room. There was only one reason Keith's newfound friends would be getting naked in tandem, and despite my confusion about other issues, I was 100% sure I didn't want my nephew to change for the first time right now.

"They're not going to shift?" I asked frantically. "I don't think Keith's ready to experience his wolf yet...." Whether or not Keith was ready, I sure wasn't, but it appeared that my nephew's first shift was only seconds away.

Taking deep calming breaths, I struggled to pull up my own wolf in preparation. Ever since Wolfie had met us on the mountaintop, my wolf had been hovering in the background, but now she appeared to be sound asleep and refused to answer my call. This was precisely why we needed to wait on Keith's first shift, but I obviously didn't have any say in the matter. I could see the gleam in my nephew's eye as he reached up to unbutton his shirt, putting a hand on one werewolf's shoulder as he kicked off a shoe. We were fast approaching liftoff, no matter how not ready I was.

"Stop," Wolfie said, barely raising his voice. But despite its quietness, the single word cut through the crowd and froze everyone in their tracks. I realized I'd been holding my breath, and let it out in a sudden gust of air. "Ten steps away," the alpha continued in a more normal tone of voice, and the young werewolf males rolled their eyes, but backed up.

"He's ready, Wolfie," one complained, but Wolfie just watched silently before turning back to me.

"They'll give him an example today," the alpha told me, his words loud enough to carry across the room. "Then we'll work on you and let Keith shift another day."

I felt like an over-protective mother when the guys shifted in tandem and my nephew's only response was a crowing "Wicked cool!" But I didn't have much time to obsess over the issue, because Wolfie was already changing gears.

"So, about that date..." he began. Then, before I could argue, Wolfie continued. "Keith will be just fine here for a few hours." And despite my mother-hen instincts, I knew the alpha was right.

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# Chapter 11

I had assumed a date would mean dinner and perhaps a movie, but I should have realized that nothing was conventional around Wolfie. Instead, he herded me out into the atrium, where bushy fig trees and ceiling-high tomato vines were thriving despite the autumnal chill.

"Hey, boss," called a tanned beauty about my age from the other side of a garden bed, and I was embarrassed to feel my wolf wake up and growl nearly audibly. I thought I had smothered the sound, but Wolfie's cheek quirked up into a lop-sided smile.

"Galena," he called back. "This is Terra from across the mountain." The woman waved a welcome, and then another female werewolf popped up in front of us, surprising a gasp out of me. Just as beautiful as Galena, but with a buzz haircut that showed off her slender neck, this second werewolf swooped in to give Wolfie a deep kiss on the mouth, and this time I wasn't able to stifle my wolf's complaint.

"I'd be jealous if I had the slightest notion you swung that way, Quetzalli," Galena called across the garden beds, and it took me a minute to realize she was talking to the swooping kisser.

"I'm Galena's partner," the second woman explained to me with a smirk, breaking the kiss but continuing to tease me by trailing a finger over Wolfie's chest. The alpha leaned into the woman's touch, and to my chagrin my wolf growled more loudly, prompting Wolfie and Quetzalli both to laugh at my reaction.

Again, it was Galena who pointed out that I was being played. Walking around the garden bed to join us at last, she slapped the alpha lightly on the chest, right where her partner's fingers had been just moments before. "Play nice, Wolfie," she admonished, her voice light and with no hint of the jealousy my wolf was feeling. She didn't bother to chastise her partner, merely taking the other woman's hand and dimpling as she offered up her own mouth to be kissed.

"Just seeing if Terra likes me," the alpha rumbled in reply, but he lowered his head in submission to the tiny werewolf. Despite my wolf's reaction to Quetzalli's game, I couldn't help smiling to see such a massive alpha letting the minuscule woman boss him around, and my mood mellowed further at the real show of affection between Quetzalli and Galena.

"You can walk her through our suite if she wants to see what it's like," Galena continued, letting her partner go with a smile and heading back around the raised bed so she could heft a bundle of weeds into a wheelbarrow. Just glancing around, I could tell the greenhouse was a serious effort of space-saving food production, and this duo seemed to be the wolves in charge. So far, I liked what I saw...especially once it became clear that these bronzed beauties weren't really interested in the alpha.

"Do you?" Wolfie asked, raising that sexy eyebrow at me, and it took a second for me to realize he was asking if I wanted to see their suite.

"If you're sure they won't mind?" I answered, and Wolfie led the way across cobblestones and through sliding glass doors into the couple's quarters.

It was hard to tell that the suite was half of a single-wide trailer since the space had been completely gutted and rebuilt, one room turned into a bedroom and the other into a private studio, sitting room, and seed-starting zone. Wolfie waved a hand at a row of sticks poking out of pots by the windows. "If the green thumbs were here, they would tell you those are grape cuttings." He went on to explain that the seedlings were kale, tatsoi, and tokyo bekana, ready to go into outside beds, and I was surprised that an alpha cared enough to learn the specifics of his wolves' trades. We walked back through the atrium and into the suite opposite, which was full of another surprise--banks of computer equipment.

"What's all this?" I asked, startled. Werewolves tended to stick to the past--I knew a lot of adult werewolves who never learned to drive, preferring horses and buggies. Similarly, cell phones, computers, and other modern gadgets were generally ignored, but Wolfie's pack seemed to be high-tech, even by non-werewolf standards.

"This," Wolfie said, gesturing at the rows of monitors, "is how we pay the bills. We provide computer security for big companies. Chase and I do a lot of the heavy lifting, but even the yahoos you saw changing in front of Keith put in a few hours a week on the simple stuff."

I was starting to relax, since this date looked like more of a pack tour than a social outing, but Wolfie liked to keep me on my toes. "And this," he added, "is where I give you the kiss your wolf keeps asking for." He tilted my head up to meet his lips, and if I'd been a werecat instead of a werewolf, I would have purred.

***

"ARE YOU READY FOR YOUR next lesson?" the alpha whispered in my ear as he pulled back out of our kiss. I had no clue what kind of lesson Wolfie was talking about, but I was wobbly enough from the lip lock that I just nodded and allowed him to pull me out the door on the opposite side of the computer lab and into the outdoors.

"It's your choice whether you'd feel more comfortable working on your shift outside or inside," the alpha said, bursting my blissful bubble. "My room is over here," he added, pointing away from the common area to a door on the far corner of the compound. "Or we can head back up onto the mountain if you want even more privacy."

I tensed up immediately. This wasn't the kind of lesson I was interested in at the moment, and my wolf agreed. The two of us had finally come to the conclusion that Wolfie was a good guy, and we were interested in seeing more of his bare skin, not in working on changing forms. I hadn't allowed myself to have sex with anything that didn't plug into the wall since leaving Haven, and now that Wolfie had woken up my sexual side with a kiss, I was having trouble putting it back to sleep.

To my annoyance, Wolfie laughed at me. "You should see the look on your face," he explained. "At least you're talking to your wolf now. What does she want?" My face turned bright red and Wolfie laughed even harder.

"Isn't this supposed to be a date?" I countered to cover my embarrassment. "Yes, I agree, I need to figure out how to get my shift back under control so I can help Keith, but that's work, and dates are supposed to be fun."

Wolfie shook his head at me sadly. "That's where you're wrong, Terra. Shifting is fun. It's a roller coaster and sexy as hell. How could you forget that?"

"Maybe shifts are like that for a bloodling," I said, then regretted the words immediately when Wolfie's head bowed down, his boyish enthusiasm gone.

"Is that how you think of me?" he asked. "Am I just a wolf to you?"

This was a tough question, and one I didn't particularly care to answer. Having met Wolfie in wolf form, it felt natural to think of his wolf first and the man second. And the wolf did seem to be looking out of the man's eyes a lot of the time, even when Wolfie was in human form. In fact, it was Wolfie's strong canine presence that made me feel a little better about reclaiming my own wolf. On the other hand, I definitely didn't have a fur fetish, and I thought Wolfie was unbelievably hot, so, no, I didn't just see his wolf.

Oops, had I said that last bit out loud? This seemed to be the day for me to practice my blushing and for the sexy alpha to laugh at me, but it was better than seeing his head bowed down in pain.

"We'll get to that," Wolfie promised, tweaking my nose, which just annoyed me even more. "But it sounds like I now owe you a real, human date."

***

"FIRST DATES ARE SUPPOSED to be awkward, right?" Wolfie asked after we were seated in a booth at the only restaurant in town--a Mexican joint with flashy sombreros lining the walls.

"Why? Do you feel awkward?" I asked. Wolfie never looked like he felt awkward, although he certainly seemed to prompt that emotion in the people around him. Just a few minutes earlier, the alpha had stared into the eyes of the man who held the door open for me until the guy let go of the handle and nearly crushed me with the closing door. I gathered the glare was due to Wolfie feeling possessive, because after the guy fled, my date had just smiled contentedly. The werewolf across from me hadn't felt awkward about that faux pas though, and he certainly didn't seem to be feeling awkward now either, so I was stumped by his question.

"Nope," Wolfie replied, carefully easing the wrapper back onto his straw so he could shoot it across the room...again. "I just wanted to make sure you were getting the human-date experience."

I had to laugh...and to put my hand over the straw to prevent him from firing round two. "I think this part of the date is where we're supposed to get to know one another," I explained, feeling like I was twenty years older than the guy across from me.

"Oh, right," Wolfie said agreeably, pulling a printout from his pocket. He read over the page, mumbling to himself. "Who's my best friend? You know that already. Do you have a nickname? Terra the Terror--pretty good. How about this--what was your family like growing up?" The alpha turned his gaze back on me and it was all I could do to restrain myself from reaching across the table and kissing him again. He was boyfully mischievous...and irresistible.

"Okay, you're right, this is stupid," I agreed. "What do you want to do on our date?"

***

WE PARKED AT AN OVERLOOK, the valley spreading out below us and the first stars starting to blink to life in the indigo sky. Wolfie had selected a battered pickup truck from the three vehicles parked in front of the pack's compound when we first left, and I'd initially thought that was a bit of a strange date ride. But now I realized that Wolfie had planned from the beginning to take me here, and hadn't wanted a center console to stand in his way.

The alpha unbuckled his own seatbelt, then reached around to unsnap mine as well. As he pulled the straps away from my body, they grazed my belly, and I shivered in anticipation. "Are you still scared of me?" Wolfie asked, pausing as he misdiagnosed my tremor.

I shook my head. "No, that was a different kind of shiver," I answered, my voice husky with emotion.

The wolf in my date's eyes seemed even brighter as Wolfie smiled down at me. "Okay, so this is the lesson I had planned earlier," he rumbled, his voice deepening as he scooted closer along the seat. "Your wolf and you share the same body," he breathed in my ear, running one finger very gently down the side of my neck. "I want you to feel what she feels when I touch you here...and here...."

For a second, I tensed up again, but then I remembered how easily Wolfie had subdued my darker half up on the mountaintop. Even if I accidentally let her all the way out, the alpha would have no trouble taking control of the situation. And there was no one present at the moment but us, so even in the very unlikely scenario where I shifted to wolf form and escaped the alpha, I wouldn't do any damage.

When I was first learning to control my wolf, it helped to visualize locking her away in her cage when things got difficult, so now I used the same visualization in reverse. My human self walked down the imaginary stairs in my mind, turned a key in her iron-barred door, and stood back to let her walk out.

As the canine stepped out of her dark cell, I mused that I hadn't remembered my wolf being so beautiful. Could Wolfie somehow be making me see her through his eyes? Her fur gleamed and her eyes were bright with anticipation. She didn't try to push past me the way I thought she would, either, but instead nudged her head up under my hand, and we walked together back up toward the surface.

"I can see her in your eyes," Wolfie hummed happily, running one finger over my lips. If I'd thought his caresses felt good before, they were sublime now with my wolf's emotions strengthening my own. It felt like the difference between hot chocolate from a cut-rate powder and the homemade version concocted from whole milk, cocoa, and dark honey. When Wolfie kissed me the second time, my wolf and I seemed to merge into one breathless, happy whole.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was also far too soon, Wolfie leaned back. "And that was lesson two," he concluded, once again tweaking my nose.

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# Chapter 12

"I still don't get why I can't just hurry up and shift," Keith complained a week later when we were once again hanging out at the werewolf compound. Despite his words, my nephew was ecstatic, surrounded by the pack's nurturing acceptance. He and the yahoos (as Wolfie liked to call them) were playing poker in the living area while the alpha and I cooked lunch in the kitchen annex off to one side. From the amount of hooting and hollering going on out there, I had a feeling the card game used clothing removal for scoring.

Fen--the young woman who had first spoken to Keith a week ago and who was a bit of an honorary yahoo--was right in the middle of the action, and I know a human parental figure would have been shocked. Even as a werewolf, and despite knowing that Fen could take care of herself, I couldn't resist drifting into the open archway between our two rooms as I heard her voice chime in to respond to Keith's complaint.

"Because, kid, you're still learning control," the young woman said snottily, poking my nephew in his bare chest.

I had a feeling Keith had lost more games than he really needed to in order to display his physique in front of Fen...even though the gawky youngster didn't have much to show off. The only clothing the teenager had left was his pants, presumably his underwear, and a lone sock, but Fen seemed entirely uninterested in the view. When you live among werewolves, strip poker just doesn't have the same explosive impact.

"Once you can pull up your wolf partway and send him back down every time," she continued, "Then you can go full-on wolf."

"And once your Aunt Terra is ready, then you can shift," Wolfie called over my head. The alpha didn't even need to put any command into his voice to make the statement stick--despite their rowdiness, the yahoos were some of the most obedient young werewolves I'd ever met. I smiled up at the man who had made the last seven days a whirlwind of excitement. In human parlance, we still hadn't made it past second base--Wolfie refused to go further until I felt 100% comfortable about the partnership with my wolf. But boy did second base feel good....

"I think I need the kind of personal lessons Aunt Terra is getting," Keith said, leering at Fen, who rolled her eyes and responded: "In your dreams, kid."

***

"WHY THE BIG SMILE?" Wolfie asked as we left the younger set to their cards and retreated back to the stove to finish prepping a pot of chili.

I couldn't resist smiling even wider as the alpha lightly traced one finger down my bare arm. I hadn't noticed until this morning that the slowly fading packless ache was completely gone, along with the bone-deep gnawing of my wolf, and the realization had left me feeling even lighter on my feet. And why should any pain linger when I was surrounded by two nurturing packs every day? Each evening, Keith and I headed home to eat dinner with Dale, who was his usual caring self, if completely oblivious to the werewolfery going on around him. Then we'd get up the next morning and spend the day with Wolfie's pack, helping around the kitchen and garden, or just hanging out with wolves who were starting to feel like old friends. With the easy familiarity of youth, Keith had already become bosom buddies with Blaze, the youngest of the yahoos, and Galena and I were taking the slightly slower, adult path to the same place. Even Quetzalli and I had reached a sort of truce--I ignored her and she didn't yank my chain...too often.

No reason to tell Wolfie all that, though, because his wolf could sense exactly how I felt. "You alphas always think it's all about you," I teased him, but couldn't help adding, "I'm just happy because of your pack. It feels so good to be around werewolves again without having to put up with my father's old-fashioned bullshit."

"It can be your pack too," Wolfie offered, his rampant wolf making the alpha up-front about his intentions, as usual. "There's an empty suite next door to my room...."

Despite my good mood, Wolfie's overt suggestion took a bit of the bounce out of my steps. I wasn't ready to go there yet. Yes, Wolfie's pack seemed perfect on the outside, but I'd seen too much pack awfulness to jump right back onto that horse. Plus: "We have to figure out what we're going to do about Keith and my father first," I responded, the smile suddenly absent from my face. I'd been putting off thinking about that thorny issue, content to live in the moment for the last week, but I wouldn't be surprised if my father had scouts with telephoto lenses keeping an eye on me from the surrounding hills. If I didn't make progress soon, I might be in for another visit from cousin Milo.

"That seems simple," Wolfie said comfortably. And to a wolf-dominated alpha, the issue of another wolf trying to take what he considered his property probably did appear simple. I could even guess at Wolfie's solution before the words came out of his mouth. "I'll confront the old man and he'll leave you alone."

"Wolfie, you don't understand how a pack like Haven works," I countered. "You can't just walk in the door and challenge my father to some kind of wolf fight to the death. The Chief would send out a half dozen goons like Milo and you'd never make it off the main road." Plus, as much as I wasn't willing to say it out loud, the Chief was my father, and I no more wanted him to get hurt than I ever wanted to see him again. This was one of the reasons I had refrained from thinking about the metaphorical sword hanging over my head--Wolfie and I didn't see eye to eye on the issue at all.

"Okay," Wolfie agreed easily. "How about I mate with you and offer to merge packs? Keith can be the heir for both of us."

That idea startled a humorless laugh out of me. My father wouldn't dream of allying his century-old pack with Wolfie's upstart band of misfits, never mind the fact that mating with Wolfie was twice as big of a commitment as moving in with his pack would have been. "Seriously, Wolfie? Do you know anything about my father?" I asked him, just as Keith draped himself across the archway and interrupted our conversation.

"The guys and I were thinking of heading home to check out my gaming system," my nephew said, a wheedle in his voice. "Is that okay?"

I was glad to have the troublesome topic tabled, and I couldn't resist wondering whether an afternoon alone with Wolfie might tempt the alpha to relax his standards and allow hands below the waist. And, personal feelings aside, Keith's charm made the request hard to turn down, especially since I knew the yahoos would keep an eye on the kid. "Sure," I agreed, tossing the youngster my car keys without further thought. "Just call if you need anything. And Wade drives."

"And you practice partial shifts every time a game ends," Wolfie added, a slight growl entering his voice to ensure that his orders, at least, would be obeyed.

"Sure thing, Uncle Wolfie," Keith said jokingly and shot out the door before the alpha could belt him with a dish towel.

***

CHASE HAD JOINED US in the kitchen to hunt down a midmorning snack when intruders came pounding on the compound door. Wolfie smelled trouble a moment before the racket began and I noticed his shoulders tensing, so I was prepared for the way his wolf took command behind the alpha's eyes.

"Go out the back way and over the mountain to Keith," he ordered Chase, then the alpha hit a red button on the wall that set off barely audible alarms ringing throughout the compound. In response, adult werewolves converged on the common area nearly as quickly as Wolfie and I made it out of the kitchen.

Quetzalli and Galena were the first to arrive, dirt still on their fingers from the garden but all softness gone from their eyes. The human Acacia had her daughter Lantana latched onto one breast, her werewolf husband Berndt hovering protectively over them. Tia was bleary-eyed, as if she'd just woken up from a nap, leaving only Wolfie's uncle Oscar unaccounted for. Except for the yahoos, Keith, and Chase, of course, who I hoped would all be together soon, safely on the other side of the mountain.

"Berndt, take Acacia and Lantana to the safe room," Wolfie ordered, jerking his head toward the left side of the compound, and the father seemed glad to obey. I expected Wolfie to send the rest of the women packing too, even though that would have left him with only the missing Oscar for backup, but Wolfie continued to overturn my preconceived notions of alpha behavior. He motioned for Tia, Quetzalli, and Galena to form a protective arc behind us as he and I walked together toward the door.

It's only been ten days, I told myself. Father wouldn't show up before the month is over. But I didn't believe my own lie. I'd been expecting Chief Wilder to arrive on our doorstep ever since Wolfie sent my cousin packing a week before, and it almost felt like a relief to be able to stop looking over my shoulder. Almost.

The pounding stopped abruptly when Wolfie wrenched open the door, leaving one of my cousins to catch his balance as he lowered his fist mid-pound. The cousin sidled away down the steps, giving us a clear view of Chief Wilder leaning against a huge black SUV and flanked by four more male cousins. A fifth cousin restrained Oscar, the older werewolf's hands tied together behind his back with a zip tie while a bruise rose on one cheek. For the first time ever, I heard a low growl rise out of usually gentle Tia's throat as she took in the view.

After spending time around Wolfie's bulk, my father appeared smaller and older, but no less dangerous. In fact, if we'd been in wolf form, I would have expected the Chief to circle around behind our pack and jump on Wolfie from the rear, taking down the stronger alpha through pure cunning. Not that my father needed to use trickery since he currently made up for anything he lacked in personal strength due to the presence of hefty enforcers strewn across our front yard. We were clearly outclassed.

But Wolfie would never let another alpha show him up. "Crazy Wilder," Wolfie greeted the Chief with the nickname I'd never heard anyone say to the old man's face. "Welcome to my humble abode."

I waited for the scene to descend into bedlam, but after a moment, my father merely began to laugh. "Bloodling Wolf," he responded in kind. "Aren't alphas supposed to protect their women and children instead of vice versa?" The older alpha nodded at one of my cousins, who sent Oscar stumbling toward the front door. "Here, have your mother's bleeding-heart brother back. It looks like your pack is a little short on testosterone." As if to highlight his words, my father leered at the women behind me, and I could feel Quetzalli clenching her hands into fists in response.

We parted to let Oscar inside and Tia drew him out of my father's line of sight to worry at the zip ties around his wrists. But my attention remained riveted on the two alphas. Although I found it hard to believe, Wolfie seemed bored by the exchange, smothering a yawn as he stared down my father, whose face darkened at the affront. Turning his eyes to easier prey, Chief Wilder addressed me.

"Little Terra," he continued. "I had expected to see more progress after all this time. Why hasn't my grandson been introduced to his wolf?" When the words of a reply stuck in my throat, a wide smile strained my father's cheeks, although his eyes remained cold. "So the reports are true--my daughter is a shiftless wolf. As useless as her brother."

I stumbled backwards as if I'd been struck. Like the term "meat," "shiftless" was an awful slur to apply to a werewolf. But my father was right. Despite all of Wolfie's hard work to bring my wolf and me together, the last time I'd locked myself into my basement room and attempted to shift, I hadn't felt a single hint of the change. I'd have to learn to embrace the term. Shiftless. My head bowed, and I was no longer able to look into my father's eyes.

Wolfie had been quiet, giving me the chance to respond on my own, but when I seemed struck dumb, the younger alpha angled his body to hide me from view. "What do you want, old man?" Wolfie demanded, his tone as cold as my father's had been.

"Well, I certainly don't want her anymore," my father replied cheerfully, as if he and Wolfie were two farmers leaning over a fence to talk horse flesh. "I looked into your claim, by the way," he added, "and Keith is no more your heir than Brooke was your mate. I've taken what I wanted."

With those parting words, my father and cousins slid back into their gleaming SUV. Doors banged, and the huge vehicle rolled down the driveway and out of our sight.

***

WOLFIE UNDERSTOOD WHAT had happened before I did. I'd never heard such a stream of invective flow out of the alpha's mouth as I did when he grabbed his keys and leaped into his truck, the rest of us still gaping in the doorway. But before Wolfie could start the engine, Chase bounded up in wolf form. Alone.

Understanding dawned on all of us at once, and I sank down to sit on the steps as Wolfie's head dropped onto the steering wheel. His beta shifted back to two-footed humanity quickly and moved closer to the truck before he reported.

"The yahoos are okay," Chase told his pack leader quietly. "But Keith is gone."

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# Chapter 13

"A bribe," Chase suggested.

Wolfie's pack was sitting around the compound's dining table, and had been for the last three hours. After stopping the hot-headed yahoos from immediately running after my father and nephew, we'd been tossing around ideas for how to bring Keith home, but we didn't seem to be making any progress. In fact, the pack appeared to be falling apart rather than coming together. The young males were a mass of testosterone despite Tia's best efforts at maintaining order, and even Quetzalli and Galena were bickering.

Part of the issue was the absence of our alpha. The firm hold Wolfie had maintained on his temper during my father's little visit slipped its bounds at last when the alpha realized Keith had been snatched out from under our noses--I'd never seen such a fast involuntary shift. Chase had been forced to open the truck door to let his alpha run up the mountainside and vent his temper somewhere safe, and Oscar had quickly shifted to follow after him.

In Wolfie's absence, Chase should have been in charge, but I could tell the beta was as worried about Wolfie as he was about my nephew. Still, his most recent suggestion was the best we'd heard so far.

"Bribe him with what?" I asked. My father's favorite possession was power, closely followed by money to prop up that power. Unfortunately, a young pack like Wolfie's hadn't had time to earn either of my father's preferred playthings. Not that I didn't think Wolfie's compound was whimsically appealing, but living in mobile homes made it unlikely that the pack would be able to rustle up anything that would capture my father's attention.

"The usual," responded an unlikely voice from the front door. "Money."

We all turned in unison to watch Keith's father enter, followed closely by Wolfie and Oscar. The two werewolves were dressed in jogging pants that I recognized from Dale's running collection, and my eyebrows weren't the only ones to rise at seeing an uninitiated human brought into our pow-wow. Tia was merely the first to voice her concern.

"Wolfie?" she asked. "You didn't...?" She tilted her head toward Dale in inquiry and the easy-going doctor thinned his lips.

"He did," Dale confirmed. "It was pretty easy to convince me after two wolves shifted into neighbors on the front porch."

One of the yahoos started swearing, and I couldn't help but agree. Wolfie had broken a cardinal werewolf rule--outsiders weren't to know what we were unless they moved in with the pack. In a pinch, I figured we could argue that Dale had joined the pack when he married Brooke, even though my sister hadn't seen fit to inform her husband of her wolf nature. Still....

"My call," Wolfie said simply, and I could feel the pack fitting itself back together at his calm words. As pack leader, the choice had indeed been Wolfie's call. Now, Wolfie turned his eyes toward Keith's father, and the attention of everyone in the room shifted with him.

"I understand that bringing in the police is out of the question," Dale said calmly, and for the first time I could imagine my brother-in-law in the emergency room sewing up a patient as quickly and efficiently as possible so the injured person wouldn't bleed out. This was a side of Brooke's husband that I hadn't been aware of. "Wolfie says Keith isn't currently in any danger because his grandfather wants him as a sort of leader in training," Dale continued, "but I'd like to get my son back as quickly as possible. Between my retirement account and mortgaging the house, I should be able to come up with a quarter of a million dollars by tomorrow."

My eyes bulged. Yes, that kind of money would speak even to Crazy Wilder. Especially if we added in the bargaining chip I'd been afraid to bring up but knew would sweeten the pot.

Unfortunately, now that Wolfie was back, I'd have to wait even longer to mention my contribution. This was one bargaining chip I knew the alpha would disapprove of.

***

AS THE PACK CHANGED gears and began ironing out the logistics of meeting with my father, I drew Dale aside to take care of one of the loose threads in my plan. I expected my brother-in-law to refuse to talk to me--after all, I'd lied by omission and was ultimately responsible for his son's kidnapping. But instead, he simply enfolded me into another one of his world-class hugs. I could feel tears prickling behind my eyes, and was surprised to notice my wolf adding her sensations to my own. I might be shiftless, but it felt good for a wolf to join me under my human skin.

"I'm so sorry, Dale," I told him as soon as my brother-in-law released me, seeing tears in his eyes to match my own. "I should have told you, but I didn't think I could...." My voice trailed off, the words seeming lame even to my ears.

But Dale was kind even in his grief. "It's not your fault," he answered, giving me another pat on the back. "I guessed something was going on with Brooke, but I'd forgotten all about it until you went out for such a sudden run your first day here. If I'd been more present, I would have figured out that Keith's issues were more than a puberty-onset mental illness." Dale's lips drew down as he counted up all of the hours he'd been on call and not present in his son's life. I'm sure Keith's age made his father's guilt much worse since the kid had reached that teenage stage when parents are decidedly uncool, so the boy had kept his head in his video games when Dale was home. Nothing like a teenager to make a parent feel guilty.

"You'll have him back soon," I promised, even though I knew that no plan, no matter how sound, was guaranteed while my father was the opposing force. But we had to think positively or we'd all turn wolf and end up chewing apart trees on the mountainside the way Wolfie had.

"I know," Dale agreed, propping us both up with his certainty. "And I want to thank you for all the help you've given Keith already. He's been so much happier since you moved in, and I know it's more than just understanding the changes he's going through. It's good for him to have his aunt around."

I glanced over Dale's shoulder at the yahoos and older werewolves who were deep in conversation around the table, and felt the first wrench of the packless ache I'd thought had been quenched in my stomach. Of course, if my plan worked, I'd feel that ache 24/7 in the near future, so it might as well get warmed up. "You shouldn't be thanking me," I answered my brother-in-law. "That happiness is all due to hanging out with Wolfie's pack. Werewolves aren't meant to be alone."

***

"NO," CHASE SAID ADAMANTLY, and I looked over my shoulder to make sure the door to his room was firmly closed behind us. At any other time, I would have been checking out the beta's apartment, wondering if Wolfie's next-door accommodations looked similar. But now my attention was riveted on the werewolf in front of me. If I couldn't get Chase to play along, this whole plan was doomed to failure.

"Yes," I hissed back, keeping my voice low in case another member of the pack left the dining room and walked past Chase's door. "You don't know my father like I do," I continued. "The Chief will want something more than money, something to make us all bleed. And this is the only thing I can think of."

Chase started pacing furiously between his bed and desk, and I took a step back to give him room to think. While I was flattered that the beta didn't like my idea, I needed Chase to think beyond the personal and to realize that what I was suggesting was for the good of the entire pack. In the end, I had confidence that this more level-headed member of the pack's management team would see my point of view...eventually.

"I know my father made it sound like he wasn't interested in me," I started, but Chase cut me off.

"He was bluffing, obviously," the beta finished my thought. "Or rather, he was trying to break you. Chief Wilder would be quite content to have a daughter at his beck and call, as long as she was cowed and led by an easily managed husband." He smiled grimly. "In fact, you'd probably be a lot less trouble than Keith. If I don't miss my guess, the kid is kicking and screaming."

"So we're agreed?" I queried, surprised that Chase had come around so easily. I'd considered a whole slew of arguments, but didn't want to spend any more time than necessary closeted with Wolfie's second-in-command for fear someone would come pounding on the door and catch us in the act of betrayal. I breathed a sigh of relief at the thought that the deal was struck, although the packless ache in my stomach grew even stronger.

But apparently I wasn't out of the woods yet. "Wolfie will never go for it," Chase rebutted, and I could feel frustration pushing my wolf up to the surface. I'd thought Chase understood the whole point of this clandestine conversation, but apparently I'd have to spell it out for him.

"That's why I'm talking to you," I said slowly, then watched as understanding dawned in the beta's eyes. He opened his mouth angrily, then closed it and resumed his pacing. A full minute passed before Chase spoke to me, and then his words were cold as ice.

"You'll break him," Chase told me, pausing in his path to stare directly into my eyes. I'd thought that Chase and I were becoming friends, but his expression made it clear I was now burning any bridge I'd thought had been built between us. Chase's loyalty to his alpha was far greater than any friendship he and I could have forged in the last week. As much as the realization hurt, though, it was a moot point--I wouldn't be part of this pack much longer.

"He's a bloodling wolf," I countered, as if that explained everything. And to me, it did. Yes, Wolfie would feel betrayed, but he'd get over it. No loss of attachment could break a wolf's spirit.

"You still don't know him at all," Chase muttered, almost to himself, and resumed pacing. But he hadn't refused outright, so I pulled out my next verbal sally.

"Think for a minute about what Wolfie will do when my father refuses to take the money," I said to the beta, and I could tell I had his attention by the way his steps slowed. "You're thinking that the worst-case scenario is that Keith will have to stay with my father, and I agree that's not the end of the world. It would be a real shame for a sweet kid like my nephew to be turned into an alpha asshole by my father, but Keith is old enough that he'd find a way to hold his own, at least somewhat." I paused and then painted the picture I could see so vividly in my own mind. "But you and I both know that Wolfie wouldn't let that happen," I continued, my voice even lower. "If my father refuses to strike the deal, Wolfie will challenge him. And my father plays dirty. Wolfie wouldn't leave Haven alive."

"And this pack would fall apart," Chase fleshed out the end of the scenario softly. At least I wasn't the only one that understood how this pack of outcasts depended on Wolfie for survival. Chase was a nice guy and an efficient administrator, but the pack would disintegrate without Wolfie's strong leadership, and that would leave a lot of werewolves out in the cold. The yahoos might be able to wiggle their way into another pack, but a wolf like Berndt with a human wife and a halfie daughter would have nowhere to go. No hide-bound pack would take in a pair of lesbian wolves, and Fen wouldn't fare much better as a young-adult halfie. Of course, that didn't even begin to address the way Tia and Chase would implode without their son and brother.

"Now do you understand why this is so important?" I pleaded with Chase. When he didn't respond immediately, I played my trump card. "It's only a last resort," I lied. True, I'd gladly let go of my plan if Dale's monetary bribe proved sufficient, but I knew it wouldn't be. My father would want to watch us squirm, and if someone had to fall on her sword, it should be me.

"Okay," Chase said at last, his shoulders hunching and his voice beaten. "It's a plan."

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# Chapter 14

We cooled our heels for four whole days, which felt like an eternity. Dale needed a chance to liquefy his assets and Chase didn't want us to appear too eager, figuring that every day Chief Wilder had to work around my nephew's teenage orneriness, the more likely the alpha would be to agree to our trade-off. Despite the fact that the delay made perfect sense, though, time seemed to flow like molasses in January.

We all coped in our own individualized ways. Oscar decided the pack needed a span of new fences, so he dragged the yahoos and Fen out into the pasture with dozens of posts and a wire stretcher. By the end of each day, all five were so exhausted, they gobbled down huge amounts of food, then fell into their beds in silence.

Tia took advantage of the pasture crew's hunger, filling her time with bread-baking and stew-cooking. After walking in on the pack mother kneading bread that first morning, dough slamming violently into the wooden countertop and tears streaming down her face, I decided she'd be better off without my help.

Meanwhile, Berndt's little family retreated into their suite to sooth their fears in private, and Quetzalli, Galena, and Wolfie turned wolf. Only Chase seemed calm and in control, but his usually warm eyes were so cold when they looked at me, I felt like I'd already betrayed Wolfie's trust. After the first day of waiting, I decided to take a cue from Berndt and spend the rest of my time hidden away in Dale's basement.

***

WE'D ARRANGED TO MEET at the pack compound the next morning, so I wasn't expecting anyone to interrupt my pity party that final night. After giving up on reading, I ended up simply lying on top of the covers in my room, watching darkness settle over the trees outside as I tried not to think about tomorrow. This is how I'd spent far too much of my time as a teenager, mostly because my father had strict standards for what a young woman could and could not do--few fun things made the cut. I'd thought it was painful then just waiting for time to pass, but the inactivity felt even worse now that I had so much more to lose.

A tap on the windowpane drew me back into the present, and I was surprised to see Wolfie's human face peering in from the outdoors. Although I missed our time together, I had considered it a blessing over the last few days that Wolfie stuck to his canine form. His wolf helped me firm up my resolve, and I'd slowly worked myself around to believing that Wolfie really was more wolf than man, and that I wouldn't hurt him unduly with my betrayal. Now, his change back to human form came as a shock, even though my heart jolted with welcome.

The alpha pointed toward the door, and after wrestling with my inner guilt, I padded across the cold floor on bare feet to let him in. Wolfie immediately moved to take me into his arms, but I stepped back skittishly, only sinking into a chair once the alpha had chosen a spot on the couch five feet away.

"The pack thought you might want to run with us tonight," Wolfie said after a minute, his voice scratchy from disuse, and I shivered, imagining what it would be like to run in wolf form with other werewolves around me. I could almost see the rough-housing yahoos, the sleek beauty of Wolfie and Chase trying to out-pace each other, and my own exuberance as the pack activity swirled around me. I hadn't run with a pack in a decade and now the ache in my stomach hit me so hard I almost doubled over. This was what I'd be losing by going back to Haven.

I had to shut down the vision before I begged Wolfie to keep me from going to Haven tomorrow. "I'm shiftless, remember," I bit out, the words harsher than I'd meant for them to be. But I could breathe again, at least, so the astringency was worth it.

Rather than taking offense, Wolfie tilted his head to one side and considered me for a moment. "You'd change in a group shift," he said confidently. The alpha was suggesting that I be treated like an uninitiated teenager, pulling out my wolf form using proximity to other werewolves changing their skins, and the idea was just as enticing as it was embarrassing. I would have swallowed my pride and gone for the group shift in a heartbeat if I'd planned to stick around, but Wolfie's pack wasn't mine, and it would be better for me to get used to that fact now rather than later. The last thing I needed to do was to bond more with Wolfie's pack and then not to have the guts to go through with my plan tomorrow.

I simply shook my head, and Wolfie scooted closer toward me along the couch, ending up with his knees almost touching mine. "Or we could practice your shift right now," he suggested. The wolfishness in his voice had disappeared and the words were suddenly silky smooth. I shivered again, but this time because I could almost feel the alpha's hands running over my body, my wolf reveling in the caress. I noticed her waking up inside me, and even felt the first hint of hairs pushing their way through the skin of my arms. Tonight we can run, the wolf panted, and maybe more.... My breathing came faster and I was a hair's breadth away from welcoming my furred sister to join me right then and there.

No, I barked back, and before my weaker half could betray us, I jumped to my feet. "No," I repeated, this time aloud. Despite my abruptness, Wolfie rose to stand toe to toe with my human body. He didn't reach out to touch me, but I could feel the heat of his body warming the air between us and his breath seemed to whisper across my skin.

"I know I've made you wait," the alpha started, feeling his way around the human words a bit awkwardly. "I hope you know it's not because I don't find you entrancing." He pulled in a long draft of air through his nose and I trembled, knowing he was smelling both me and my wolf. "I didn't want to rush you," he rumbled softly. "My wolf and I are patient and we want our first time to feel as good for you as it will for us. We will soar," he promised. Then, counterintuitively, the man took a solid step backwards, leaving only cold air between us. My body swayed to follow Wolfie's, but the alpha just kept his gaze fixed on mine and his hands in his pockets. "Your wolf is ready, and so are we, but we can wait if you need time," he finished.

The words felt like a challenge, and I ached to give in to Wolfie, to drag him down the hall, lock the door, and see what a joining of four souls would feel like. Yes, now, my wolf agreed. But that was the worst idea I'd heard all night, assuming I planned to betray the alpha tomorrow.

"I'm not ready," I coughed out, the words hanging up in my throat so I could barely force them through my lips. I turned away, and my wolf-enhanced senses told me that Wolfie had walked forward, that he had his hand an inch from my shoulder. If he touched me, I knew I'd give in, forget Keith tomorrow and save my own happiness instead.

We stood, suspended, forever. Then Wolfie breathed out through his nose and retreated to the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he promised. By the time I turned around, there was only a pile of clothes in the doorway, and Wolfie was gone.

***

I KNEW THAT RUNNING with the pack was a bad idea, but I was itching to change forms. The days I'd spent in Wolfie's presence had reminded me that being a wolf didn't have to mean any danger to those around me. In fact, being a canine could offer a freedom and simplicity that was difficult to achieve in my current two-footed form, with the potential to silence the racing thoughts that flowed frantically through my mind. I felt constipated by humanity.

I wouldn't run up the mountain, I told myself, just around the yard. Simply rolling on my back in the grass would feel good in fur form, the itch that seemed to perpetually coat my human skin disappearing for a few minutes at least. My wolf had been so ready to take over when Wolfie was present, I knew I'd be able to make the shift, and afterwards I could go into the challenge of tomorrow confident in myself, no longer a shiftless wolf.

So after the alpha left, I padded outside onto the concrete patio beyond the back door and watched the full moon bathe the lawn in its glow. Looking up at the house, I noticed that Dale's light was off--my brother-in-law had gone to bed, if not to sleep, on the night before his son's fate would be decided. I was safely alone, the nearest neighbor half a mile distant down a long winding driveway and across the highway.

I climbed to the top of the picnic table, the rough wood feeling good beneath my hands and feet, then I slipped off my pajamas and stood naked under the moon. Despite stories to the contrary, the full moon has nothing to do with a werewolf's shift, but the light did seem to caress my bare skin. I could imagine how much better it would feel to leap four-footed off the picnic table, the height giving my jump added momentum. We will soar, Wolfie had said, and I could imagine a more simple, but equally fulfilling, soaring as my wolf took flight from this aerie.

Over the last week, Wolfie and I had been playing as much as learning during my "lessons," but the alpha had still managed to transform the way I perceived the werewolf's shift. Unlike the shifts I was familiar with from my youth, neither the man nor the wolf dominated when Wolfie changed form. Instead, both aspects of his personality were present together, the alpha merging the two to take on the shape that best suited the situation. In fact, much of the time I wasn't entirely sure Wolfie could have told you which form he was wearing that day, just like I might have failed the test if asked to report on my sock color without looking down. To the bloodling, his physical form had as little significance as my clothing choice.

Although I understood the notion intellectually, I knew I needed to feel it in my bones if I hoped to replicate Wolfie's simple shifts. So I crouched on my hands and knees on the picnic table, moving my body through simple yoga poses to fully anchor myself in place. Cat then cow, my back arched up and then my belly sank down. I breathed in deeply, smelling the night air, and then I opened my eyes wide to simulate the wolf's keener vision.

The time had come to move on to the mental side of my shift, and I closed my eyes to turn my focus inwards. The stairs that led down to my wolf's cell had changed over the past week as my wolf and I together re-envisioned our internal landscape. Now, I was walking downhill through an ancient forest, deep moss indenting beneath my bare feet and regal fir trees soaring up on either side. Traveling toward my wolf's lair had turned into a refreshing stroll instead of a terrifying journey through the dark.

At the bottom of the hill, the iron bars had disappeared from the wolf's door and the cage had morphed into an open cave, warmed by a roaring fire. I'd given my wolf a deep-pile carpet to rest upon in front of the fireplace, and this is where she had usually been waiting for me in the past. If the wolf wasn't napping by the fire, ready for me to nudge her awake, she would be pacing at the bottom of the slope, her tail wagging eagerly as I approached.

But not tonight. Instead, I entered the clearing to find that my wolf's den was empty, the fire burned out. With increasing worry, I rushed into the trees, calling her name--my name--but no one answered. Soon, I was running frantically, branches slapping into my face and tearing against my skin. The forest seemed to extend in front of me infinitely without a sign of my other half. By the time I circled back around, even the wolf's cave had disappeared, although the path up to the light of the outside world remained.

A month ago, I would have been thrilled to lose my lupine half, but now I was heart-broken. With a jolt, I returned to the real world, and the splintery wood of the picnic table cut into my knees, painful rather than enticing. Up on the mountaintop, I could hear the howls of Wolfie's pack, but I was just a shiftless human, my own wolf gone. I dropped my head into my hands and cried.

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# Chapter 15

Wolves love to pile together, but I could barely stand being crammed between two youngsters in the backseat of the pack's car. Now I regretted the pure cowardice that had made me choose to ride with the yahoos instead of with the adults. Not that I would have been any better off struggling to avoid Chase's eyes and trying to keep my distance from our alpha, but at least the young werewolves' high spirits wouldn't be clawing down my spine and assaulting my eyes and nose.

"I call shotgun on the way back," Blaze hooted as we approached the end of our trip. The yahoos were so confident of our success that they were bickering over who would have to ride on someone's lap once Keith joined their ranks. I didn't bother telling the young werewolves that there would be one fewer person in the car on the return trip--if we were lucky, Keith could have my seat. Instead, I just tuned the young wolves out, a relatively easy task since they'd given up on dragging me into their conversation hours ago.

I hadn't been back to Haven in ten years, but the turnoff from the highway looked just the same. No sign, just "Private Drive" discretely labeled on a county road marker. I could remember walking out to the highway with Brooke, cranking our arms at passing truck drivers and laughing uproariously as their air horns belted out a deep bellow that became lower-pitched as it receded into the distance. The memory gave me a bit more sympathy for the innocent banter of the yahoos, although it didn't make their antics any easier to bear.

As we turned down the private drive and slowed to a crawl, more memories rushed in, almost overwhelming me. I'd forgotten how much I loved following the creek below the main village, splashing through the water with bare feet and baiting crawdads with bits of their siblings' flesh. It was too cold now for creek-walking, but I expected to see more people out and about, until I realized that my old neighbors would all be under lockdown, anticipating our arrival. Sure enough, we didn't see a single person as we passed rustic farmhouses. Until we reached the village green, that is, where every male over the age of fifteen waited to greet us.

The car in front of us ground to a halt and Chase, Wolfie, Oscar, Quetzalli, and Galena emerged, their doors banging loudly behind them. We'd left Berndt and his family, plus Tia, back at the compound to hold down the fort, and I was glad that they, at least, would be spared the sordid show about to be put on for my father's benefit. Even though I knew I'd never be able to return to Wolfie's pack after today, I cringed at the idea of the nine pack mates now present watching my betrayal.

Wade was the oldest and quietest of the yahoos, and he waited beside my door after the others bounded up to encircle their alpha. "Are you okay?" he asked me, offering a hand to help me out of the car. I wanted to tell him that I wasn't ancient enough to need assistance just yet, but I felt as old as the hills, and I ended up stumbling over my own feet, grabbing the young man's arm after all.

Wolfie should have had all of his attention riveted on my father's pack, but he glanced back the instant my skin touched Wade's, then he cocked his head to one side. The packless ache in my stomach nearly tore me in half as I realized that Wolfie wouldn't be enfolding me in his alpha protection after today. I shot him a shaky smile, meant to reassure him, but probably just making the alpha think I was carsick.

My father never made anything easy, so I wasn't surprised to look out over the Haven males lounging around the green and to notice that both the Chief and my nephew were absent. Rather than becoming impatient, as I'm sure my father had planned, Wolfie simply pulled a trio of juggling balls out of his pocket and began showing off a skill I hadn't even realized he possessed. The colored orbs whirred through the air, bouncing off Wolfie's knee and dipping behind his back, and I soon noticed a couple of werewolf children peering out the windows of a nearby house, attracted by the spectacle.

The yahoos followed their alpha's lead and started turning cartwheels on the lawn...very badly. Blaze and Fen knew what they were doing, but Glen and Wade seemed to simply be tossing themselves from their hands onto their backsides, then laughing uproariously. Despite Haven's iron discipline, it didn't take long for a few of my father's younger enforcers to try to show our yahoos up, and I had a feeling we would have all been sitting down to a cordial dinner within the hour if my father hadn't interrupted.

"Has the circus come to town?" Chief Wilder asked coldly from the steps of his house at the edge of the green, and every Haven youth immediately drooped his head in embarrassed submission. Our yahoos took a little longer to turn off their playfulness--in fact, I was sure I noticed Wolfie hold his hand to one side to encourage them to keep turning cartwheels for several seconds after my father appeared. It occurred to me that Wolfie had planned this whole charade, and the packless ache inside me grew stronger when I realized I'd been left out of the strategizing. Not that I had been around the compound much in recent days to give the pack a chance to include me.

"I could say something about the clown now being here," Wolfie drawled, "but that would just be rude." The younger alpha smiled slightly, my father's brow lowered, and we all knew who had won round one.

With the ease of a well-oiled team, Chase stepped in to smooth over Wolfie's insult. "We've brought the cash, as requested, and would like to see Keith to make sure he's okay," the beta interjected quietly, his eyes not quite meeting Chief Wilder's. I couldn't tell whether Chase really was cowed by my father's dominance, or whether he and Wolfie were simply playing good cop, bad cop, with Chase's submission part of his role. Either way, the beta's lack of eye contact brought a bit of humor back into my father's face, although his words were no more welcoming.

"Well now," Chief Wilder began, matching Wolfie's drawl--a speech pattern neither partook of in their normal lives, but which they seemed to think added a bit of dramatic tension to this exchange. "I've been thinking about that and I'm not so sure I want to part with young Keith. After all, blood can't be bought. But if you just want to see him...."

My father waved a hand back at the house and we watched in silence as Keith was frog-marched out the door and down the steps toward us. My nephew tried to smile when he saw our pack arrayed behind Wolfie and Chase, but I could tell he'd been crying, and his feigned bravery just made the boy seem younger. The tension on our side of the standoff ratcheted up a couple of notches, and Fen laid a calming hand on Blaze's shoulder as the yahoo took an involuntary step toward his friend.

"Thank you," Chase said carefully, turning away from Keith to keep his attention trained on Chief Wilder. "We're glad to see he's in good health...."

"But not very well trained," Chief Wilder spoke over our beta. "Spare the rod and spoil the child, I always say," he continued. "But we'll take care of that for you. Don't worry yourselves over the matter."

Before I realized what was happening, Milo struck Keith with an open-handed slap across the boy's cheek and, in nearly the same instant, Wolfie exploded into canine form, pieces of fabric fluttering off in all directions. It took the combined efforts of Chase and Oscar to restrain their alpha from leaping for the other pack leader's throat.

That was my cue.

***

"IS THAT REALLY WHAT you want, to start over and train a cowardly adolescent?" I asked, walking from the back of Wolfie's pack up past our restrained alpha and across the invisible line that separated us from the Haven werewolves. I stopped mere inches away from my father, and looked him directly in the eye. "I don't doubt you can break Keith, but what use is an heir with no balls?" I continued, ignoring the wounded look that flashed across my nephew's face.

My father gazed down at me and smiled, the mirth flowing from his face to energize his entire body. I knew I was walking directly into his hands--this is what the wily old alpha had been angling for from the very first day he startled me on the trail--but the way I saw it, there was no solution other than to give Chief Wilder what he wanted. My father craved an heir that he could train up from the cradle the way he'd raised Ethan, and unless he was willing to look beyond his own progeny, my potential sons were the only choice he had. My nephew was far too old to be turned into the cut-throat alpha my father wanted--Keith had been a red herring all along.

"What are you suggesting?" the Chief drew me out, his words as sweet as honey, tantalizing me with that parental acceptance I'd always yearned for. I shivered, glad I'd already made this decision for the right reasons, not for the sake of a blessing that would never come.

"I'm suggesting that you turn Keith back over to this pack of misfits where he belongs and let me come home to live in your house and give you a real grandson," I answered. Behind me, I could hear Wolfie shifting back to human form so he could speak to me, and I took a deep breath before firing the final arrow home. "I'm sick of living among halfies and humans," I said, my words pointed toward my father, but aimed at Wolfie. "I want a real werewolf mate, not a bloodling."

I didn't look back, just trusted Chase to do as we'd agreed and to keep Wolfie from challenging the older alpha. I could hear a strangled moan, muffled by werewolf hands, as Wolfie fought to speak, but I stood firm, filling my head with images of the yahoos and Keith joking around in the compound's living area. This is the only way, I thought toward Wolfie, and my focus was so firmly behind me that it took me a moment to realize that my father was laughing.

"Bravo!" he proclaimed loudly, clapping one huge hand onto my shoulder so heavily that I staggered back a step. "Very commendable, very nice. But," he added, lowering his voice and letting the alpha dominance creep into his tone, "what's to keep me from hanging onto young Keith just in case you don't make a good mother?"

Silence hung across the green as werewolves on both sides held their breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "I guess that's just a gamble you'll have to take," I said quietly, "if you want my willing cooperation." There it was, my counter-bluff. I was sure...well, almost sure...that my father had set up this whole painful charade to win me back over to the Haven way of life. I had realized one dark night while waiting for this endless week to be over that my father had to know that I was the only one of his children who had inherited his cold-blooded control. I was the one who had left home, severing all ties, not even writing back to the family the way Brooke had. I was the one who had found a way to squash my wolf, consequences be damned. Of all of his children, I was the one most like my father, and Chief Wilder would want that wolfishness passed on to his heir.

Or so I hoped. Because if my father didn't care about my willing cooperation and chose to keep Keith as a backup, I had no plan C. This was it--my entire hand played in one fell swoop.

There was a scuffle behind me as Wolfie broke free of his pack mates and called toward my back. "Terra, you don't have to do this!" he promised, true warmth in his voice despite the disdain with which I'd spoken of his pack. My father raised his brows, and I knew this was my final test, the Chief's way of determining whether I truly was as cold-hearted as I was pretending to be. So, even though I couldn't bear to see his face, I turned to face the wolf I loved as I threw the bitterest words I could muster back at him.

"You're just a bloodling, Wolfie. I deserve a man as well as a wolf."

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# Chapter 16

It all happened so fast, I could barely take in the scene. With an anguished howl, Wolfie retreated back into his preferred canine form, the yahoos piled on top of their alpha to hold him in place, and Chase yanked a slip-knot-looped rope around his friend's neck. Unlike the piddly collar Wolfie had been wearing when I first met him, this was a real restraint, but the alpha still lunged against the rope repeatedly, snarling as he tried to break free. My heart felt like it was bound to break in half when Wolfie finally collapsed into a panting heap on the ground, his eyes still trained on me and my father. It was unclear whether the young alpha had been trying to tear out my father's throat...or my own.

In the ensuing silence, Chief Wilder's booming laughter rolled out across the green, and I struggled not to let tears come into my eyes. Wolfie's reaction had been even worse than I'd imagined, and I ached to think of the sores he must have rubbed around his neck. Even worse would be the intra-pack strife when Chase finally let his friend free back in their compound, and I regretted that there hadn't been some way to achieve the same goal without enlisting the beta's aid.

True to form, my father proceeded to make matters worse. "Such a bloodling," he mused, taking in Wolfie's battered pack as the yahoos hefted their leader back to his feet and began tugging him toward one of their cars. The only thing that lightened my heart was realizing that Keith had been set loose during the scuffle and had joined Wolfie's entourage, hovering behind Galena's shoulder. No matter what my friend thought of me now, I knew she'd look after my young nephew.

"I was a bloodling too, you know," Chief Wilder continued, and Wolfie's pack paused in their retreat, their attention drawn back to the older pack leader. For the first time since collapsing at the end of a leash, the younger alpha seemed to take note of his surroundings as well, and his ears and nose swiveled toward my father. I could see the human wheels beginning to turn in his head as Wolfie and I both wondered whether my father's words had any purpose other than spite.

"If you live long enough," my father continued, looking straight at Wolfie, "you'll get over it."

Whether the Chief meant Wolfie's attachment to me or his bloodling nature was unclear, but my father had clearly tired of the show. At a signal from their pack leader, my cousins closed in behind me as Chief Wilder turned away from Wolfie and led us all back to his home.

I was being nudged away from the only pack I had ever truly felt a part of, and I wanted to sink into the same silent grief that had so clearly enveloped Wolfie. But instead, I glanced back over my shoulder at the last moment, catching Chase's eye as the beta finished herding the pack back into their two cars. The beta's face was no less cold now than it had been over the preceding days, but Wolfie's friend did nod once in acknowledgement. Yes, Chase was saying, he would keep his pack leader confined until he was able to talk sense into the wolf. My betrayal wouldn't be in vain.

***

"I HOPE YOU'RE COMFORTABLE up here," my stepmother Cricket said as she bustled around the attic room that Brooke and I had slept in as children. The slanting roof that had felt playfully intriguing when I was younger now seemed to confine me in a cage very much like the imaginary one I'd pushed my wolf into weeks ago, back when my darker half and I were still on speaking terms. That thought, along with the bleakness of my future made me bark out a laugh in response to Cricket's words--comfort was the furthest thing from my mind right now.

Rather than taking offense, Cricket paused in her puttering and sank down onto the edge of the bed beside me. "You know we're all so glad you're home," she said softly, gazing into my eyes as if begging me to understand, although she didn't reach out to touch me. My stepmother was stick-thin and had always seemed to lack the maternal nature of my own mother, but Cricket wasn't cold-hearted like the Chief, so I tried to at least be polite to her. Unfortunately, I couldn't seem to muster any social graces now.

"Don't take this personally, Cricket," I replied, "but moving back to Haven has always been my worst nightmare." Taking a deep breath and moving beyond my own woes, I looked at my stepmother consideringly. "I'm actually surprised you're still here given the...um...problems with Ethan."

Now Cricket did pat my hand, but it was an uncomfortable movement, similar to the way a dog owner would try to stroke a cat and muddle it all up. It occurred to me to wonder how such a fragile woman had kept her half-human background a secret all these years, and whether she could possibly handle my father's anger now. If I didn't miss my guess, Chief Wilder would have been beside himself when he realized his prized son couldn't shift, and I wouldn't have been surprised to find Cricket still recovering from broken bones. But, no, my stepmother seemed as whole and healthy as she'd ever been.

"He knew about me all along, dear," Cricket told me quietly, and it took a minute for me to parse her words and to realize she was talking about my father, not about Ethan. "We considered it a fair gamble...." Her eyes became distant for a moment, and I actually could imagine my father marrying a halfie, even understanding that there was a 50% chance any son he sired would be human. Maybe it was my father's bloodling nature--another surprise to me today--that made him equally willing to entrust his future to luck as to skill. Yet another puzzle for me to work through when my mind was less clogged with grief.

"I'm just glad you're okay," I told my stepmother quietly after a minute, because that much, at least, was true. Now didn't seem like the appropriate time to ask where Ethan had been sent off to in disgrace and how my father could have kept his bloodling past so well hidden, although these puzzles were threatening to pull me out of the wallowing I so badly craved. Nothing like concern about others to ruin a bout of self pity.

"Well," Cricket answered, jumping back to her feet and plumping up pillows that didn't need plumping. "I should get back to work on dinner. Call me if you need anything." Even as she spoke the words, my stepmother was moving toward the door, and I knew I should have offered to join her downstairs to help out with the task. But I couldn't quite make my legs move. I would have to take my place within the stifling women's realm of Haven eventually, but Cricket seemed to understand that I needed this one day to mourn the outside world, and I appreciated her quiet support.

I had already started to drift back into my grief when my stepmother turned back from the open doorway to face me. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "I forgot to ask if you read the letter from your sister that I put in your file?"

That woke me up, and my hand closed involuntarily around the unopened envelope I'd been carrying around in my pocket all day. When I first saw Brooke's letter, I'd been afraid to read it, knowing the presence of my sister's missive was part of my father's intricate plan to wind me up in his web of intrigue. Later, I'd gotten sidetracked by the joy of mingling with Wolfie's pack and had forgotten all about the note. But when I left Dale's house this morning, I'd reached out and put the envelope in my pocket, meaning to throw it back in Chief Wilder's face unopened. Now, discovering that the letter had been placed in the file by my stepmother was just...confusing.

But before I could answer Cricket, another familiar voice drifted toward us from the stairway. "Don't worry, I'll show myself up," the female werewolf called as her head crested the opening into the attic. Quetzalli hefted a duffel bag up behind her, nodded at my stepmother, then said to me, "Looks like we're roomies."

***

TO BE HONEST, I HADN'T really expected to see any member of Wolfie's pack again. But if anyone was going to show up, Quetzalli wouldn't have been the werewolf I'd thought most likely, nor would she have been the one I'd prefer. I could imagine Oscar being left behind as a sort of honor guard if Chase had felt some misplaced duty toward a woman who was once nearly a pack member, and I would have liked to imagine that Galena was enough of my friend that she might have chosen to help me through the weeks to come. Even one of the yahoos would have been preferred over Quetzalli, who was the rougher and more masculine side of her and Galena's partnership. While some of the other pack members might have glossed over my harsh words that afternoon, Quetzalli was bound to have taken offense, and she wouldn't hesitate to let me know it.

From the look in her eyes after my stepmother pattered away down the stairs, Quetzalli wasn't any more pleased to be here than I was to see her. "Not my idea," she muttered as she carried her duffel over to the spare bed under the window. Her tone said Case closed, but I couldn't let it go at that.

"Okaaay," I answered, drawing out the word, then settled on simply asking her flat-out. "Whose idea was it then?"

Quetzalli rolled her eyes at me before turning away to begin unpacking her possessions. She'd clearly known she was staying before leaving the pack's compound because the werewolf had filled her bag with underwear, a change of clothes, and toiletries. Which meant Chase must have talked to her since he was the only one who had known about my plan before the fact.

Or so I'd thought. "Wolfie, who else?" Quetzalli answered, her back still to me. "Although why he would bother worrying about you is beyond me."

Quetzalli's revelation silenced me for at least fifteen minutes, which might have been her intention. During that time, my mind raced over the events of the last twenty-four hours, honing in on Wolfie's visit the night before and on his subtle attempts to drag me back into pack life. Yes, it was no stretch to imagine that Chase might have told his friend about my planned betrayal--I'd always known that was a possibility, even though I'd hoped I was convincing enough to prompt Chase to keep my secret. And, although it was harder to believe, I could also see Wolfie deciding that the decision was mine to make, then squelching his own feelings in order to let me follow my chosen path. Despite being a bloodling, Wolfie was nothing like the domineering males I'd known in the past, and he probably guessed that if he had forbidden me to trade myself for Keith, I would have just sneaked away in the night and carried out my plan without the pack for backup.

But if the bloodling had the willpower to restrain himself from forcing me to stay home the way any other alpha would have, why didn't he also have the willpower not to attempt attacking Chief Wilder? It didn't seem possible that Wolfie's uncontrollable shifts and his lunges against the rope leash had been an act this afternoon, although that was the obvious conclusion. Perhaps the young alpha really was that skilled of an actor?

But if Wolfie's behavior had all been a farce, played out for my father's benefit, what was the purpose of the subterfuge? While I would have loved to think that Wolfie was simply buying time so he could come up with a longer-term solution to our problem, I wasn't so sure that Wolfie could still want me back after my inflammatory words. But, Quetzalli's presence suggested that the young alpha wasn't done with me just yet, which sent a tiny surge of hope flickering through my deadened soul.

The only clue I had to begin deciphering the puzzle was Quetzalli herself, so despite her angry silence, I attempted to draw the werewolf back into conversation. "How long are you staying?" I asked, breaking the extended silence at last.

Ever since joining me in the attic room, Quetzalli had seemed completely in control of her wolf, so I was surprised when I felt the first hint of a change in the air. The woman spun back around to face me, fur already beginning to elongate across her body. "I don't know that yet," she ground out between her teeth, face flushed with anger. "Look, I really don't want to talk to you right now," she continued, the words mangled as the shift overtook her. "But do bring me up some meat from dinner." Then a large, surly wolf was lying on the spare bed.

Great. Life in Haven had turned out to be even worse than I'd originally imagined.

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# Chapter 17

I kept expecting Wolfie to batter down the door and come to get me, so as the hours and then days passed, I became more and more agitated. Even though Quetzalli hadn't coughed up any more information, her presence--no matter how unpleasant--initially gave me hope that I hadn't been entirely written off by Wolfie's pack. I figured their alpha would just need a day or two to calm down and get over the events of Keith's retrieval, which surely meant he'd be here at any minute.

Not that I wanted to draw Wolfie back into this mess, I reminded myself. In fact, the theory behind my betrayal was still sound. I couldn't see any way short of a physical challenge for Wolfie to extract me from my childhood home, and that brought me back around to the whole reason I'd rejected the young alpha so publicly in the first place--I needed Wolfie to think I despised him so he would leave me alone and not get himself killed. In fact, I was so conflicted, between wishing to hear Wolfie's voice and yet dreading what would happen if he did show up, that I was a bundle of nerves by lunchtime.

My second day in Haven, Quetzalli had deigned to shift back into human form, so I followed Cricket's advice and took my roommate on a tour of the pack's land. Yesterday, I'd been so intent on retrieving Keith and on my own role in the drama that I hadn't taken the time to really look at the houses and people we'd passed, but now that I peered more closely, I saw that the village had turned into a strangely skewed version of the community I remembered. During my childhood, lawns were always mowed and houses shone with fresh paint, but now porches were leaning away from dwellings and a pall seemed to hang over Haven.

"This place gives me the creeps," Quetzalli muttered, her words mirroring my thoughts. Yes, Haven had been restrictive when I'd lived here, especially if you were born female, but many people had seemed happy then. I remembered my neighbors singing as they worked when I was a child. There had been barn dances and community dinners. Now, I couldn't quite imagine any of these werewolves laughing or dancing--the Haven werewolves today seemed to be barely managing to carry on their daily lives.

As Quetzalli and I walked through the middle of the green and took in the depressing sights around us, I was startled to hear my wolf chime in her two cents' worth: Look to the alpha. It had been so long since I'd heard so much as a whisper from my wolf that I stopped in my tracks to take in her words. I reached inward, but the lupine consciousness slipped away through my fingers and I almost believed I'd merely imagined her voice in my head. Almost, but not quite.

"What's wrong?" Quetzalli asked, and for the first time since our pack had left, there was a hint of concerned warmth in her voice. The thought flickered through my mind that Quetzalli was really a better companion to have in Haven than either Galena or Oscar since Quetzalli was tough but kind, and her words made me realize that she might actually forgive me one of these days. Echoing my thoughts, the ache in my stomach seemed to dull by a minuscule amount, reducing the pain from a mind-wrenching presence to something I could think past if I focused hard enough. The easing pain even made me smile at my unchosen companion.

"I thought I heard my wolf," I answered her question, then continued. "But you're right, Haven shouldn't be like this. It feels like a ghost town, but with the people still in it." In fact, Haven felt much the way I had when I sought my wolf out in her lair and found her missing, but there was no way the entire community's wolves could be absent.

"Your father," Quetzalli said simply, her words confirming the insight from my wolf. There was more here than met the eye, and I needed to strike to the heart of the matter if I wanted to figure out what was going on.

***

THAT WAS EASIER SAID than done, though, since Chief Wilder was far too busy to even take meals with his wife and daughter that day and the next. In fact, instead of hunting down the cause of Haven's collective depression, I ended up suffering through an afternoon surrounded by giggling cousins as they fitted me for my wedding dress (groom to be announced). The trauma was lessened only slightly when I realized that Quetzalli was even more shell-shocked by the episode than I was.

Since Cricket was darning socks in the corner as a sort of mood stabilizer, I did my best to smile and nod, otherwise ignoring what was going on around me. But even my hard-boiled mood couldn't overlook the excitement of my youngest cousin, Iris. "You're so lucky," the teenager trilled as she hemmed the edges of a petticoat several hours after the bridal shower had begun. I couldn't quite tell if the young werewolf was referring to the quality of the dress we were constructing or to my mate choices. Either way, I felt far from lucky.

In fact, I couldn't help counting how many hours it had been since I had last gazed upon Wolfie's face, which made for a more pleasant daydream than the one Iris would have chosen for me. Surely Wolfie must have calmed down enough by now to make an appearance here at Haven, I pondered. Unfortunately, it was beginning to seem more and more likely that Wolfie had ordered Quetzalli to join me, then had changed his mind about hoping to see me again. But if that was the case, why hadn't the young alpha sent someone to fetch Galena's spouse home?

"Mmmm," Fernanda hummed, bringing me back to the present and responding to Iris's enthusiasm. "Hunter is a nice specimen, and Reed isn't so bad either, if you like them young." She winked at me saucily, and I remembered that Fernanda had gotten married even before I left Haven. I guess she'd had a thing for young men even then.

I'd been trying not to think about the four potential mates, hand-picked by my father, who I was to meet at dinner the next night, but my cousins' banter finally made the future impossible to ignore. Just remembering what tomorrow held in store for me made my stomach decidedly queasy, but I couldn't expect a reprieve on that account. When it came to a bargain, my father would expect the other party to live up to their word even if they had to do so between bouts of vomiting, and as much as I hated the fact, the Chief and I had made a deal. I shivered, even though the room was hot from the coal furnace in the basement of my family home, and wished with all of my heart that I was back in Dale's basement with Keith pounding on the floor above me, playing Dance, Dance, Revolution at two in the morning.

My thoughts were once again interrupted, this time by Cricket, who was kind enough to put me out of my misery. She'd clearly joined us for a different purpose than to merely keep me in line, and I reminded myself that I needed to give my stepmother credit for making my confinement less painful than it could have been. "I think we should be able to finish up the rest later," Cricket said, rising to usher the young werewolves out the door, and I sent her a thankful smile.

Which reminded me of the very worst part of my voluntary incarceration. I was beginning to understand how I could learn to be content here, to turn into a plumper version of Cricket and to settle into Haven life, forgetting what I was missing in the outside world. I'd spent the morning helping my stepmother prepare the day's bread, and had ended up enjoying the yeasty odor and the feel of resilient dough between my fingers. Later, we hung sheets out on the line to dry, mopped the front hallway, and even washed windows, each task provided immediate gratification that had been lacking in my previous life. Now, a traitorous part of my mind told me that perhaps my father had my best interests at heart all along--maybe this simple women's work was what I had been born for.

"Well, that didn't end a moment too soon," groused Quetzalli, and I smiled in relief. At least I had Quetzalli present to take the edge off my internal craziness.

***

QUETZALLI HAD GONE on a walk to blow off steam and Cricket was down in the cellar gathering vegetables for dinner when Iris showed back up. The young werewolf knocked so timidly on the back door that I almost missed the sound, and when I let her in, she immediately began apologizing. She was sorry to bother me, sorry to interrupt, sorry to intrude. Despite myself, my heart warmed at the youngster's elaborate apologies, and I took pity on her at once.

"What's wrong, Iris?" I asked, channeling my stepmother as I put on a pot of water for tea. I even pulled out a tin of cookies to sweeten the poor child's mood, not that she herself could get much sweeter. If nothing else, the food would give me something to do while the young werewolf apologized.

Despite the cookies and tea, Iris was evasive, and it took me a full ten minutes to put my finger on her problem. My young cousin was unhappy with life in Haven, but was afraid to strike out on her own since female werewolves had such a hard time controlling their shifts. She'd heard that I was able to keep my wolf under control despite monthly hormonal surges. Was it true?

When I asked myself the same question, I realized that I probably could teach this young werewolf to squash her wolf just like I'd chained mine. But I didn't want to. Learning to partner with my wolf over the last few weeks had been one of the most profound experiences of my life, and my current shiftlessness was responsible for a solid half of the ache in my stomach. The truth was, I missed my wolf, and would do almost anything to get her back.

I opened my mouth to tell Iris that the solution wasn't worth the price, that losing your wolf was too painful to even imagine, but before I could speak, my body surged with my almost-forgotten wolf sense. Smells were stronger, the light brighter, and I could even make out Iris's wolf hovering just beneath the surface of my cousin's human form. The other wolf was young and scared, the most submissive canine I'd ever met, and with my own wolf rampant, I could almost see Iris's tail drooping between her legs even though she was currently two-footed.

"You're worried about what your wolf will do," I exclaimed, "but she's so tame and calm!" It was strange to be able to see someone else's wolf when they were in human form, but I was certain of my diagnosis. "You don't need to be concerned about your wolf hurting anyone," I soothed Iris. And then, before my own wolf could retreat back to whatever secret den she'd come out of, I finished silently, Thank you for coming back. My lupine half didn't answer me in words, but I could tell she was amused at my slowness to realize that I needed her canine presence, and I accepted her humorous rebuke gracefully.

I was still cheering up my cousin when Quetzalli walked in the door, which gave me an idea for solving Iris's problem. "Do you think your parents will give you permission to leave Haven?" I asked my cousin carefully, and she responded with an eager nod.

"Mom doesn't want me to stay in Haven," the young werewolf confirmed, "and she can talk Dad around. I was just afraid to leave...."

"Well," I interrupted, "in that case, I know just the place for you, and just the person to take you there. The pack I used to live with would be just right for you, and Quetzalli should be getting home soon anyway."

"Just what I need," Quetzalli groused. "Someone even younger to babysit." But I could tell from the glow of her lupine half that she was eager to get home to her partner. Even though I would be left alone in Haven, I was happy too. My wolf had returned.

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# Chapter 18

"I'll miss you," I emoted, pulling Quetzalli in for a lingering hug as she finished zipping up her duffel bag. The idea of sending Iris and Quetzalli away had seemed like a good one a few hours earlier, but now I was realizing how alone I'd be in Haven without Quetzalli's solid presence by my side. In a way, it felt like I was cutting off my last tie to Wolfie, admitting that I'd chosen to salvage whatever was left of Haven in exchange for losing the possibility of happiness with the man I loved.

Sappy, my wolf interjected, which prompted me to smile instead of cry. Nothing like a canine to bring me back down to planet earth, and to remind me that I wouldn't be entirely friendless here.

"Are you sure you don't want to come home with us?" Quetzalli asked, once I released her from the farewell embrace. It was a bad idea, but for a second, I allowed myself to imagine climbing out the attic window that night and slipping through the dark to meet up with Quetzalli on the road. Unfortunately, my mind continued on to the inevitable conclusion of that scenario--the Chief showing up on Wolfie's doorstep the next morning to take me back by force, the younger alpha challenging my father, and the cousins slaughtering every one of my friends. I might want to go home with Quetzalli, but I wouldn't do it.

"No, I have to stay here and figure out what's wrong with Haven," I told her. "Tell Wolfie...." My voice trailed off as I realized I couldn't think of anything to say to the young alpha. Tell him I loved him? Bad idea--that would just make the bloodling bring the fight to Haven. Tell him I was sorry? Same result, most likely, since it might make Wolfie forgive me for my harsh words. "Just tell him goodbye for me," I said finally, and I was glad Quetzalli didn't linger over her own farewell since I knew I wouldn't be able to speak again through the sobs trying to force themselves up out of my chest.

***

WHEN I WOKE, MY THROAT was still sore from the crying jag I'd succumbed to as soon as Quetzalli walked out the door. It was dark outside, but the waning moon was pushing through the curtainless window, filling my attic domicile with a soft glow and proving that I'd slept through the evening and half the night.

I stretched, suddenly wide awake despite the late hour, then glanced across the room at Quetzalli's empty bed. But the bed was no longer empty. Instead, a large wolf was sprawled across the mattress, and my heart leaped, imagining that Quetzalli had dropped off Iris and then crept back into the attic to rejoin me. Perhaps I wasn't so alone after all.

But as I tilted my head to the side to get a better look, the wolf tilted her head as well, and I realized the canine was simply my own reflection in the darkened window. My reflection, I tried out the words, and suddenly felt like I was flying. Shiftless no longer, my wolf had come to comfort me with fur.

If I'd been in my human form, I would have laughed at the notion that a fit of self pity was all that was required to break through my inability to change forms. But with the wolf brain and my human side merged into one mind and body, we were instead enveloped by a calm that I hadn't felt in years. We were able to think clearly for the first time in weeks, without any confusing human emotions to weigh us down.

To celebrate, my wolf and I decided to run together, releasing the last of the angstful emotions that had been churning through our belly. But as we rose into a crouch, we felt paper rather than sheets crinkling beneath our paws, and my human brain jolted back to the forefront.

Looking down, my nose knew what had happened before my eyes could focus on the torn envelope. My dead sister's scent wafted up from the disinterred sheet of paper, and the wolf and I breathed deeply, knowing that this decade-old aroma would dissipate before long. Despite ourselves, we whined, missing Brooke's soft lap and gentle hands. She'd sat right here beside us so many times, brushing the tangles out of our wayward hair and braiding it back into a simple plait, or comforting us when we'd clashed with our father over some rule we considered stupid and he considered gospel. Her scent on the paper seemed to bring long-forgotten pieces of my sister back to life in my mind.

"I'm sorry he's so hard on you," Brooke had told my human form once, not long before she left home. It had always seemed unfair that my sister could float through her days beneath my father's radar while I was the harridan who seemed in constant need of reprimands, but I didn't resent my older sister so much as I hated my father for the unwanted attention. "You know it's only because the two of you are so much alike, right?" Brooke continued gently, rubbing my back in slow, soothing circles.

"I'm nothing like him!" I retorted, stiffening in horror at the notion that the Chief and I shared anything other than 50% of our DNA. Even before our mother died, I hadn't wanted to grow up to be like my father, who never had a kind word for any of his children and who believed in an eye for an eye justice.

"You're just like him," Brooke disagreed quietly, which got my dander up further. But my sister was always the fence-mender in our family, so I knew she wasn't being nasty for the sake of getting my goat. "You're strong and smart and caring...."

"Caring?!" the younger me interjected. "Father doesn't care about us at all. Don't you think that if he did, he'd let you apply to colleges like you want?"

Brooke smiled sadly at me, pulling my stiff shoulders into her body until I softened against her curves. "He does care about us, Terra," she replied. "But he cares about the good of the pack even more."

***

THE FINAL HINT OF SANDALWOOD and tomato leaves drifted away even as the memory dissipated, and I knew that Brooke had finally faded from the earth. Actually, that wasn't true. Her letter was still here, along with the words she'd wanted me to have when I was sixteen and she was dying. Whether or not my father was using Brooke's letter as a means of manipulating me seemed academic now--my sister had been the one who wrote the words, and Brooke always had my best interests at heart. So I tilted my wolf face so I could squint down at the paper and I began to read.

Unfortunately, I could barely make out my older sister's greeting, and could parse that much only because I knew Brooke would begin her letter "Dearest Terra." Something about my wolf eyes or my wolf brain made the rest of the missive dissolve into squiggles, and despite waiting for weeks to open the envelope, now that my wolf had done that deed for me, I was desperate to know what Brooke had to say, the sooner the better. But since my shift to wolf form had been involuntary, I wasn't so sure I could regain my human skin so easily.

I sent the question toward my canine half, and her reply came back quickly. We'll run later, she conceded, and I almost felt like the sentence was a promised future treat for both of us rather than a deal that I was making with an unwanted darker half. The wolf and I would run later, and I trusted my wolf not to tear into any more toddlers in the process, and to let go of our body when I needed to return.

Now in harmony, we shifted forms in a millisecond, too quickly for me to even feel my snout retracting into my face and the fur sinking into my skin. With human eyes, the night made it too dark to read, so I fumbled for a minute until my hand found the bedside lamp and I could illuminate Brooke's letter. Then, clutching the paper in my lap, I read my sister's final words to me.

Dearest Terra,

I'm sorry I won't get to see you grow into the strong young woman I already know you'll be. And I'm sorry I never got to see your shining face after I left Haven. I don't regret the life I've built for myself here, but I do regret leaving you alone, the way Father made me promise to do.

I had to break Father's rules this final time, though, just in case what happened to me happens to you. I told Dale that the doctors diagnosed me with cancer so advanced there was no point in trying chemo, but I was lying, just like I lied to my kind husband about all of my runs in the woods. I hope you'll find a way to help Keith when the time comes since neither he nor his father will understand my son's first change. I've kept the wolf away from my human family.

But I digress. I'm dying, sweet Terra, because my wolf is eating me up from the inside out. I used to see signs of this in Father sometimes, when he'd gone too long without shifting, but I thought that was just his bloodling nature shining through. I was wrong. Father and I have something in our blood that makes our wolves fight against our human bodies. You probably have it too, but I hope you're smart and strong enough to find a way to make it work, like Father does. Cricket told me that you're learning to partner with your wolf in a manner I never would have dreamed possible, so maybe you'll be able to avoid the curse even if you hold your wolf in. I can't seem to do the same--I've never been as strong as you.

I could let my wolf out to run, but I'm too afraid. I know you'll think that giving up like this is no better than suicide, but I can't go back to Haven and my wolf can't be set loose here. So I'm holding her in, even though she's gnawing on my bones. It hurts so much. I don't think I'll last long.

Once I'm gone, I hope you'll remember me fondly. I thought of you every day, sweet Terra, even though I have a little boy to keep me busy now, and a husband I don't begin to deserve. I sent you my love every night before I fell asleep, and I like to believe I'll be able to love you even after I close my eyes for the last time.

Stay strong, smart, and caring like our father, Terra. But follow your own dreams.

Love from your sister,

Brooke

I could barely make out Brooke's signature through the tears that were once again streaming down my cheeks, but I was surprised enough at what followed to halt the waterworks. Beneath Brooke's final line, someone else had scrawled an addendum, and I had to lift the paper to my nose and ask for my wolf's help before I realized who had authored the postscript. Cricket's mousy scent of bleach and applesauce rose up from the page, stronger than my sister's decade-old aroma, but carrying fewer memories. My stepmother's words were definitely enough to pull me back into the present, though, despite lacking as much emotional impact.

Terra,

Your sister was wise. Your father has been fighting his wolf for years, but lately, I think he's losing the battle. I see the wolf through his eyes even when we're alone.

The pack is afraid, and so am I. Please come home. We need you.

There was no fond closing, just a hurried dash and then "Cricket" in the same spiky scrawl as the rest of the postscript. I could imagine my stepmother finishing her note and hurrying to reseal the envelope before my father returned to his office, the usually obedient woman slipping the letter into the back of Brooke's file to be carried to me. I shivered, imagining what might have happened if the Chief had caught his wife in the act, especially if Father's wolf was as out of control as Cricket made it seem.

But he hadn't caught her, and I had come home. And now, at least, I knew what was wrong with Haven.

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# Chapter 19

"Are you serious?" I asked the next evening when I came down for dinner.

The Chief had remained absent for most of the day, and I considered taking the opportunity to debrief Cricket. But, really, my stepmother's note and Brooke's letter said it all. Plus, the people of Haven who I saw scurrying around whenever I went outdoors backed up my hypothesis--my father was disintegrating and his pack was falling into shambles around him. There wasn't much I could do until the Chief showed back up, so I waited as patiently as I could until he was ready to put in an appearance.

I hadn't decided what I was going to do about Haven and my father yet, but that larger issue flew out of my mind when I walked into the dining room and saw my father and Cricket waiting for me at the table...along with the saddest set of suitors I'd ever seen. Okay, yes, my girl cousins were right--the potential mates my father had picked out for me were handsome enough. And the men sitting at our table were mostly the right age, although one was old enough to be my father and another looked like he might still be coming to terms with adulthood. But ever since my wolf and I had made up, we'd been sharing the same mind-space, and her senses told me that none of the four were even as alpha as Brooke had been. My older sister had enjoyed many good attributes, but she was not an alpha werewolf, and strong leadership is what Haven needed if it was going to pull itself back together. What was my father thinking?

As if to confirm my analysis, all four suitors bowed their heads at my tone of voice, and despite my concern over the situation, their reaction almost made me laugh. That was certainly a first in Haven--male werewolves submitting to a woman. Or maybe they just wanted to say grace?

The humor fled, though, when my wolf and I took in my father's canine counterpart. This was the first time in a decade that I'd seen Father while my wolf was wide awake, and she growled deep in her throat at the sight. The Chief's wolf looked rabid under his skin, twitching and baring its teeth, clearly begging to be let loose. For the first time in years, I felt real respect for my father, who was able to keep such a dominant wolf under control, even though the two sides of his personality seemed to be butting heads rather than working together.

And now that I knew where to look, I could see the strain produced by that internal battle. My father's face was lined, his jaw clenched, and the piercing eyes that I'd once thought could force me to do anything now seemed almost weak. Crazy Wilder was fighting the wolf...and losing. I spent a second wondering if this was how Brooke had looked during her final days, then I forced myself to focus on the more pressing problem right in front of me.

My father allowed the silence that followed my words to extend out until it was becoming painful, then he finally broke eye contact with me. If it hadn't been such a crazy concept, I would have almost thought the alpha was deflecting his gaze the way a submissive wolf might after trying to stare down the pack leader, but that idea was too ludicrous to hold onto. Instead, my father merely turned to scrutinize my four suitors, then quietly dismissed them from our presence. "You can go now, boys," he said abruptly, and as one, the male werewolves got to their feet, put their napkins on the table, and filed out the door.

Well, that was...unexpected. "I wasn't reneging on our deal..."I started, but the Chief talked right over me, any hint of submission long forgotten.

"I see you're finally ready to take on the job I've been grooming you for," my father intoned. But I didn't get to learn what job Father was referring to because a formidable knock on the front door stopped our conversation in its tracks.

"Right on time," the Chief said, taking a sip of water before leisurely rising from the table and leading our little family down the hall. His wolf looked quieter than it had a few minutes before, and the canine now seemed amused, as if we were all on stage, acting out a drama that the Chief had written. I wanted to hold onto that clue, but my breath caught in my throat and all other thoughts fled as the door was flung open and a non-Haven werewolf walked in. My knight in shining armor had arrived.

***

"RUDE" DIDN'T EVEN BEGIN to describe the act of one pack leader barging into another's home uninvited. In fact, Wolfie's behavior was tantamount to an act of war, but I couldn't avoid the silly grin that spread itself across my face when my favorite wolf stepped over the threshold. My canine half and I could smell his scent--like leaf mold and pine needles--and I realized we were leaning forward as if the young alpha was a huge magnet and our combined wolf and human brains were a pile of iron filings. If the stakes hadn't been so high and my father hadn't been present, I don't think anything could have stopped me from falling into Wolfie's arms.

And I was now sure that his wolf side, at least, would have caught me as I fell, quite gladly. The younger alpha's face was grim, but with my new wolf sense, I could see his canine half dancing in circles behind his eyes, as excited as I was to be back together. All at once, the last ache in my stomach faded away as I realized that Wolfie really had known I was acting, as Quetzalli's presence had suggested, even though I'd been loath to believe a bloodling could be so poker-faced. Wolfie hadn't taken my words to heart or held them against me, and he was here now to back me up and to help solve the problem with my father.

As we stood in silence, I could almost feel our canine halves communing without words. What took you so long?, my wolf was saying, and his wolf was laughing at our impatience. As impetuous as a human, he was probably teasing.

The man was a little less sure of himself than the wolf, though. Ignoring Chief Wilder, Wolfie cocked his head and asked me, "Which one did you pick?" It took me a minute to realize the younger alpha was asking about the suitors, then my wolf and I huffed our amusement out through our nose. I couldn't believe it--Wolfie was jealous.

"Is that why you're here?" I answered, trying to get Wolfie back on track. Surely, hopefully, he had some kind of plan, not just a possessive urge to come and take me home before I could marry another man. Not that I minded a bit of alpha behavior in this context, but there were larger issues at play.

The young pack leader shook his head, not in negation, but as if trying to force water out of his ears, and I saw the wolf rise up behind his eyes to take command of the conversation. Wolfie's voice sounded the same, but his energy was more focused when he spoke again. "No, I'm here because your nephew, and your grandson," he said, turning to face my father at last, "has gone missing. Keith wasn't pleased when Quetzalli came home without you yesterday, and we now know he hitchhiked all the way to Haven after he found out Terra wasn't coming back."

To Haven? Soppy romantic notions were pushed to the back burner as I parsed Wolfie's words. I was positive I would have known if Keith was kicking around the village, which meant the boy hadn't arrived. But where could he get sidetracked between the highway and our cluster of houses? Nowhere--unless Keith's first shift came upon him unaware, in which case the teen werewolf could be running around the woods four-footed and confused.

"And you want permission to go hunt for the boy in my woods," the Chief said, his words coldly amused as the pack leader's wolf peered through my father's eyes to focus on the younger alpha. If Wolfie had the bad sense to request permission, it was obvious the answer would be no, so I figured I'd better derail this standoff before it could go any further.

"Can I speak with you for a moment, Wolfie?" I asked. Ignoring my father, I continued: "Alone."

***

EVEN THOUGH I HAD LEFT my childhood behind years ago, I couldn't help feeling a frisson of forbidden pleasure when Wolfie followed me up the stairs and into my loft. The male werewolf was almost too big for the space, his head bowing down so it didn't graze the ceiling as he moved to the center of the room--the one spot where he could stand erect. Despite the awkwardness of the low ceiling, though, I could see the tension ease from Wolfie's shoulders at this brief reprieve from the Chief's presence, and my wolf and I felt the same way. As we came into the room behind him, we immediately rushed to Wolfie's side and let the young alpha enfold us in his arms, then we pulled his head down to join us in a hungry kiss.

I would have liked to submerge myself in our shared passion forever, but I knew my father's patience was very limited, so I pulled back far enough that we could speak, although I didn't try to wriggle out of Wolfie's arms. "You forgave me," I said, smiling up into my mate's sparkling eyes.

"So I am man enough for you," he rumbled in reply, the words ironic because the wolf had the upper hand as the alpha spoke.

"Definitely," I answered, then I had to rein in my own wolf who thought now might be a good time to run our hand down Wolfie's firm jaw. Focus, I reminded her, and I felt my canine half settle. "I'm sorry it's taken so long," I continued. "At first I just wanted to protect you, but the longer I stayed here, the more I realized Haven was falling apart. I didn't want to leave them in the lurch."

"The pack needs a new alpha," Wolfie said, having understood a situation in two heartbeats that had taken me several days to untangle. "Your father's wolf is eating him alive."

"And we need to find Keith," I added. "That part's true, right? My nephew is missing? Has he changed forms?"

"We were waiting for you," the young alpha responded, and his words warmed me from head to toe. Not only had Wolfie believed I really would be coming back, he'd continued to abide by my wishes that I be the one to help Keith learn to shift. Unfortunately, that seemed to have been a poor decision on my part given my nephew's rash behavior.

"My father's too territorial to let you wander around in Haven's woods," I thought aloud. "And I don't know how we can challenge him here without having the pack tear the challenger apart. Did you bring anyone with you?"

"Out at the highway," Wolfie answered, then cut right to the chase in typical wolf fashion. "Do you want to challenge Chief Wilder or should I?"

Neither, I wanted to say, but I knew that answer wasn't going to hold water. It almost felt like my father had set me up to take over his leadership, but I couldn't quite believe it--I'd never heard of a female pack leader, and Haven was far too hidebound to allow one. Plus, was I really alpha material?

"You know you're an alpha," Wolfie said quietly, rubbing my back in the same gentle circles my sister had once used, but with far more interesting effects on my nerve endings. "Remember how you ignored me the second time I commanded you to stop running away in the city?"

It was true that I'd been able to pull away from Wolfie's bark, but I'd thought my reaction was only possible because Wolfie hadn't been my pack leader. That issue was academic at the moment, though, because who would challenge the Chief didn't seem as important an issue at the moment as how that challenger would win. "I don't want to kill my father," I whispered into Wolfie's shoulder, hoping the fabric would muffle my words. How's that for proof I wasn't pack leader material? The Chief wouldn't have spared a thought for the casualties that stood in the way of achieving his goal.

"No one is going to die," Wolfie said as if stating fact, putting one finger under my chin to tilt my face back up toward his and brushing a gentle kiss across my lips. "What do you think I spent the last few days doing while you were living here in the lap of luxury? I was working on my pool."

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# Chapter 20

Tearing myself away from Wolfie--again--was one of the hardest things I'd ever done. But I could just imagine my nephew's terror since the boy hadn't grown up among werewolves and was now facing his first shift alone and in a strange place. My urge to protect Keith was nearly as strong as my yearning to take Wolfie and run away from Haven as fast as I could, especially when I considered the fact that my nephew might even now be caught midshift. Or perhaps Keith's wolf brain had completely taken control of their shared body and was heading past Haven's boundaries and toward the normal human population. I'd do just about anything to prevent Keith from having to live with the same guilt I bore due to my wolf's actions during our shared teen years.

But hunting down a confused teenage werewolf seemed easy in comparison to the task Wolfie faced. The young alpha seemed confident in his ability to beat my father at pool, and my father had agreed to the proposed challenge, albeit with a mocking laugh, so the winner would be Haven's leader. But Crazy Wilder had filled the pool room with my most scary-looking male cousins, and Wolfie had no one to back him up. Plus, my father had won 95% of the games I'd seen him play during my childhood, and I couldn't quite imagine how Wolfie could have honed his skills enough during the last week to provide any kind of competition for the billiards master. It was traditional to put the losing werewolf in a pack-leader challenge to death, and the notion of returning from my own hunt to a world lacking Wolfie's calm presence made me shiver. Still, this was the best plan we'd been able to come up with, and the only one that could possibly result in everyone leaving the room alive...assuming Wolfie's skills were up to par.

"Trust me," the younger alpha said quietly as he walked past my dithering form and into the pool room. Wolfie had gone outside a minute earlier to pick up the cue stick he'd left on the doorstep, proof that his challenge hadn't been a spur-of-the-moment decision, and now he was screwing together the two halves of his stick even as he strode toward my father. Looking over Wolfie's shoulder, I could see the Chief frown slightly, aware that he'd lost one of his home-court advantages--knowledge of which cue sticks were perfect and which had just enough of a warp to send a ball swirling off in the wrong direction.

"Best two games out of three?" Wolfie asked, the phrase nearly a command instead of a question, and I saw the wolf behind my father's eyes snarl as the Chief nodded without thinking. As hard as it was to believe since I'd seen my father dominate everyone in his path for my entire lifetime, Wolfie was the more alpha of the two. But my father was far from whipped.

"As the challenged party, I assume I go first?" he asked, and I could tell that the Chief's words were meant to make Wolfie echo my father's earlier unconscious agreement. But, instead, my favorite alpha pursed his lips and shook his head slowly.

"I thought we'd go traditional and lag," rumbled his wolf.

I wanted to stay and watch, but I knew Keith was waiting, and there was nothing I could do now that the challenge was underway. So I turned away, the sound of pool balls on the sidewall echoing in my mind as I walked past my cousins and out the door.

***

I ASSUMED IT WOULD be a struggle to shift, but as soon as I stepped out of my clothes on the back stoop, my wolf surged to the forefront and we became canine so easily I didn't even notice the change occurring. After fighting against the shift and then fighting to force the shift for so long, it felt strange to realize that I was now able to change forms as seamlessly as Wolfie did. But I didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I just relaxed into the transformation.

That thought reminded me of the competition going on inside, though, and my wolf and I scented the air, feeling my father's annoyance and Wolfie's elation as the younger alpha won the right to go first. A good sign. Let's hope Wolfie could keep up his lead while I was gone.

Before the two of us had descended from the loft a few minutes earlier, Wolfie told me that the rest of his pack was waiting along the highway at the location where Keith had left the road and cut into the woods. The younger alpha had given his pack instructions not to leave the vehicles, knowing that my father had wolves patrolling Haven's perimeter, and that those wolves would attack first and ask questions later. I, on the other hand, could come and go as I pleased, so the plan was for me to meet up with Wolfie's pack and then to follow my nephew's trail wherever it led.

I could smell the anxiety, but also the cohesiveness, of Wolfie's crew before I rounded the bend and padded to a stop beside their cars. The yahoos were in wolf form while the older adults sported their human bodies, ensuring cool heads all around due to Wolfie's calming effect on the wolves in his pack. As soon as I came into sight, Wade and Fen trotted up to greet me, licking under my chin, and I was so gratified by their acceptance that I shifted back to human form so I could take them into my arms like a pair of lap dogs.

"Not quite what a passing motorist should see," Chase said gruffly, interrupting our greeting and tossing an oversized t-shirt into my arms so I could shield my nudity from non-werewolf observers. Despite his tone, though, I could tell that even the pack's beta had forgiven my betrayal of his milk brother. Then Chase went a step further, dipping his head to me as if I were his alpha's permanent mate, and I couldn't prevent the blush that snuck up my neck at the gesture. Imagining what it would be like to act as Wolfie's mate was tantalizing, but I needed to keep my focus on Keith, so I was glad when Galena pulled me into a simple hug and cut off that train of thought.

"So, what's the plan?" Quetzalli asked, her words abrupt but her body language telling me that Galena's partner was as glad to see me as everyone else was. She dipped her head slightly as she met my eyes, and I couldn't really believe the pack had forgiven me so easily. I was sure there would be some lingering issues, but now was not the time to deal with hurt feelings.

"Wolfie challenged my father to a game of pool," I said, and nods all around suggested the pack had known that was their alpha's goal from the beginning. The werewolves kept their eyes trained on me for orders, though, so I continued talking. "Until that ends, it's not safe for any of you to go looking for Keith, so I'm going to try to track him from here."

A whine from Blaze brought my eyes around to the young werewolf, and my wolf had no difficulty parsing his complaint. "I know you want to come," I answered, "but we can't risk it. If Wolfie loses the challenge, I'm going to have a hard enough time getting Keith past the border patrol and back to you--it would just be that much harder if any non-Haven wolves came with me."

The pack was silent for a minute as we each imagined what would happen if Wolfie did lose the game of pool. But the werewolves' calm energy didn't falter, quite a tribute to their absent pack leader. "He won't lose," Chase said at last, and I nodded, looking both ways to make sure no cars were coming, then slipping off my t-shirt and regaining my fur. The hunt was on.

***

THE LAST TIME I'D TRACKED a child through the woods, I'd been too scared to let my wolf loose, and even though I now realized my canine half had done her best to help me at the time, she had been virtually blindfolded by my distrust during that earlier hunt. Now, the wolf and I acted in harmony, my human mind suggesting what Keith might have been thinking at the same time as the wolf used her superior senses to pick up the teenager's fading trail. The scents proved that Keith had come this way several hours earlier, probably arriving in the wee hours of the morning and cutting into the woods as soon as the day was bright enough to let him see where he placed his feet. Since my nephew had such a long head start, my wolf and I both knew that the sooner we found him, the better.

Despite the solemnity of the occasion, though, I couldn't help enjoying the way my wolf's muscles were able to stretch and push us through the forest at a trot. Dew was already coating the ground as a sunny autumn day turned into a chilly evening, and the water moistened our pads, helping us feel each imperfection of the ground beneath our feet. With the toughness of canine foot leather, acorns and twigs gently massaged our skin rather than causing pain, and we sidestepped a leafy area in favor of a patch of rounded pebbles to enhance the sensation.

Then all enjoyment receded into the background as Keith's scent abruptly mutated just as we ran upon a pile of rags that had once been a t-shirt and pair of boxer shorts. The teenager had clearly felt the shift coming early enough to pull off his shoes and jeans, which was a plus since denim can make a change of form extraordinarily difficult, but Keith hadn't had time to remove the rest of his apparel. I felt guilty, knowing I'd made my nephew wait too long for his first shift, and now he'd been forced to change into wolf form alone in the woods, with no pack around him.

Focus, my wolf reminded me, throwing back the same words I'd sent her no more than an hour previously. The wolf was right to stay calm, not just because there was no point in panicking, but also because we were still in the heart of Haven's forest, so Keith's wolf would have had nothing nearby to harm...as long as he didn't run too far in any direction.

Sucking in a deep breath through our nose, the wolf and I noted that Keith had turned up the mountain rather than down toward civilization, a perk given the unpredictable nature of a wolf on its first shift. We put our nose to the ground and began to run faster.

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# Chapter 21

Unlike Melony, Keith wasn't hard to find, although it felt like I ran in wolf form for hours through the dark before I finally tracked him down. The young wolf had passed beyond the safety of Haven's boundaries during his wolf's first exuberant dash, and when I smelled blood along with my nephew's scent, my heart sank into my metaphorical shoes.

I knew where we'd ended up due to my own meanderings as a young werewolf, when I'd pushed the boundaries quite literally and had run onto our neighbors' properties. The Clarks' farm wasn't the best spot for Keith to land, but neither was it the worst. I distinctly remembered Mr. Clark spraying my furred rump with BBs, chasing me back into the woods when I'd come out onto his land in my own teen years. What I didn't know was who owned the land now, or whether the current owners had young children who might have been allowed to go outside alone after dark. I shivered, realizing that the smell of blood was making my wolf's mouth water, even though she was letting me take the lead as we came close enough to hear Keith breathing.

"Relax, Aunt Terra," the kid's voice came toward me through the dark. "It was only a chicken." My nephew's tone didn't quite match the nonchalance of his words, but as we advanced, my wolf and I could see that there were indeed enough feathers lining the ground to prove that the young wolf's first kill had been of the avian variety. Heaving a sigh of relief, I quickly shifted to human form to join him.

"Whoa," the teenager said immediately, throwing a hand up over his eyes. "I don't think I'm ready to see you naked quite yet, Aunt Terra." For the first time since smelling blood, I was able to take a deep breath--if my nephew could joke around, he was going to be okay.

"Oh, yeah, because familial nudity is much worse than tearing out a chicken's throat with your teeth," I muttered, but sank to the ground and pulled up my knees to shield my bare breasts from view. "Okay, I'm moderately decent," I continued, my voice calm as I tried to soothe the shakes out of Keith's body. I could tell that my nephew's wolf was pushing against the boy's human form, begging to be let back out, but that Keith was afraid to set the canine loose after its round of chicken killing. And while I didn't blame his human brain for worrying, I needed the teenager to be able to shift back to wolf form as quickly as possible so we could return to Wolfie's pack. Plus, the sooner my nephew got back on the horse, the less likely he was to end up shiftless like me. "You know you're going to have to pay for that chicken out of your allowance," I added in mock rebuke, and was gratified to hear a faint chuckle coming from the teenager in front of me.

"I couldn't change back," Keith said just barely loud enough for me to hear after we'd sat for a few minutes in companionable silence. I hummed a gentle assent, but let the kid talk since he clearly needed to get the trauma out of his system. "The wolf wanted out, and then we ran and it was brilliant, Aunt Terra," my nephew said, excitement coloring his words, then dropping away just as quickly. "But after the chicken, we shifted back to human form and I realized I didn't know how to find the highway without my wolf's nose. And the wolf wouldn't come back."

"That's really normal, Keith," I told him, taking my nephew's hand in mine, an action that would have felt thoroughly inappropriate for a human aunt and nephew pair if they were naked in the woods, but which gave us both comfort since we were touchy-feely werewolves at heart. "The first few times you change, it's hard to control, but you'll get better at it."

"They say that if you're lost in the woods, you should just sit down and wait," Keith continued. "So that's what I did. I knew that you and Wolfie would come for me eventually, hopefully before I froze to death." He feigned shivers, which made my heart lift yet further. Keith's teen cockiness was apparently uncrushable, and I was glad. "So how's Wolfie doing against Grandpa?" he finished, and I sighed--even my teenage nephew had known more about Wolfie's plans than I had.

***

IT TURNED OUT THAT Wolfie had started practicing pool with my sneaky nephew nearly immediately after the two of us began hanging out with his pack. I did recall several times when Wolfie had taken Keith aside, presumably to give the teenager one-on-one lessons on shifting, and now I realized that the lessons had actually gone in the other direction, with Keith sharing the Wilder knack for pool with a worthy student. Unlike every other man I'd ever known, Wolfie had apparently listened to every word I'd said and had filed the data way for future reference. So when he learned the Chief was a pool aficionado, Wolfie figured the game was a skill he'd better perfect.

The news made my heart a little less heavy at the notion of having left Wolfie alone in Haven...but not much. Even if Wolfie managed to pull off a win against the king of pool, I couldn't quite imagine my father and cousins submitting to the outsider. "We need to get back there as quickly as possible," I said, once it had become clear that Keith was feeling more himself in spite of the chicken blood drying on his face and hands.

"Obviously," my nephew answered impertinently, and I rolled my eyes and paid him back by shifting without warning. The young werewolf was pulled into fur alongside me, but he clearly hadn't been shaken up by the abrupt transformation. Instead, the youngster pranced around me, making my own wolf seem old and slow in comparison, but cheering us both up with his antics. And once I began racing back along our trail, Keith fell in behind me obediently, almost like a dog trained to heel.

It was pitch black by the time we reached Wolfie's pack along the side of the highway, but the werewolves were still on full alert. While I was gone, they'd traded off wolf duty, with three of the yahoos sprawling out asleep in human form in the bed of the pickup truck so that Quetzalli and Oscar were the ones to greet us four-footed this time. Despite the collapse of the rest of the yahoos, Blaze came bounding along close behind the older adults, still in wolf form, and he immediately wrestled Keith to the ground in a show of male affection that transcended species boundaries.

"No sign of Wolfie?" I asked, having shifted back to human form the instant my toes hit pavement. Now that I was so close to Haven, every hair on my body seemed to be standing on end, itching to hotfoot it back to the village and check on my mate. Keith and I had been gone long enough that the pool-game challenge should have been long over, and I knew that no news wasn't good news. If Wolfie had won and the change of leadership had gone smoothly, Haven's new alpha should have come out by now to collect his original pack. The fact that they were all still present and waiting made me shiver.

"Nothing," Chase said quietly without getting up from the driver's seat of one of the cars. A plume of smoke rose into the night air, and I was shocked to realize that the beta was smoking. I'd never known a member of Wolfie's pack to partake of the habit previously, and to see the beta smoking now was a clear sign that I wasn't the only one with nerves. The realization only made me more worried.

"Okay," I said, taking command of the situation. I hadn't meant to, but I realized I was using the pack leader voice, which immediately pulled every eye to me. "I'll see what's going on," I told Wolfie's pack. "The rest of you wait here for half an hour, then go home if you don't hear from us."

"Go home?!" Glen asked from the bed of the pickup truck, our voices having pulled him out of his light slumber. "No way are we going home without you and Wolfie." A murmur of assent proved that the other yahoos had woken and were in accord.

Chase and I exchanged glances, and in that moment I knew the two of us were on the same page, just as we had been about my betrayal the last time Wolfie's pack had come to Haven. Whatever was holding Wolfie up couldn't be good, and we both knew there was no reason to risk the rest of the pack by sending them in after their leader. If my father had won the challenge, it was better for Wolfie's pack to go home and regroup without me, and I knew the pack's beta would make that happen. I nodded my thanks to my mate's milk brother, and he bowed his head in acquiescence.

"At least put on some clothes," said Galena quietly, handing over a t-shirt and jogging pants. As much as I hated to waste time by walking back to the village in human form, I had to admit that she was right--running around naked was a bit of a juvenile thing to do even in a werewolf village, and I needed all the gravitas I could muster if I wanted to get Wolfie out of whatever hot water he was in. I just hoped my mate was alive and waiting for me.

"Thanks," I said quietly, pulling on the clothes Galena had given me.

Keith got to his feet and began to follow as I turned away from the pack, so I figured I might as well start using my new-found alpha status now rather than later. "Stay," I told the young wolf, putting the full force of command beneath my voice, and my nephew plopped down onto his tail so fast I was a bit concerned he might never move again. Well, that worked better than I'd thought it would. Deciding to take my nephew's unusual obedience as a good sign, I broke into a run up the dark gravel road leading to my family home.

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# Chapter 22

As soon as I reached the village green, I could hear the raised voices pouring out the windows of my father's house. I couldn't make out the words, but the tone was angry, and my wolf extended our senses out to their limits, seeking clues about the situation we were walking into. Leaf mold and pine needles entered our nose, with no hint of the blood I'd been secretly expecting--Wolfie was alive. Although my new alpha leanings tried to make me care about the health of the Haven pack as well, if I was honest, Wolfie was all I'd really thought about for the last half hour, so the knowledge that he was unharmed gave me strength to enter what seemed poised to turn into a riot.

"Haven's been led by a Wilder for three generations," one of my uncles roared as I pushed open the back door and slipped into the heart of the pack. It seemed as if every man and half the women who lived in Haven had crammed themselves into my family home, and although the house wasn't small, it definitely wasn't big enough to host a town meeting. I began to push my way through the crowd, but the werewolves parted to let me through before I could shove anyone aside, creating a clear path leading toward the heart of the conflict. Sooner than I really wanted, I was standing in the open doorway of the pool room.

The scene inside wasn't at all what I had expected. Yes, my bulkier male cousins were clad in fur, menacing Wolfie, who remained in human form. My mate stood with his back against the wall, his cue stick held lightly, the tip slowly moving to face each verbal attacker. None of that was a big surprise. What was unusual was the fact that my father stood in front of Wolfie in canine form, the Chief's teeth bared as he growled at his own pack.

Or, rather, at Wolfie's pack, as the young alpha's next words made abundantly clear. "Is that a challenge?" Wolfie ground out, and my overbearing uncle ducked his head despite himself, one step away from prostrating his whole body on the ground. A wave of submissive gestures wound around the room, spurred on by the tone of Wolfie's voice, and I could see now why Wolfie hadn't been torn apart by Haven's angry wolves--no member of my family was able to disobey their new pack leader's commands.

Only when every Haven werewolf's eyes were safely on the ground did Wolfie look across the room at me and allow his face to melt into the sweetest smile imaginable. I grinned back despite myself, feeling more lucky than ever that Wolfie was mine. Ours, my wolf corrected indulgently, before drifting back to sleep. I would have thought she would be pushing against my skin, itching to protect me from the dangers of the current situation, but with Wolfie present, my own wolf clearly thought everything was under control.

I wished I could be that complacent. But I figured if Wolfie had been holding off my uncles and cousins for what must have been hours, he probably had another ace up his sleeve and was waiting for me to put in an appearance to set his plan in motion. Instinctively, I walked toward my mate, letting my hands trail across the heads of my wolf cousins as I passed. "Down," I said to them quietly, volume not necessary to push through commands that had to be obeyed. I didn't look behind me, but could hear cousins who I'd been afraid of all my life dropping like flies at my feet.

"Keith all right?" Wolfie asked me when I reached his side, the younger alpha's poker face back in place but a sparkle behind his eyes letting me know that all was well.

I nodded silently, then added, "Chase expects a status report within twenty minutes." I'd taken the private drive off the highway at a run despite my human form, so we had a bit of time to spare before Wolfie's pack would leave us in the lurch. Still, I wanted Wolfie to be aware of the deadline, even though no real harm would come from his pack going home...except for a lack of an exit strategy for the two of us. And it was clear that Wolfie did still need an exit strategy.

"I see you defeated the Chief," I said, making conversation in order to give myself time to figure out Wolfie's plan, but also wanting my words to carry throughout the house, making the conclusion of the challenge clear to every Haven werewolf. I looked down, expecting my father to bristle at my words, since I'd always assumed he'd be the last one to willingly give up his power over our little community. But my father's wolf instead seemed as content as my own wolf was to let me and Wolfie hash out the situation. With a huffing sigh, the older canine dropped to the ground and closed his eyes, either falling instantly asleep or doing a pretty good imitation of slumber. "I guess we should let sleeping dogs lie," I added, and was relieved to feel the mood of the gathering shift from edgy and dangerous over into something that approached contented and amused.

Wolfie smiled down at me, wolf and man united in their appreciation of my mild witticism, and I couldn't resist reaching up to kiss Haven's new pack leader, despite the family members pressing in on us from all sides.

"Go home," Wolfie said to the gathering once I gave him back possession of his lips, and my extended family instantly moved to obey. "My pack will spend the night here, and we'll all talk like human beings in the morning." Then, content that everyone would do exactly as he said, Wolfie pulled off his shirt, slipped out of his pants, and was running for the highway in wolf form before we even had time to parse the shift.

***

"HAVEN ISN'T GOING TO be ready for big changes right away," I told Wolfie a couple of hours later, once Cricket had pulled out sofas and unrolled mats to give each member of Wolfie's pack a place to sleep inside our family home. My stepmother had offered the two of us her room since my father had taken to the woods in canine form and seemed bound to stay gone for a good long time. But I'd felt weird about sleeping in my parents' bed and had instead pushed the two twin beds in my attic room together to give me and Wolfie a spot to sleep. It wasn't entirely comfortable to span the crack, but lying in Wolfie's arms felt good no matter what surface we were supported by.

"I think I should go home for a while," Wolfie rumbled softly, and my body tensed up. Yes, I knew that Haven's pack was going to have a hard time accepting Wolfie, but surely they'd have just as hard of a time taking orders from a woman. Plus, it felt like eons since Wolfie and I had been able to just laugh together, and I didn't relish the idea of spending more time apart.

As usual, Wolfie read between the lines and understood everything I didn't say, as well as what I did. "Crazy Wilder's daughter will be easier to stomach as the new pack leader than an out-of-pack bloodling would be," he murmured. "The separation won't last forever, but I think you'll be a better alpha for Haven than I would during the transitional period. Don't worry, though. I'll take the troublemakers home with me and leave you some of our pack in exchange."

"The troublemakers?" I said, Wolfie's words making me laugh despite myself. It was hard to imagine blood-thirsty werewolves like Milo being described by such a childish term. "Hit man" would be more appropriate, or maybe "murderer in training." On the other hand, I did see Wolfie's point, which had been aptly illustrated by the dissipation of tension within the pool room once I made my way home.

"How about this?" Wolfie bargained. "I take everyone from Haven between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five, and you get the yahoos in exchange."

"Kids? Seriously? You want me to run this pack of wolves with the help of kids?" I retorted, only half kidding.

"You don't need any help at all, sweetheart," Wolfie answered, his mind clearly beginning to turn to other topics as his hands made their way over my body. "I'm leaving you with the yahoos because I'm sick of them."

"Some alpha you are," I growled, but the heat in my words had less to do with Wolfie's bargain and more to do with his hands, which made me shiver as they slipped over my skin and, yup, slid down below the waist. My wolf and I arched into his touch, and this time I really do think we purred.

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# Epilogue

I half expected the Haven werewolves to rise up in revolt after Wolfie and the majority of his pack hit the road with Haven's young adults in tow, but the remainder of the community instead came to me with heads bowed starting that first morning. They needed advice on this problem, help with that problem, and I found my hands full just getting the village back into shape.

In an effort to keep the yahoos out of trouble (and to lighten my own load), I kept Wolfie's loaned helpers running so ragged with errands from the first day that they didn't have time to get into mischief. Cricket fed their voluminous appetites, which seemed to give my stepmother something to worry about other than the fact that her husband's wolf appeared to have completely taken over his human side. My father spent most of his time hunting rabbits in the woods now, and when he came to the back door to check on his mate, I couldn't see any hint of the man I'd known in the canine's eyes. But that absence was almost a blessing--it seemed that the ruthlessness of Crazy Wilder had been within the man, not in the wolf.

Like the yahoos, I stayed too busy to worry over anything that wasn't directly in front of me over the next few weeks. Despite my full hours, I expected the ache in my stomach to reappear when Wolfie slammed his pickup truck door and sped off, but I seemed to have finally accepted that the young alpha wasn't walking out of my life permanently--he was just living somewhere else for a while. It also helped that my wolf and I were able to trade off responsibilities, and I often let her simple canine brain take over when exhaustion was threatening to turn me melancholy.

On one crisp winter day, the wolf had treated us to a run on four paws, and I was smiling when I stepped back into my clothes in the foyer of my family home, smelling stew bubbling in the kitchen and hearing the yahoos chattering away at the kitchen table. But I smelled something else too--leaf mold and pine needles and a hint of peppermint....

I whirled, hoping that the scent meant Wolfie had come to visit, even though I knew that wasn't true. Instead of my mate, a young woman in her late teens stood uncomfortably in the formal sitting room that no one ever used. I couldn't quite imagine Cricket parking a visitor there, but my wolf could see that the stranger's canine half was skittish and ready to bolt, so I immediately understood how this girl might feel more comfortable alone than in the midst of the revelry clamoring forth from the kitchen.

The girl looked me up and down, sniffing the air with a human nose much like I would in wolf form, then she silently extended the hands that had been hugging a book to her chest. Her offering was the new Patricia Briggs novel that I'd left in that bookstore so long ago, and even without bringing the paper to my nose, I knew the pages smelled of Wolfie. Although I should have been welcoming my visitor, I couldn't resist opening the cover of the book instead to see if my mate had written anything inside.

He had. "The whole pack misses you, but I miss you more," Wolfie had penned with a firm hand, then he'd signed his name with a muddy paw print. "P.S.," the inscription continued. "I'm sending you trouble. But you can handle it."

The leaf mold and pine needle aroma was strong on the pages of the book, but that wasn't the primary source of the odor I'd picked up on as soon as I came in the door. My wolf pushed to the fore and reported that the young woman smelled nearly identical to our mate, with the addition of a minty overtone. Did that mean she was Wolfie's relative? Heaven forbid--his daughter?

I looked back up at the young woman, who seemed to be restraining herself from bolting with an effort. "I'm the trouble," she admitted, her eyes on her feet, which were already turned toward the door. Despite her submissive gesture, I had a feeling she was right about her self assessment, and I already had plenty of problems to contend with. But Wolfie had sent her, and my heart went out to the skittish young werewolf, so I put out my hands to capture hers before she could flee.

"Welcome, Trouble," I greeted her. "I'm Terra."

***

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED Shiftless! If so, don't stop there--Terra's adventure continues with Pack Princess. Meanwhile, you can also download a free starter library when you sign up for my email list.

Thank you so much for reading and for spreading the word! You are why I write.

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# Half Wolf

Book 1 of the Alpha Underground Trilogy

When half-shifter Fen is cast out of her home, she and an unlikely ally are forced to shore up her waning power in an effort to save half-breeds everywhere.

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# Chapter 1

Three shifters walked into a bar.

It sounds like the beginning of a corny joke, doesn't it?

But here's a little more information for you. I was those shifters' alpha and den mother rolled into one. Two of the barhoppers were jail bait or close to it. And the establishment in question was filled to the brim with horny, lawless, outpack males.

No wonder I wasn't laughing and was in a big hurry.

I breezed past the bouncer with a show of entirely human teeth, then rolled my eyes at his laxness. The employee wasn't being remiss by not checking my ID. Not in a werewolf bar. But he still wasn't really doing his job.

I was twenty-one--barely--which is all humans would have cared about when allowing entrance to a drinking establishment. But the guy at the door in a shifter bar was supposed to turn away anyone without the ability to don fur and howl at the moon. And even though I was technically a shifter, my half-human heritage meant my wolf was too weak to rise up behind my eyes and prove her worth to the bouncer.

Good thing I was accustomed to faking it.

But I wasn't home free just yet. I'd barely set foot in the sea of writhing bodies when one of those lawless males alluded to earlier grabbed my arm, swinging me around to collide hard with his chest. My chin thudded against bare flesh only slightly less hairy than it would have been in lupine form and my nose took in the over-ripe scent of unwashed man.

Ugh. Not that it would have mattered if he was cute. I was on a mission and Ginger, Cinnamon, and Lia had a half-hour head start on me. I could only imagine what kind of mischief the trouble twins and their tagalong cousin could get up to during thirty long minutes alone.

"Nice to see another lady in the place," the male offered with a triumphant leer, clearly pleased with himself for having snagged one of the few females in evidence. His words made it sound like he was trying to pick me up, but his iron grip on my bicep presented a very different picture. Ten feet in the door, I was already in trouble.

Luckily, I was up to the challenge.

"Not interested," I replied sweetly, grinding the heel of one boot into the top of my assailant's arch. I hadn't dressed to impress and didn't particularly expect my hiking shoes to make much of an impression. But I was pleasantly surprised. This particular male must have shown up at the back door in wolf form because his feet were bare. And they were also apparently quite sensitive to being stomped on.

Unfortunately, the shifter didn't so much release me as fling me across the room to land against the legs of another group of outpack males. This time I was the one initiating the collision, and the male I struck wasn't impressed. Snarling, he kicked me out of his path. But at least he didn't look down.

I guess my weak wolf has a few things going for her, I thought as I struggled to my feet. There had to be at least a hundred males in the room and most of them were almost certainly outpack werewolves with no clan--or woman--of their own. A lone female like me in a bar like this was akin to lighting a match beside a powder keg then standing there tapping my foot while wondering if anything would blow.

Luckily, my half-blood skin didn't exude the same sort of come-hither charm as a pure-bred pack princess would have. And, in the dimness of the dance floor, my tomboy apparel probably made me look like just another shifter kid out on his own and hunting for a good time.

Or perhaps the males' lack of attention to my skinny form was the result of vastly more enticing eye candy on the other side of the room. Because I soon caught sight of my three pack mates by dint of following everyone's gazes to a table off to the side of the bar. There, Ginger was belting out an accompaniment to the piped-in music and providing enticing visual aids to prove that tequila did indeed make her clothes fall off.

"Take it all off!" one of the shifters beside me hollered, and the crowd surged forward in one enthusiastic mass. I figured it wouldn't be long before the first horny guy made it past Cinnamon's guard and turned this happy crowd into a bloodbath. So I gave up on pushing between chests and instead dropped down into a crouch, weaving my way around legs as hefty as tree trunks.

Abruptly, I found myself pushed into a corner of the room, my trajectory losing perspective as Ginger's voice was drowned out by roars of encouragement. For a split second, I was back in the tiny cellar where I'd been stuffed by bullying pure-breeds when I was barely old enough to attend kindergarten. Dark, close, no way out. Sweat broke out on my forehead and I forced fingers between knees to stop the former from trembling.

Okay, so I'll admit it. My knees were trembling too.

This is absurd. They got themselves into this mess and they can get themselves right back out of it.

My single glimpse of Ginger had proven that her brother was indeed at her back, ready and willing to take on the entire room full of shifters in her defense. The male twin had one hand on Lia's arm too, proving his intent to guard his cousin as well as his sister. Still, the kid had looked scared even as she did her best to mimic Ginger's gyrations.

So, yes, I could pretend that the three teenagers would make it out of there alive without my assistance...even if that pretense would have been a bald-faced lie.

But I just couldn't talk myself into the mental evasion. I'd been abandoned too many times in my life to do the same for members of my own pack.

Plus, I was ostensibly those teenagers' alpha, which meant I was in charge of keeping their flesh attached to their bones. I knew it and they knew it. Why else would Ginger have made the admittedly stupid decision to try out another shifter bar despite the fallout from her last similar attempt? Even she wouldn't have gone off half-cocked if backup wasn't on the way.

So I pulled a deep breath into lungs that already ached from overexertion and I pushed my way back into the crowd.

***

"READY TO GO HOME?" I called up to my pack mates when I finally achieved my destination. Cinnamon was laughing in delight at his sister's antics, Lia had finally discovered the beat, and Ginger had stripped down to a bra and miniskirt with nothing underneath.

I knew the latter fact not only because I could see straight up her skirt but also because she was stepping out of lacy undies and preparing to fling them into the crowd as I spoke. The female trouble twin flicked the aromatic garment away with one finger, and the lucky males close enough to have a chance at claiming the prize fell to the ground in a pile of testosterone-crazed aggression and greed.

Unfortunately, though, most of the shifters wanted a piece of the original, not just a scrap of fabric that had picked up the pack princess's scent. My stomach banged painfully against the edge of the table as I was thrust forward by another surge of the crowd. In response, I grabbed onto the laminated particleboard with grim fingers, doing my best to hold my ground while waiting for my pack mates to come to their senses.

For a moment, Ginger merely smiled at the show. Then her eyes took on a truly wicked gleam as she glanced down at me, proving she wasn't ready to let me off the hook just yet.

"Hey, Fen," she called in greeting. "What a blast, huh?"

Only an hour earlier, I'd begged the nineteen-year-old to pay attention to the way her pack-princess vibe turned our neighbors into animals--sometimes not only metaphorically but also in the flesh. I'd asked that she at least consider her brother's and Lia's safety before jumping into danger with both feet joyfully extended. In response, the trouble twin had rolled her eyes and demanded to know the point of being a member of a free, young pack if I was as much of a pain in the ass as her last alpha.

I'd thought the teenager just needed to gripe and moan, so I'd shrugged off her words. But, no--as soon as my back was turned, Ginger had snuck out to prove her point.

"You win," I yelled up at her now, not sure if she could even hear me over the din of the crowd. "But how do you plan to get Lia out of here alive?"

In response, Cinnamon lowered the sixteen-year-old into my waiting arms, then leapt down off the table to join us. "Ginger's gonna make a diversion so you can break our cuz here free," he yelled into my ear. "We'll meet you around back."

"Not much of an exit strategy," a quiet voice drawled into my other ear. I whipped around to face a tall shifter about my age dressed up in cowboy chic--ten-gallon hat, checkered shirt, huge belt buckle, and nut-hugger jeans. Unlike the hairy-chest guy, this one was cute, but I didn't trust my human intuition to root out his true intentions and my wolf was better off sleeping. Still, Ten-Gallon wasn't grabbing Lia's ass, so I figured he was a cut above the rest of the room's inhabitants.

"Do you have a better idea?" I challenged him.

"I'll boost you out that window," he offered, pointing at a tiny aperture barely large enough for Ginger's hips to wiggle through.

Okay, so the trouble twin's hips matched her boobs--huge and comely. The rest of us would have no problem sliding out.

As long as Ten-Gallon could be trusted at our back, that was. I traded a glance with Cinnamon and my pack mate shrugged in response. Unlike his sister, the male half of the trouble team was laid back to a fault. I could never quite tell if Cinnamon obeyed me because I was his pack leader or just because it was easier to float along on the wave of even my extremely mild version of alpha dominance than to stand against the tide.

So the choice would rest on my shoulders alone, as usual. That was okay--I was used to it.

"Okay, Cinn. You go out first and we'll toss Lia up after you. If anything goes wrong, Glen's got the car idling out front. Get out of here, and Ginger and I will take our chances."

The song was nearing its dramatic conclusion and the crowd was yelling commands at their entertainer so loudly I could barely hear myself think. But when Cinnamon touched his sister's foot and jerked his chin up at the window, I could see the pack princess take in the entire plan in a moment via that ultimate in modern communication--twin speak.

"Okay," she mouthed. Then the buxom shifter produced a diversion as promised. First, she reached forward to fiddle with the front clasp of her bra, releasing her bountiful breasts. Then she spun on high heels to show off the merchandise, a feat that I was pretty sure would have caused me to break my neck even if I wasn't perched atop a table in a crowded bar.

Werewolves are accustomed to casual nudity, but even I had to admit that Ginger's boobs were things of beauty. The outpack males fell silent through pure awe as they took in a show they'd never thought possible--a pack princess emulating a topless dancer. There was no pole to climb, but Ginger did just fine without props, swiveling her hips so enticingly that Cinnamon and Lia made their escape without a single shifter in the room taking notice.

Well, that wasn't quite true. My new buddy and I noticed because we were the ones boosting our companions up toward the unconventional exit. "You next?" asked Ten-Gallon, not quite able to tear his gaze away from the table-top view.

"No, Ginger next." Sure, the teenager seemed quite capable of taking care of herself. But I was her alpha. Which meant that I would also be the last to leave this sinking ship.

Of course, I knew the minute the metaphorical curtain came down, the crowd would turn nasty. But there was no getting around the inevitable. We'd just have to move fast and take our chances.

I sprang up on the table to join Ginger, boosting her toward our new accomplice's waiting hands.

"No way!" "Boo!" "Hey!"

The cacophony of displeasure abruptly ceased as Ginger stepped out of her final item of apparel, allowing the tiny skirt to drift down and settle upon the table. Then she turned to blow a kiss toward her doting audience.

The pack princess was now buck naked and every male in the place--Ten-Gallon included--roared his approval.

Then Ginger was slithering out the window to join the rest of our clan, leaving me as the only pack mate still in danger. Well, me and Mr. Ten-Gallon Hat, who wasn't looking like such a good defense against several dozen hyped up and disappointed outpack males.

This may be the time faking it isn't quite enough, I thought inanely.

And then my stalker walked through the door.

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# Chapter 2

His wolf was large, but it wasn't the beast's size that stilled the crowd. Instead, a concerted wave of goosebumps crashing across every shifter in the room proved that the newcomer's alpha dominance was single-handedly responsible for throwing metaphorical cold water over the proceedings.

Of course, alpha dominance was nothing new in the werewolf world--everyone had the ability to some extent. Still, a shifter's capacity to sway others to his will was largely dependent upon the relative strength of each contestant's wolf. My weak animal half, for example, could have been barked down by anyone in the room...which is why she was currently sound asleep within my human body.

At the other extreme, the eddies of invisible yet very tangible compulsions rolling off my stalker's lupine form proved that he was the rarest of the rare--an uber-alpha. The newcomer's dominance was so intense that he was able to part the raucous shifters like the Red Sea with a single glance, leaving a clear path between the door he'd padded through and the table on which I crouched.

In fact, if the evidence around me was any indication, I should've been glad my own wolf was asleep or I'd likely have fallen flat on my face at my stalker's approach. The rest of the room's inhabitants weren't so lucky. Some of the nearby shifters remained rooted to the spot. Others dropped to their knees, heads bowed to the floor. And a drunk in the corner nearly choked on his own vomit until the stalker's gaze followed mine and released the shifter from his spell long enough for the poor guy to finish throwing up.

While the uber-alpha was looking the other way, I glanced up at the window through which half of my pack had recently disappeared. Perhaps this was my chance to escape?

But Ten-Gallon was as frozen as the next guy, and I knew our rescuer would be torn to shreds by his fellows as soon as my stalker left the room. I didn't even know my new comrade's name, but a budding leadership sense suggested that he would soon become our pack's newest member.

Which meant I was going to have to suck it up and deal with the wolf who was responsible for my outpack status and who seemed intent on following me across the country in order to gloat. His eyes latched back onto mine as I pondered my options, and I could tell I wouldn't have made it out the window anyway before his teeth closed around my skin. So, as usual, I settled on bravado as the best solution to a bad situation.

"Hunter," I greeted him.

In response my stalker shifted so fast I couldn't even discern the transition, hair receding and body lengthening in an instant until only his amber eyes remained the same. "Lost Wolf," he countered.

And with those simple words I was flung back three weeks to our first meeting. Then, as now, the uber-alpha had walked into a room vibrating with peril. Then, as now, I'd felt duty bound to protect my pack even while risking my own skin.

But at that point in time, the danger had come from Hunter himself.

Come to think of it, I wasn't so sure anything had changed.

***

WHEN HUNTER AND I FIRST met, I was a happy-go-lucky member of a different clan entirely. Our alpha was kind but firm, our pack was quite capable of protecting its weaker members from all comers, and my wolf spent nearly all of her time asleep.

Despite that pastoral tranquility, though, half of my days involved patrolling the pack's boundaries to make sure potential dangers didn't encroach. So when I discovered the aforementioned uber-alpha in lupine form nosing through trees half a mile from our village, I immediately bared my human teeth and shouted out a challenge.

"Stop there!" I demanded. Never mind that I couldn't back up my posturing with any alpha dominance of my own. I'd learned that simply lifting my chin in challenge and speaking like I meant it usually did the trick. And, sure enough, the huge wolf slinking through the undergrowth paused and cocked his head in response.

Without the sensory assistance of a rampant inner wolf, I'd just assumed the stranger was an over-zealous drifter trying to decide if our clan was open to new members. We generally were, but we also preferred supplicants to come in through the front door rather than sniffing around behind our backs. So I was terse when I stalked over, grabbing his ruff with one hand and clenching down on the top of his muzzle with the other. "Rude," I growled, shaking the stranger as if he was a puppy and I was his alpha. "Come with me."

Hunter obeyed easily enough, letting me drag his furry butt back to my alpha without complaint. Only when I saw the latter's tense body language did I realize the error of my ways. It seemed I'd misread the stranger's crooked grin as submission and had invited a predator into our den by mistake.

A den into which a young pup soon ambled, throwing us all into a tizzy of over-protectiveness. Any shifter who got my alpha's hackles up was one I didn't want hanging around youngsters. Unfortunately, my weak lupine nature meant that I wasn't able to physically protect the kid in question or to boot the stranger out the door. So I resolved the issue in the only way I knew how--by continuing to pretend like I was far more wolf than I could ever dream of being.

"Family matters," I told the stranger as my pack leader turned his attention to the pup. Grabbing the uber-alpha's newly materialized hand, I pulled him over to a chair in the corner and away from the kid who had caught his eye. Perhaps if I was able to sidetrack our guest for a few minutes, my alpha could shuffle the youngster back out the door and then take this explosive bundle of handsomeness off my hands.

This time around, though, my playacting was a little less confident than usual. After all, if my alpha--who possessed the strongest inner beast I'd ever seen--was concerned about this stranger, then Hunter could likely bark and I'd offer up my finger bones to be used as toothpicks. I shivered, but still put pseudo-command in my voice when I spoke. "Talk to me."

The uber-alpha feigned obedience once more, but I got the distinct impression that he was only humoring a shifter who he found intriguing. "Talk about what?" he asked. His voice was so deep it seemed to rumble through the air and into my belly like heavy bass, and I had to clench my jaw in order to ignore the tantalizing sensation.

"How about your name?"

I was definitely in over my head but the stranger seemed to enjoy my spunk. He took one of my hands between his much larger paws, sending yet another tremor through my body. "I'm Hunter."

"Is that your name or what you do?" I couldn't resist asking. And now Hunter's smile finally reached his eyes. The uber-alpha was obviously impressed by my perspicuity, even though he really shouldn't have been. I had no choice but to be alert to the subtle cues of body language since I couldn't depend on my inner wolf to clue me in. And it wasn't as if the stranger was trying to hide his thoughts either.

"Both," he confirmed. "And you're Lost Wolf."

"No, I'm Fen," I answered, ripping my hand out of the stranger's grasp before my brain caught up with my mouth. I knew I shouldn't be antagonizing a shifter so strong he gave my alpha heart palpitations, but it offended me that Hunter had so easily seen into the core of my being.

Okay, so "offended" probably wasn't the right word. It scared me to death. It made me mad as hell. And, yes, it also pleased me no end that someone had finally seen what none of my pack mates had cared to notice during the last twenty-one years of my existence.

While I was trying to work through all of those contradictory emotions, Hunter elaborated on his analysis. "You're different and lonely. You're looking for a place to fit in."

"Oookay." I did my best to brush off his words even though each one struck like a dart into my soul. "Did I accidentally sign up for a therapy session?"

I feigned checking the planner on my cell phone, but fumbled the device instead since I wasn't able to tear my eyes away from the shifter in front of me long enough to complete the pretense. The phone hit the ground with a clatter that made me jump but didn't seem to affect anyone else in the room.

"You're uncomfortable," the stranger said after a moment of silence. "You don't want to talk to me."

True and true. But the kid who Hunter wasn't supposed to interact with was still in the room and my alpha continued to radiate distress. So I shook my head. "No, I'm dying to have a pleasant conversation with you." And that was, unfortunately, true as well. "But we've just met. Ever hear of small talk?"

"Sounds trivial and inconsequential."

"And you sound like you swallowed a thesaurus."

I couldn't feel the effects, but I'd gotten used to the glassy eyes and clenched jaw that signaled a shifter exerting his or her alpha dominance. So I wasn't surprised to see the kid flinch on the other side of the room as Hunter's gaze bore down on me.

In response, my wolf stirred groggily awake deep within my body. And for the split second that she was less than completely comatose, I was able to fully understand the power of the werewolf before me. My nostrils flooded with the intense aroma of cold, wet sassafras, as if I'd been immersed in a vat of chilled root beer. And I felt an overwhelming urge to lunge forward and kiss the uber-alpha on the lips.

Then I pushed my wolf so hard she was flung backwards into the dark recesses of my mind and washed off her feet by the flood of my subconscious. As her presence faded, so did Hunter's compulsion.

"You know it's sexual assault to force a woman to kiss you against her will, don't you?" I snarled. Then I whispered under my breath: "And pretty darn desperate too."

What I really wanted was to punch the guy, but I had a sinking suspicion he wasn't human enough to respond chivalrously to a blow from a lady. And if Hunter decided to fight back, I'd be dead. So I stuck to the defense that made me feel strongest--verbal sallies.

The uber-alpha cocked his head to one side curiously, then responded. "I only asked you to let your wolf do what she wanted to do," he rumbled, and I flushed beet red. "Surely that's not against two-legger rules?"

Yep, he'd definitely won that round.

But I wasn't ready to roll over and show my belly just yet. When in doubt, ignore the facts and go for the jugular.

"You're a bastard." I ground out the words while leaning subtly forward and shoving myself into his personal space in a shifter provocation. Take that, you uber-asshole. How often do you get challenged by a wolf you can't smack down with your voodoo powers?

And Hunter chuckled. In fact, he laughed so long and so hard that tears streamed out of his eyes in rivulets, making his chiseled jawline glisten.

I should have taken the opening I'd been given and run with it. At least the uber-alpha hadn't immediately responded to my not-so-witty comeback, which gave me a momentary advantage.

But, instead, I found myself using every iota of self-control I possessed to refrain from reaching out and drying my companion's cheeks. There was just something about seeing the uber-alpha cry that didn't sit right with me, even if the tears were those of mirth instead of pain. And even if his laughter was, apparently, at my own expense.

But drying his eyes would be nearly as stupid as kissing him, I reminded myself, the latter possibility still niggling at the back of my mind. Actually, swiping my finger across his perfectly proportioned face would be considerably more stupid since I couldn't chalk the action up to his earlier compulsion. Nope, not gonna go there.

While I'd been squashing my baser urges, Hunter had been getting a handle on himself as well. And now he was the one to reach out and very gently run one calloused finger across my cheekbone and down the side of my jaw in an unconscious mirroring of the gesture I'd just imagined.

"You...are...intriguing." He paused between each word, so the short sentence lasted until his fingertip drifted across the sensitive skin surrounding my mouth. A fragment of rough callous caught on my softer flesh and pulled my bottom lip very subtly open.

Immediately, my unruly brain offered up the mental image of sucking Hunter's finger into my mouth to taste. Would his skin possess the same root-beer flavor that imbued the air when my wolf was awake and Hunter was within range? Or would he taste even better?

Let's not get carried away, I told myself. He's an uber-asshole. The pup is in danger. Eyes on the prize.

So, instead, I snapped my teeth together aggressively, only realizing after the fact that the missed bite could just as easily be construed as flirting rather than giving warning. In response, Hunter cocked his head to one side again before returning hand to lap without continuing the caress.

And I don't regret that. Nope, not one bit.

"You'll never fit in here," my companion said at last, the words grim and spoken as if from hard-won personal experience. "But I know a place where you'll belong."

"This is my pack," I shot back. Now I wasn't just pretending to banter. I was honestly angry that this uber-alpha who knew nothing about our clan would insinuate that my friends treated me differently just because I was a half-werewolf instead of a pure-breed.

Okay, sure, so my ex had recently dumped me for that very reason. But it wasn't as if I'd find a better situation out in the cold, hard world. Former boyfriend aside, most of my current pack mates were willing to embrace my differences and accept me for who I was. That level of tolerance wasn't the case in 99% of the shifter clans out there.

"You're willing to throw away the possibility of true acceptance due to fear of the unknown."

It wasn't a question, but I answered it anyway. "I'm not afraid." I bared my teeth as if my wolf was rampant behind my eyes and was itching to tear out my opponent's throat.

Which wasn't so far wrong, except that my human self was the aggressive one. The uber-alpha didn't need to know that my wolf was currently and would in the future continue to be nearly always asleep.

Hunter just smiled, this time with his lips alone. "The offer's open."

And then the wolf pup we'd been protecting scurried out of the room, allowing me to hand that combination of eye candy and impending train wreck back over to my alpha to deal with. Hunter was far too enticing for his own good, and I was glad to see the back of him even though he seemed to have my best interests at heart.

"Seemed" being the relevant word. Because less than twenty-four hours later, the uber-alpha returned to our territory just in time to cast me out of the only pack where I'd ever felt safe. It turned out that the bastard was not only powerful, he was also an enforcer for the regional governing body known as the Tribunal. In other words, Hunter harnessed enough clout to keep even my scary-strong pack leader in line.

Unfortunately, my entire clan and I had all been knowingly breaking the rules for the past few months. We'd chosen the morally correct decision over the legally correct one, keeping that little pup safe rather than returning her to a sadistic father who--by shifter law--owned the kid as thoroughly as he owned his fancy new car.

The Tribunal was responsible for resolving inter-pack altercations, so they'd sent Hunter out to pass judgment on our sinful ways. And rather than exploring all the shades of gray in the situation, the uber-alpha had decided to stick to the letter of the law. Which meant we got to keep the pup...but either my pack leader or his mate would be put to death to even the score.

So I'd stuck my nose in where it didn't belong and had caught the backlash in their place. The upshot? My alpha would continue to run his pack as a haven for oddball werewolves like myself...but I would no longer be included in the family photos. Instead, I was set adrift to wander through outpack territory with only my weak inner wolf to protect me.

Or so Hunter had mandated. But my previous pack leader had one last trick up his sleeve. Ripping away part of his own alpha dominance, the shifter who I'd always looked up to presented me with that shred of power plus four underlings to back up my claim to pack-leader status. The thin veneer of danger settling around my shoulders might possibly be enough to keep lawless shifters from chewing me up and spitting me out...or at least from swallowing me whole.

Unfortunately, we all knew my chances of survival as a halfie female in outpack territory still weren't worth betting on. The presence of companions just meant I'd be dragging more innocents down with me when I inevitably crashed and burned.

And the whole mess was Hunter's fault. He'd acted so cordial and interested in me when we'd first met. Then, even after ostracizing me from my former home, he'd continued to reel me in. Taking my face between his huge hands, he'd promised: "You'll thank me later."

Even then I thought he'd kiss me.

But he didn't, the bastard. Just left me yearning and lonely on the edge of what he clearly thought was a brave new world and what I knew was a death sentence for myself and for my new pack.

I hadn't seen him since.

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# Chapter 3

Not so fond memories aside, I opened my mouth there in the bar to remind Hunter that my name was Fen. F-E-N. Surely three little letters weren't too much for his wolfish brain to handle?

But before any snark could emerge, an overwhelming scent of rotten bananas filled the crowded room and five of the frozen shifters around us abruptly transformed into wolves with an audible pop. Then the outpack males' growls merged into one ominous rumble as they stalked forward, progress only slightly hindered by the sea of torpid bodies between them and their prey.

Oh, and in case I wasn't entirely clear--I was their prey.

"I think that's our cue to leave." Hunter must have sprinted to reach me so quickly. But when I looked down from my table-top perch, the enforcer didn't appear out of breath. Still, his usual lackadaisical attitude had worn thin, suggesting that the uber-alpha was as shaken as I was to see his compulsion overthrown. Given the fact that Hunter was the strongest werewolf I'd ever met, he'd probably never lost a battle of wills before.

As a consolation prize, I accepted the uber-alpha's hand even though I didn't need any help descending from the table. A zing of awareness rushed up my arm at the contact and our eyes locked for a split second. Despite the unexpected attraction, though, I planted my feet when Hunter began tugging me toward the door.

"We're not leaving without Ten-Gallon."

"Ten-Gallon?" my stalker queried. One thick eyebrow rose quizzically and I gestured with my chin toward the man who'd helped Ginger, Cinnamon, and Lia escape.

Hunter considered the buff shifter for several long seconds, then shook his head decidedly. "No, I don't like the look of him. And you don't even know his name. Hurry up."

The uber-alpha's words were a terse command and I had to literally bite my tongue to prevent myself from saying You're not the boss of me and flipping him the bird. Instead, I turned away and prepared to make my stand, drawing the sword gifted to me by my previous alpha. If Hunter wasn't going to help my new pack mate survive the ensuing altercation, then I would.

The ring of steel emerging from its scabbard halted the enemy wolves' forward momentum momentarily, but now we had an extra half-dozen combatants arrayed against us. All were much closer than I would have liked, too, while Hunter and I still appeared to be at an impasse. Not good.

"Are you going to unfreeze my buddy or run away and leave us here like a scaredy cat?" I demanded without taking my gaze off the approaching danger.

Hunter seemed torn between commenting on my juvenile language and on the three-foot hunk of metal I'd been learning to use in lieu of wolf form. Then he shook his head and sighed out an "okay" that promptly sent Ten-Gallon sprawling at my feet. Keeping the sharp blade carefully clear, I leaned down and gave the fallen werewolf a hand up.

"Much obliged, ma'am," the cowboy shifter said, doffing his hat. "I'm Quillen Atwater, by the way. But you can call me Quill."

See? Chivalry isn't dead, I wanted to tell Hunter. But the rotten-banana scent was growing stronger by the second, and the sound of enemy werewolves shaking off the uber-alpha's mental grasp now resembled the clatter of corn in an air popper just before the kernels achieved critical mass. So instead, I simply offered my own name back to Quill and led the three of us down the shifter-free aisle between table and door at a speedy walk.

Without further comment, the uber-alpha dropped in behind Ten-Gallon, pacing backwards while warily scanning the crowd we passed. I half expected him to shift into lupine form to expand his arsenal, but instead, Hunter remained human and weaponless, even deigning to offer a conversation starter.

"That reminds me..." the uber-alpha began, and I couldn't quite prevent myself from interrupting. My companion just sounded way too calm and in control in the face of what looked like it would soon become a bloodbath.

"What reminds you? The fact that we're being stalked by twenty angry werewolves?" Because at least that number of shifters had now reanimated. One reached toward me in human form, and I swiped at his bare arm, giving my opponent just enough of a scratch to warn without causing an emergency-room visit. The wounded shifter lifted his human lips into a lupine snarl and I got the unpleasant impression that he was filing my face away in his mental database to make future vengeance easier. Great.

"Exactly," Hunter replied easily. "You're not safe here. Someone's been kidnapping ha..." He paused, abruptly realizing he'd almost used a common slur for half-breed werewolves right in front of one. "Um, I mean, human-werewolf hybrids...."

To my discredit, I let the uber-alpha flounder as we continued walking carefully toward the door. It was nice to be able to embrace the upper hand for a few seconds, but I put him out of his misery soon enough. "You can call it like it is. I'm a halfie and proud of it."

"Hmm," Hunter answered. Then he regained his composure and continued. "As I was saying, halfies have been going missing around these parts, but more so further east. Some were males, but most were young, attractive females like you. You're headed in the wrong direction. You need to take your pack and go back the way you came."

Now it was my turn to growl. I hated nothing more than being told what to do, even though the "attractive" part sounded nice. "I'll take it under advisement," I said between clenched teeth.

Then time for conversation abruptly ran out as the first wave of advancing shifters reached the aisle and began trotting toward us at a steady clip. I eyed the door--close, but not close enough. We wouldn't all be able to sprint to safety, but maybe at least one of us could.

Grabbing Quill's arm, I pointed him in the right direction. "Run!" I ordered, putting my own mild alpha compulsion behind the command. My genetics meant I shouldn't have been able to command so much as a field mouse, but my previous alpha's gifted mantle did the job...this time at least. I sighed in relief when the cowboy shifter turned to obey, then listened until the clatter of his shod feet was abruptly muffled by the safety of grass and dirt.

Almost there. Four pack mates had now made it out of the bar alive, so I only had myself and Hunter to worry about. Luckily, I was pretty confident the two of us could take care of ourselves.

I expected the uber-alpha to think differently since he apparently considered me to be a damsel in distress. Instead, he surprised me by pushing my body between himself and the advancing wolves. "Hold them off for a minute and I'll see if I can reactivate that freeze," he ordered.

I was torn between being thrilled that the uber-alpha trusted me enough to depend on my protection and being annoyed that he didn't seem to know how to pose a request in the form of a question.

No, wait, I was none of the above. Instead, as thirty--yes, the number had grown yet again--slobbering werewolves advanced upon me and my thin blade of metal, I knew exactly how I felt.

Terrified.

***

I WAS WELL AWARE THAT my previous pack leader, Wolfie, had handed me his grandfather's sword as a metaphorical symbol of my newfound power. But I'd focused on the more practical utility of the weapon right away.

It wasn't so surprising that Wolfie and I didn't see eye to eye on the purpose of my new katana since we were about as different as two werewolves could be. My old alpha was a bloodling--a shifter born in lupine form who tended to retain those wolfish characteristics for the rest of his life. His alpha dominance alone could always bend troublesome shifters to his will, but he never hesitated to don fur if he needed sharp teeth in order to prove a point.

So Wolfie probably had no clue how defenseless my submissive wolf made me. And how unsuited I was to running a pack.

Unfortunately, I couldn't just yank out the fur and claws when threatened like everyone else could. Sure, I was capable of transforming into a four-legger. And even though my animal half was more likely to turn tail and run than to fight, I could overcome her urges with my human brain and get the job done. The sublimation caused a subtle slowing of our reaction time that had negative consequences at critical moments, but it was better than nothing.

Still, I almost never shifted because my wolf was just too darn weak to be shown off in public. Specifically, I couldn't risk her being barked into line by more dominant shifters...and, newly gifted mantle aside, every single shifter's animal half was more dominant than mine. So I didn't have the option of taking advantage of a werewolf's typical physical defenses--teeth and claws.

Back in my old clan, the halfie disability hadn't been much of a problem. Wolfie had protected our pack with a gentle yet strong dominance that put the worries of weaker wolves to rest. Even at the worst of times, I'd always known someone was guarding my back.

That all changed when Hunter's manipulations thrust me into the position of watching out for four--now five--other werewolves. And I still couldn't use lupine teeth to get my way.

So as soon as Wolfie presented me with his family heirloom, I got to work. I streamed YouTube videos on my phone and practiced while my new pack slept until I fell to the ground exhausted time and again. Only Ginger had noticed the strange nicks on my legs, but she appeared to accept the explanation that I'd cut myself while shaving. And eventually I became skilled enough that even those signs of fumbling disappeared.

Which is all a long way of saying--I did know how to handle the sword I was carefully grasping between two sweaty palms. But it felt very different to hack at a tree trunk compared to swinging at living, breathing shifters, even if the latter seemed ready to tear out my throat.

Here's hoping I can just wave the scary sword menacingly and buy Hunter time to do his work, I thought without much faith in the possibility. Sparing a glance over one shoulder, I saw that the shifter in question had stretched out flat on the ground and appeared to be meditating...or perhaps taking a nap. Not a good sign.

"She looks tasty." I couldn't tell which of the shifters had spoken, but a rumble of agreement rose from both men and wolves alike. So I guess the identity of the speaker didn't really matter after all.

"A little skinny for my tastes." This time I caught the eye of the man in question. Speaker two was in his thirties and brimming with good health. In fact, I would have thought he was cute if he wasn't obviously undressing me with his eyes and finding me wanting. Ew.

"But serviceable," the first voice countered. "You heard the man--she's a halfie."

A word that had seemed almost charming when emerging from Hunter's lips now cut me like the blade of Wolfie's sword. But I couldn't let them know their barb had hit home. Instead, I lengthened my spine and swung at an encroaching four-legger, this time failing to soften the blow at the last moment.

A whoosh of displaced air, half of a furry ear flying across the floor, and a yelp from my opponent proved that those weeks of practice had paid off. The injured wolf jerked backward like a stepped-on puppy dog before remembering his audience. Then he growled, reversing his retreat even as blood began streaming down the side of his face.

"That was a warning blow." I was proud to hear that my voice was calm and steady even though the more powerful werewolves in the audience would be able to hear my heart beating a mile a minute. "This sword is sharp and I know how to use it. I recommend you all back away while you have the chance."

Voice number one laughed. "Spunky, aren't you?" The shifter in question emerged from the crowd at last, and it was instantly clear that this was the other mens' leader. "That'll make you even more fun when we have you on the altar."

I shivered as my gaze flicked over my opponent's form. Even without the help of my wolf, I could see the wildness of a rampant lupine half within the enemy's eyes. And his stance was relaxed as he strolled casually within range of my sword as if the weapon didn't even exist.

I should've taken the chance and cut him down then and there. Sure, the shifter looked like any other aging businessman. Dark suit, expensive haircut, fancy shoes. But I could feel the evil emanating from his cold, hard eyes and my gut told me the world would be a better place without this particular shifter in it.

Unfortunately, I couldn't quite make myself take advantage of the opening presented. Yes, I'd killed a man before and with this very sword to boot. Still, my previous opponent had been menacing a toddler and, by extension, had been a danger to our entire pack.

And despite that clear-cut motive, I still had nightmares about the sickening crunch of blade through bone, the sucking sound as flesh parted and blood gushed.

They say your first kill is the hardest. But I had to disagree. It's the second, when you knew what to expect, that makes even a brave wolf hesitate.

And, as I mentioned before, my wolf was anything but brave. So I wavered.

In response, the man smiled...then knocked the sword right out of my hands.

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# Chapter 4

"Freeze."

The shifters, the air, and even the beer in nearby bottles responded to Hunter's command. I could feel my teeth chattering despite my comatose wolf. And when the uber-alpha grabbed my hand and yanked me toward the exit this time around, I paused only long enough to scoop up my sword before obediently stumbling along in his wake.

The outside world embraced us in a cloud of humid warmth and I gasped in a long breath, only then realizing that I'd forgotten to breathe for the last several seconds. Or perhaps my autonomous nervous system had also responded to the uber-alpha's command. Whatever. It just felt good to be alive.

My relief was short-lived. "Unhand her," came Ginger's familiar voice, laden with an equally familiar snarky overtone.

I straightened, taking in the scene before me. My entire pack now stood between us and our idling station wagon, three angry shifters plus Lia and Quill off to one side looking a bit befuddled. My comrades had clearly been ready to storm in and rescue me from the barflies, so it hadn't taken much effort to transfer their aggressions to the uber-alpha who still clutched my hand in his over-sized mitt.

I considered pulling my fingers free, knowing the gesture would soothe my pack's ire. But I couldn't quite talk myself into severing our contact. There was just something about Hunter's solid warmth that made me feel better after that heart-stopping display inside.

Plus, I wasn't quite sure I could move yet. Good excuse.

"I think you have the wrong idea," the uber-alpha said quietly. He might have squeezed my fingers very subtly at the same time, as if he didn't want to relinquish our bond quite yet either. But his attention remained riveted on my pack and a low growl underlay his words. Hunter didn't like to be challenged.

After scanning all five faces, the uber-alpha apparently decided that Ginger was the one in charge. His gaze locked ominously with the trouble twin's...which is when I noticed that she was still entirely naked. Even clad, the teenager's perfect curves had been known to turn males of both shifter and human persuasion to stone, so I thoroughly expected my companion's eyes to wander south rather than maintaining their challenge. But, instead, Hunter's attention remained resolutely focused above the teenager's neck.

Maybe he checked out the merchandise while I was gasping for air? It was the only reasonable explanation.

And, more relevantly, if my brain was up to snarky mental comebacks, chances were pretty good I could talk again. So, with a shiver of regret, I released Hunter's hand and herded everyone else toward our waiting vehicle.

"I don't know how long the freeze will last," I said, "so we need to make tracks. Ginger can drive. Quill, you'll come with us?"

The cowboy shifter tipped his hat at me in cordial assent. But despite his good manners, this still wasn't quite the way I'd planned on picking up new pack mates.

We couldn't really afford to trust the newcomer sight unseen, so I shot a questioning glance at Glen and was relieved when my most solid pack member nodded back. My second then proceeded to subtly rearrange seating order so Cinnamon took the middle back seat, separating Quill from our weakest member--the twins' younger cousin. At least that thorny issue had been easily taken care of.

I kept one eye on the closed bar door, wishing we could just jump in the car and make tracks. But a speedy escape was impossible when our vehicle was already stuffed to the gills with all of the pack's worldly possessions. Some decisions would have to be made if we wanted to clear space for extra bodies.

Still, after three weeks of living in each others' pockets, we worked together like a well-oiled team. So it took mere minutes to clear a space in the far-back for an extra shifter to perch. Out went the cooler containing tomorrow's breakfast and lunch. Out went the huge tarp we needed to keep our tent dry when camping in a soggy spot.

Out went a tremendous duffel bag full of Ginger's clothes. You'd think as skimpy as her preferred garments were, they wouldn't take up much space. But the trouble twin's tank tops and short shorts made up in quantity what they lacked in bulk.

"Hey!" the clothes horse protested, and I shot her the stink eye in return.

"You and your wardrobe fill a similar square footage," I answered. "It's up to you who stays behind--you or your clothes."

Our banter was normal, but the worried glance I shot toward the bar door was not. Which was probably why Ginger gave in so easily. "Whatever," she grumbled, averting her gaze. But she still obeyed my veiled command, pulling the bag open and picking through in search of something to put on in case we ran across human cops who would be confused by a naked driver.

Although, actually, that might be a good way to avoid the ticket we invariably ended up with when Ginger was behind the wheel.

Second-to-last problem solved, I turned back around to face Hunter at last. He was still two-legged, but his face was averted from my little pack as if he were preparing to shift back to lupine form and flee the scene as soon as the car left the lot.

Taking a deep breath, I touched the uber-alpha's bare arm to capture his attention. "How about you?"

Truth be told, I was even more torn about inviting this abnormally strong werewolf along for our grand escape than I had been about including the cowboy shifter in our little band. Because Quill was a known entity--an outpack male likely looking for a mate and a bit of power. Trouble, but in a manageable (and cute) package.

Hunter, on the other hand was a conundrum, but one whose motivations were beginning to show through the murk. After all, how could he have shown up right in the nick of time to save our hides after weeks of separation if he hadn't been following us around in the first place? That suggested a level of dedication to the project that I suspected vastly exceeded the stick-to-it-iveness of the average outpack male.

And then there was the issue of the tremors my handsome stalker regularly sent down my usually shiver-free spine. The intense physical reaction to Hunter's presence didn't bode well for my own future sanity.

Still, the uber-alpha would be in as much danger as anyone else once the outpack males woke up, and I had a feeling that even his intense alpha dominance wouldn't hold the angry werewolves off for long. My stalker had almost certainly arrived on foot, and I doubted he could outrun his opponents indefinitely. So there was really only one ethical decision here.

"Hunter?" I prompted.

"Do you want me to come with you?" he countered.

The uber-alpha was the furthest thing from weak, but something about his words brought to mind the insecurity that had underlain my former pack leader's first interactions with his mate-to-be. Hunter was a bloodling as well, I now realized, and as a result he probably wasn't the most adept at human social behavior. Perhaps some of his semi-psychopathic mannerisms stemmed from simple discomfort while wearing a two-legger's skin.

You're reaching, I admonished myself. But, still, I nodded even as I heard the first angry shouts emerging from inside the bar.

"Yes, I want you to come along."

***

GINGER DROVE LIKE A mad woman. We screeched around curves, blew through red lights, and once we were on the interstate our intrepid driver did an admirable job of pissing off truckers by cutting in front of them and then slamming on her brakes. Amid all the mayhem, the trouble twin slowly but surely shook every last barfly off our tail.

And, then, once the final outpack male was a distant memory, the real trouble began.

"So, what are your intentions toward Fen?"

Glen's throaty murmur from the far-back area of the car barely carried to my shotgun position, and Ginger cleared her throat irritably. Her lupine-assisted ears wouldn't have had any trouble picking up the conversation, but she knew as well as Glen did that my own hearing wasn't similarly enhanced.

Agreeably, the latter raised his voice when he continued. "Well?"

Widely spaced streetlights above the highway cast alternating bands of light and dark, and I took advantage of one of the latter to swivel in my seat and glance across the car's inhabitants without being too obvious about it. Lia was sound asleep with her head on Cinnamon's shoulder, and her pillow looked only vaguely more aware of his surroundings. But Quill nodded a greeting from directly behind my seat. And the two shifters in the far-back were erect and alert, bristling with barely contained antagonism.

"My intentions?" Hunter's voice was quietly sarcastic, as if Glen was an overzealous waiter who had dared to ask for his movie-star customer's autograph. "I'm not sure I understand your question."

"Oh, I believe you do," Glen countered. "We've smelled you around our campsites from the beginning. You never come close enough to invade a traveling territory...not quite. But you're always there. Watching. Waiting."

This was news to me, and I shot a glance at Ginger. A well-placed streetlight illuminated the trouble twin's unsurprised face, proving that she had also known about our stalker's presence.

The teenager shrugged apologetically as she met my eyes. "Didn't seem relevant," she answered my unspoken question.

It didn't seem relevant that the uber-alpha who had pushed us so abruptly out of Wolfie's safe clan and into outpack territory had been dogging our heels for the last few weeks? No, what Ginger and Glen really meant was that there was no point in worrying their so-called pack leader since my mild alpha dominance couldn't do anything about the potential danger. Hunter's menacing uber-alpha skills were entirely out of my league.

But now wasn't the time to delve into that issue. Not when our car contained two strange werewolves who might or might not have ulterior motives for befriending us. Hunter and Quill didn't need to know about the rot at the core of our little pack.

Instead, I held my breath and waited to hear how Hunter would respond to Glen's demand. It didn't take long, and the uber-alpha's words carried so admirably that it was clear he was aware of his larger audience. "And why do you care?" the uber-alpha demanded, his words projecting an almost tangible bite. "Are you her father? Her brother? Her mate?"

In response, Ginger's hands twitched on the steering wheel and suddenly our tires were vibrating across the rumble strip and out of the right-hand lane of the highway. I lunged for the plastic-coated wheel across the trouble twin's suddenly frozen form and righted our progress.

"Hunter!" I demanded through clenched teeth.

"Oops." The word was so quiet I almost thought I'd imagined it, but then Ginger's hands abruptly tightened beneath mine, proving that the uber-alpha had relinquished his control over the car's inhabitants. Meanwhile, a gasp from the far-back suggested that Glen had regained the ability to breathe as well.

Any sane shifter would have backed down in the face of Hunter's extreme alpha dominance and obvious lack of human control. But Glen instead answered firmly, if a bit breathlessly. "I'm Fen's pack mate. I deserve to know."

"Pack mate." Hunter rolled the word around in his mouth, tasting it as if he'd never considered the notion before. "Is that why you followed a weak halfie woman into outpack territory? Not because you're looking forward to wresting away her position and becoming an alpha in your own right? Not because you want to claim three beautiful women as your own?"

Glen's strangled growl was the uber-alpha's only reply, and I thought for a moment that we were going to have to stop the car so I could place my body between the two males in an effort to prevent bloodshed.

But, instead, I saw Hunter pat the other shifter on the shoulder in an almost-apologetic expression of cordiality. "No, I guess not," my stalker continued. "Well, then I'll answer your question since you're Fen's pack mate." The subtle emphasis on the word "pack" wasn't lost on any of us.

Then Hunter's warm, deep voice embraced me out of the darkness. "I never have seen the point of a pack," he mused, his voice becoming quieter but not so much so that I couldn't catch every word. "But," he finished, "Fen is my mate."

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# Chapter 5

Ginger growled loudly enough for Hunter to hear her at the other end of the car, and then my inner wolf awoke with a vengeance. Usually, I had no trouble squashing my lax lupine half, but I was so exhausted from the preceding drama--and from the fact that it was close to three in the morning--that my control over the animal must have slipped.

She, on the other hand, seemed to be rejuvenated after swimming through the murky sea of my subconscious mind for the past few hours. Plus, the wolf was apparently a big fan of the uber-alpha in the car's far-back. I barely prevented her from pushing fur out of our skin then leaping over the intervening seats to reach him. And when I pushed my animal half back down inside me, I was pretty sure she didn't entirely fall back asleep this time around. Time to get off the road.

"Take this exit," I ground out between clenched teeth just as the skies erupted into a sudden downpour. I'd been planning to push on for at least another hour, but traffic signs were barely visible now between frantic windshield-wiper strokes, so it looked like now was the time to stop after all.

I flipped on the dome light for a split second to peer at a shifter-specific paper map--you won't find information like that on google. I was pretty sure we were just barely encroaching on the territory of the mild-mannered Franklin clan, which meant we'd likely be safe for one evening at least. The werewolves in question probably wouldn't even notice our trespass, or if they did would forgive us once Ginger batted her long dark eyelashes and jutted out her well-endowed chest.

We'd cross that bridge when we came to it, though. Because my eyeballs were so scratchy I thought they might start to bleed and I couldn't afford to let my wolf take over while there were two strangers in the car.

Speaking of my lupine half, she'd drifted back up to join me behind our human eyes, and I did my best to nudge her into sedation. But she sidled away from each of my advances, and I honestly didn't have the willpower to chase her down while simultaneously trying to ensure the car didn't end up in the ditch.

So I closed my eyes for a split second to gather my composure then shouted into Ginger's ear to guide her toward the campground I'd circled as a potential stopover point. It was cheap, run-down, and had a terrible rating on trip advisor--just the kind of place for a bedraggled, broke band of werewolves to hole up for the night.

The rain was still pounding down just as hard ten minutes later when the car pulled up to the accommodation's pay station. We rolled to a stop beneath the small canopy and the abrupt cessation of staccato raindrops on the roof woke Lia from her nap. "Are we there yet?" our youngest member asked sleepily, rubbing one brilliantly blue eye with a slender fist.

Instantly, Hunter and Quill's attention latched onto the girl's face as if she'd offered them a five-course dinner. The trouble was that, even though Lia was a halfie, her golden tresses and gentle nature tended to attract male werewolves like flies to honey. This wasn't the first time the rest of us had been forced to step up and defend the girl, but it was the first time danger had been pointed in her direction from within our own ranks.

In unison, Ginger, Glen, Cinnamon, and I all growled. In response, Quill looked away with shame on his face. "Sorry," he murmured. The uber-alpha, in contrast, made no move to release Lia from his hungry stare.

"Hunter, Quill, let me introduce you to Lia," I said, just in case our point hadn't yet been suitably elaborated upon. "She's a half-blood like me. And she's sixteen. Hands off."

Quill seemed suitably chastened, going so far as to flinch away from the enticing teenager as if he'd been burned. But Hunter only smirked as I challenged him with my gaze. "Perhaps you didn't hear the part about you being my mate," the uber-alpha murmured almost too quietly for my human ears to pick up on.

"You may be on a diet but that doesn't mean you can't read the menu, eh?" I countered, rolling my eyes. "Whatever. But, take it from me, Hunter, you have no reason to be on a diet." Then, realizing that my words made it sound like I was giving the uber-alpha permission to court Lia after all, I hurried to add: "And Lia's still off limits."

Ginger saved me from sticking the rest of my leg into my mouth when she pulled the lever at her feet to pop the hatchback, releasing Glen from his cramped prison. It couldn't have been pleasant to ride in such a small space shoulder to shoulder with a scary uber-alpha, but my comrade gave no sign of tension as he jogged over to the pay box. "Ten bucks," he called back toward us, "for five humans."

"And two dogs," Ginger agreed, already stripping out of her clothes in preparation for a shift. "Got it."

It was handy to be able to lower our numbers by dint of a quick transformation. But the ten dollars, it turned out, were harder to come by. My wallet was entirely bare since I hadn't budgeted for spending money on two different campsites in one night. Ginger had, predictably, used up every last penny she owned to get her little group into the shifter club. And Glen's pockets were equally empty since he'd been the one to pay for gas most recently. There was no point on cadging off Hunter since the uber-alpha had shown up in lupine form and couldn't even claim the clothes on his back, and I didn't really feel comfortable asking non-pack members for funds anyway.

"Leave a note that we'll pay with a credit card in the morning," I said at last, defeated by the knowledge that I'd once again been forced to utilize Wolfie's get-out-of-jail free card. It wasn't that my previous alpha couldn't afford to fund our subsistence-level existence, nor would he gripe over the expenditures of cash. But it just wasn't done to have one clan's essentials paid for by another clan's alpha. Instead, the credit-card usage was one more sign of my total ineptitude as a pack leader. It chaffed like a wet pair of skinny jeans.

"I've got it," Quill said quietly before Glen could obey my command. The cowboy shifter's large hand briefly touched my shoulder before he pulled out a leather wallet that appeared to be bulging with cash. For a split second, I thought my lupine-assisted nostrils caught a hint of rotten bananas, but then I realized it was just my over-tired brain playing tricks on me.

"Thanks." I hadn't meant my gratitude to sound so grudging, but it was hard to put myself into yet another outpack male's debt. Still, we needed to set up camp and bed down if we planned to hit the road again bright and early the next morning. It wouldn't do to trespass on the Franklins' good nature any longer than was absolutely necessary.

So I forced the monetary issue out of my mind and let my gaze scan the rest of the crew. "Who else wants to be a pet dog tonight?"

"We've already got that covered," Lia answered quickly. Her words were muffled since she'd turned away from me to pet the huge gray wolf that nearly filled the far-back area of the car and I almost leapt across the seats to still her hand. Knowing I couldn't get there in time, though, I instead opened my mouth to warn the kid off. You don't pet werewolves, and nothing about the uber-alpha's body language suggested he was willing to take the dog pretense beyond the bare minimum.

But Lia tended to get away with murder in a very different fashion than Ginger did. The latter batted her eyelashes and froze the male brain quite effectively. In contrast, nobody wanted to bark the trouble twins' timid teenage cousin down, least of all me. It was too much like kicking an already whimpering puppy.

And, apparently, Hunter felt the same way. Because he accepted Lia's caress and didn't even glance up when Ginger's furry body jumped up onto the carpeted floor beside him.

"Where to now?" Glen asked as he slid into the driver's seat to replace the trouble twin.

"There's a site around back that's almost hidden in the woods," I answered, checking my cell phone one more time to make sure I'd chosen the optimal location. "The bathroom is a long way off, so I doubt any humans would have parked there. Take the first right-hand turn, then drive to the very end."

***

IT WAS PITCH BLACK as we set up camp, and the rain still hadn't let up. Regardless, the original members of my pack weren't slowed down by excess water. Lia and I unpacked the contents of the top carrier, spreading bundles and bags out across the empty seats of the car so our belongings didn't become saturated with rainwater as we handed off each item in the proper order to Glen and Ginger. They in turn fed items to Cinnamon, our tent-savant, who soon had a canvas abode erected in a spot that was as dry as our current storm allowed. At that point, everyone began lugging mats and sleeping bags into our temporary den, relieved that another long day was nearly at a close.

As for the outpack males, Quill tried to help but mostly got in the way while Hunter disappeared into the damp darkness as soon as the car rolled to a stop. I wasn't entirely surprised in either case. It would take a while for Quill to learn the ways of our group and Hunter probably didn't even see the point of trying to blend in.

The question was--did either male want to join us permanently? In most cases, it would go without saying that a male drifter would be thrilled to hook up with a pack that was sixty percent female. But a halfie alpha and the lack of a defined territory made our clan less than enticing. Plus, I wasn't entirely sure whether we wanted to expand our numbers in the first place, so the question might have been moot.

"I appreciated the ride."

The words came out of nowhere, and I jumped, hitting my head on the roof of the car and making my inner wolf whimper. Lia had joined the hauling crew, leaving me entirely alone in the dark confines of the pack vehicle. And when I whirled around, I found myself mere inches away from a dark shape that blocked off the open door and my path to freedom.

For a split second, I was terrified. Then I noticed the broad hat shielding the cowboy shifter from the weather. It was only Quill.

I sighed in what should have been relief but what was actually disappointment. I'd seen neither hide nor hair of Hunter in twenty long minutes, and it would have been nice if I could have believed that the uber-alpha was the male currently seeking me out for a one-on-one conversation.

In your dreams.

My wolf wanted to pursue that line of thinking, suggesting that she really had been dreaming about the scarily strong shifter. But I shushed her at the same time I reassured the man who was standing in front of us in the flesh.

"No problem," I told Quill. "We appreciated your help in the bar." I paused, then decided to get the issue over with. "Were you wanting to travel along with us for a while?"

"If you'll have me." The cowboy shifter's words were a soft drawl that charmed me as much as his willingness to pay for our campsite had hit the spot half an hour earlier. Still, adding a new pack member wasn't a choice I planned to make on my own.

I opened my mouth to tell him so when a flashlight flickered to life a hundred yards away through the trees. Someone was walking around the bend our car had taken not long ago, and my weak wolf offered no clues as to whether that someone was human or shifter.

It could easily be the first wave of barflies come to tear us apart, or a Franklin outguard demanding our immediate decampment. Or perhaps the light represented a new danger I was too exhausted to dream up at the present moment.

Speaking of new dangers, a growl emerged from the darkness directly behind me. I tensed, then realized this third intruder was only Hunter lurking in the shadows in lupine form. He padded over to stand beside the car door even as Quill clued me in about the other newcomer's identity.

"Human," he offered. "Smells like an older female, smoker, overweight."

Probably the campsite host. "Go tell the others," I ordered, wanting at least one unknown out of my hair while I dealt with another. I eyed Hunter, considering sending him away as well. But the inevitable power struggle seemed like too much effort, so I instead unfolded myself from the back seat and stood with the uber-alpha by my side as the older woman paced toward us through the rain.

"Terrible weather," she called as she came within human hearing range. The umbrella over her head sported cartoon suns and storm clouds barely visible through the real rain, making a mockery of her words. Then, as she stepped a little closer and her flashlight played over Hunter's and my wet forms, the human emitted a little "Oh!" of surprise.

I'd like to think the older woman was turned off by my companion's massive lupine form, but I had a feeling she was instead responding to the tattoos lining my forearms, to the gashes in the thighs of my jeans, and to my unruly hair. Looking tough was helpful for a weak halfie trying to hold her own amid werewolves, but the persona wasn't so handy when dealing with the general public.

So I emulated Quill and layered on the charm in order to mitigate my unfortunate first impression. "I'm so sorry we woke you up, ma'am. We'll be unpacked in a couple more minutes and then you won't hear another peep out of us." As if she possibly could have noticed our quiet voices above the pounding rain, but apologies often set humans at ease.

Predictably, the campsite host's tense shoulders visibly melted. "Now that's okay, dear," she said, and for a moment I thought she might pat my hand. But then she caught another glimpse of my ink and thought better of the gesture.

Or maybe she was responding to the way Hunter stepped subtly between us so she'd have to reach over his sodden head to get to me. Bad doggy, I thought but was a bit too chicken to actually say the words aloud.

"Um, well," the woman backpedaled, "I was just checking to make sure there's nothing you need. Oh, and here." She held out a soggy paper sack, and even my human nose could catch the distinct scent of warm chocolate-chip cookies inside.

Hungry, my wolf whispered, and I only realized we'd reached out to grab the food too quickly when the campsite host jerked her arm away as if she'd been stung. Dratted wolf.

Still, the woman recovered quickly in the face of my copious thanks. "Some trolls have been leaving bad reviews of our campground online," she continued, wrapping her mouth around the word "troll" with an effort as if she was repeating a phrase recently introduced into her lexicon by a hip grandchild. "There's a flier in the bag with a list of common review sites," she added. "If you enjoy your stay, I hope you'll consider logging on and putting in your two cents' worth."

The request seemed so ludicrous. Here we were fleeing from dozens of angry werewolves, shaken up by the idea that a serial killer might be targeting halfies, and trying to decide whether Hunter and Quill were more likely to protect our backs or eat us while we slept. Meanwhile, my own wolf was as out of control as a mild-mannered beast like her could be. Plus, who knew whether Hunter was one of those alphas who used the term "meat" about humans, killing them for sport or simply to relieve boredom.

And in this mess of danger and confusion, our campsite host was concerned because her business probably averaged a three-star review rating?

Still, the cookies smelled good, if damp. So I shot the older woman an honest smile. "I'll be sure to do that," I offered. And I didn't even wait until she'd turned her back before I dug into the bag of warm treats.

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# Chapter 6

I opened my eyes the next morning to a horrendous sight. A young woman, naked, chest ripped open and blood splattered in every direction. She appeared to have been caught midshift, with lupine ears starting to burst out of a human head and with her hands already replaced by paws. There was no question that the victim had once been a vibrant shifter with a long life ahead of her. And now she was dead.

It isn't real, I told my queasy stomach, pushing the cell phone and the appalling image it contained away from me. "What the heck?" I demanded aloud.

I was too upset to soften my voice, and all around me both furry and furless heads popped up out of our heap of werewolf slumber. The grisly wakeup call had my heart beating way too fast, so I allowed myself a second to calm down by making sure everyone was present and accounted for. Yep, Lia and Cinnamon and Glen and Ginger were all within arm's reach, enclosed by the tent's curved walls. And as long as Hunter and Quill hadn't stolen our old clunker while we slept, then our pack could chalk up one more successful survival of a night in outpack territory.

"What's with the horror show?" I asked more quietly now that I'd gotten my breathing back under control. My eyes locked with Ginger's, unsurprised that the female trouble twin had been the one to stuff her cell phone in front of my nose at dawn. (Dawn! Didn't she realize we'd probably only fallen into bed three hours earlier?) In response, the teenager reclaimed the device, flicking through a few screens before showing me what might have been the same girl...had all of her body parts been intact.

"Couldn't sleep." The trouble twin shrugged as if it went without saying that if she suffered from insomnia then the whole pack should as well. "So I decided to poke around online and see if Hunter was telling us the truth. And he was. This girl, Daisy, went missing from the Rambler pack two weeks ago. She showed back up yesterday morning with her heart ripped out of her chest. They think it was eaten."

Beside me, Glen growled and I patted his furry head in consolation before jerking with my chin to suggest he shift. My usual backup was solid in human form, but his wolf sometimes had a tendency to overdo the chivalry. Today, I definitely needed him calm and in control...and that meant I needed him two-legged.

Once Glen's body began to morph away from fur, I returned my attention to Ginger and asked the question I didn't really want to hear the answer to, at least not right at that moment. Lia was looking on with wide eyes, which made for an unfortunate audience to such a grim conversation. But the girl was a halfie just like I was, and if she was going to wander through outpack territory then she needed to know what kind of dangers she faced. "Any others?" I asked quietly.

"At least half a dozen," the trouble twin replied grimly. "There's..."

"More like twenty."

The growling voice came from outside our canvas walls and I was glad Glen had shifted seconds earlier or my right-hand man might have ripped through the fabric to fight off the intruder. We really couldn't afford another tent, though, and I instantly understood that the voice didn't represent any immediate threat. So I grabbed Glen's wrist to hold him back and merely muttered "Once a stalker, always a stalker" under my breath.

My words eased the tension around me as my pack mates came to the same realization I'd achieved seconds earlier--that Hunter was the one hovering outside our den's walls. Not that the uber-alpha should be easily dismissed, but at least he wasn't actively working against us.

Or so I thought. Ginger apparently disagreed.

"You seem to know an awful lot about this serial killer," she said grimly, raising her voice to make sure the words carried beyond the tent walls. "Care to elaborate?"

"To tell you about Daisy Rambler, eighteen-year-old half-blood who was so badly terrorized by her pack that she built a little hut half a mile away in the woods?" Hunter's voice was cold now and I pulled the sleeping bag up to my shoulders in hopes the fabric would warm my soul. "To tell you that her family didn't even realize she'd gone missing until she'd been absent for an entire week, that even then they thought she'd run away and hesitated to contact the Tribunal. That I found her by following the scent of carrion through the forest. And when I returned the rotting corpse to her clan's loving arms her alpha didn't even bother to build the girl a funeral bonfire. Is that what you want to know?"

The uber-alpha seemed personally affronted by the halfie's mistreatment both before and after death and I had a hard time accepting Ginger's insinuation that he might have somehow been involved in Daisy's dismemberment. Still, it was hard to forget that Hunter had seemed equally caring and interested at our initial meeting and yet he'd still forced me out of my clan and into outpack territory the very next day. As an enforcer whose authority was backed up by our regional governing body, Hunter's word was law both inside and outside of our pack, and he could have easily let us wiggle out from under the requisite punishment for our law-breaking three weeks earlier. So I had to admit I didn't really understand his motivations at all. Maybe Ginger was right and our tagalong companion actually was conning our entire pack.

The inhabitants of the tent fell silent for a moment as we took in the uber-alpha's words. Then, at last, Hunter spoke again. "Someone is killing halfies to steal their power, and you're the strongest halfie around. Now can you see why I want you to go west, not east?" He paused as if trying to decide how to turn a command into a question, finally settling on: "Will you, Fen?"

My name on his lips did the job my sleeping bag hadn't, providing the strength to straighten my spine and remember that I had a pack to protect. For a moment, warmth seeped through uncovered limbs as if the uber-alpha's eyes were roaming across my body...which was a ludicrous fancy since Hunter was outside the tent and the early morning light was so dim he probably couldn't tell which shape was me in the first place. Still, the uncomfortable feeling put a bite into my words as I got down to the business I'd already been planning to deal with as soon as my friends awoke.

"That's none of your affair since you're not a member of this pack," I countered more harshly than I'd originally meant to. "At least not yet," I added, mitigating my tone slightly. "Maybe you could give us some space so we can decide whether we want you following us around?"

Hunter huffed out a snort that said as clearly as words: And how would you stop me going wherever I want to go? But I heard no other sounds pushing into our temporary domicile. No receding footsteps. No slam of the car door as he crawled back into his own bed.

"Hunter?" I asked after a moment's pause.

"I'll wait," he rumbled. And this time Glen wasn't the only one to growl. Ginger had her hand on the zipper of the tent and looked intent upon heading out naked to whoop the uber-alpha's ass, in fact, before I shook my head at the girl to bring her back into line.

The trouble twin flicked her long maroon tresses back over one shoulder in annoyance, but she conceded the point. Still, when she settled back down, the young woman made a point to slide closer to Lia as if she planned to protect her cousin with her life. "Let's get on with it," the redhead grumbled. "Can we vote Hunter out first?"

"No, Quill first," I responded, ignoring the twin's incendiary language. Truth be told, I hadn't quite decided what I wanted to do about my own personal stalker, so the cowboy shifter seemed like an easier choice to start off with. "The question is, stay or go. Glen?"

My second-in-command shrugged. "Probationarily only, right?" he asked me. And, when I nodded, he mirrored my movement. "Okay, then. We could use more muscle around here. And we can always let Ginger beat him up if he sets his feet the wrong way."

Glen had a good point. Our pack was light on wolf-power, with only him and the aforementioned Ginger really up to the task of protecting us from trouble in lupine form. Cinnamon was always willing to defend his sister's back, but he was a lover not a fighter and tended to pull his punches. And Lia and I were, unfortunately, worse than useless in that department due to our half-blood heritage.

"Cinnamon?" I asked next, moving my gaze around the tent. The male trouble twin met my eyes for only a split second before turning to his sister and raising his eyebrows in question.

"Sure, I like him," Ginger said, her voice purposefully loud as if she was speaking to Hunter rather than me. And her twin followed her lead, although without the attitude, voting in the affirmative as well.

We'd already reached the majority quorum required to allow Quill a spot in our clan, so the issue was pretty much settled. Sure, I had the right to overrule the others since I was technically the leader of our little pack. But, honestly, I liked the cowboy shifter too. He was polite, soft-spoken, and had paid for our campsite. He'd fit right in.

So I was shocked when I turned to Lia and found the girl shaking her head vehemently back and forth. Then, in the tiniest voice imaginable, she cast her vote. "No," the girl whispered. "I don't want Quill to come with us."

***

"WHAT DID HE DO TO YOU?" Cinnamon demanded, scaring Lia even more by grabbing her shoulder and spinning her around to face him. I expected Glen to counter this display with his usual voice of reason, but my most steadfast companion instead lunged forward as if he planned to latch onto the girl's other arm and replicate the trouble twin's assertive behavior.

Before the kid could get ripped in half--and before the swearing outside the tent grew any louder--I slapped the guys down with my mild alpha dominance. "Stop it." The words wouldn't hold them in place like Hunter's would have, but at least the bee-sting-level compulsion should snap my pack mates out of their posturing.

Sure enough, Cinnamon and Glen both inhaled deeply, the former unhanding the kid and the latter merely pulling her in for a brief hug before letting her go as well. Hunter was still muttering under his breath outside, a dull rumble that circled the tent to stop mere inches away from our pack's youngest member. But the uber-alpha seemed content to let me speak, so I ignored him and crouched down so my face was level with Lia's. "Did anything happen?"

The kid shook her head slowly and it took a moment for her to gather her thoughts. "No, I just don't like the way he looks at me." I could barely hear the words with my human ears, but I had a feeling Hunter had picked them up just fine by the way his swearing changed over to a deep growl. Our uninvited guest must have turned wolf in his agitation.

"Did Quill say anything?" I asked now. "Try to get you to go off alone with him? Touch you where he shouldn't have?"

"He shouldn't touch her anywhere." Hunter's angry words proved he was human again. I was starting to lose track of his lightning-fast transformations, something an ordinary werewolf could do perhaps once in an hour if he was strong and well-trained. But nobody had ever said Hunter was an ordinary werewolf.

"Ignore the peanut gallery," I said, filing the uber-alpha's frequent shifts away to be analyzed at a later date. "Did Quill touch you, Lia?"

The kid kept her eyes trained on the ground and merely shook her head. No, it appeared her disapproval of the cowboy shifter was a gut reaction only. And while I didn't like to ignore her intuition, everyone else seemed okay with adding Quill to the pack. Which suggested Lia was just young, inexperienced, and overreacting.

Yes, I'd seen Quill's covetous gaze last night. But the cowboy shifter had also seemed to accept my admonishment and I'd noticed him keeping a greater distance from Lia afterwards. The unfortunate truth was that the girl was going to get those hungry looks from pretty much any outpack male. And given the fact that females were probably few and far between in his life, it was hard to hold the cowboy shifter's initial reaction against him.

So I made the decision for all of us. "Ginger will train some manners into him," I promised our youngest member. "And like Glen said, we're only letting him in on probation. So if anything happens, Lia--anything at all--you can tell us and we'll kick him out. Okay?"

"Okay," the girl whispered, and I hoped I wasn't making the wrong decision.

Still, the clock was ticking. Every minute we spent in the comfort of our tent debating our next move was another minute that the barflies could use to track us down. We needed to get back on the road ASAP, and that meant deciding which, if either, of the two strange males was going to ride along with us as we traveled to our next destination.

"So, Quill's in, tentatively," I continued. "How about Hunter? You can vote with thumbs up or thumbs down since he's sitting right outside the tent and listening to every word we say." I raised my voice in annoyance, but the uber-alpha only laughed. And my pack mates, as usual, ignored the nuances of my request.

"I like Hunter," Lia said, her voice a little louder than it had been previously. "I want him to come with us."

I rolled my eyes. The timid halfie was terrified of the charmer Quill but was thrilled to have an uber-alpha in the pack? I'd never understand the minds of children.

"Ginger?"

"Definitely out," the red-head responded, her eyes sparkling with passion. "We don't need him and we don't want him."

"What she said," her brother quickly chimed in.

My gaze turned to Glen at last and he tilted his head to one side in consideration. I could see my beta doing the same math I'd engaged in a few moments earlier. If he voted pro-Hunter, then the tie-breaking choice would be up to me. And I somehow didn't want to be the one to say that the uber-alpha had to go.

And yet...the uber-alpha had to go. He was too strong for our young pack to handle and we had too little understanding of his purpose in following us around to trust him at our backs. In short, Hunter was a danger to our clan, so we couldn't welcome him into the fold.

Nodding his understanding of my dilemma, Glen sealed Hunter's fate. "Tentatively, probationarily...I say no. Hunter is out."

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# Chapter 7

I expected the uber-alpha to be annoyed. What I didn't expect was the flood of invective that came surging out of his mouth, some of the words so intensely imaginative that Cinnamon felt moved to cover up Lia's sensitive ears. Ginger, on the other hand, was clearly taking mental notes, and I had to admit the female trouble twin had a point. Hunter's language was almost poetic in its pure, unadulterated filth.

"Dude, tone it down," Glen growled. "We don't want the campsite host to come back over here and check on us." Not while you're standing outside our tent buck naked, he didn't have to add. We all knew that our attempt at appearing human was in serious jeopardy if the uber-alpha didn't get himself under control. So this time around, I didn't naysay my pack mate as Ginger pushed open the tent fly and stepped out into the morning air.

Then the trouble twin began to swear as well, which is when I fumbled for the sheathed sword I'd stuck down inside my sleeping bag and hightailed it out the door as well. The sight that met my eyes pulled a few choice words from my lips to join the invective soup before I started barking orders.

"Cinnamon, Ginger, you're together. Glen and I will team up with Lia. Do what you have to do, but I want one of these invaders captured alive. We have to figure out what's going on." Finally, as an afterthought: "And please try not to wake up the cookie lady."

At last, I returned the entirety of my attention to the outpack werewolves who were stalking out of the mist in lupine form. There were at least half a dozen large, menacing animals present, and the faint banana aroma that drifted off their bodies suggested some or all of the invaders had been present in the bar that Ginger led us to the night before. Our enemies had been beaten once and now didn't seem inclined to hash out our differences with words. Instead, the shifters arrayed against us were out for blood.

Clothes flew off in record time, and soon I was flanked by five friendly werewolves, evening the odds somewhat. "Where's Quill?" I asked, and in response Hunter jerked his chin toward the bathhouse barely visible between the trees. The uber-alpha didn't bother to shift and elaborate, but I guessed the cowboy shifter had gone to take a shower while the rest of us were voting on his future.

Here's hoping our newest member won't be blindsided by a battlefield when he comes strolling back into camp, I thought. But I couldn't really find it in myself to regret Quill's absence. When it came right down to it, pack size wasn't everything. Instead, if given the choice, I'd always go for fewer werewolves who I could really trust at my back rather than for larger numbers of loose cannons.

At the thought, my hand drifted down to settle upon Hunter's head, although whether I was considering him a trusted companion or a loose cannon was up for debate. Immediately, the huge wolf craned his neck to gaze back up in my direction before returning his attention to the outpack shifters who were drawing ever closer to our small clan.

Despite my reservations, I had to admit that our newest companion's presence made me feel stronger. Sure, Hunter epitomized unpredictability. But he also might turn out to be our secret weapon. Soon, the attackers would be close enough to be growled into submission without waking the campground host...assuming the uber-alpha felt like saving all of our skins rather than just his own, that was.

At the thought, I couldn't prevent my fingers from tightening around one fuzzy ear in a silent plea for help. I didn't really expect Hunter to understand what I was asking, nor did I expect him to obey even if he did understand. But, to my surprise, the uber-alpha accepted my subtle direction with alacrity.

I could almost hear the human words in his lupine bark as the booming sound rolled out across the campsite in near-visible waves. And the command should have frozen every enemy in his tracks. Even though the uber-alpha's attention had been pointed in the opposite direction, in fact, Cinnamon and Lia cringed away from the noise, their feet growing a little unsteady beneath them.

But the outpack males just kept advancing, parting the fog with their bodies as they drew ever closer on silent feet. Now I could see that each boasted a collar around his neck, a characteristic that struck me as distinctly odd under the circumstances. Equally odd, but more understandable, were the splashes of neon color nearly hidden by the folds of each lupine ear.

"They're wearing ear plugs," I said softly for Hunter's benefit. That explained why the uber-alpha hadn't been able to use his strong compulsion auditorily--the other shifters had arrived prepared for such an attack. But perhaps our not-so-secret weapon could still stare down each enemy individually if he could force the wolves to meet his eyes.

Hunter glanced up at me, and it was almost as if he read my mind. Nodding once, the uber-alpha set off toward the lead shifter, dancing around the latter as the enemy strove to keep his head averted. And rather than helping their compatriot, the other wolves parted to surge around the strange battle of wills and continue with their own advance.

Hunter's ploy would likely work, I suspected, but it would take time to hit all six enemy werewolves one by one. The rest of us needed to pull our weight and defend ourselves in the meantime. So I unsheathed my sword and jerked my head to motion Cinnamon and Ginger away from the tent. In response, the duo slunk off to the side in preparation for flanking our attackers while Glen and Lia drew in closer to me.

Then the campsite descended into such savagery that I could no longer keep track of what each member of my pack was doing. There were wolves everywhere, the enemies' strange silence making their curled lips and sharp teeth appear even more ominous. Two sprang toward Lia from either side in a pincer maneuver and Glen and I worked as a team to drive them back, he with his fangs and I with my sword.

After what felt like hours but was probably less than five minutes, pain threw me off my stride as one of the enemy shifters latched onto my leg, breaking through my jeans to pierce the skin below. I raised my sword, unsure where to cut in order to harm but not kill the beast. But before I could decide, Lia had slammed into the enemy's shoulder and knocked him aside while Glen took the beast the rest of the way to the ground.

In the ensuing lull, my slender young savior looked up at me with such question in her young eyes that I couldn't quite make myself take her to task for diving into the skirmish. It went against all my instincts to allow a sixteen-year-old to fight for her life. But Lia's wolf wasn't quite as submissive as my own, and she'd just proven herself to be both able and willing to defend not only herself but me as well. So who was I to say a halfie had no place in combat?

"Thanks," I said instead of voicing the dueling emotions that swirled through my mind in the battle's split-second pause. And I could have sworn the girl's shoulders broadened ever so slightly at the praise.

Then, to my dismay, she darted away to flank Hunter, who had frozen one wolf and was now playing a game of cat and mouse with another. The halfie watched the action for several long seconds, then repeated her previous bulldozer maneuver, this time throwing the enemy onto his side just long enough to prevent him from evading the uber-alpha's medusa-like gaze.

Two wolves down, six to go. Because my leg-biter had evaded Glen's grip, and I saw now that my initial head count had been off as well. A quick survey of the campsite turned up eight enemy shifters, which meant their lessened numbers still matched our own.

And the enemy was already regrouping. Our remaining attackers split into two parties, one zeroing in on Lia and the other on me. They'd unerringly set their sights on the two halfies within our clan, which probably meant there was a dominant werewolf present who was able to pick out the specifics of our lupine souls beneath our skins. That same alpha would also be able to bark all of us except Hunter into submission, which was a danger to keep in mind since our side hadn't thought to don earplugs.

Can't deal with that now, I reminded myself. We'll just cross that bridge when we come to it.

"Glen, go with Lia," I commanded instead of worrying about the issue. I didn't want the girl to be left dangling in the wind during her first altercation, especially not when she appeared to be a person of interest to our enemy.

Sure, Lia was fighting alongside Hunter. But the uber-alpha didn't seem to understand pack dynamics in the same way the rest of us did. I never have seen the point of a pack, he'd said the night before, words that later haunted me as I tried to fall asleep in the dark tent surrounded by my own clan members. If Hunter didn't believe in a pack, what did he believe in?

Glen, on the other hand, was ultra-protective of every member of our little clan...me included. He struggled against my compulsion for a moment, clearly unwilling to leave me alone with only a sword to defend against the three strong wolves stalking ever closer. But eventually my second followed my gaze with his own and conceded the point. Just before the enemies blocked the last possible escape route, he sprinted off to the side to join up with our pack's youngest member.

That's the point of a pack, Hunter, I wanted to say. From each according to his ability. To each according to his need. In other words, we have each other's backs.

It wasn't an issue the uber-alpha and I could hash out right then, though. Not when three outpack males were currently lunging toward my feet with murder on their minds. I flicked my sword back and forth through the air, cutting a long gash in one wolf's shoulder and nearly skewering another before I pulled the blow. I hadn't forgotten our need to take at least one of these shifters alive for questioning, nor did I want to add another notch on my belt and more nightmares to my already interrupted sleep.

And, apparently, our enemies felt the same way. Because the trio of shifters facing me could have easily surged forward en masse and ripped out my throat. But they seemed willing to play a game of attrition instead, waiting me out until I conceded defeat.

It won't take long, I admitted. Already my arms were growing tired from the weight of my weapon, and the first fumbled thrust would give these wolves the upper hand.

Then Cinnamon and Ginger materialized out of the fog. The trouble twins' lupine fur was tinged with red, the coloration not as strong as their vibrant hair in human form but equally eye-catching. And I couldn't help smiling as I took in their grinning faces. Ginger's teeth were bloody, but she was clearly having a blast. And Cinnamon was always glad to protect his sister's back. As an added bonus, neither looked ready to fall over from exhaustion the way I was either.

As soon as she came within range, in fact, the female wolf bounded up against the hindquarters of the smallest enemy, a younger specimen who was lagging slightly behind his compatriots. Ignoring the other two attackers, the trouble twins continued to focus on the loner, Ginger grabbing him by the ruff and shaking while Cinnamon went in for what could have been a killing blow to his jugular. Instantly, the enemy stilled, rolling over to show his belly in a juvenile show of submission.

He's just a kid, I realized. But I didn't have time to pay closer attention to the twins' efforts because the battle raging right in front of my eyes had yet to slow. The two older wolves were unconcerned by the loss of their youngest member, and they now had their parries down to a science. One lunged forward quickly followed by the other, the repeated motions pushing me back step by step until I nearly tripped over the stake holding up one corner of our tent.

I was being drawn away from the larger battlefield, but there was nothing I could do to prevent the herding action. Not while I remained unwilling to outright slaughter my enemies and not while the smooth operators dodged most of my blows anyway. In a two-against-one altercation, it seemed inevitable that I would eventually be ground down beneath their mechanical attacks until I was forced to mimic the enemy youngster's show of submission.

And then a huge, brindled wolf leapt out of the fog with a smaller animal at his heels. Hunter and Lia. The latter rubbed her cheek against the former's shoulder in a display of pack solidarity and Hunter spared one quick swipe of his tongue across Lia's left eye before getting down to business.

I caught my breath in surprise as Lia darted in alone. The teenager drew the attention of one of the males then danced away on light feet, leaving the enemy torn between turning back around to face me and lunging at the younger half-blood. And Hunter took advantage of the moment of hesitation, sliding in front of the outpack male and freezing him with a single glance.

Now my only remaining attacker turned to face the larger threat, leaving me unencumbered for the first time since the skirmish had begun. I spared a quick glance across the larger battlefield, realizing that the sounds of fighting had ceased everywhere except in my immediate vicinity. Ginger and Cinnamon were standing over a cowering, now-human teenager while Glen guarded six frozen shifters scattered across the campsite. The enemy was entirely present and accounted for.

Except for one last shifter who had been intent upon taking me down only seconds earlier. But even as I turned back around to face him, Lia was leaping astride the stranger's back, drawing his eyes unconsciously to those of Hunter, who had positioned himself just behind his opponent's left shoulder.

The final enemy went still and Lia pranced triumphantly atop his back for a long moment, her joy at pulling her own weight in a successful battle nearly palpable in the air. The half-blood was so pleased, in fact, that she raised her muzzle to the sky in preparation for an exuberant howl.

I hated to be the one throwing cold water on the youngster's elation, but there was still the cookie lady to consider. So I did my pack leader job and slapped the teenager down.

"Lia," I said quietly but sternly. In her enthusiasm, the kid struggled against my compulsion for a moment. But then she leapt down and slunk toward me on her belly in a simple but effective werewolf apology.

"I understand," I soothed. And I did. It was invigorating to discover your strengths when you were a sixteen-year-old girl who had always in the past been the weakest wolf at the party. Lia's unlikely partnership with Hunter had not only saved our pack, it seemed to have given the timid teenager a new lease on life.

I, on the other hand, was exhausted both physically and mentally. Sure, we'd conquered the invaders without loss of life on either side. And I had a good feeling about our ability to wrest information out of the teenager now pinned beneath the trouble twins' paws.

But, unlike Lia, I'd only barely managed to hold my own even with the help of the heavy hunk of steel clenched between my intertwined fists.

As if the thought had released the last iota of control I possessed over my tired muscles, the tip of said sword fell to the ground with a thunk. This battle had made one thing clear at least. As a pack leader, I was worse than worthless. An alpha I was not.

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# Chapter 8

But an alpha I was determined to become. So I squashed my own angst and headed over to deal with the trouble twins and their captured prey.

In human form, the teenage boy looked even younger than Lia and I couldn't help feeling sorry for him as I took in his scratched skin and submissive posture. Still, it wouldn't do for me to appear soft, not when the prisoner's compatriots might pop back to life at any moment. We needed to extract any information we could and then hit the road without allowing the morning battle to resume. So I firmed up my resolve to act like a traditional pack leader, folding the gifted mantle back around me like a protective cloak.

Before I could do more than nudge Glen and Cinnamon toward breaking camp, though, pounding footsteps drew my gaze away from our prisoner. Quill was running flat out toward us, hair soaked and only pants in place. "What happened?" the cowboy shifter demanded as he took in the jumble of wolves and camping paraphernalia dotting the site.

Despite my best efforts to keep my weaker half asleep, surprise combined with morning-fuzz brain woke the inner beast. With her at the helm, our eyes skimmed briefly across our newest member's six-pack abs, following the line of hair at the bottom of his flat belly until it disappeared behind his massive cowboy buckle. Quill hadn't taken the time to don shoes, I saw, but he had cinched his belt shut.

Too bad. The male's physique was impressive even by werewolf standards.

Mirroring my wolf's appreciation of the man-candy before us, Ginger hummed her interest in the cowboy shifter's half-clad body. But Hunter was less impressed. The uber-alpha's growl was low but intense, raising hairs on the back of my neck and changing Quill's body language from concern to aggression. Just what I needed--a fight within our own ranks to complete our pre-breakfast exertions.

Figuring the trouble twin's avid admiration wasn't helping matters, I dealt with the most likely source of strife first. "Ginger, you can join Cinnamon with the packing," I said firmly. In response, the teenage wolf shot me a grumpy glance before stretching upwards onto two legs, losing fur and gaining human characteristics as she rose.

But even though she followed my order to the letter, I didn't miss the way Ginger jutted out her naked chest and brushed up against Quill despite having plenty of space to walk around. As usual, the twin was complying...albeit grudgingly.

I wasn't surprised by Ginger's flirtiness, nor was I surprised by the cowboy shifter's response. What red-blooded American male wouldn't glance down at the erect nipples grazing his bare chest? A smirk lit Quill's face, proving that he liked what he saw, and I could tell it took an effort for our newest pack mate to refrain from reaching out and touching the merchandise being put so boldly on display.

But that issue soon became irrelevant when an overwhelming aroma of rotten bananas filled the air. Pop. Pop, pop. Pop, pop, pop, pop.

The first wolf to reanimate was the one I'd fought against at the very end of our battle, but soon all seven beasts were once again set into motion. Only the boy crumpled at our feet remained still, and that was only due to Hunter's quick thinking rather than to his previous compulsion. Before I even realized what was happening, the uber-alpha had lunged forward to physically pin the teenager to the earth using the force of his front paws.

Which left one enemy on the ground...and seven standing against us.

"Shit." The word slipped out of my mouth without conscious volition, but I stood by the sentiment nonetheless. My clan hadn't done so badly in the preceding fight, but I had a feeling we'd fare much worse a second time around. After all, I'd just sent three of our crew away in human form, and they'd be hard-pressed to fight if forced to make a second rapid shift after such a short recovery period.

Plus, I'd made the beginner mistake of abandoning my sword on the ground where it fell, which left me entirely defenseless. Some alpha I am.

Hunter's growl ratcheted up another notch, and Lia's furry body pushed up against the uber-alpha's side to either give or receive comfort. Our odds of survival weren't good even if Quill turned out to be adept at speedy transformations, which was far from a given. My own pack mates had learned the trick from our previous bloodling alpha, but most shifters took quite a while to change shape even under the best of circumstances. With angry werewolves out for blood to distract him, Quill might not manage to shift at all.

As I wracked my brain to think of some weapon I'd forgotten, the seven outpack males moved in to form a ring around us, their gazes still intent upon me and Lia and seemingly uninterested in the teenager who lay in the dirt at our feet. I didn't dare to breathe, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Then, as if at a hidden signal, all seven turned as a unit and padded away. A stalemate--much better than the outcome I would have expected.

In fact, as the last furry tail disappeared into the rising mist, I had the surreal impression that our enemies had never actually been present in the flesh. Only the rotten-banana aroma--and the wild-eyed prisoner--proved that the preceding battle had actually occurred.

"Hunter...?" I wanted to ask him to see our enemies to the virtual door and ensure they didn't circle back around to ambush us before we were able to make tracks. But even I didn't have the guts to order an uber-alpha to do my bidding.

The strong shifter vacillated for a moment, his head whipping back and forth between the trees to the right and Lia to his left. At first, I thought my so-called mate had taken offense at even the carefully veiled command. But now I realized that Hunter simply felt uncomfortable relinquishing his ability to protect the girl with whom he seemed to have formed a battlefield attachment.

I've got her, I wanted to say. But instead, I simply reached out and pulled Lia's furry body against my legs. And as if he understood my unspoken words, Hunter nodded his thanks. Brushing past Quill in unconscious mimicry of Ginger's earlier actions, the uber-alpha provided a not-so-subtle warning to the cowboy shifter even as he headed off into the woods.

"Hey!" Quill complained as his legs were nearly thrust out from beneath him by the force of Hunter's passing. But I noticed that our newest pack mate didn't try to back his words up with a threat...which was a smart move. None of us mere mortals could hold a candle to Hunter's dominance. We were better off not even trying.

Then my attention returned to the prisoner, who was even now being pushed back toward the ground by Glen's human hands. "Don't even think about it," my beta growled. I wasn't so sure the kid had really been trying to escape. But a little intimidation never hurt in an interrogation setting, so I nodded my thanks before getting down to business.

"What's your name?" I asked, crouching down and pushing my upper body into the boy's personal space. He was still wearing the same sort of collar that had encircled each enemy werewolf's neck, and I could now pinpoint the rotten-banana odor that so recently filled the campsite. The source was apparently a small plastic cube embedded in the fabric, and as soon as my eye picked out the difference in texture, I reached forward to examine the device.

Before my fingers could even brush against his skin, though, the teenager cringed away as if I'd planned to either strike or strangle him. "Crew Franklin," he mumbled quickly in reply to my earlier question, and I could have sworn I saw a tear brimming up on the bottom lid of one eye.

I swore silently. The prisoner really was just a kid and one who probably hadn't learned to shift more than a few short months ago. He was fourteen, fifteen tops. Crew must have stumbled into outpack shenanigans way past his pay grade then gotten in over his head, but my gut told me he was still entirely redeemable. Given the right leadership, the boy would likely turn into a fine member of his own clan one day.

Not that I wanted the kid to know his interrogator was softening toward him. So I continued fumbling with the catch on his collar even as I bluffed using the deepest voice I could manage. "Okay, Crew," I said, stuffing the neckband in my pants pocket to be considered at a later date. "Here's how this is going to work. You're going to answer all of my questions without holding anything back. And if you tell me what I want to know, then I'll deliver you back to your father to be dealt with as he sees fit.

"On the other hand," I threatened, glaring into his eyes, "if you think you can lie to me or omit any relevant details.... Well, you saw that wolf who was just here. He's pretty hungry and he likes raw, red meat for breakfast. We're running low on supplies, so you're on the menu, if you get my gist."

Crew flinched and Lia snorted beside me. The latter didn't buy my tough-guy stance for a moment, but she also wasn't the teenager I was trying to impress.

"Okay, sure, yes," our prisoner babbled. "I'll tell you anything. But I don't know much. I haven't been sworn in yet, just went to a few meetings as Talon's recruit."

"Talon?" I asked, keeping my questions short and open-ended. The kid seemed more likely to spill relevant details if I didn't lead him too closely.

Sure enough, Crew's eyes only flitted across his captors' faces for a moment before he fell all over himself to tell me about a group of outpack males that met regularly at various bars around the region. He didn't know anyone's last name, and I wasn't entirely confident that even the first names he spewed out were real. Still, the purpose of the group was as clear as it was chilling.

"To pledge, you have to capture a halfie," the kid told me earnestly. "They're not really human," he rushed on by way of explanation. "Just unnatural animals. Filth."

Despite having shed fur some minutes ago, Glen still growled in response to the kid's words and his fingers tightened around Crew's shoulders. I wasn't terribly pleased with the boy's language either, but this was an information-gathering session only. So I shook my head in subtle rebuke. "And what do you do with the halfies you catch?" I prodded.

"I'm not sure." A line formed between Crew's eyebrows as if he hadn't given the question much thought. I suspected our prisoner had been recently drawn into the group by the enticing camaraderie offered by a cluster of outpack males and hadn't worried too much about the big picture as long as his social needs were met.

But the big picture was exactly what I was trying to suss out. "What's the organization called?" I demanded, not giving him time to fully catch his breath.

"SSS," Crew replied easily. "The Shifter Sanitation Society. We're cleaning up the region...."

And then Quill was pushing me to the side as a rifle shot cracked out, breaking the morning stillness. Glen dove atop Lia, protecting her body with his own even though I suspected that the shooter could as easily kill both as one.

Silently, I berated myself for not being more prepared. There was nothing wolf teeth and human sword could do against a sniper hidden by the encircling fog. Suddenly, our location at the far edge of the campground seemed more hindrance than help.

My muscles twitched, begging me to run for cover. But there was no point in moving. We'd present even larger targets if we straightened back up, and the thin metal of our car's frame likely wouldn't shield us from the bullet of a high-caliber rifle.

Plus, there didn't end up being any reason to flee after all. Because the sniper appeared to have gotten what he came for and then left as silently as he'd arrived. As we waited, muffling our harsh breathing against crossed arms, the birds once again began to sing and the campground's usual woodland tranquility sprang back to life.

Well, most of the campground resumed its normal life. Crew, on the other hand, had been shot square through the left side of his chest, the tiny entrance wound appearing inconsequential until I noticed the massive stain of blood soaking into the dirt beneath him. And when I pressed my fingers to the boy's throat, I found no pulse.

There was only one conclusion to be drawn. Someone hadn't wanted Crew to spill his guts, so they'd chosen a much more final route to their preferred destination. They'd spilled the last of his life's blood instead.

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# Chapter 9

"Such a waste," Glen murmured as he helped me heave Crew's body onto the tent fly that was protecting the carpet beneath our car's hatchback. I pursed my lips and nodded but didn't say anything else. My beta understood that I was as torn up about the boy's death as he was, but we also needed to make good on our escape before anyone else was shot.

The only reason we hadn't left already, in fact, was because Hunter was still out there. I hoped he was following my orders and patrolling the boundaries of the campground for lingering enemy shifters. But I feared the elusive uber-alpha had instead been sucked into the drama and was even now lying wounded on the forest floor.

On the other hand, I could tell the trouble twins had a different notion entirely. They were convinced that the uber-alpha was the sniper.

So when the wolf we were all waiting for stepped into the clearing, Ginger and Cinnamon started toward him on lupine feet with lips curled. They'd shifted again too soon and would almost certainly be no match for the stronger werewolf as a result, but the duo were always up for a good brawl. Plus, they were expert bluffers and were used to harvesting the expected results from a show of strength.

To his credit, Hunter immediately abandoned the form in which he both felt more comfortable and harnessed greater offensive power, spreading his empty hands out to his sides in surrender as soon as he'd shifted. But the two-legger body language stopped there. Despite lacking canine sense organs, the uber-alpha raised his chin and sniffed the air like a dog as he entered our campsite. Then he blanched. "Who's hurt?" he demanded, gaze flicking across my pack mates as if he were counting heads.

If Hunter really is the sniper, he's even better at dissembling than the trouble twins are, I thought. But all I said was: "Walk with me."

Behind my back, the siblings growled their annoyance. But I ignored them and grabbed the uber-alpha's hand to pull him back in the direction from which he'd come.

Hunter's palm was warm and dry, albeit dirty from its recent contact with the earth. And, despite myself, I allowed my shoulder to drift closer to my companion's, my stride lengthening to match his even as the uber-alpha's steps slowed to make his pace more compatible with my shorter legs.

We fit, whispered the wolf who I'd thought was completely comatose within my human body. Shh, I reprimanded her. But I couldn't quite muster the energy to knock her all the way down. Good thing my animal half was too submissive to chafe against even a mild rebuke since I was nearly at the end of my rope.

"Who?" Hunter asked again, and the sound of his voice sent a tremor of excitement sparking down my spine. We were far enough away from my pack now that no one would know what we said if we spoke softly, and for an instant I imagined asking Hunter about his past. Was I right in thinking that he felt the same protectiveness toward Lia that I'd heard in his voice when he spoke of Daisy Rambler? What aspect of his childhood or youth, I wondered, had given him this unconventional soft spot for a downtrodden halfie?

I shook my head to clear it and promised myself a nap as soon as we were back on the road. I was drifting far off course and needed to answer the uber-alpha's question rather than peppering him with an interrogation of my own. So I forced the image of Crew's lifeless face to rise up behind my eyes, and the memory certainly did the trick of squashing my raging hormones.

As a result, my voice was terse when I spoke at last. "You smelled Crew--our captured enemy," I answered. "Someone shot him from the woods while you were gone. He's dead."

To my dismay, the uber-alpha appeared entirely unconcerned about the kid's demise. Instead, he was all business as he confirmed: "I heard the shot."

I drew in a breath to demand more information, but my companion was way ahead of me. Rubbing his thumb across my palm, he elaborated: "I didn't find the sniper, though. He was long gone, and so were the rest of the wolves. They'd parked half a mile away, on the other side of the campground."

The image of Crew's dead body stretched out beside my own flickered into my vision once again, making my stomach churn. I forced down a sour taste that threatened to expel yesterday's dinner, and the reaction wasn't entirely due to the memory either. Instead, Hunter's lack of interest in the boy's fate hurt nearly as much as Crew's death.

I loosened my fingers and disentangled my hand from the grasp of the uber-alpha who suddenly seemed more like a Tribunal enforcer than like my mate. Or I tried to. In the end, I was forced to jerk free of my companion's strong grip when he refused to let them go.

What did I do now? The words might as well have been written across the uber-alpha's face, and I almost laughed at his confusion. Much as it hurt, though, I was glad of the reminder that Hunter was uninterested in being part of a shifter pack. Given my weakness as an alpha, we couldn't afford to incorporate such a strong presence into our little band if he wasn't trustworthy beyond a shadow of a doubt.

"We're going to deliver Crew's body back to his family," I said instead of delving into the feelings that were best not dumped onto a stranger's shoulders. I swallowed, imagining having to tell the boy's family how and why he'd perished. I'd only known Crew for a few minutes, but I still felt like the teenager's death was my own fault.

"I can call someone from the Tribunal to come and pick him up if you'd rather," Hunter rumbled, patting at his bare ass as if a cell phone might materialize there if he looked hard enough. Despite myself, I sneaked a glance at the buttocks in question. Yep, Hunter's physique was even more impressive than Quill's.

Irrelevant, I reminded myself. But I still offered the uber-alpha my cell phone as a sort of consolation prize.

"Delivering Crew's body is no problem," I said before Hunter could dial. "But you won't fit into our car any longer. So if you want to call someone to pick you up...."

My words trailed off and I looked away, unable to meet Hunter's eyes as I summarily ejected him from our little clan. I didn't know whether the uber-alpha wanted to travel with us in the first place, and it had only been an hour since my pack mates had near-unanimously cast him out of our group without even needing my vote to clinch the deal. Still, I felt guilty to be the bearer of bad tidings.

To my surprise, Hunter touched my shoulder so briefly I almost thought I'd imagined it. Was he trying to console me? But then the uber-alpha had turned away, the phone raised to his ear as he relayed information about the battle just past.

I listened unabashedly, and my heart sank as I did so. Because it appeared we weren't the only halfies who had been attacked this morning. There was now another girl missing. And if Daisy Rambler's fate was any indication, this new kidnapping victim didn't have much time left to live.

***

"SERENE," GINGER OFFERED from the back seat half an hour after we'd pulled out of the campground with Quill, but not Hunter, in tow.

We were trying to come up with an honest yet complimentary review of the campground to thank the cookie lady for her midnight snack, but the trouble twin's word didn't quite match the reality of our experience. After all, while our head count remained the same as when we'd arrived at The Woodland Hideaway, Hunter's absence felt like the cavity left by a missing tooth--minor in reality but absurdly large when I poked at the space with my tongue.

Plus, our newest co-traveler was dead. Which I guess made him technically calm and tranquil. Still, death wasn't what I'd normally call serene.

"Pastoral," Cinnamon agreed. "The perfect vacation."

"Great wildlife sightings," Lia chimed in. And despite Crew's corpse acting like an anchor depressing my mood, I couldn't help laughing as every other member of the car cracked up at the girl's pun. Lia had definitely hit the nail on the head, so I obediently keyed her words into the review site and hit Submit.

The humor was much appreciated because we were even now turning through the ungated archway of the Franklin compound. The ostentatious entrance looked ominous and I had a feeling laughter would be hard to come by in the near future. I just hoped Crew's former pack leader wouldn't literally rip my head off for returning his underling in a homemade body bag.

Sure enough, our tires had barely crunched across five feet of gravel driveway when a man and two wolves stepped out of the trees and into our path. We weren't moving very fast, but Glen still had to slam on the brakes to prevent our car from sliding into the welcoming party, and Ginger growled quietly at the Franklins' cheek.

"Let's all be on our best behavior," I admonished the pack in general, seeking out the female trouble twin's gaze in particular. The redhead rolled her eyes, but nodded. She knew as well as I did that coming into another clan's territory with a bad attitude was a recipe for never leaving that territory alive.

"Shall I?" Glen asked, his hand on the door latch. But I shook my head. Despite my weak wolf, I was the pack leader and needed to act my part.

So I emerged from our vehicle alone and strode over to greet the older man, who I guessed had to be the Franklin alpha. From the stony expression on his face, I figured he was throwing some sort of compulsion in my direction, too. But my wolf was sound asleep and I couldn't even feel his power rolling off my back.

"Hunter said you'd be expecting me," I said rather than commenting on the silent contest that I'd won by dint of simply ignoring it. "I'm Fen."

The other pack leader didn't accept my proffered hand, nor did he offer his name. But the two wolves at his heels also didn't spring forward to rip out my throat, so I figured our introductions were a resounding success.

"You have our boy?" the two-legger demanded instead.

I pointed my chin toward the hatchback of the car, which Cinnamon was even now pushing open to reveal Crew's silent form. The boy's body was still warm, and I didn't blame the wolves on either side of me for growling as they caught the coppery scent of his blood.

Still, I couldn't let them get away with such an overt display of aggression either. So I stepped between my pack and the Franklin shifters, pulling my sword from its scabbard in one smooth arc. The sun gleamed on the polished metal blade and one of the pack leader's lackeys took an unconscious step backwards at the sight.

"Quaint," his alpha said shortly. "But you don't need that here. Your guardian made it entirely clear that every member of your little pack is under the protection of the Tribunal."

My guardian? I couldn't decide if the word sounded sweet...or paternalistic. So I ignored it just the way the Franklin alpha was ignoring my raised weapon and stepping around me to take in Crew's bloody corpse.

Despite his posturing and gruffness, I could tell the older man was honestly pained by the sight of his underling's body, so I met Glen's gaze across the car, beckoning my beta to join us in gently lifting the deceased down to the ground.

"He seemed like a good kid," I offered when the boy was once again laid flat on the earth. Soon, I knew, his pack would be lighting the traditional funereal bonfire, and I wished I could be present to speed him on his way into the afterlife. But, barring an invitation that I doubted would be forthcoming, I figured I should offer words of tribute now.

"My son was a strong hunter," the pack leader answered, making me start in surprise. Not because he'd turned the eulogy in a different direction. Unlike me, most werewolves would consider bravery more important to comment upon than personality. So the alpha's praise wasn't unexpected.

Instead, it was the word son that had caught my attention. I hadn't realized Crew was so highly ranked within the Franklin pack, and the boy's lineage made me wonder whether the SSS was more widely accepted than just being the renegade outpack organization I'd initially assumed.

No time like the present to test my hypothesis. "Crew was killed by the SSS," I offered now, keeping my attention trained on the other pack leader as I assessed his reaction.

If I'd hoped to startle a telling response out of the other alpha, I was disappointed. At first, he didn't even take his gaze away from his dead son's face. And when the pack leader did finally turn around to peer at me once again, the older man's expression was shuttered and impossible to read.

"Thank you for delivering my son," he said in a cordial but clear dismissal. The words were a slap in the face, a refusal to let us travel more than ten feet onto Franklin land after we'd done his pack a favor by delivering his son's dead body back into his loving arms.

But I could understand where he was coming from. We were an unknown entity. And I'd easily avoided the other shifter's compulsion, suggesting that I could out-alpha Crew's father in a fight.

True, that appearance was entirely incorrect. But the older pack leader didn't need to know that.

So I just shrugged and followed my friends back to our car. Still, as we made a three-point turn and exited the Franklin territory as quickly as we'd come, I realized that the other alpha had answered my question after all.

He'd never asked what "SSS" stood for. And, if the Franklin pack leader hadn't known, surely he would have requested more information about his son's murderers.

Which implicated the entire Franklin clan as potential members of the Shifter Sanitation Society.

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# Chapter 10

Outpack shifters seldom put down roots because most of us aren't strong enough to defend a permanent territory on our own. So I wasn't surprised to discover that Quill's home consisted of an old VW van currently parked in the bar's otherwise empty lot.

What did surprise me was the interior. The cowboy shifter had ripped out fake wood and vinyl and replaced the original seats and tables with custom-built furnishings that resembled a well-decorated if rather cramped apartment.

"Home sweet home," he said, spreading his hands wide in a rather self-conscious gesture of welcome as I followed him into the vehicle. I got the impression Quill thought I might judge the van lacking, but my pack and I had been bedding down together in a single tent for the better part of a month. An RV, even a homemade one, was a major step up.

"Impressive," I said, running one finger over a polished hardwood countertop. There wasn't even any dust present. But I guessed if you weren't part of a pack, there wasn't much to do with your free time other than clean.

Which reminded me of the shifters I was currently supposed to be managing. I poked my head back out the door just in time to catch Cinnamon bringing the two clips at one end of the jumper cables closer and closer together. Trust a trouble twin to think it would be interesting to see exactly what happens when you short out a car battery.

"Cinnamon," I called, stopping him in the act. Then I shot a glance toward the empty building twenty feet away, hoping no one had heard me raise my voice. Shifter bars didn't tend to open until dusk, so we had several hours to get Quill's van back on the road before anyone else showed up.

Or at least I hoped that was the case. Still, I'd feel better once we'd left the scene of last night's mayhem behind.

"What?" the trouble twin asked, turning toward me. As he did so, his hands unconsciously drifted closer together and I winced, expecting to see sparks flying at any moment.

Then Lia had deftly removed the clips from Cinnamon's hands. The younger teenager shot me a comforting smile as she opened the front passenger-side door of the VW, adeptly swiveling the seat out of the way then snapping the jumper cables into place. "You can fire up our car now," she called softly to Cinnamon, who seemed a bit disappointed at having his toy taken away from him. Still, the easygoing shifter shrugged and obeyed.

"You'll keep an eye on him?" I asked Lia once Cinnamon was gone. It was common knowledge within our pack that the male trouble twin required constant human interaction if you didn't want to wind up in the middle of an intricately designed practical joke. His younger cousin was the mischief maker's designated babysitter this morning, and I hoped she was up to the job.

"Sure," Lia answered, gracing me with another gentle smile before she slipped away on near-silent feet.

My mouth quirked in a combination of pride and regret. Ever since this morning's battle, I'd noticed the girl's lupine half present behind her human eyes, giving Lia a dignity she hadn't previously possessed. As an alpha, it was immensely satisfying to see the two halves of an underling's personality growing together. As a halfie, though, I had to admit to being slightly jealous of the ease with which Lia accepted her wolf.

Look, my own wolf said simply, reminding me that she wasn't quite asleep at that particular moment either. At her behest, I turned back around to find Quill subtly drifting into my personal space. He wasn't quite close enough that I could politely slap him down, but he was still a little nearer than I would have liked. So I took a step backwards and diverted whatever the cowboy shifter had been thinking about by launching into my prepared spiel.

"So, if you still want to travel with us, the pack voted you in," I told him. "It looks like you're doing better than we are, though. And I totally understand if you've changed your mind now that you've gotten to know us better. We can just jumpstart your van and send you on your way with thanks if you'd rather. No harm, no foul."

What I was saying without spelling it all the way out was that I wasn't going to be an asshole alpha about the whole thing if Quill had gotten cold feet after witnessing our defeat this morning. Pack leaders tended to be possessive of their manpower, unwilling to let anyone who'd sworn to their clan go without a fight. But I didn't have the lupine dominance to back up that stance even if I'd wanted to.

Another thing Quill doesn't really need to know about us.

"No, I'm in," the cowboy shifter said almost too quickly. I cocked my head in consideration. Maybe he was lonelier than he looked--it was hard for our lupine natures to handle life outside a pack.

Or maybe there was something else going on.

"I noticed the way you looked at Ginger this morning," I prodded. "She's a bit of a tease...." Then I smothered a smile as the strong, buff cowboy shifter blushed bright red and averted his eyes.

"Would you mind...?" he started, then tried a different tack. "Is she available?"

Well, it looked like Ginger's flirtations were good for something after all if they were going to win a strong shifter like Quill over to our side. Still, I didn't want him thinking the trouble twin was a foretold benefit of joining our pack.

"She is available," I answered carefully. "But this isn't the kind of clan where a pack leader's permission holds any sway over who the members of that pack date. And Ginger seems to be having a lot of fun playing the field at the moment."

I didn't know how else to warn our newest member that the female trouble twin was likely to love him and leave him. After all, I didn't want to actually call my friend a slut because she really wasn't. If Ginger had a theme song, it would be Girls just want to have fun. She never overtly promised anything she didn't plan to deliver.

"Fair enough," Quill answered. "I just...."

Before he could go on, though, my phone chimed and I held up one finger to pause our conversation. I wasn't usually so rude, but Ginger and Glen were guarding the perimeter while also doing their best to leverage their online savvy to determine the identity of the halfie girl who had so recently been kidnapped. If anything showed on either search, I wanted to know about it right away.

Sure enough, Ginger had texted me an update on her investigation: Girl is Savannah Abrams. Mother willing to talk to us this evening. Come to dinner, stay the night, she says. Yes/no?

The twin had included an address about two hundred miles distant. That should give us just enough time to hunt down some lunch to round out this morning's granola bars and beef jerky before hitting the highway.

And if Mrs. Abrams lived east of here...well, I hadn't actually promised Hunter that I'd head west, now had I?

Yes. Thx, I keyed in quickly before turning back to my current companion with an apology on my lips.

Once again, the cowboy shifter had drifted closer, this time so he could peer over my shoulder. "Anything important?" he asked, and I angled the phone so he could read Ginger's words. Quill's manners seemed a little less polished this morning than they had been the night before, but there was no point in keeping him in the dark since he'd know our itinerary soon enough anyway.

"This is the halfie girl Hunter mentioned?" Quill asked after he'd read our exchange. When I nodded, he paused as if unsure how to word his next question.

I had a feeling I knew what was on his mind, so I nudged him a little. "Spit it out," I said. "You aren't going to offend me." I'd had fun forcing Hunter to stumble over his verbal feet around my half-blood heritage, but Quill seemed like a nice guy who just wasn't sure what to say without raising my hackles. So I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"Is this whole pack...? Well, I mean, I know you and Lia are half-werewolves," Quill said, "but I couldn't tell about everyone else. Is that what you all have in common?"

Nicely said. But while I could appreciate the cowboy shifter's careful wording, his question didn't entirely make sense. "You know a guy can't really be a halfie, right?" I asked. Then I clarified: "I mean, to get technical on you, werewolfism is an X-linked, dominant trait. So guys either are shifters or they aren't. Doesn't matter who their parents are once they pass puberty and prove they can change forms. It's just female half-bloods who give birth to human children and show hybrid characteristics."

"Well, yeah, but...."

I could tell Quill was more of the school of thought that anyone whose parents weren't both 100% shifter was a halfie. Among his friends, he probably called humans "meat" too.

The old-fashioned sentiments annoyed me, but they were understandable since most shifters felt the same way. Not a deal breaker for him joining our pack, I told myself. After all, everyone was a creature of their environment and anyone could be taught.

So I gave Quill what he wanted to know. "No, Glen's a pure-blood," I told him. "And even though you wouldn't believe it from watching his antics, Cinnamon can trace his ancestry back to the first wolf, or close to it. Which makes Ginger a pure pack princess, of course."

Then I decided I might as well push a little further. After all, I'd answered Quill's nosy question, which made this a perfect opportunity for a not-so-polite query of my own. "So what's the deal with you being in outpack territory anyway?" I continued before the cowboy shifter could derail the conversation. "You seem like a nice guy, a strong shifter; any pack would be lucky to have you. Why wander the cold outside world with the rest of us?"

For a moment, I thought Quill wouldn't answer. Then his eyes took on a faraway cast and his lips turned down into an expression of pure melancholy. "My mate," he said finally, and I could easily fill in the blanks as the story tumbled off his lips in stops and starts.

The parts he left out were simple to guess because I'd heard the same tale many times before. Werewolf packs made for lots of Romeo-and-Juliet unions--either you fell in love with a mate in an enemy clan or you ached for someone too far above or below your own station for your alpha to approve the union. Some shifters sucked it up and did whatever their leader told them to, accepting a second-best spouse. Others--like Quill, apparently--eloped, dreaming that they'd be able to carve out a place for themselves beyond the borders of sanctioned pack territories.

"But it was a stupid move," the cowboy shifter finished. "Faye's brothers caught up with us before we'd been outpack for three weeks. I thought the worst they'd do was rip her away from me, which would have been bad enough. But they decided to make an example of their own sister instead."

He paused, and turned away, probably fighting the tears I'd seen welling up in his eyes at the memory. And I immediately felt like an asshole for making him relive the experience. Still, if Quill was joining our little clan, then I needed to know what kind of dangers were coming along on his coattails.

So I prodded my companion's tale along when the history lesson appeared to have petered out. "What happened?"

"I wasn't strong enough to protect her," the cowboy shifter replied, squaring his shoulders and looking me straight in the eyes this time around. "They pushed me aside and leaped on their own flesh and blood in wolf form...." His words trailed off and he gulped back a sob.

"They killed her," I murmured. It was a terrible story with a predictable ending, but the upshot was actually good for our pack. If Faye's brothers had taken their revenge, then they wouldn't be out pounding the pavement in an attempt to take Quill down. We could safely give the cowboy shifter a home in our transient pack without worrying that his not-quite-in-laws would come slavering for our blood as well.

"Yeah," my companion confirmed in a whisper. "They killed her." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he spoke his words were once again firm and easy to hear. "But I'm not going to let that happen a second time. If I find another mate--or even if I don't--I'll be strong enough to protect the people I care about."

I won't let you down. The words hung in the air, unsaid but implied. And if I'd had any doubts about letting Quill into our clan in the past, the misgivings were washed away in the face of his selflessness and confidence.

The trouble was, I wasn't nearly as confident that I'd be able to protect the pack Quill was becoming a part of. And, as an alpha, that responsibility rested firmly on my shoulders.

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# Chapter 11

"Deer for lunch again?" Ginger grumbled. Still, she was the first to shed her human clothes as we tumbled out of our two vehicles in the secluded pull-off a few miles into the national forest.

Of course, the trouble twin's alacrity at disrobing might have been due to enthusiasm at the opportunity to parade around naked in front of our pack's newest member once again rather than excitement at the prospect of yet another catch-your-own dinner. But who was I to complain about someone else's overactive hormones when I couldn't seem to get that absent uber-alpha's amber eyes out of my mind?

Ginger appeared to be better at attracting her intended quarry than I was because Quill's gaze immediately drifted south, caressing the trouble twin's curvy form. But her prey's attention didn't remain riveted for more than a moment before he returned to fidgeting with the cell phone in his pocket.

"Are you sure we shouldn't just stop at a sit-down restaurant along the way so we can get to our destination faster?" Quill asked after a moment of strained silence. "My treat."

The rest of the pack paused in their pre-shift preparations, hungry eyes flicking between our newest member and my indecisive face. Their wolves were all wide awake now, and I saw Cinnamon lick his lips in an almost lupine gesture of anticipation. The trouble twin would be thrilled at the opportunity to order meat that came skinned and deboned, and I couldn't really say I didn't feel the same way. On the other hand, Quill had no idea how much food five young-adult shifters could eat if he thought his funds would hold up to many restaurant outings for the entire pack.

"That's nice of you to offer," I said, letting him down gently. "But it's probably better to save that nest egg for when we really need it. Plus, look," I added, gesturing at the nearby trees that displayed a browse line of absent greenery for the first six feet above the ground. "Any biologist will tell you that we're doing our civic duty by filling in for absent predators and culling the local deer herd."

"Yeah, that's us, always looking out for the greater good," Ginger murmured. I could tell she was more annoyed at Quill's lack of attention to her naked body than at the lost restaurant opportunity, though, and I resolved to pull the young woman aside later and let her know that our newest pack member had asked after her. I suspected the cowboy shifter's current lack of interest was just due to discomfort as he tried to fit into a new group rather than to actual apathy toward the young woman's enticing assets.

But, for now, I decided it was better to get us all shifted and into the woods before the trouble twin in question got her panties into any more of a twist...and before a state trooper came along and decided to investigate half a dozen naked young people standing by the side of the road. "Quill?" I asked when the cowboy shifter continued to hesitate.

"Just a minute," he said, averting his eyes in what might have been submission or was perhaps just continued discomfort. "I'd planned to meet up with a friend when we hit town and I need to push back our appointment...."

His voice trailed off and I shrugged. Hopefully whoever he was texting wouldn't be too annoyed at being blown off. No point in our newest member breaking off all ties with the outside world as he started a fresh existence as part of our pack.

He's not a perfect fit, my wolf whispered in the back of my mind, interrupting the moment. She seemed obsessed with square pegs and round holes these days, but I was less concerned than the wolf was about this slight chink in Quill's usually courtly armor. It wasn't as if the rest of my pack mates had instantly fallen into line when we set off on the road together either.

Just a week ago, in fact, Ginger had insisted in arguing against every single suggestion I made. And now...okay, so the trouble twin still argued against every suggestion I made. But I'd gotten used to her quirks, just as Quill would get used to the workings of our found family. My comrades and I weren't quite as civilized as the average werewolf clan, maybe, but we had each other's backs.

The thought prompted me to scan the parking area and check on the state of everyone else's shifts. As young as Lia was and a halfie to boot, it wouldn't have surprised me if the girl needed help with her second human-to-wolf transformation of the day. But the kid seemed to be doing okay, even though she'd staked out a spot on the far side of the car rather than joining the rest of us in our little huddle.

I raised my eyebrows in question as I watched the naked girl slowly sprout fur. In reply, she shot a glance toward Quill by way of explanation. Yeah, the teenager probably had a point, I thought as I pursed my lips and nodded. No reason to flaunt her nubile but unavailable body in front of a shifter who hadn't yet entirely fallen in with our pack's casual approach toward nudity.

Speaking of casual, there was such a thing as being too casual. Ginger--who I knew for a fact could shift at the drop of a hat--was still hovering a hair's breadth away from the cowboy shifter, her two-legged form twisting and turning as she tried in vain to capture the latter's attention.

I rolled my eyes and removed the sword I'd been wearing ever since that morning's altercation, stuffing the sheathed weapon behind the back seat for safekeeping. I felt oddly naked without the blade, my still-present clothes making no impression when I lacked anything pointy and sharp with which to defend myself.

You have me, promised my wolf, wide awake now that the prospect of finally donning her favored fur form was at hand.

Sure, I soothed her. Like every other shifter, I felt the pull of being four-legged deep within my bones after staying human for so long. But in my case, the attraction was always tempered by the reality of being saddled with a woefully weak wolf.

Our pack is strong, my wolf promised me. And I'll do whatever you say.

Of course she'd do what I said. That was the entire problem with our partnership in a nutshell--lack of leadership potential on the wolf's part.

Still, I quickly kicked off my shoes, then folded jeans and undies and tossed the whole pile of clothing onto the back seat with the rest of my pack's apparel. Finally, taking a deep breath, I rejoined the other shifters--half of us already four-legged and the rest, even Quill, now naked.

Everyone except Ginger appeared calm and collected as the onset of our hunt rapidly approached. Lia had padded around to join us and was now tussling with Cinnamon on the ground, the larger wolf letting our youngest member win despite her youthful lack of muscles. In contrast, Glen stood poised in lupine form, waiting for Quill to fall onto four legs before he relaxed his guard.

And Ginger...Ginger was advancing on me with eyes flashing even as she slid covert glances at the cowboy shifter. The latter still hadn't properly admired her visible assets and was instead watching me with hungry eyes, a definite slight that I knew the young woman wouldn't let slide.

I saw the attack coming before she launched herself forward, but I misgauged the volatile redhead's intentions. By the glint in her eye, I'd assumed she was pissed and needed a cat fight to get it out of her system. So I raised both hands to repel her imminent strike.

But Ginger didn't hit me. Or, rather, she did let her body slam into mine, pressing my bare butt up against the warm metal of the car door.

On the other hand, the trouble twin didn't intend to cause harm. Instead, the slightly taller woman dipped her neck even as she pushed my chin upwards by cradling the back of my head with two firm hands.

Then she pulled me into a deep, uninhibited kiss.

***

FOR A SPLIT SECOND, I imagined that Hunter was the one merging his lips with mine. The uber-alpha would taste just the way he smelled--like cold root beer, the refreshing aroma enveloping me and beating back the summer heat. I'd kiss him back....

I opened my eyes and pushed Ginger away as I regained my senses. "What the heck, Ginger?"

The trouble twin's cheeks were flushed, and I expected her to shoot another pointed glance at Quill. After all, my friend had gone for a classic catch-the-guy's-attention move and would be wanting to know if her girl kiss had paid off.

But instead, my pack mate just gazed into my eyes, searching my face as if trying to decide whether the lipstick she'd smeared onto my skin suited my complexion. I wiped the goop away in disgust. It was bad enough to watch Quill and Ginger tiptoeing around each other without being caught in the middle of their mating dance.

"Just a good-luck kiss," she said after a moment, and I caught a flash of something I couldn't quite name in her eyes as she turned away. Cinnamon, ever alert to his sister's moods, scrambled out from beneath his cousin's furry body and trotted over to rub up against Ginger's bare leg in sympathy.

And then there were two reddish wolves on the ground instead of one, and Quill and I were the only humans left standing. "Let's hunt," I said curtly, still a bit annoyed at the trouble twin and concerned over the cowboy shifter's foot dragging.

But I didn't want to initiate my own shift with murky emotions at the forefront of my mind. So I took a deep breath just the way my previous alpha had taught me, then I relinquished human control for a split second.

I transformed as I fell forward, arms that would have kept me from hitting the ground becoming legs and my tail thrusting to one side to steady my descent. At the same time, the wolf brain rose up to take over our shared form--my least favorite part of the shifting process. This changing of the guard always felt like diving into a deep, frigid ocean, the chill making my bones ache and only slowly receding as I acclimated to the abrupt change in virtual temperature.

Our shared ears popped. Now I was entirely subsumed by the wolf, and for a split second I drifted in darkness. Then, desperately, I clawed my way upwards.

I'd made this journey many times before, but today the faint pinprick of light showing through the wolf's eyes seemed impossibly far away. In fact, I appeared to be falling deeper into the wolf's subconscious rather than rising to join her at the helm. This is the shift where I lose my footing and drown, I thought in dismay.

This type of slippage was normal the first few times a teenager tried to change forms, of course. But my transformations hadn't gotten any easier during the last seven years since I hit werewolf puberty.

Today's shift was the worst experience to date. Always in the past, I'd scrambled upwards as best I could, clawing my way through the wolf's throat with torn fingernails while hoping I'd make my way back into the light. And each time, I'd thought I'd failed before finally managing to emerge breathless back in the wolf's body.

This time, though, I was just so very tired. The hour was only a little past noon, but the day had already been long and the preceding night short. Quill's addition to our pack was a triumph, but the change in group dynamics left everyone off kilter and in need of a little extra alpha attention.

I barely felt up to the task.

Then there was the confusion of Hunter's sudden presence and equally sudden absence. My stalker had dropped his verbal bomb last night, throwing out the M word as if "mate" wasn't an expletive in my lexicon. And, yes, I'd been too chicken shit to call him on it. But did Hunter have to find it so easy to hare off in search of another halfie girl this morning with barely a word of farewell?

No matter the reason, I had a sinking suspicion that this was the time I wouldn't make it back into human form at the end of my shift. I'd already spent way too long down in the wolf's belly, drifting further into her virtual intestines with every second as if my struggles were mired down by quicksand designed to pull me under and keep me there.

My pack mates would be wondering why the wolf was frozen in place, but I could neither hear them nor feel their furry bodies nudging against my shoulder. And without the presence of my clan, I wasn't so sure I cared that my heavy eyelids were drifting closed. A little nap was called for....

And then the wolf brain was beneath my human mind, pushing me gently but firmly upwards until I could share the view from behind her lupine eyes. Within our corporeal body, she licked me in welcome and my human mind covered virtual face with ethereal hands in order to repel her advances. As usual, the wolf was absurdly happy to see me, as if I wasn't always present, always in control of our shared body even when we donned fur.

Well, as long as I don't drown betwixt and between. I was ashamed of myself for wallowing in that moment of weakness, and I was probably more curt with the wolf than I should have been as a result. Leave me alone, I ordered, and her enthusiasm abruptly waned.

Now the captain of our shared ship, I dropped into downward-facing dog to stretch our four-legger body and relax our spine. Then I glanced back over one shoulder to make sure Quill had followed suit. Sure enough, our newest pack mate had nearly achieved lupine splendor, although he was taking even longer than me to get his feet solidly beneath him.

Everyone else, though, schooled by our old alpha, was surefooted and ready to run. And I realized that I wasn't quite ready for Quill to understand our strange lupine dynamics anyway, to figure out that the alpha werewolf who he'd agree to answer to was actually the weakest one in the pack.

So I raised my chin to the sky and let my wolf howl out her joy at finally being surrounded by her favorite furry companions once more. Then the five of us loped forward, Quill trailing a full measure behind.

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# Chapter 12

Ginger took the lead, her stronger wolf easily picking up a scent that the rest of us had missed. Nose to the earth, she startled the first deer within minutes.

But our potential prey was protecting two young fawns that must have been born later than the usual season. The flanks of the spindly-legged youngsters were still dappled with sun spots, and I shook my head in negation when the trouble twin glanced back at me in question. If we'd been starving, our pack could have easily taken down either the doe or the fawns or both. But there was no point in breaking up a family unit when the six of us were just having a little fun and seeking to ease average daily hunger pangs.

Glen must have predicted my response and peeled away from our group moments earlier because I now heard him yipping news of yet another find off to our left. I sniffed at the air, trying to grab hold of the pack bond that kept alphas apprised of each shifter's whereabouts and emotions. But the subtle web of connection that my newfound alpha abilities should have created instead eluded my fingertips and disappeared like a dream upon waking--one moment the knowledge was so vivid I felt as if I could step out into it; the next moment the vision might never have existed.

Not quite right, my wolf whispered, trying her best to be helpful. But I didn't need to be told that my inability to control the pack bond wasn't quite right. It was all part and parcel of having pack-leader status thrust upon me by another rather than growing gradually into organic strengths that had always been part of my DNA.

Shh, I admonished my inner beast yet again rather than trying to explain away my frustration. At least I could still use the information gleaned by my more ordinary senses even though the pack bond was missing in action. So I squashed my inner turmoil and turned to lead the other four wolves in the direction from which Glen's call had most recently emanated.

The pack was unaware of my newest failure, so they continued to show off the usual high spirits of a joint hunt. Or perhaps I should say the excessively high spirits. Because as Ginger and Cinnamon bounced past, I saw that his ear had already ended up between her sharp teeth and bloodshed appeared imminent.

Just what we need, I thought. Another case of pack mates injured by friendly fire.

Figuring I might as well save Cinnamon's skin while I had the opportunity, I pushed a little more spring into my step and knocked up against Ginger's hip in warning. Cool it, I thought, making my intentions clear by the tilt of my neck and the slight erection of hairs on my ruff.

Sure enough, the female trouble twin released her brother as soon as she caught my eye. But that didn't mean she was happy about being chastened. Instead, the pack princess growled at me, her rampant wolf easily able to tell that it surpassed the strength of my own measly animal now that we were both four-legged.

I probably should have slapped her down with what little alpha dominance I did possess. After all, not even the most easygoing pack leader would allow an underling to get away with such an obvious display of insolence.

But, if push comes to shove, do I have the teeth to back up my demands? The answer was a resounding "no," so I instead turned away to peer over one shoulder at the final members of our little band.

At least something was going right today. I was glad to see that Quill had taken the time to insinuate his way into Lia's good graces, she being the only member of our pack who had wanted the cowboy shifter gone. The young female still seemed uncertain about her current partner's intentions, but she was at least willing to run side by side with his larger masculine form as long as the rest of the clan was nearby. Making progress.

The pack bond... my wolf whispered again, interrupting my thoughts. This time my silent snarl made her drop all control over our shared body and we tumbled face first into the leaves. Great. I'd startled the beast out of her sole job--keeping our joint body moving forward.

Do I have to do everything around here? I grumbled, pushing through the fog that lay between human brain and animal body to get our muscular system in order once again.

I felt a little bad about the slap down, though, so I tried to explain myself to my alter-ego as we once again trotted forward to rejoin our companions. Now isn't the time to figure out the pack bond, I told her. Now is the time to hunt.

My inner wolf didn't respond, a gaping hole instead appearing within our shared body where her consciousness had existed only a moment before. But I shrugged away her absence. Instead, I focused on catching my stride before looking forward to where Quill and Lia had surged past while I was getting my lupine body back in order.

Like the trouble twins, this other duo was also rushing toward Glen's most recent beckoning bark. But Lia had slowed her steps and glanced backwards to check on me as she ran past.

So I saw pain fill the youngster's eyes as she yelped and danced sideways, holding one forefoot up as blood streamed down from cut pad to forest floor. And for an instant I felt her agony...agony that had resulted directly from my own inattention to pack duties.

My own inner conversation combined with the girl's natural empathy had taken my friend's attention away from her surroundings just long enough for the forest to intervene. And nature, as always, was red in both tooth and claw.

***

PAIN AND SURPRISE IMMEDIATELY prompted Lia to initiate a shift into her more familiar form. But I knew such a transformation would be a mistake. Sure, the girl would feel more comfortable as a human, but hopping half a mile on one leg is much harder than limping out of the woods on three paws. Plus, if Lia shifted to two feet, another transformation into fur form was unlikely to happen today.

Time to stop this change before it really begins. More harshly than I would have liked, I grabbed the young wolf's ruff between my lupine teeth then shook firmly enough to garner her full attention.

As I did so, I saw human rationality slowly seeping back into Lia's eyes, overcoming the wolf's instinctive response to pain. Meanwhile, the electricity of impending transformation began ebbing out of the air around us both.

For a long moment, Lia remained poised between two forms. But then she nodded, a two-legger gesture that sat strangely upon her lupine form but that eased my worries and doubts. The girl had gotten a handle on her urge to shift and would stay four-legged for the foreseeable future.

Releasing a sigh of relief, I glanced around us at a forest gone suddenly quiet. We'd been at the tail end of the pack when Lia cut her paw, so no one else had noticed our absence as they bounded forward in search of Glen's chosen prey. But despite the fact that my companion and I were now entirely alone in the woods, I knew precisely where our pack mates were located. Because, after fumbling at an elusive connection for the last month, the pack bond had finally clicked into place without any effort on my part.

As a result, I could feel but not see Ginger and Glen leap for a yearling doe's jugular. And I could feel but not see Cinnamon and Quill yapping at the prey's heels. All four were excited and enjoying the hunt, although my secondhand experience of their reality was entirely different from their own. Instead of reveling in an imminent triumph, in fact, I found myself lost in the encompassing darkness of the other wolves' bellies.

Dark, close, cold.

Claustrophobia nearly sent me reeling back into my own skin. But I didn't want to leave an injured Lia alone in the forest while I disappeared on lupine feet in search of aid. And there was no need to abandon her, even momentarily, because my alpha senses were already in contact with the rest of my pack. I just needed to claw my way up out of their bellies in order to get their attention.

Cinnamon, the weakest wolf, was also the easiest to overcome with my alpha compulsion. Using far less effort than I'd expended entering my own lupine body thirty minutes earlier, I now found myself looking out through the male trouble twin's eyes. Sunlight streamed down through a gap in the canopy, warming our shared hide, and his body's adrenaline made my own heart pump faster in sympathy.

From my safe perch behind Cinnamon's eyes, in fact, I could see for the first time that the male was tethered to his sister just as firmly as I was to any of my pack mates. The ethereal rope shone visibly in the air between the two, a tightrope my alpha sense could easily walk across.

As quickly as the impulse entered my mind, I found myself bridging the minds of two pack mates rather than just one. So when Ginger's teeth ripped through tough deer hide, Cinnamon and I both tasted the salty blood in our mouths and we both felt her triumph at yet another successful hunt.

Helpful, I thought. I hadn't meant to cast the words out across the pack bond, but the male trouble twin jolted as if I'd spoken in his ear. Even Ginger flinched to peer back over one shoulder, ears pinned in confusion.

My hold over Glen was considerably weaker than my connection to Cinnamon due to the former's greater dominance, but my second in command still understood what was going on more quickly than the others. He stepped away from the dying deer and lifted his chin to the sky in a howl that pulled the other three shifters to his side in an instant. He--and I by proxy--now had their complete attention.

I wasn't sure how long our nebulous connection would last, though. So I got down to business right away. Pulling gently away from the pack bond, I left the line open as if turning my cell to speaker phone. I could listen and speak to my pack still, but now I could also focus on the real world beneath my lupine paws.

Lia was panting beside me, I--and the rest of the pack--now saw. Blood flowed copiously from her damaged foot, and I licked the gash clean with my tongue.

The gesture transferred down the tether just as effectively as my spoken word had a moment earlier. And as Glen and the trouble twins looked through my eyes at the wounded wolf lying in front of me, their anguish amplified my own. For a moment, our shared emotions bounced back and forth between us in a feedback loop that seemed poised to knock us all off our feet.

Then my wolf was present once more, easing the pack's heartache by the simple refusal to take part. She shuffled her paws against the leaf mold and in the process channeled our worry into the soil beneath our feet. Shh, she whispered at last, this final sound for me alone rather than transmitting to the entire pack.

The wolf was right. We'd get nowhere by drowning in Lia's misery. So I took a deep breath, re-centered myself, and found I was able to slim our communication line down to simple human language. Lia cut her foot, I explained, the distancing effect of words relieving some of our shared unease.

Unfortunately, my focus on the girl pulled her into the pack bond along with the rest of us. Momentarily, Lia's pain flared through our shared connection once again, but this time we felt the agony within our own bodies. As a unit, each of us raised our right front feet off the ground in sympathy.

Through Glen's eyes, I could see Quill cocking his head to one side quizzically. Only then did I realize that the cowboy shifter had been absent from our previous communication. No big surprise since he'd only been a member of our clan for less than a day.

But I didn't want our pack divided. So I thrust forth feelers that, once connected, yanked the final member of our clan into our shared consciousness.

Quill took in the situation quickly and showed his mettle by managing to send words down the invisible tether just as I had. I'll walk Lia back to the cars, he offered. The words were excessively loud, as if our newest pack mate had put an inordinate amount of force behind the statement in order to be heard at all. But I was impressed nonetheless.

Lia was less thrilled, though. She winced, and this time I didn't think the reaction stemmed from her aching paw. So I shook my head and chose another pack mate instead. Cinnamon, I commanded simply.

The easygoing trouble twin took off toward us at a run as soon as he heard his name. Greenery seemed to whip past my nose even though my physical body told me I was standing still, and the strange combination of sensations made me sick to my stomach. I pulled back without meaning too, and suddenly the pack bond shattered around us with a jolt.

Streamers that had connected me to five other shifters moments earlier now flung back in my face as if a stretched rubber band had snapped. I cradled a suddenly aching head with two paws. Ow, I winced, glad I wasn't able to transmit this new misery to my fellows.

Or at least I hoped I hadn't. Luckily, when I finally managed to open my eyes, Lia was eying me quizzically, suggesting that I was the only one affected by the blow-back.

In a perfect world, I would have rekindled the pack bond in order to ask Lia how she was feeling. But the notion of trying to hook back into our previous linkage didn't seem very palatable at that moment. Instead, I simply licked her ears soothingly, and the gentle whimper of pain that had been threading out of the other wolf's throat for the last several minutes slowly ceased.

In fact, by the time Cinnamon arrived, his younger cousin was gamely standing on three legs, ready and willing to limp back toward our waiting vehicles. I made as if to go with them, but the trouble twin shot me a glance that clearly stated I've got this covered.

Then he gently nipped the end of Lia's tail, teasing her back into good spirits. Even my over-protective streak had to admit that our pack's youngest member was in good hands.

Or, rather, in good paws.

So I merely watched their retreating forms for a moment to make sure Lia would be able to handle the journey ahead. Then I whirled on my heel and ran flat out toward the pack with whom I suddenly shared an even stronger connection.

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# Chapter 13

We gorged on raw, dripping deer meat until we could barely move. And while my human brain found the feast distasteful, I had to admit that the uncooked flesh filled a void within my lupine body that had previously been gaping cavernously empty.

As a result, I expected my wolf brain to dance with satiated joy as our stomach finally reached full capacity. But the backlash from the broken pack bond had knocked her into silence instead.

While I licked my muzzle clean as best I could, I debated my wolfless state. Until recently, I'd generally figured a day without comments from the peanut gallery was a good day. And, from a more functional perspective, my animal half's current absence was actually a boon because it kept her submissive nature a secret from Quill for a little while longer at least. I trusted our newest pack mate, but I'd learned the hard way that a halfie could never be too careful about who she took all the way into her confidence.

Still, I missed the animal's gentle presence at the back of my mind. So I prodded gently at the hole she'd left behind, hoping my wolf would rise back up to greet me.

Nothing. Well, my animal half would return when she was good and ready. And, in the meantime, I should probably have been thinking about wounded Lia rather than about my sleeping wolf anyway.

If we take off now, I estimated, our exuberant, newly fed animal bodies will likely reach the parking area just about when our injured member limps in on three legs. Perfect timing.

We'd bandage the girl's wound in an effort to get by without stitches, then we'd make tracks toward Mrs. Abrams' promised hospitality. And I can treat Cinnamon to that store-bought meal he's been hankering after while we're at it, I thought with a smile. The trouble twin deserved a hamburger for being willing to forgo our recent feast in order to help his younger cousin out.

I yipped an order, and the three wolves currently clustered around the deer carcass came to attention in an instant. Together, we bounded away through the forest, soon hitting a broad human trail that I suspected would lead us directly back to the parking area where we'd left our vehicles.

Now that I'd started worrying about Lia, though, my earlier enjoyment of the day had fled. So I added a little extra speed to my already fleet feet and couldn't resist feeling along the pack bond in search of the girl's presence.

Or, rather, I couldn't resist stretching toward where my memory of the pack bond had once lain. Because, like my wolf, our pack's nebulous shared consciousness was now missing in action.

To sooth the ache resulting from suddenly being alone in my own head, I closed my eyes for a moment, soaking up the tranquility of the forest we were traveling through. It was easy to run blind along our current trail, and it felt good to stretch my senses to their limits. Even without my wolf lending her assistance, I could occasionally catch a whiff of Glen, Ginger, and Quill as they trotted along in my wake. High above our heads, a scarlet tanager sang his raspy tune, while below me...

...below me a warm but motionless body tumbled me out of my reverie and back into the present. I'd literally tripped over Cinnamon's prone form before I saw him. And when I looked down, I nearly lost my lunch.

The trouble twin's fur had turned a more rusty red than its usual ginger hue due to copious quantities of dried blood. Wounds dotted his body from head to tail, and the male who usually vibrated with energy and good humor was now as still as death.

For a gut-wrenching moment, in fact, I didn't think his wolf was even breathing. Immediately, my throat tightened in despair. Lost....

But, finally, Cinnamon's ribcage slowly rose and lowered, and my lungs mimicked the motion as I inhaled a gasping breath of air. Only then did I realize that I'd shifted back to human form without conscious volition and that a twig was sticking into my bare skin as I knelt by my injured pack mate's side. But I didn't move except to lean closer to the comatose wolf's warm body.

My brain was fuzzy from the shift, which might be why I couldn't quite figure out what had happened. Our attackers wouldn't have followed us all the way from the campground to this national forest, would they? But what else could have torn Cinnamon to shreds? A bear?

"Where's Lia?" Ginger pushed me out of the way and slapped her brother hard across his furry muzzle. Although her aggression wasn't aimed at me, the female trouble twin's actions jolted me out of my dream-like state and I realized what I'd been missing. Our youngest pack mate wasn't lying wounded by her cousin's side, and a quick glance up and down the trail showed no signs of her smaller form either. The girl was well and truly gone.

Cinnamon stirred, although he seemed too exhausted to shift and clue us in to what had recently occurred. Still, his twin bond allowed the pair to speak without words. So I wasn't surprised when Ginger's face became even more grim before she passed along the news.

"It was the same wolves from this morning," she said simply. Then, commanding our pack as if I wasn't even present, she ordered, "Spread out and see if you can find Lia's trail. We might still be able to catch them if we run fast enough."

Glen and Quill had remained four-footed while the trouble twin and I examined our fallen comrade, and they now obeyed Ginger immediately, sniffing in a broadening circle around Cinnamon's bloody body. There would be two trails, I knew, one tracing the path by which the attackers had arrived and one pointing to where they'd gone after doing their dirty work. If Lia was alive and walking, it would be easy to hone in on the proper direction. But if not, we'd be forced to guess which trail wended into the past and which into the future.

Sure enough, Glen yipped once, eyes hooded as he picked out a trail, and Quill soon repeated the gesture from the other side of us. The two wolves looked to me for direction, but how was I supposed to know where Lia had been taken?

The pack bond, my wolf whispered, her voice a mere thread of sound within our shared body. She was right, of course. But I'd barely been able to catch the elusive fragment when in lupine form, and I knew my strength had long since faded beyond the ability to don fur once again.

Still, I had to try. I closed my eyes and concentrated as best I could while Cinnamon's labored breathing and the knowledge that Lia was being drawn further and further away from us with every second of delay tore at my attention.

Nothing. It was like staring down into a well at midnight--any sign of the pack bond was well and truly absent.

So I raised my hands in surrender and guessed. "I don't know, Glen," I said quietly. "How about you take the trail you're on and Quill can take the other?"

Beside me, Ginger growled out her frustration even as she fell back down into fur. I could tell from the drag to her steps as she followed after Quill that the trouble twin was just as exhausted as I was. But she loved her cousin and wasn't willing to relinquish any faint hope that the lost girl might yet be found alive.

I loved Lia too, of course. But there was nothing I could do when shifting again was beyond my abilities. So I settled into the only job remaining--nursing Cinnamon back to health.

***

"LIA'S GONE," HUNTER said, stepping out of the woods moments later. His timing was suspicious and I should have grabbed the thick branch lying just within arm's reach, then threatened the uber-alpha until he left my wounded pack mate alone.

But, instead, I found myself springing to my feet and running toward his strength. Hunter was as naked as I was, probably having shifted only moments earlier, and he didn't seem to know what to do with the body slamming up against his own. After an agonizing pause, though, his muscular arms rose to wrap around me.

His hug was tentative at first. But then his embrace tightened as I clung to his shoulder blades, fighting back tears.

"Dead?" I asked with a gulp when I finally felt capable of opening my mouth without keening.

I stumbled as Hunter thrust me back at arm's length. His dark brows lowered menacingly over amber eyes nearly hidden by enlarged pupils. "Dead?" he parroted back. Wolf-like, he shook his head vigorously as if trying to push water out of his ears. "No, of course not," he continued after searching my face for a moment. "The SSS doesn't kill the halfies they take right away. We have time to find her."

I collapsed onto the leaves like a puppet whose strings had been cut. I'd steeled myself against the worst, and, somehow, hearing that Lia was still alive took that strength right out of me.

"That's good news," Hunter said, clearly confused by my actions. "Right?"

His wolf was so rampant now that I was surprised the bloodling was able to spit out human words. But I appreciated the semblance of humanity since it helped me regain my own senses. Feeling like I was a thousand years old, I nonetheless forced myself back to my feet and grabbed Hunter's hand, leading him over to join me on the ground by Cinnamon's side. The trouble twin had dropped into an exhausted slumber a few minutes earlier, and he seemed to rest easier when I stroked his fur. So I resumed my ministrations while gathering my composure back around me.

"Of course it's a good thing," I said at last. Yes, it was wonderful that Lia was presumably still alive. On the other hand, imagining the sixteen year old's terror at being captured and her fate if we were unable to reach her in time made the pack's recent shared pain over her cut foot seem like a bee sting by comparison.

I just need to make sure we find her as quickly as possible, I decided. Which meant figuring out everything Hunter knew about the Shifter Sanitation Society so we could plan a fast and effective strike.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded, changing gears and looking at Hunter with the assessing gaze I should have used in the first place. My previous show of girlish emotions was embarrassing, and I made up for it now by casting a flurry of questions in the uber-alpha's direction. "How did you find me and how did you know to look for Lia?"

Now it was Hunter's turn to avert his eyes, and I didn't miss the evasiveness in his reply. "I spoke to Savannah Abrams' mother this morning," he said finally. "Imagine my surprise to learn that one Fen Young was also on her way to interrogate the worried parent."

Flared nostrils were the only sign of the uber-alpha's annoyance, but a shiver ran down my spine nonetheless. It looked like my wolf was alert enough for Hunter's dominance to affect us, even if she didn't seem keen on joining in the conversation. Just what I needed--a wolf too weak to help out, but just strong enough to get us both killed.

"Yeah, we were headed that way," I mumbled when my companion seemed to require confirmation of Mrs. Abrams' information. I winced, steeling myself to be struck by a blast of icy alpha dominance.

"I thought we'd agreed that you'd head west?" Hunter said through clenched teeth. But the virtual blow I'd been expecting wasn't forthcoming. And despite the danger possibly lurking in the woods around us and the very real threat that Hunter presented to my weak wolf, I couldn't help but laugh from relief.

"You agreed we'd head west," I told my companion firmly. "But my pack and I decided that since Lia and I are halfies and have a vested interest in this issue, we might as well check it out and see what's going on."

There was no way to describe the sound that emerged from Hunter's lips other than "growl." Okay, maybe "snarl" would do the trick too. Not a good sign. It looked like his wolf--always awake, but usually in check--was in almost complete control of their shared body now.

Sure enough, the first hints of fur began sprouting from the skin of Hunter's forearms, and I didn't want to wait around and see what would happen next if the uber-alpha's annoyed animal half won out over his thin veneer of humanity. So I did the only thing I could think of...or maybe I should say the one thing I'd kept thinking about over and over ever since Hunter marched into my life.

I reached across Cinnamon's nearly lifeless body to grab the uber-alpha's hair where skull met neck. Then I pulled his mouth down to meet mine.

As before, Hunter was frozen for an instant by my forwardness. But then his lips claimed my own, and I realized that the reality of kissing the uber-alpha was as different from my earlier daydream as the change in my vision when I left wolf form behind. A world that had once seemed a near gray-scale of blue and pale yellow abruptly exploded into a rainbow of passion.

For several long moments, I forgot about wounded and lost pack mates, weak inner wolves, and sadistic secret societies. There was simply no way to focus on the wider world when the uber-alpha in front of me was sucking my consciousness deep into his soul.

Instead, my reality had tunneled down to two simple facts. Hunter was kissing me. And Hunter was my mate.

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# Chapter 14

"Seriously?" Ginger's angry exclamation hit me at the same moment her body slammed into Hunter's side, deftly knocking us apart. She attacked the uber-alpha with fingernails that worked as well as claws, raking red stripes down her opponent's chest before he was able to capture her hands with his own.

"Cinnamon is dying, Lia is missing, and this is what you're doing?" Ginger shrieked, wrenching herself around in Hunter's arms so she could face me. "Kissing him?"

"Cinnamon's not dying," I answered, red-faced. Yes, Ginger was right--letting my attraction for Hunter sidetrack me from the really important issues at hand had been a bad move. But I couldn't quite figure out why the young woman was so irate.

Intense worry over her twin was the only feasible explanation, so I rushed to set her mind at ease. "He's stopped bleeding and his vitals are steady. Yes, your brother's hurt and he's exhausted, but he's going to be fine."

I glanced at Hunter, asking him without words to release my pack mate from his grasp. The uber-alpha raised one eyebrow, clearly convinced that Ginger would simply transform back into the blazing ball of fury that had pushed apart our lip-lock if she wasn't imprisoned by his iron grip. Still, he obeyed, unhanding the young woman and taking two long steps backwards as if putting space between himself and a rabid skunk recently released from a live trap.

Ginger immediately dropped to her knees beside her brother, her fingers frantically pushing through the matted fur around his lupine throat until she, presumably, found a pulse. I only then realized that Cinnamon's earlier whining had stilled some time ago, meaning that he had, indeed, looked dead when his sister came on the scene. No wonder a single tear dripped down Ginger's cheek before she angrily dashed it away.

With Cinnamon's vitality confirmed, I thought we were out of the figurative woods. But when the trouble twin rose to her feet once again, her ire was aimed directly at me. "So that's your solution? At the first hint of adversity, you're ready to throw away our hard-earned independence and go to him for assistance?"

I wrinkled my brow in confusion. Yes, I'd been thinking about asking Hunter for help in finding Lia, but I hadn't actually voiced my thoughts. Leave it to Ginger to assume that an uncontrollable kiss had instead been a calculated ploy to bring a reluctant ally over to our team.

"Calm down," I told my angry pack mate. Then, glancing in the uber-alpha's direction to see how he'd take my reply, I added: "We're not throwing away any of our independence, but Hunter is the obvious solution to finding Lia. He's already been on the trail of the SSS for a while now and he's strong...."

To my relief, Hunter nodded as if agreeing to lend his support to our upcoming adventure. Ginger was less complacent, though.

"He's strong," the trouble twin spat back. "Is that all that matters to you? I'm strong. You're strong...or would be if you didn't keep your wolf on such a tight leash. You and I have been doing fine leading our group together and we'll do even better now that you've finally figured out the pack bond. We don't need a bloodling to step between us."

Hunter growled and I glanced away from the angry trouble twin in order to meet the uber-alpha's eyes. Had the object of my affections so quickly changed his mind about helping Lia? I didn't think so. But I got the distinct impression that I was missing something obvious, something that both he and Ginger were dancing around with both their gazes and their words.

This whole argument just didn't make any sense. Sure, emotions were high ever since Lia went missing, but I couldn't quite understand why everyone was so angry all of a sudden.

"You're going to have to spell it out for her," Hunter said after a moment of intense silence. It had been obvious that the uber-alpha and the trouble twin shared a deep-seated antipathy ever since they first met, so I was surprised now to see the former pointing his words in Ginger's direction. This was the first time Hunter had deigned to give the trouble twin the time of day, and she certainly didn't seem to deserve his regard after flying off the handle. So why was the uber-alpha eying my friend with something that distinctly resembled pity?

Like a cat watching a ping-pong match, I turned my head to see what Ginger would make of a statement that hadn't clued me in at all. Surely the redhead would be as blindsided by Hunter's non sequitur as I was.

But, instead, she just got angrier. The furious blush on her cheeks now rivaled the color of her hair as she ground out: "Seriously? Like she doesn't know how I feel."

The trouble twin's pair of ice-blue eyes bored into mine, the stare a clear lupine challenge. And if I'd had a wolf worth her salt, the two of us would have inevitably come to blows.

But my animal half was sound asleep and my human side saw no reason to fight over what must be a misunderstanding. So I raised both hands in the air in confused surrender.

"I have no clue what you're talking about," I offered finally when both of my companions seemed unwilling to let the issue--whatever it was--drop until I'd chimed in on the matter. "I understand you're not a fan of Hunter and I understand that you're worried about Lia and Cinnamon. So am I. Well, I mean, so am I to the last two points. But I have to admit I am a fan of Hunter. He's never done anything other than help us out of tight spots...."

My voice trailed off as I remembered the event that had initiated our original tight spot. Still, I'd worked past my anger at Hunter for thrusting us unceremoniously out of our original pack. He'd thought he had my best interests at heart, and maybe he'd been right.

More recently, the uber-alpha had proven to be a remarkably steadfast companion and a wolf I was happy to have at my back. So, yes, I stood by my initial assessment. I was a fan of Hunter.

"Unbelievable," Ginger said after yet another lengthy silence. "You're telling me you haven't been treating me like a partner all this time, letting me lead hunts and brushing up against me."

Brushing up against her? I shook my head, deciding not to touch that part of her statement with a ten-foot pole. "Of course I let you lead hunts," I said as slowly and as calmly as I could. The two of us needed to remember that we were pack mates in a dicey situation and tone this altercation way the hell down. "Your wolf is the strongest one we've got and mine is chicken shit. It would be absurd to try to take that right away from you."

Ginger clenched her jaw and closed her eyes for a second, clearly trying to rejoin me in the land of rationality. But her next words continued to make no sense. "Okay, let's start over. Why do you think we came with you on this ill-fated expedition into outpack territory in the first place?"

I'd asked myself this same question during many wakeless nights as I listened to my new pack mates slumbering all around me, so this time I had a ready answer for the trouble twin's nosy question. "Well, Glen felt obligated, I think," I said, ashamed of myself for letting any of these young shifters be drawn into my outcast status against their will. "He and I have been pack mates for a lot longer than the rest of you. And after a mutual friend died, I think he felt responsible for making sure I didn't get myself killed too."

Ginger rolled one hand in the air to speed me up. She clearly didn't care why Glen had thrown away a safe life at Haven to follow a half-assed halfie into the wilds of outpack territory.

"Lia, I think, came along because she wanted a half-blood role model," I mused. "Plus, with you there, she felt safe. Cinnamon...."

I looked down at the comatose wolf, my throat tightening as I remembered the danger I'd drawn all of these wolves into due to my own weakness. But Ginger's stern gaze demanded an answer, so I continued with my assessment. "Cinnamon came because you came."

"And why did I come?" Ginger asked, pausing between each word as if speaking to a five-year-old...or someone in need of a swift kick in the butt. It was easy to guess which of the two options my companion thought best represented me.

"You came to have fun?" I guessed.

"And is that why you kissed me?" she demanded. "To have fun?"

I wrinkled up my brow in continued confusion and Hunter's growl grew louder and more ominous as Ginger's words rang out across the still forest air. "I didn't kiss you," I replied, my words finally taking on a bite of their own. I knew I called Ginger a trouble twin, but I hadn't expected the young woman to take her name quite so literally while we were in such a precarious situation. "You kissed me to get Quill's attention."

Now it was Ginger's turn to growl. And, to my surprise, Hunter broke out into a laugh in response. "Completely clueless, remember?" he rumbled from the other side of me.

The young woman who ably held all of our attention in her manicured hands took a deep breath, and for a split second I thought I could feel her heightened emotions within my own belly. That rabid skunk I mentioned earlier? It seemed to be tearing my friend apart from the inside out.

I winced, hoping Ginger would hurry up and put us both out of our misery. But when she spoke, I had to admit I'd rather have maintained my previous blissful ignorance.

"I joined your pack, I led your hunts, I kissed you, because I loved you," the young woman muttered.

And even through my shock, I couldn't miss her pointed use of the past tense.

***

"I..." I STARTED TO say I was sorry to have led Ginger on. But I hadn't led her on, at least not purposefully. I'd just assumed she enjoyed filling her position of power within our pack. I'd merely treated her like a girl friend.

A friend who's a girl, that is. Not a girlfriend.

Ack! I was beginning to see why Ginger might have been confused by the whole situation.

"But you're always flirting with guys," I said finally, trying to understand. "That whole bar full of outpack males last night. Quill. Everyone."

"I was just trying to get your attention," the teenager muttered, eyes averted.

Abruptly, I felt sorry for her. Ginger was a pack princess and had almost certainly been cosseted her entire life. While I only had two additional years on her, my halfie heritage and the months I'd spent clan-less during my time as a troubled teenager had forced me to grow up fast. As a result, I couldn't remember ever feeling as young as Ginger currently appeared.

So I apologized after all. "I'm sorry," I said, reaching out to pull her into a hug, then changing my mind at the last minute and instead merely patting her shoulder. "It's no reflection on you that I'm not interested, though. I just don't swing that way."

"You don't swing that way?" Ginger flicked one painted nail through my untended hair, trailed the same fingertip down across my tattooed arms. "This and this and your so-called wardrobe, and you're telling me you're straight?"

I shrugged, hoping against hope that the trouble twin would laugh at my unintentional misrepresentation of my sexuality and let the whole misunderstanding slide. Yes, she'd lost face by hankering after someone who wasn't available, but I'd lost face with my rough dress. So we were even, right?

Wrong.

"Not that it matters now," Ginger said, taking a firm step away from me and picking up a shiny, metallic object that she must have dropped at our feet when attacking Hunter. "The real issue is that you don't have the foggiest clue how to be an alpha. You trust this...this...." She shook her head furiously, clearly unable to come up with a slur strong enough to describe how she felt about the uber-alpha in front of her.

"Asshole?" Hunter suggested unhelpfully.

"Oh, thanks so much for pointing out how you self-identify," Ginger said, verbally tearing into him for thinking he could complete her sentence.

But Hunter's chosen moniker was only a side note in the scathing tear-down the trouble twin had in store for me. Thrusting the object into my hand, she demanded. "Look at this."

Obediently, I turned the shiny thing over and over in my fingers, trying to understand what I was seeing. It resembled a twisted razor blade, but one that was sharp on all sides rather than on just a single surface. I nicked my finger merely examining it, and I wished one of us had been wearing clothes so we could put the treacherous object safely into a pocket before someone else got hurt.

Still, I had no idea what I was looking at. So I raised my eyebrows at the trouble twin in question once again.

She flared her nostrils, clearly thinking no explanation should have been necessary. And, as she elaborated, I figured she was right--a real shifter would have understood the metallic object's past use immediately. Because a real shifter would have been able to smell Lia's blood clinging to its sharp edges.

"I found this razor on the path where Lia cut her foot," Ginger explained, spelling it out for me since I was clearly too slow to make the necessary connections on my own. "Someone dropped it there specifically to injure her so she'd end up separated from the pack and easy to kidnap. Someone who's been sniffing around our group for weeks on end, looking for a weak link. Someone," she added, pointing a finger at Hunter, "exactly like him."

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# Chapter 15

The uber-alpha was lupine in an instant. The hairs on his ruff came menacingly erect and he advanced in absolute silence toward the female trouble twin. Hunter had passed the point of warning, I saw, and was now prepared to deal with the female who had been a thorn in his paw ever since their first introduction.

True to her nickname, Ginger was also ready and willing to meet her opponent on the field of battle. But she'd shifted one too many times that day already and her clenched teeth and strained features made no difference against the simple physics of exhaustion. Instead, she remained clad in thin human skin, no fur and wolf hide forthcoming to protect her from the other shifter's imminent attack.

I guess that means saving my unruly pack mate's neck is up to me.

"Stop!" I ordered, flinging myself between the two combatants. I didn't expect my command to do any good against the uber-alpha...especially since Ginger had made a very valid point about his sudden presence at the exact same moment Lia had gone missing. Rationally, I knew that I should be joining the trouble twin in driving the danger out of our clan.

But, irrationally, I trusted Hunter. He wouldn't have hurt Cinnamon. He wouldn't have kidnapped Lia. And, now, he wouldn't tear through me to get to my obstreperous pack mate.

Or so I hoped. Despite my best intentions to stand as tall and brave as Ginger behind me, my whole body quaked when it dawned on me that Hunter's sharp teeth had ended up inches away from my bare thigh.

The wolf raised one side of his lip in what might have been a snarl...but was, I soon realized, instead the lupine equivalent of a leer. Yes, I had just thrown my crotch directly up against my opponent's nose. All he'd have to do was open his mouth to lick the portion of my anatomy that was feeling distinctly moist....

"This...this...." I lost all grasp of nouns for a moment, but pushed forward nonetheless. "This whatever-it-is can be dealt with later," I said firmly, alternating glances between the irate trouble twin and the amused uber-alpha. "Right now, we need to get Cinnamon some medical attention and then figure out how we're going to find Lia. So the two of you can just get over yourselves for the moment. That's final."

Fake it 'til you make it. My favorite technique, remarkably, seemed to work just as well on a wolf-brain uber-alpha and an incensed pack mate as it did on the world at large. Because Hunter promptly sank into a lupine sit and reached jaws over one shoulder to tease a burr out of his matted fur. Meanwhile, Ginger released the clenched fists that had been resting on her ample hips and crouched back down by her brother's side. Cat-like, the pair of antagonists was momentarily united in the belief that the best course of action was to pretend they'd never menaced each other in the first place.

Disaster averted.

Or mostly averted. "This isn't over, backstabber," the trouble twin muttered just low enough that I could pretend not to hear.

I tensed, waiting for Hunter to dive back into the field of battle. But his ears merely flicked forward briefly then away, accepting the verbal sally without comment.

Before Ginger could prick at the uber-alpha's pride further, Glen and Quill came bounding out of the woods together. To my supreme relief, the scene greeting them looked remarkably like a group of three worried pack mates rather than like enemy armies preparing for battle. And when Glen glanced a quick question at me, I nodded permission for my beta to shift into human form and hoist Cinnamon over one broad shoulder.

"Let's go," I ordered before Hunter or Ginger could renew aggressions. And we turned as a unit--albeit a very disjointed one--to head back toward the parking area that we'd left so gleefully behind only an hour earlier.

***

"THIS IS A WOLF, NOT a dog," the vet said as soon as he walked into the crowded examining room to find a comatose Cinnamon lying atop his examining table.

"Part wolf," I lied glibly, repeating the commonly used pretense that our animal forms were just big puppy dogs and no danger to the general public. "He's harmless, I promise. Gentle as a lamb."

"Uh huh," Dr. Anderson answered, disbelief evident in his voice. He rolled up both sleeves to display a network of scars running up his forearms. "This and this and this were caused by harmless animals too. And this one," he pointed to yet another pale line welting his skin, "was made by an actual lamb."

My pack and I stopped breathing as one. Yes, we could get back on the road and keep driving until we found a second clinic. But Cinnamon hadn't so much as opened his eyes since we'd carefully placed him in the car in the first place. Despite our best efforts to stem the flow of blood, our wounded companion was still leaking vital fluids, and every moment we spent seeking assistance felt like a year hacked off the trouble twin's life expectancy.

I opened my mouth to plead with the human, but he sighed and caved before I could do so. "I'll treat him, but he needs to be muzzled and restrained," Dr. Anderson said firmly.

Around me, three male shifters and I all released sighs of relief. But Ginger was less impressed. Instead, the sound emanating from her throat was a full-formed lupine growl, proof of a loss of control she had never before exhibited around non-shifterkind.

Before I could sidetrack her, the female pushed forward into the vet's face. I held my breath, hoping she'd fall back on her usual weapon of heightened sex appeal in order to solve this problem. But the young woman neither pushed out her breasts nor ran a hand across her full lips. Instead, worry over her brother's waning health had worn away any semblance of civility.

"He's not even conscious," the trouble twin said, her words just short of a shriek and her face more reminiscent of a harpy than a Barbie. Ginger pushed both hands hard against Dr. Anderson's lab-coated chest and knocked him back a step with the force of her blow. "He's losing blood as we speak. He needs help. Just stitch him up. Please."

I was pretty sure that last word had never before come out of my friend's mouth. But the vet wasn't swayed. "Look, ma'am," he said, clearly rethinking his willingness to deal with the crazy people who came along with the wild wolf. "Restraints won't hurt him. They'll just protect us all from an animal who's clearly a scrapper."

As if to illustrate his point, Dr. Anderson motioned at the wounds that covered Cinnamon's unmoving body. And I had to admit the doctor had a good point. In the animal world, a beast who kept fighting while his hide was being torn to shreds wasn't the kind of patient any vet would want on his operating table. In fact, we were probably lucky Dr. Anderson hadn't turned us out of his clinic already.

Little did the man in front of us know that Cinnamon was the most laid-back member of our little band of werewolves. Both his human and his animal natures were inherently gentle 99% of the time. The twin's mean streak only came out when he was trying to protect a cousin who was more like a kid sister than a distant relation.

A cousin who was probably being driven further and further away from our current location with each moment that we wasted discussing muzzles. Muzzles that Cinnamon wouldn't care less about even if he were awake.

"Okay," I agreed for the lot of us, grabbing Ginger's arm and pulling her out of the vet's line of sight. Without looking behind me, I gave the redhead a push away from the conversation, and I felt more than saw that Glen immediately pulled the unhappy female into the confinement of a hug. As usual, my second was ready to deal with every problem I threw his way, both literally and figuratively.

"We'll put any restraints on him that you want," I added. Just hurry, I finished silently.

I could have sworn that Dr. Anderson read the unspoken words in my eyes, which I guess wasn't so surprising since he was trained to deal with animals who couldn't speak in words. Whatever the reason, the vet nodded and left through a back door rather than launching into the lecture I was pretty sure we had coming about the dangers of keeping even a half-wolf on a leash.

I'd heard it all before. Canis lupus is inherently unpredictable, the vet would tell us. A wolf isn't a dog, willing to do what you tell him to while looking up at you with soulful eyes and begging for a treat. No, a wolf is always striving for increased power, watching and waiting for the moment he can tear you down and take his rightful place as the leader of your pack.

Despite myself, I met Hunter's eyes across my friends' heads and shivered. The vet's lecture--or the one I imagined Dr. Anderson wanted to make--resonated far too well with our current situation. I hadn't been lying when I said Cinnamon was as gentle as a lamb, but maybe Ginger had been right about the wolf who I'd recently allowed to wiggle into both my pack and my heart.

But, with only moments to spare before the vet returned, I shook the notion out of my mind and instead got the group moving once again. "We don't all need to be crowded around here while Dr. Anderson stitches Cinnamon up. Glen, maybe you could call Mrs. Abrams and let her know we won't be coming today after all? Quill, could you make a spot in your van where Cinnamon will be more comfortable once the vet's done?"

I cringed as I thought of the way we'd tossed the wounded wolf into the back of our car atop that already bloodstained tent fly during our most recent journey. The repeated visual--first a dead SSS member then a nearly dead pack mate--didn't escape me. Whether or not Cinnamon would indeed be more comfortable in Quill's van, I'd definitely feel less guilt-stricken about the arrangement.

"Sure," Glen agreed, and Quill also offered an easy nod as the two males walked out together.

"Ginger," I began, trying to think of a task I could set for the trouble twin in order to get her out of our hair while Dr. Anderson operated on her brother. I figured she'd be better off not seeing the extent of Cinnamon's injuries with fur shaved away, and she clearly had issues with the concept of her twin constrained by a muzzle.

But before I could dream up a suitable assignment, Ginger had turned her anger back in my direction. "I'll stay right here," she said. "I'm not leaving Cinnamon's side while that traitor is present. I can't believe you even let him come in here with us in the first place."

In my defense, I hadn't actually let Hunter go anywhere. When we'd returned to the small gravel parking lot, we found a shiny new SUV sitting between Quill's faded VW bus and our old, dented jalopy. Hunter had deftly removed the unfamiliar vehicle's key from a magnetic hideaway beneath the wheel well, then he'd donned a slick suit that made him look like an entirely different person from the bloodling I'd recently gotten to know.

From the beginning, I'd understood that Hunter was the primary enforcer for the regional shifter Tribunal. But seeing his fancy wheels and the strong semblance of humanity he now wore like a second skin put his presence in an entirely different perspective. It was more than obvious that I had neither the right nor the ability to prevent the uber-alpha from tagging along on our journey.

Not that I'd tried very hard to send him away. Okay, I hadn't tried at all. Instead, it had soothed my pinched gut to glance in the rear-view mirror and find that Hunter's SUV remained part of our entourage during the hour-long journey to the nearest veterinary clinic.

Of course, that explanation would definitely set the trouble twin off. So I decided to deal with the elephant in the room instead. "Hunter, maybe you could tell Ginger how you were able to find us this afternoon?" I prodded. Honestly, I wanted to know the answer to this question myself, the uber-alpha's previous evasion of the issue having niggled at the back of my mind ever since Ginger threw the challenge up in his face back in the woods.

Despite the fact that his wolf was probably lying in wait just beneath the surface, Hunter now looked like an after-hours businessman with his white shirt unbuttoned just far enough to show a little chest hair. And his response to my question was urbane enough to match his new appearance. "Is that something you really want me to share?" he asked smoothly. One eyebrow raised as he directed the question at the trouble twin instead of at me.

Ginger glared back at him, her own efforts at humanity becoming more lackluster by the moment. In fact, I was pretty sure the female's canines were longer than usual when she opened her mouth to reply. "Why wouldn't I want to know?" she demanded. "It's pretty fishy, don't you think? You buttering up my naive little cousin, then Lia suddenly going missing mere minutes before you show back up in our lives. Are you trying to say that's all just a coincidence?"

Before Hunter could answer, a thin whine brought all of our attention back around to the wounded wolf lying atop the cold steel examining table. As one, we allowed the argument to drop as we clustered in a little circle surrounding Cinnamon. My relief at finding him awake and alert actually made me a little weak in the knees.

"You're going to be okay, you big lug," Ginger said soothingly, stroking her brother's ears gently and pretending not to notice the blood rubbing off from his fur onto her fingertips. Her previous show of lupine aggression had disappeared as quickly as it came, her body language now both calm and calming. "You've just gotta be brave and put on some BDSM ware for the sake of the good doctor," she added, managing to sound wry instead of annoyed.

I could have sworn Cinnamon grinned despite the intense pain he must have been experiencing. But the battered wolf shook his head as if to push the focus of our conversation away from his lacerations. Then he stretched his neck over so he could stick his nose into Ginger's pocket.

"I don't have anything good in there," his sister replied, but she dutifully disinterred the contents anyway. "I know you missed lunch, which has got to be way more traumatic than any mauling," she continued to patter as a couple of napkins with scrawled phone numbers, a tube of lipstick, and finally her cell phone came tumbling out to land on the metal surface beside Cinnamon's wet nose. "But once you're all stitched up, Fen will buy you the juiciest hamburger you've ever seen. Or maybe a steak. How about that?"

In a completely uncharacteristic display of fixation, Cinnamon showed no interest in the delights on his culinary agenda. Instead, he struggled to his feet, pulling open partially scabbed-over wounds in the process so blood once again started dropping splat by splat onto the now smeared operating table.

"Hey, shh," Ginger said, trying to push her brother back down. "You need to stay calm for just a few more minutes...."

Submissive Cinnamon generally did whatever his sister said. But now he ignored Ginger's admonitions and poked at her cell phone with his nose. Despite lacking thumbs, he managed to swipe the device to life--and leave a smear of wolf boogers on the screen in the process--before the phone tumbled off the edge of the table and clattered to the tile floor.

Ginger's attachment to her cell phone was a subject of frequent teasing in our little pack. Still, the look on the trouble twin's face as she peered down at the screen went above and beyond any obsession with possibly damaged electronics. "Oh no," she whispered, one hand covering her mouth.

"Oh yes," Hunter said grimly, picking up the cell phone and handing it to me so I could see what had gotten everyone so riled up.

For a moment, I was confused. I barely used my own phone except for planning out driving routes and stopping points. So it took me a moment to realize what I was seeing.

There was Ginger's Facebook page, five thousand friends proving that she was as popular in the electronic world as she'd been on top of that bar table last night. There was her profile icon, in which she appeared to be wearing nothing at all except a smile.

And there was her most recent status update, telling precisely when and where we'd decided to hunt for our lunch.

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# Chapter 16

The realization that she had been the one setting the SSS on our heels all this time shut Ginger up long enough for Dr. Anderson to repair her brother and send us on our way with one bottle of antibiotics and another of painkillers. "With any other patient, I'd offer to keep him overnight," the vet said quietly as Ginger fluttered around her twin and Hunter scooped the wounded werewolf up off the operating table as easily as if the hundred-plus-pound animal was a grocery bag full of toilet paper. "But I really don't want to risk a wounded wolf waking up around people he doesn't know."

The man's eyes bored into mine, and the lecture I knew was coming created a near-solid wall in the air between us. I sighed and caved.

"You're going to give me the phone number of a wolf-rescue agency now," I said, providing the human with the opening he needed to rebuild his own peace of mind. It was the least I could do when Dr. Anderson had been so kind despite being less than thrilled to have a supposedly wild animal on his operating table. The vet had been a consummate professional regardless of his reservations, his hands gentle on Cinnamon's lacerated skin. He deserved this opportunity to vent his feelings.

"No. Well yes, but...." Dr. Anderson closed his eyes for a moment, and I could tell he was wavering between speaking his mind or just letting us go.

And as much as I wanted to get out the door before Ginger lost control of her inner animal or Cinnamon accidentally went two-legged, I paused. My sleepy wolf was nudging me wordlessly, as if she'd noticed something about our preceding exchange that I'd missed. And since my animal half seemed unwilling or unable to clue me in further, I figured I'd better get the doctor's feedback after all.

So I used everything I'd learned about body language to put the veterinarian more at ease. I rounded my shoulders, dipped my chin down, and opened my mouth in unstated question. It seemed like a lot of effort just to bring on the same spiel I'd heard a dozen times before. But if the gesture would make my inner wolf happy....

And Dr. Anderson took the bait. "I know this sounds unbelievable since large predators were eradicated from this area centuries ago," he said quietly. "But I'm certain I've seen a pack of gray wolves around here multiple times over the last few weeks. Not coyotes, but wolves. So, if you don't want Cinnamon getting torn up a second time, it's probably safer to keep your pet indoors for a while."

The human rubbed one hand across his close-cropped beard as if second-guessing his assessment even as he made it. But I held no doubts on that score. From what little Hunter had told me, the SSS had thoroughly claimed this portion of outpack territory as their own. It wouldn't surprise me at all if the same rogue shifters ignored the rules against being seen by humans and simply ran when and where they wanted to as a pack.

"Any place in particular?" I asked carefully, trying not to put my growing excitement on display. This might be the clue we needed to discover where Lia and Savannah Abrams were being held, and it was all I could do not to grab onto the veterinarian's shoulders and shake the information right out of him.

"Multiple locations," Dr. Anderson answered, confusion evident on his face. I obviously hadn't produced the reaction he was expecting, and I kicked myself for not throwing a little shock and worry into the mix before diving directly into question time. Oh well, what was done was done, and it looked like I'd gotten all the information I was going to get.

I opened my mouth to thank the vet. But before I could speak, Dr. Anderson dredged up a little more data.

"The one place I've heard about them the most is out on state route 603, down past the county landfill. A couple of farmers who live in that direction said a wolf pack shows up like clockwork every Friday evening around dusk." The vet smiled, amused by the idea that wild animals planned out their lives by clock and calendar. "I'd be willing to bet that any howls are just high-school kids having a good time, though," he added. "There aren't many unattended places to go around here if you're underage and want to yuk it up."

Dr. Anderson shrugged, and I let the subject drop, thanking him profusely for his time and for the care he'd taken with Cinnamon. But, inside, I was dancing with glee.

Because, Hunter had told us that the SSS didn't kill their prey right away, that they instead seemed to save the captured half-wolves to be murdered ceremoniously. And what better place to disembowel a young female than down a deserted country road where even wolf sightings barely caused the neighbors to raise an eyebrow?

***

WE HAD FORTY-EIGHT hours until Lia would be frog-marched across a secluded pasture, tied down, and used to fill some void within the SSS's darkened souls. Forty-eight hours to make a plan, to do enough legwork to ensure said plan wouldn't result in our youngest pack mate's demise, and to rebuild the inter-shifter connections that I was certain would be critical to our strategy's eventual success.

So what did we do first? Take a long nap, of course.

It seemed that Hunter's role as Tribunal enforcer had some perks after all, the most evident of which was a credit card with no apparent limit. I could almost see the word Suh-weet! appear in a thought bubble above Cinnamon's lupine head when our not-quite-pack-mate showed us the entire floor of a nearby Holiday Inn that he'd rented out for our use. Then, after a couple of hours of shut-eye, a delivery guy dropped off what appeared to be enough food to fuel a moderate-sized army, and even Ginger started looking at the uber-alpha with a bit more fondness in her eyes.

We ate with the wild abandon of wolves, our animal halves understanding that warm calories would go a long way toward easing the ache that had taken up residence in the pits of our stomachs. The meat and carbs were gone in a heartbeat and our paper plates were bare save a few stray florets of broccoli when I finally I broke the silence. "We need to make a plan," I told the shifters spread out across the giant king-sized bed, chairs, and floor in the room we'd gravitated toward. What can I say--you can lead a crowd of werewolves to separate rooms, but you can't make the pack sleep apart.

"A plan sounds good," Ginger agreed, but her tone wasn't as agreeable as it might have been. I'd hoped that a couple of hours of sleep followed by the vision of her brother limping around on his own four paws would set the young woman's mind at ease. But, instead, she remained just as prickly as she'd been ever since stumbling upon Hunter's and my first kiss.

"Problem?" I asked, figuring we might as well get that bee out of her bonnet. Ginger didn't so much smolder as seethe. And the longer you let her stew, the hotter the flames of her anger became when they eventually erupted out into the open.

"Yes, since you ask, there is a problem," Ginger agreed. She gave Hunter the evil eye and proceeded to beat the dead horse that we'd already pounded about half a mile into the earth. "Our plan should be shared with pack mates only. And he's not pack."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before speaking to make sure my own words didn't come out sounding equally bitter. "We've been over this already, Ginger. Hunter may not be part of this pack, but he cares about Lia. And, in case you haven't figured it out yet, it's his job to track down the SSS. That's why he can afford to put us up here." I waved my hands around at the spic-and-span furnishings that put our previous night's accommodations to shame.

"Oh, and now your head is turned by money?" the trouble twin demanded.

The issue was a ludicrous waste of time, especially after Ginger had proven to all of our satisfaction that she, rather than Hunter, had been the unwitting traitor in our midst. Luckily, there was one easy way to shut her up.

"Okay, we'll vote on it," I caved, knowing that everyone else had a more rational understanding of our need for the uber-alpha's support during the hunt ahead. Surely our other pack mates understood that there was no reason to dive into a rescue with only butter knives when we could take a machine gun to the fight.

To my surprise, the pack bond flickered to life in the air before me as I spoke, and I slid my gaze around the room to see if anyone else had noticed the strange phenomenon. Nope, no dropped jaws and expressions of surprise. No inventive swear words and half-baked theories. So the glowing lines that now bounced back and forth between us as if alive were only there for me to see...assuming I wasn't hallucinating the image.

To test that hypothesis, I tugged gently on the strand connecting me with Glen. And to my surprise, my second spoke up as if I'd nudged him physically. "Yes, definitely. We need every shifter we can get our hands on to protect Lia. Hunter is an asset."

I nodded with approval and reached forward next to tweak the tether connecting me to Ginger. This strand of starlight was twice as wide as the others, as if the energy the trouble twin had invested in her misplaced crush had built up our connection beyond ordinary levels. I hope that means she'll start to see reason soon, I thought as I plucked the glowing thread like a guitar string.

"Ow!" Ginger flinched back as if I'd struck her and I raised my hands skyward in apology. Sorry, I mouthed. I guess I hadn't realized the full power of the pack bond after all.

To remedy my faux pas, I visualized sending a ball of calming energy down the line. And to my surprise the effort bore immediate fruit. Ginger's tense posture relaxed a trifle and she graced me with her signature one-sided smile, the one which had been distinctly lacking during the previous twelve hours.

Still, when the trouble twin spoke, she hadn't changed her tune. "No," she said simply.

That was exactly what I'd expected, so I didn't argue the point and instead turned my attention to Cinnamon. The wounded wolf had collapsed onto the bed beside his sister after stuffing his face with pizza and sweet-and-sour chicken, and he barely raised his muzzle out of his sister's lap when the attention of the pack turned in his direction. Poor guy was probably having trouble tracking our conversation despite his recent nap, and I hoped we could send him back to bed in short order.

Still, Cinnamon was apparently following along well enough to know I was waiting for his decision on Hunter's tenure within our band. No. The word materialized within my mind, and now it was my turn to jolt in surprise at the mixture of emotions that traveled along with the word down our shared tether. The pack bond's depth of connection continued to astound me.

I opened my mouth to translate for those still in the dark. But the male trouble twin was way ahead of me, shaking his head in a visual confirmation of his predictable stance. Cinnamon might have been bosom buddies with Hunter in any other situation, but he would now and forever choose to back his sister up. So he, like Ginger, voted to have the uber-alpha summarily ejected from our pack.

I shrugged and motioned to Quill. The cowboy shifter would vote yes, then I'd break the tie, I knew. Ginger would inevitably grouse and moan for a few hours. But we'd eventually get where we needed to go--toward a newfound pack solidarity that allowed us to rely on Hunter's uber-alpha abilities when needed. Our pack would no longer be divided, and our shared skills would make short work of busting Lia out of her prison.

Or not. "No, I don't trust him," Quill said quietly. His tether to the group was barely visible, a tiny thread that hardly reached beyond the closest pack mate--Ginger. Even my own connection to the cowboy shifter was invisible across the ten-foot distance that lay between us, and I couldn't feel his presence in my mind at all.

In contrast, I noticed now that Hunter's tie to our pack was much more obvious than the other male's. Actually, the brilliance and width of the uber-alpha's intangible bond was twice as thick as the one connecting me to Ginger, meaning that it was also considerably stronger than the iron tether that bound the two twins together.

Okay, so that wasn't entirely true. Yes, Hunter was linked into our group more firmly than anyone else was. But his linkage wasn't really to the pack as a whole. It was to me alone.

Not quite right, my wolf reiterated, our shared slumber having given her the energy to kibitz at will. The bond....

Later, I ordered. I didn't care if Ginger and Cinnamon and Quill...and even my animal half...didn't trust the uber-alpha. Hunter was bound to me--I could see that with my own two eyes. And the tether we shared was enough to prove that he had our best interests at heart.

So I dismantled the previously democratic governance of our pack with a single sentence. "I appreciate everyone's feedback," I stated firmly, "but Hunter is in."

And, in front of my eyes, the tether that had bound me to Ginger snapped in half, my weaker tie to Cinnamon disappearing right along with his sister's. My eyes widened as the broken ropes of light flung back in my direction, the recoil knocking me backwards against the wall as the bitter ends hit.

I lay there stunned for a solid minute. And when I finally shook off the pain and opened my eyes, no indication of our previous clan cohesion was now visible in the air.

I wanted to think the pack bond's current absence was simply in my own mind, a reaction to having been literally slapped in the face by Ginger's dismay. Surely this was just another example of the recoil I'd experienced earlier that afternoon when I fumbled the network of threads and dropped the cat's cradle of connection into a tangled mass at my feet.

Yes, that former incident had been painful for both me and my wolf, but we'd been able to pick the pack bond back up after a nice long nap then. I hoped we'd be equally capable of resurrecting the clan connections this time around as well.

But I had a bad feeling that what I'd just witnessed was instead the dismantling of a troupe that had never been fully bonded to their alpha in the first place. And the vastly increased pain in my gut suggested that we'd just lost the one ace in the hole we possessed in our upcoming battle against the Shifter Sanitation Society.

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# Chapter 17

"Today we plan and practice," the uber-alpha said the next morning. "Tomorrow we rest. Then we hit the ground running thirty-six hours from now at sunset. So let's make those minutes count."

Every gaze in the room turned to meet mine, waiting to see how I'd react to the fact that Hunter had effectively wrested control of our current operation out of my grip. I didn't see what the big deal was, though. It wasn't as if I'd ever been the kind of alpha who refused to share leadership opportunities. Case in point--the fact that Ginger and Glen had been heading up our fur-form hunts for as long as we'd been together.

Still, I did have some agenda items to add to Hunter's simplistic analysis of the situation. "Sounds good," I agreed, then began tossing out orders. "Ginger, I want you to see if you can find any evidence of the SSS online. They've got to be communicating somehow, and the internet is the most effective way to do that. Secret Facebook groups, members-only forums, email lists. See what you can dig up."

"No need to teach your grandmother how to suck eggs," the trouble twin muttered. Her eyes were still flashing from her earlier annoyance, but she obediently pulled out her smartphone and got to work. As our most internet savvy pack member, I trusted that if any evidence was out there on the World Wide Web, Ginger would find it.

"Glen, we need some sort of tracking device. Small, easy to hide against the skin, and with a long range."

"On it," my second agreed, but his eyes were troubled. I could tell he'd already made the mental leap and knew where I was going with this request. But all he said was, "Okay if I take the car?"

"All yours," I said, tossing over the keys from the top of the bureau beside me.

Then I turned my gaze to the Tribunal enforcer, whose eyes were narrowing with suspicion. "Hunter, do you think you can scout out the meeting grounds, see if you catch any sign of shifters without leaving your own scent trail behind? It would be nice to know if we have the right location now rather than showing up at an empty field tomorrow evening."

I'd hoped the challenge would be enough to derail him from putting two and two together and figuring out what I intended to do the next day. Because even though Hunter hadn't repeated his four-letter assessment of our relationship--or our kiss--I had a feeling the uber-alpha wouldn't be thrilled by my plan B.

No such luck. "Quill can do that," Hunter growled, his stare boring into my face so strongly that I found myself incapable of looking away.

My wolf must have been more alert than usual after nine hours prone on an actual mattress, because I felt the uber-alpha's emotions as if they were a physical substance creeping up my legs and invading my skin. Everything around me became muffled, a ringing started up within my ears, and I couldn't so much as swallow down the lump that had lodged within my throat.

To my surprise, support emerged from an unlikely location. My wolf--weak, lily-livered coward that she usually was--came to my aid. She rose up through our shared body, pushing my human consciousness out of the way and peering out from behind our eyes. Then, with a show of force that had nothing to back it up, she snarled and snapped at the uber-alpha. And to my surprise, the fog stifling my senses abruptly receded.

Hunter glanced aside for an instant as if chagrined by his own over-reaction. But when he turned back in my direction, he wasn't ready to let the issue drop. "If you plan to use yourself as bait," he said, the words an order, "then it's high time you learned how to handle that hunk of metal you carry around. Turn it into a real weapon rather than a walking stick. Let's go."

***

"I'M NOT GOING TO SWING at you," I said to the werewolf who currently glared at me from the other side of the clearing.

An hour ago, Hunter had dragged me away from my pack and into the air-conditioned comfort of his SUV. He'd deftly wound up curvy, gravel roads into the national forest until we reached a secluded pull-off spot not much different from the one where we'd begun our ill-fated hunt the day before. Then, wordlessly, he led me to the location where I now stood contemplating the idea of hacking into someone who I was tentatively beginning to call a friend, cutting him apart with a katana so sharp it could slice smooth lines through thick paper. The training exercise seemed like a very bad idea.

"I've been watching you," the uber-alpha said quietly, circling around me with such soft footfalls that I barely believed he still retained his human form. The wolf that was always rampant behind his eyes now seemed to be speaking through the human's lips, and I shivered at the force of his words.

"You use that sword so you don't have to call upon your animal half," my companion continued. "That I understand--when she sleeps, you're protected from alpha compulsions. It's smart to work to your strengths."

I wouldn't precisely call my half-assed wolf a strength, but Hunter appeared to be trying to give me a compliment. So I nodded cagily, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It didn't take long for him to get to the point. "But you just defend, defend, defend," the uber-alpha continued smoothly as he stalked around in a circle, making me swivel to face him. "That's not going to be enough to spring Lia from the SSS."

I shook my head, not in negation of my companion's analysis but in an effort to push aside the obvious facts. Yes, Hunter was right. If it came down to choosing Lia's safety over that of a nameless psycho shifter, the answer was obvious. I would skewer those suckers.

Still, that didn't mean I was willing to hack Hunter apart until he looked like Cinnamon just for the sake of practice. In fact, the thought accelerated my heart rate even more as it drew to mind the wounded trouble twin's actions this very morning.

Cinnamon had been bound and determined to help with today's preparations. But he'd barely managed to shift into human form and state his willingness to join our strike force before conking back out on the bed. In response, I'd met Ginger's eyes and she'd nodded her understanding. On that one point we were in full agreement--Cinnamon would not be a part of the action tomorrow even if we had to chain him to a table leg to achieve that end.

"Focus," the uber-alpha said softly.

Blinking my eyes to clear my mind, I realized my opponent had taken advantage of my wandering thoughts to step so close he could have reached out and pulled the sword out of my clenched fists. Which is precisely what I thought he planned to do at first, until I realized the uber-alpha was instead slipping a thin skin over the length of my blade. The motion was so reminiscent of rolling on a condom that I flushed beet red.

Nice visual, my wolf whispered. Beside me, Hunter's lips quirked up in response, and I almost thought he'd caught the gist of the animal's words.

Shh, I growled more than whispered. Then, aloud, I demanded to know: "What's that?"

"Protection," Hunter answered, laughter rippling beneath his simple answer. The evocative pun begged the question--could my companion really have read my mind?

I shook my head to dislodge what I knew to be an impossibility. Unless I put effort into sending communications from myself to another pack mate, I'd never heard another shifter's words inside my head and I doubted my companions had ever heard mine. We were werewolves, not mind readers.

"You'd still end up bruised as anything even if I can't cut into you," I said, turning aside the dangerous direction of our nonverbal conversation by dint of focusing on our equally dangerous physical reality.

"But I won't be bloody," Hunter amended. "It won't be the first or the last time I've been knocked around, and bruises won't impact my ability to fight tomorrow." Then the air shimmered ever so slightly as he twisted to one side, managing to drop his clothes emptily to the ground as he achieved sleek lupine stature more quickly than any shifter I'd ever met before.

Hunter was beautiful as a wolf. Beautiful like a shiny torpedo or an approaching tornado, that is. He growled and lunged forward as if to strike, and despite myself I flung my sword up between us in guard position.

The uber-alpha wasn't on the defensive at all, and I could have easily thrust my weapon deep into his belly, jerked down, and ended the battle then and there. Well, I could have if my katana hadn't sported a padded tip that would prevent it from piercing an apple, let alone a wolf's tough hide.

There wasn't time to think, though. Battle was all about adrenaline and instinct, so I did what I'd done dozens of times before. I smacked Hunter hard on the shoulder with the flat of my blade, knocking him back a step but leaving no permanent damage in the blow's wake.

In response, I could have sworn the words Not good enough floated up in my mind, their timbre flavored with Hunter's deep rumble rather than with my own higher-pitched tones. I shook the thought away though because the uber-alpha was already lunging forward again, this time so quickly that he slipped beneath my guard and wrapped his jaws around my ankle with the strength of a steel trap.

I expected my companion to soften his bite just as I'd eased off on my own cut. But, instead, the bloodling clenched down until I could feel his sharp canines shredding my jeans and then piercing the skin underneath. I jerked back in surprise, feeling blood welling up to wet my sock.

"You bit me?" I couldn't decide whether I was shocked or horrified. We weren't that kind of werewolf. Sure, if danger faced our pack mates, then we were willing to defend our friends and ourselves. But we didn't go around chomping down on humans or on other shifters just for the fun of it.

The image of Daisy Rambler rose up in my mind unbidden. The shifters who had turned her young body into a piece of meat more suited to a slaughterhouse than to a morgue hadn't felt any compunction about biting into a living shifter. They wouldn't hesitate to do the same for Savannah and Lia. And if I waffled when the time came to mow my enemies down, then a half-blood like me would likely end up in the same state in short order.

I took a deep breath and narrowed my eyes at Hunter. I'd half expected him to attack again while my mind wandered, to force my hand until instinct morphed from defense to offense. But, instead, the uber-alpha seemed willing to bide his time and let me think the situation through rationally.

"Okay, I get it," I said quietly. The images in my mind and the turmoil in my gut were almost incomprehensible in our current location, surrounded by tall trees and gentle bird song. But I could smell a weasel that had passed through the clearing a few hours earlier, the tiny killer's breath salty with blood from an unlucky rabbit. In nature, I knew, nobody pulled their punches. And shifters were wolves as much as they were humans.

So when Hunter rushed me a second time, I met him with the full force of the sword in my hand. My opponent dodged aside, and I knew that even without the barrier formed by the current thin sheathe, my blade wouldn't have done more than shave a few hairs off the tip of his tail.

Faster, my wolf whispered. She had a good point, so rather than shush her, I invited her to join me up behind our shared eyes.

And this time when the uber-alpha rushed me, I could feel my lupine half tallying up the nearly invisible tension within our opponent's cord-like muscles. Together, we somehow knew that Hunter would dodge left, trying to draw our blade in that direction before sidestepping at the last moment and dashing between our legs.

So my wolf and I mirrored his approach. But rather than simply allowing the uber-alpha to advance unhindered, we stepped forward to meet him, feigning a block that would halt his left-handed pseudo-attack.

Then, at the last moment, we slid abruptly to the right, slamming our sword directly into the soft spot beneath our opponent's chin. The soft spot where Hunter's spine was least protected by fur and tough flesh.

The spot where a simple strike became a killing blow.

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# Chapter 18

"Fu..." I fumbled the word the same way I now fumbled my blade, dropping both to the forest floor. For a moment, I'd forgotten myself. Forgotten that I was training against a comrade while wielding a vicious hunk of metal that could slice a shifter in half. Forgotten my vow to protect my friends with my own life. Forgotten to hold back.

I fell to my knees, frantically parting the uber-alpha's hair to make sure he wasn't hurt. My heart was beating so fast I found it difficult to breathe and my throat was raw from my gasping breaths. Let him be alright.

Hunter shivered beneath my ministrations. And then there was a kneeling man in my arms rather than a hefty wolf. A kneeling man with a distinct lack of clothing to shield his taut skin from my frenzied fingers.

I'd ended up beside naked pack mates dozens of times in the past and the encounter was usually entirely innocent. Shifters often fell into bed as wolves then woke up human, with the result that they lacked the usual civilized modesty of two-leggers.

Other times, our nakedness had been shared and purposeful. But never had it felt anything like this.

"Once isn't enough," the uber-alpha murmured, his voice rough. "We need to keep at it until the killing stroke comes as naturally as breathing."

For a moment, I didn't know what he was referring to. But then I remembered our fight, my wolf's assistance, our lucky strike. Yes, Hunter was right--I needed to continue practicing with my sword if I wanted to be sure I could save Lia's life the next day.

But not right this instant. Not when my mate and I were alone with no possibility of interruption for the first time in the recent past and for the last time in the foreseeable future.

I took a deep breath of the pine-scented air and relaxed into the tranquil ambiance. Warm sunlight percolated gently through leaves above our heads, giving the impression of a frozen moment stolen from time. The glowing orb's gentle caresses loosened tense muscles and made me bold.

"Okay," I agreed. But I didn't release Hunter's nape from my grasp. Instead, I nudged his bent legs further apart and eased myself closer until we were almost chest-to-chest, he on his bare bum and I on my denim-coated knees. Using the hand that had been searching for injury along the base of his skull, I drew my companion in until I could whisper into his ear: "But first, I expect a reward for good behavior."

This was the second time I'd acted like a brazen hussy around Hunter and it wasn't lost upon me that the uber-alpha had never been the one to initiate physical contact between us in the past. But we were going into battle tomorrow, which made the concept of flirting coyly while hoping for reciprocation seem unbearably slow. What if one of us didn't make it out alive and I went to my grave never having shared more than a single kiss with this magnetic uber-alpha who had once called me his mate?

To the brave go the spoils, I thought, nibbling a line of seduction down Hunter's earlobe. My skin quivered with anticipation as I waited to see how the uber-alpha would respond.

Before, Hunter had acted hesitant every time I flung myself into his embrace. But not this time. Now, rock-hard arms glistening with sweat rose up to surround me and Hunter's scent enveloped my body like a heady cloud of warm perfume. I relaxed into the sassafras aroma as if resting by a warm fire on a cold winter night.

Irresistible.

The spicy scent cradled my chin and cheeks and, to my delight, Hunter's fingers soon followed suit. "Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked, rough callouses tickling across my skin as his fingers touched me lightly as butterfly wings.

In response, I reached up and stroked a lone finger across my companion's chiseled jaw. He hadn't taken the time to shave this morning, and the scratchy stubble of an incipient beard attempted to grab hold of my skin. I didn't mind--I felt exactly the same way. Putting so much as an inch between myself and my companion's magnetic pull was impossible.

"I don't want to lose you tomorrow," I whispered by way of reply, my voice husky with desire but my stomach hollowing out with fear. Unlike my wolf, I had a hard time believing we'd both make it out of tomorrow's battle unscathed.

"You won't lose me. If you let me in, I'll stay there." Hunter's words were a firm promise and he lifted me into his lap as easily as if I were a pine cone. I didn't miss the way my partner was shielding my skin from the rough debris on the forest floor even though I was the one who wore clothes while he didn't.

Yes, his chivalry was alluring. But it didn't quite knock me off the mental trail I'd been following even as I lowered my arm to trace a forefinger across the rope-like muscles that spanned his arm from shoulder to fingertip.

"But I have a pack to take care of," I elaborated. "And you said yourself that you don't understand packs."

There it was--the real roadblock that had been standing in our way this entire time. Even as the words left my mouth, I felt abruptly chilled, sweat evaporating from damp fabric clinging to my skin as an errant breeze drifted down through the canopy to ruffle my hair. I leaned far enough back in Hunter's arms so I could make out his eyes and I held my breath as I waited for his reply.

"I'll learn packs," Hunter rumbled easily. "They're important to you, so they're important to me."

His firm hands cupped my butt, rocking me gently forward until his hard length of manhood rubbed against my cleft. The seam of my pants pressed inward to chafe with exquisite agony against my most sensitive spot and I gasped out an "Oh!" of surprise.

For some unknown amount of time, I lost my train of thought as Hunter led us in an excruciating dance, all slow movement and sparks of tangled nerves and bodies. But he wasn't quite done with his promises yet.

"For you, I'll be nice to Ginger," Hunter murmured, his voice becoming huskier by the moment. "I'll bond with Cinnamon and Glen. And I'll free Lia if it's the last thing I do." His lips drifted down to taste and suck at my salty neck, the prickle of his beard sending me into a frenzy.

"Hunter..." I gasped, demanded. I was abruptly done with words and ready for his lips to become otherwise engaged. My exploring fingers turned into claws drawing him closer and I attempted to merge my mate's body with my own.

"You're right," Hunter concluded. "Now's not the time to talk about our pack."

Then I was abruptly shirtless, a breeze replacing my companion's questing fingers as the forest air encircled my exposed skin. I barely had time to shiver, though, before Hunter had pulled me back closer to his body, his hands sending frissons of pleasure across my sensitive belly as they hunted for the snap of my jeans.

I wanted to go there. But I pushed his fingers aside while murmuring a gentle rejection. "Not so fast, big guy."

Hunter had put me in the driver's seat here atop his body, and I wanted to take full advantage of the opportunity. Placing hands on his rock-hard shoulders to steady myself, I rotated my clad hips in slow circles atop his erection. Then I hummed with pleasure as the friction kindled swirling eddies of pleasure deep within my core.

I half expected my partner to flip me over onto my back and take the lead there and then. But, instead, he merely tilted up my chin so our gazes united once more. The uber-alpha's pupils were now so dilated with desire that his pale retinas were nearly non-existent, and I could have sworn I saw his wolf reflected in the dark depths within.

He swallowed me into a deep, bruising kiss. And only after we were both thoroughly breathless did he release my mouth long enough to whisper: "You're the boss. Do your worst."

Still, the bloodling's fingers continued to trail feather-light pathways across the exposed skin of my arms, my collarbone, my neck as if he couldn't quite bear to relinquish control. Goose bumps rose on my forearms as I struggled to focus on anything other than the needy ache that rose in my center in response to Hunter's caress.

But then my mate suited actions to words, leaning back on his elbows so I was given free rein to explore his body just as I'd requested. He was marvelous. All hard ridges and craggy folds, the power of his wolf nearly seeping out the seams to mesh with his human form.

I ran a tentative hand across my partner's muscular chest, abruptly unsure about what to do with this wolf who I'd apparently tamed. What to do with this power that Hunter had so easily granted me.

And then my own inner beast was there beside me. We fit, she whispered, pressing our splayed hands onto Hunter's chest to brace ourselves as we twisted and twined against him. Slowly, gently, my animal half guided me into a soft bump and grind until my passion was stoked back up to the boiling point and I was once again inflamed with desire. Soon, I was mewling needy little whimpers that had nothing to do with my inner wolf and had everything to do with the basest extreme of my own human nature.

It was only when jeans slid down off my body, one leg releasing then the other, that I realized my wolf was long gone and it was only Hunter and me dancing once more. My mate's fingers left trails of fire shimmering down my thighs, across my hips, eddying in circles around my breasts. And in response I reached forward with hungry hands, guiding Hunter's cock toward my slick opening.

"Shh, not quite yet." The uber-alpha had been willing to let me do as I pleased before. But now that the moment of truth was nigh, he didn't quite trust that I was adequately aroused. Instead, clever fingers slipped into my soft slit, gently teasing velvety skin as fingertips tested, tweaked, turned.

I writhed beneath his hand, quivering with need. Then foil tore and a condom encircled his throbbing shaft. Hunter had come prepared for more than simple sword fighting this morning.

I thought my partner, my mate, was less moved than I by this moment of exquisite joining. But then I heard his gasp turn into a moan as I slid down over his hard length, my center achingly sensitive and at the same time yearning to be filled. His mouth plundered mine and I gasped against his lips as our bodies and souls united.

"You...are...my...pack," he ground out as firm fingers bit into my buttocks. Then, he was pounding, pushing, feasting, sucking.

Our legs wound together as we rolled, and I hardly noticed the sharp leaf tips biting into my bare skin. It was impossible to tell who was leading and who was following now as each body engulfed the other.

Sassafras and sweat. Wolf and human.

We met. We merged.

We exploded.

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# Chapter 19

When I dragged my dirty, battered, and exhausted body back through the hotel-room door that afternoon, all I wanted was a shower. Hot water, fluffy towels, clean sheets--the promised trio sounded near miraculous after five hours of heavy sparring and the momentous pleasure that had come before.

But the expressions on my pack mates' faces proved that the comforts of home would have to wait. Flicking my attention from shifter to shifter, I traced their displeasure, anger, and worry back to its source.

At the epicenter of the discontent, I wasn't at all surprised to find Ginger holding her cell phone out toward me while shooting virtual daggers at my companion. Yep, our ill-fated vote yesterday hadn't done pack cohesion any favors.

When I saw the image on the trouble twin's small screen, though, I swallowed hard and stopped worrying about the two warring shifters' incompatibility. Because Ginger had found a photo of Lia, but the girl no longer looked like the happy, fresh-faced kid who had piled into our car as recently as yesterday morning. No, this Lia resembled a Holocaust survivor with a bloodied face, mussed hair, and haunted eyes. This Lia looked broken.

I fell backwards into a chair, unable to hold myself erect when faced with the reality of my own failure to protect my fellow shifters. At least she's alive, I reminded myself. Or Lia had been alive when the photo was taken. I averted my eyes from the phone, unable to meet the girl's eyes for a second longer.

"Push play," Ginger demanded. Only then did I notice what would have been obvious to anyone even a bit more tech savvy than I was. A little arrow within a circle smack dab in the center of the image proved that I was actually looking at the landing page for a video rather than at a still photo. Unfortunately, based on the heavy tension in the air around me, I didn't think I'd like what I was about to see any better than I'd liked the preview.

With trembling fingers, I tapped the play icon even as Hunter stepped up beside me. One warm hand fell onto my shoulder, but this time I had a feeling the uber-alpha was seeking support as much as giving it. And as we watched the young shifter on screen suck in a gasp that was almost a sob, Hunter's breathing turned similarly erratic beside me.

"Here you go, Talon. What do you think? An acceptable sacrifice?"

We couldn't see anyone other than Lia on screen, and the muffled male voice was digitally altered to hide the speaker's identity. Lia's captor could have been anyone.

Still, his words shot through me like fire. Talon. The exact same name Crew had mentioned as his sponsor within the SSS.

Now we know who we need to kill, my wolf growled deep within our shared belly. And I didn't even consider slapping her down. If this Talon was responsible for both Lia's kidnapping and for Crew's descent to the dark side, then my animal nature could be as bloodthirsty as she wanted in defense of our pack. We'd find out who Talon was, and together we'd take him down.

Then my blood ran cold because Lia spoke at last. And the single word that emerged from the girl's split lips wasn't one that I'd expected to hear in a million years. "Hunter," she moaned.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the sound from my brain. No, I must have picked that up wrong. It wasn't possible.

As my stomach sank into my boots, I stared up at the shifter standing inches away from me. The shifter who'd made love to me today with--I'd thought--powerful feelings that matched my own. The shifter who'd fought by Lia's side at the campground yesterday morning and who had seemed honestly concerned about Cinnamon's fate a few hours later.

Over and over again, I'd given the uber-alpha the benefit of the doubt despite the evidence stacking up against him. As Ginger had pointed out so acerbically, Hunter had repeatedly shown up at decidedly suspicious moments. He'd admitted to seeing no point in a pack, and yet he'd stuck around to ingratiate himself into the good graces of both the halfies within our little group--me and Lia--while roundly ignoring everyone else. He'd even cast me out of my old clan, for crying out loud, ensuring that I had no way to protect myself from his machinations.

And what had I done in response? I'd bent over backwards to make up excuses for the uber-alpha's behavior. He was a bloodling, I told myself, and not especially socially adroit. He was employed by the Tribunal to hunt down the SSS, so of course he'd be poking around in the land of the missing halfies.

He had a good heart.

That's gotta be my weakest effort at voluntary stupidity to date, I berated myself. After all, hadn't I only begun trusting Hunter after he used the four-letter M word? Was I really so desperate that I'd accepted the first psychopath who gave me the time of day?

Yep. Yep, apparently I was.

Or at least, I had been. Now, I pushed myself out of the chair so violently that it fell over, one hard wooden leg banging against Hunter's bruised shins in the process. My companion winced, but remained standing tall and firm, waiting for me to draw the inevitable conclusion from the evidence placed before me.

I opened my mouth, but found I was unable to speak. Instead, my body vibrated with pain as if Hunter were biting into me once again, just as he'd done to catch my attention in the forest earlier that day. Only this time around, his sharp lupine teeth seemed to move up and settle around my chest, pushing all air out of my lungs and spearing my heart.

I wanted to wail and moan at the agony, but instead I pierced the uber-alpha with an angry gaze. For some crazy reason, Hunter had his head cocked to one side in a gesture of hopeful expectation. As if he was waiting for me to denounce the evidence I'd heard with my own two ears.

Do you really think I can forgive this? I roared silently. And Hunter took a step backwards as if struck. But he still made no move to leave.

We might have stood there frozen in our silent battle forever if Ginger hadn't intervened. Her words cut through the emotions that hung like foul smoke in the hotel-room air. And as she spoke, I finally found myself able to take in one shuddering breath after another. "Now do you finally understand what I've been trying to tell you?" my pack mate demanded.

"Yes," I replied simply, not taking my eyes off the uber-alpha. It was his strength that had attracted me to him in the first place, I decided. The uber-alpha was so absurdly powerful that I'd trusted my untrustworthy wolf and accepted the comfort of his protection. In the process, I'd closed my eyes to the truth, had believed Hunter's lies, and had lost a pack mate in the process.

Not lost, my wolf whispered. We'll find Lia.

I hoped so, but couldn't really see how. Not when the uber-alpha before us was implicated in her kidnapping and had been privy to every stage of our recovery plan to date.

For a moment, I considered ordering my pack to pile on, to take Hunter down and force Lia's location out of him. But we didn't stand a chance against the uber-alpha's root-beer dominance. He'd bark out a single command and we'd all wither away to nothing, starving to death within arm's reach of a mini fridge chock full of caloric leftovers.

In fact, I realized now that I was well and truly stuck. The best I could hope for was to squash my wolf in an effort to make myself immune to Hunter's incalculable dominance then mow the uber-alpha down with the sword that was still belted at my hip. The strategy wouldn't help us find Lia, but it would prevent the traitor from actively working against us as we continued our efforts to free our pack's youngest member.

No! My wolf rebelled, but it took only a blink of an eye to thrust her down into the dark recesses of my mind, deeper than I'd ever sent her before. Let the inner beast battle those monsters of loneliness, lack of belonging, and back-stabbing mates for a while. Maybe she'd do some good and my nightmares would become a little less frequent in the future.

Then I whipped my weapon out of its scabbard, glad that I'd pulled the so-called condom off the blade during the ride back to the hotel. And why didn't Hunter simply take me hostage then when we were alone if he's just trying to up his halfie count? I wondered. Why flirt with me and train me and fuck me senseless?

The issue was irrelevant. Lia had spoken as if Hunter was present in her prison cell, and I had to trust information from our pack's youngest member over the yearnings of my own heart.

Still, with my back to the other shifters in the room, I mouthed the word "Go" at my opponent. Even now, I didn't want to use the killing strokes he'd taught me in order to skewer a man who I'd caressed with such wild abandon mere hours earlier. Some traitorous part of my mind still wanted to believe that I was wrong in my re-analysis of my mate.

My mate. I closed my eyes for a split second to regather my composure. And when I pried my lids back up, Hunter's clothes lay in a puddle on the carpeted floor.

But the uber-alpha himself was gone.

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# Chapter 20

Twenty-four hours of relentless scrabbling for another solution turned up no new leads, so we arrived at the farmer's field the next afternoon with very little hope but with an outsized dose of determination. Surely Hunter would have simply moved the ceremony to another location after being busted for complicity. Or perhaps he was busy setting up a trap to reel us back in and would be thrilled when we stupidly showed our faces right where he expected us to be.

But the online front for the SSS that Ginger had tracked down the day before was sketchy at best, suggesting that perhaps the uber-alpha didn't have a direct line of communication with his underlings after all. Perhaps the loose-knit group of shifters hadn't learned how to build a phone tree and thus had no way of getting in touch with each other save turning up every Friday evening to howl together at the moon. And perhaps Hunter, like us, would simply be forced to arrive and hope he'd be able to take down as many halfies as possible in the face of our clan's moderate show of offensive strength.

Perhaps I'll start answering to the name Pollyanna too, I thought uncomfortably as I stepped out of our clan's car. I couldn't quite believe that I was leading my pack mates into danger with my eyes wide open to the stupidity of the endeavor. But I also couldn't imagine staying home and ignoring the chance--no matter how slender--that Lia would be gutted tonight on this very field. No, as stupid as it was to show up, it would be stupider to stay away.

"I'm coming in with you," Cinnamon said as the other three shifters joined me outside the vehicle's metal walls. As directed, the male trouble twin had parked down a narrow lane that was nearly invisible from the main road but that was only a short jaunt upwind from the location Quill had scouted out the day before. This was the moment of truth, ten minutes before sunset...and already my pack was rebelling.

"You're our getaway driver," I reminded Cinnamon, but the male trouble twin--who was usually gentle and humorous--just growled a rejection of my reiteration of his role. He wanted to be part of the strike force and he didn't seem willing to take no for an answer.

The truth was that Ginger's brother was doing better after two days of forced rest. He'd healed enough that sitting upright was no longer a struggle, and his wounds had stopped oozing every time he moved an arm or a leg funny. Still, everyone but Cinnamon himself knew that the male trouble twin would be a liability rather than an asset on the mission ahead.

So I elaborated, trying to smooth the shifter's ruffled fur. "You have an important job to do," I reminded him. "If we can tear Lia and Savannah away from the SSS and get them to you, then at least we'll know the two innocents are safe. The rest of us can take care of ourselves. But you saw the video--Lia might not be able to walk. She needs you to be ready to spirit her out of the line of fire."

"I can do that and still come in with you," Cinnamon argued. But he hadn't risen from the driver's seat yet, clear evidence that the male was still too weak to join us on the battleground.

I sighed, preparing to muster a little alpha dominance and force the malleable shifter to toe the line. But Ginger took her brother in hand before I could speak up again.

"Do I have to handcuff you to the steering wheel?" the female demanded, dangling the restraints that we'd brought along for an entirely different purpose through her brother's open window. The young woman was revved up and ready to rumble, and her wolf was so rampant that I could almost see its image superimposed over her human skin as she spoke. Neither Cinnamon nor I doubted that she really would cuff her brother to the wheel if he didn't toe the line.

So I didn't have to expend my weak powers to get Cinnamon to play it safe after all. "No, ma'am," the male trouble twin said, eyes submissively trained on our feet as he backed down. Then he muttered, "Be careful."

"Always am and nothing bad's happened to me yet," Ginger agreed. She shed clothes as she spoke, and then the female trouble twin fell onto paws with a speed that nearly rivaled the traitorous uber-alpha's. Beside her, Glen's wolf form caught my eye and then nudged his current partner to get her moving away from the car. The pair curved into the trees as a unit, moving into place as planned so they'd be ready when the enemy shifters arrived.

Quill, Cinnamon, and I, on the other hand, remained resolutely human. It was hard for me to wait two-legged even though my weak wolf would provide little additional offensive power, but she and I both knew this was an integral part of our plan.

So I forced myself to unclasp the sword belt from around my waist and hand the weapon into the car to Cinnamon for safekeeping. In for a penny, in for a pound.

And now I'm both unarmed and thin-skinned. I shivered, knowing the unvarnished assessment of my current state was far too true. Without the aid of my katana, I had no chance of fighting free if the enemy saw through our little charade.

Focus. The word breathed from wolf to human mind and back to animal again. Inhaling deeply, we calmed our pounding pulse together. Then, through the trees, we heard the first car door slam.

One door, then another. A crunch of tires on gravel, then more metal on metal. Two vehicles, I thought. One for Lia and one for Savannah.

I reached toward my wolf, hoping to borrow her nose to gather a little additional olfactory feedback. It would be handy to know how many enemies we faced and whether both of the kidnapped halfies were present before I donned the handcuffs that Ginger had threatened her brother with a few minutes earlier.

"Only two enemies," Cinnamon murmured. "Lia's there, and one other female--young, weak, probably Savannah. We could take them down with a frontal assault if you'd let me help...."

My pack mate's words trailed off as I shook my head and turned around so my back was facing Quill. "We can't risk Lia getting injured before we reach them," I disagreed, mouth muffled against the side of the car.

Then, allowing the cowboy shifter to fasten hard metal handcuffs around my unresisting wrists, my own partner and I strode together toward the meeting grounds of the enemy who held our pack mate's life in their unyielding hands.

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# Chapter 21

I could neither smell nor see Hunter, but I got the distinct impression that he was out there four-legged, watching and waiting as my pack and I moved into position. His presence was akin to a tingle at the base of my spine, the same sensation that I'd experienced over and over again during the last twenty-four hours of jittery anticipation. I'd kept looking over my shoulder all day long, in fact, expecting Hunter to return for his clothes, wallet, and SUV. But instead the uber-alpha appeared to have turned wolf and disappeared from our lives as quickly and as thoroughly as he'd come into them.

And yet, if my overactive nerve endings were any indication, Hunter hadn't really abandoned us at all--just taken a step back until we couldn't quite see him out of the corners of our eyes. Whether the sensation was the work of the pack bond or just wishful thinking on my part, though, didn't really matter. Either Hunter really was my mate and we were in good shape--with five able-bodied shifters and a recovering getaway driver toeing off against two SSS members--or the uber-alpha was merely waiting to turn the tide of the battle in the opposite direction and ensure that we all perished.

Regardless, I couldn't do anything about it now. In fact, as soon as I set eyes on my youngest pack mate, I immediately forgot everything except the urge to rush closer to the girl as quickly as possible.

Lia had already been pulled out of one of the cars by the time I caught sight of her and she was now being dragged over to where the other outpack male waited with his hand firmly clamped onto the shoulder of a second prisoner. Our youngest pack mate had every right to be cowed after days of confinement, but Lia was instead holding her shit together with a strength of will that would have made her cousins proud. The girl's cheeks were tear-stained, but her chin jutted skyward as she dug her heels into the dirt and roundly refused to give in to her captor's attempts to move her along.

Savannah, on the other hand, looked nearly comatose. Or at least I assumed the other girl was Savannah. I wouldn't have recognized the teenager from her photo, smiles and youthful charm having been completely obliterated by dirt and bruises. And unlike Lia, Savannah was hunched over as if her kidneys hurt. Her wolf was clearly too quiescent to give the girl the boost she needed to survive any further ordeal.

I wanted to swear and then tear into the two males who were manhandling the kidnapped girls with such disregard for their captives' humanity. But that wasn't the plan. Instead, Quill and I paced forward, purposefully coming upon the group aslant and from downwind, so the enemy wouldn't notice us until we were almost close enough to touch.

The night before, the pack and I had gone back and forth over the issue of Quill's presence on the front line of the upcoming showdown. Would the outpack males who we were hoping to ambush have been in the bar Tuesday night, meaning they would have seen the cowboy shifter leave with us? Or could he pass as just another SSS member that Lia's captors didn't happen to know personally?

"I'll make them believe," Quill had promised, raising one eyebrow at me as if asking my future permission to knock his new pack leader around. Now he made good on that past promise, loudly rebuking me for my supposed dilly-dallying, then shoving me so hard that I nearly fell to the earth at his feet.

The abrupt greeting appeared to have worked. I couldn't actually see the SSS males' faces since my bound hands prevented me from catching myself before I slammed into the side of the nearest car. But the strangers' voices were congratulatory as they greeted what they assumed was another halfie-hunting shifter showing up with his catch at the usual Friday night watering hole.

And even though I'd banged myself up good during our introduction to the scene, I was glad that Quill's quick thinking had kept my face averted from the SSS crew. Unlike the cowboy shifter with his impressive acting skills, I has having a hard time maintaining a disheartened demeanor. Instead, I felt triumphant as I realized that our plan was actually going off without a hitch.

This was it. We'd edged ourselves close enough to Lia and Savannah so we could now pull the girls out of harm's way before the rest of our pack mates joined in the fight. Soon, both kids would be tucked away in bed with soup and hot chocolate and whatever else we could think of to lull them back into a very real sense of security. Soon, our entire pack would once again be fully united.

But then the shifter holding Lia burst my bubble with a single word. "Nice work, Talon," he said. "I didn't really think you could do it, but you managed after all. A halfie alpha!"

Talon! Absurdly, I wasted a split second thinking I must have been mistaken. Quill was a nice guy, a thoughtful member of our crew. He was here to help Lia escape.

To help Lia who had formed a supposedly irrational dislike of our newest member as soon as he entered our lives? No, Quill/Talon was present for one purpose and one purpose alone. To increase the SSS's weekly haul, bringing in not only two weak girls but also a third half-blood shifter whose wolf was equally lily-livered but who had been granted an unusual power by a friendly pack leader.

If, as I suspected, the SSS was somehow stealing their prey's lupine capabilities each time they murdered a half-blood, then I was the holy grail. A halfie weak enough to easily sacrifice on the altar, but with a hidden strength that would boost the outpack males' own wolves far more effectively than the spirits of the other two girls currently in their grasp.

"Glen, Ginger, attack!" I screamed, struggling against my captor's grasp and hoping my pack mates would be able to descend upon the enemy quickly enough to wrest the two teenagers out of the outpack males' control. But instead I heard Lia's shriek of rage becoming muffled as a car door slammed and shut her away from the outside world. Then I felt the prick of a needle invading my bicep as the world turned fuzzy around me.

"You were so easy to manipulate," Quill whispered in my ear. "So easy to catch."

And then the world went black.

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# Chapter 22

I awoke in a hole in the ground. And, in case you're a Hobbit fan, let me assure you--it was a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell. Plus, my prison was as dark as the grave.

Perhaps it was my grave.

The image of dying there, with no pack mates around to mourn me, filled my mind. I'd rot alone in this hole, my bones jumbling together as carrion beetles rolled my flesh into tiny balls to feed to their offspring. Snakes would slither down to capture the tiny critters drawn to feed upon my decomposing flesh and tree roots would eventually invade the pockets of fertility left behind.

At least then I'd be good for something.

I shuddered, my head pounding as I tried to push through the drugged fog and remember what had happened back in that farmer's field. The turncoat, the needle prick, the car doors slamming...I'd obviously been captured, but surely Lia and Savannah had gotten away?

No, I distinctly remembered my youngest pack mate's screams as she was forced into the vehicle nearest me. Thought I might have recalled her cradling my comatose body against her own slender form as we sped out of the lot, my head jiggling nervelessly on my neck just before unconsciousness fully claimed me.

If Lia and Savannah were prisoners like I was, then I needed to find and help them.

"Is anyone there?" I whispered into the darkness, reaching my hands out in search of other living beings. One arm grazed a skinny, damp object that might have been a root...or a severed finger. I jerked away, hitting my head on a protruding rock in the process of reeling backwards into the void.

My stomach was too queasy to risk opening my mouth even so far as to swear. Instead, I held perfectly still, listening to the way my breathing echoed within my ears. Hyperventilation was soothing in its own way, I decided. The heaving breaths proved I was still alive, that the earth hadn't yet swallowed me whole.

Get it together.

My wolf's whisper shook me out of the mindless terror I was falling into, and I didn't even care that she'd joined me behind our shared eyes without invitation. It wasn't as if there was anything for her to see in the pitch black hole anyway.

"Look for escape," she whispered aloud with my lips. And I nodded, proving that I really was crazy--not only talking to myself but replying as well. Right, escape.

I patted myself down first, finding that I was still wearing the clothes I'd started out the day in. Or perhaps that had been the day before? With no light in my hole, I didn't know if it was today or tomorrow--and now I was just confusing myself with my own words. The pounding headache didn't help matters either.

Focus. Surely I have some weapons left.

My trembling fingers brushed across jeans and t-shirt, found Crew's collar still stashed away in one bulging pocket. I'd never gotten around to examining the item, I now realized, never taken the time to decipher the source of the rotten-banana odor that had allowed the SSS shifters to break through Hunter's iron grip.

Well, now I've got all the time in the world. That wasn't really true--even in my somewhat altered state, I realized that Quill wouldn't just leave me down in this hole to molder. No, the outpack male had likely stashed all three of us halfies away for safekeeping until the time was ripe to rip out our hearts like he'd harvested organs from the unfortunate Daisy Rambler. I might have days, hours, or only minutes alone. Best get to the task of escaping.

This would have been easier in daylight, I grumbled. But the wolf only snorted within my skin and brought our shared hands up so we could sniff at the collar while running light fingers down its length. There was the faintest hint of rotten banana yet present, the odor emanating from a little plastic indentation that currently held the smallest iota of moisture.

What do you think? I asked my animal half, then waited what seemed like an eternity for a reply that never came.

She was gone, I realized. Even the barest essence of rotten banana remaining had been enough to momentarily banish my wolf. Which meant I did have the tiniest ace in the hole--a way to force myself out of an alpha compulsion, if necessary.

Assuming, of course, that I was able to pull the collar out of my pocket and bring it up to my nose while a shifter stronger than me tried to force my muscles to act otherwise. Not likely.

Pushing the collar back into my pocket, I fought down the terror that threatened to rise back up in my throat now that my animal half had gone missing. Wolf or no wolf, I wasn't a damsel in distress and the collar wasn't my only possible escape hatch. There was the tracking device for one....

Fingers slipped down toward my left sock, seeking the tiny sliver of plastic and metal that Glen had purchased as an auxiliary safety measure. "We'll be able to find you anywhere there's satellite reception," my stalwart second had promised, his veiled eyes doing their best not to ask me to think up a strategy that didn't involve being taken back to the enemy's lair as bait.

In all fairness, that hadn't actually been my plan. The tracking device was for backup only.

Or it had been for backup. Because my frantic fingers found no bump beneath my left sock. And when I tried the other ankle, hoping my drug-addled brain had just forgotten precisely where I stashed the device, no chunk of plastic turned up there either.

I closed my eyes, allowing the voluntary darkness to erode away the newfound rush of adrenaline that was threatening to turn me into a quivering mass of jelly. Breathe, I reminded myself, wishing my wolf would show back up to keep me company.

It was no big surprise the tracking device was gone. After all, Quill had been privy to its installation just as he'd been privy to every other aspect of our planning process.

Won't Ginger be pissed when she realizes she went after the wrong outpack male after all?

I tried to smile but was pretty sure the expression on my face was closer to a grimace. Okay, so no one will be riding to the rescue. No biggie. I'll just find my own way out.

I stretched out a tentative arm once more, this time steeling myself to face the slimy, unknown objects that met my touch. It's like being in a haunted house, I told myself. A kid plunges his hands into a vat in the dark and is sure he's fingering entrails. But the lights come on and it's just spaghetti.

Somehow, though, I didn't think the nasty, slithery objects around me were spaghetti.

Not the point, I rebutted my own rebuttal. The point is to figure out where my prison cell starts and ends so I can find a way out. Remember--it's up to me to rescue Lia.

Even the faint memory of the girl's prideful chin as she was yanked away from the SSS member's car made me smile. And my upturned lips in turn gave me strength to reach out again to feel the walls of my prison.

I didn't even have to stretch, it turned out, because the hole I was imprisoned within must have been dug in a hurry. It was rounded at the bottom, with clods of dirt littered here and there, and the total width was less than the length of a single arm.

That's a good thing, I told myself, ignoring my childlike fear of the close, dark space. It means I can brace myself against the far wall and climb back out.

I straightened, preparing to suit action to words...and hit my head painfully on a wooden ceiling.

Could it really be so easy? Just push off the lid and pop up like a jack-in-the-box? Putting my back into it, I spread both hands across the damp boards and pushed with all my might.

The ceiling didn't so much as budge. The hatch was either locked tight or covered with an object so heavy there was no way I could dislodge it.

Or maybe I really am buried alive.

My heart rate began to pick up, but I refused to be defeated so easily. Taking a deep breath, I decided: So I'll carve my way out around the edges instead.

Glad my fingernails were cut short, I scrabbled at the earth beside the wooden ceiling. Dirt fell into my hair, caught in my eyes, and settled around my feet. Blinking painfully against the invasive particles, I cupped my fingers into mole-like claws and dug yet harder.

A tiny stone tore at the soft flesh of one cuticle, but I paid it no mind. Splinters embedded themselves in my skin as I continued to disinter more of the wooden boards that topped my lair, but it was too dark to see if I bled. I yanked the offending slivers of wood out with my teeth and kept going.

Further and further I dug. I would break through.

Only when I'd filled the entire bottom of my prison cell with six inches of debris and the air had grown decidedly moldy from a dislodged I-didn't-want-to-think-about-what-it-was did I pause. I'd carved out an indentation on one side of the wooden ceiling large enough to fill with my head and shoulders. In other words, I'd created just a hair more breathing room...but there was no sign of daylight creeping through the cracks and the boards above my head felt never-ending.

I'll never see daylight again.

I tried to breathe, tried to swallow down the massive knot in my throat. But I couldn't even force myself to bend my knees and settle back into the dirt. Instead, I shifted forms without meaning to, my wolf emerging tangled in a mess of human clothing.

Caught, tight, stuck.

Terror-stricken, I lashed out at the bonds that held me in place.

Then, relief, as my animal spirit woke and pushed my human brain aside. Pushed my consciousness back down into her lupine belly. Took complete command of the body that we no longer shared, that she had instead claimed for her very own.

Happily, I sank into a new kind of darkness.

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# Chapter 23

"Fen, are you out there? I feel you. Where are you?"

Lia's voice echoed in my mind as I reentered consciousness. I opened gritty lupine eyes, but still saw nothing. Stretched my nose until it bumped into the same dank wall, only the surface was wetter this time around than it had been before. Plus, I was now paw-deep in a soup of mud rather than in loose earth. Perfect, my hole had become not only small and dark, but also out-and-out wet.

Raining outside, my animal half suggested, soothing me as if I were a child. But, smell--fresh air coming in.

Sure enough, the wolf was right. With her enhanced senses, I could feel the faintest eddy of air flowing into our prison cell through cracks in the earthen walls and the boards overhead. The urge to try one more time to dig ourselves free nearly overwhelmed me.

Unfortunately, my previous attempt at emulating a mole had resulted in the wolf taking complete command of our body for who knows how long. So maybe that wasn't such a great idea after all.

Small, tight, trapped.

I whined aloud, almost dropping out of consciousness as claustrophobia set back in with a vengeance. This time, though, my wolf buoyed me up and refused to allow me to drift down into the void.

Shh, she whispered. We'll be alright.

I only realized the sound had carried across the pack bond when Lia's voice once again entered my mind. "Fen?" The girl's tone had been desperate before, but now she was even more frantic. So much so that I thought I could actually smell her fright and feel the sweat beading on her forehead.

While I'd like to say the sensation focused my attention on my pack mate's predicament, her fear instead exacerbated my own fight-or-flight reaction. My breathing turned harsh and as I contemplated overwhelming my animal partner just long enough to drift back down inside her lupine belly. I could let the wolf deal with the water slowly creeping up around our furry ankles. I could let the wolf deal with a terrified pack mate who wasn't physically present but who must have been close by in order to reach me through the pack bond. I could let the wolf take full command of the situation.

I've already failed. What's the point of banging my head against the wall over and over again?

"Fen!" This time, the agitation in Lia's tone had been replaced with excitement. "I'm so glad you're awake! I've been feeling your wolf for hours. But she's not so good at words, and I thought I might be dreaming the whole thing...."

And there was that vision of Lia's prideful chin once again. Of the halfie valiantly leading SSS wolves toward the medusa-like gaze of the uber-alpha without worrying about the risk to her own flesh and bones. If Lia was so brave without any extra alpha energy to call upon, then how could I be less so when I bore Wolfie's gift like a mantle protecting me from harm?

So I squashed my fear of the close, dark space. I squashed my own feelings of failure. And I got to work. "Are you alone?" I thought as loudly as I could, hoping the words would transmit down the invisible pack bond.

Abruptly, a brilliant line illuminated the air, the starlight and magic of the connection seeming to pierce the darkness...but not actually brightening the space in which I sat. Still, the thread of fluorescence gave me at least a modicum of information--that Lia was located off to my left, and that none of the rest of my clan was within communication range. Because the only other line of starlight beyond the one connecting me to my fellow prisoner was the thin umbilical cord through which Wolfie's alpha abilities subtly bolstered my own.

"No, I'm not alone. They have me and Savannah together," Lia answered, sounding like a young recruit enthusiastically reporting in to her drill sergeant. Her entire emotional signature had changed as soon as I took control of the situation, and I could almost see the girl raising one hand in the air in a military salute.

It was so easy to pep up the young--to make Lia believe I was strong enough to save her from a horror I couldn't even elude on my own behalf, let alone break another free of. Too bad it wasn't equally easy to bolster my own lack of self esteem.

Careful, my wolf whispered. But I shook our shared head, rejecting the animal's admonition. No, she needn't worry. I wasn't going down the oh-poor-me path again, not with Lia listening in. One pity party per hole in the ground was sufficient.

"What do your surroundings look like?" I asked Lia instead. I got the distinct impression that the more she communicated, the better she felt. And her growing good spirits buoyed up my own.

Plus, we'd need some sort of weapon to aid in our eventual escape. The wolf and I didn't seem likely to find one within our earth-walled pit, our meager stores having already been depleted by our recent jaunt into fur form. While I'd been comatose, in fact, my lupine half had wriggled her way out of all of our clothing save some now-stretched-out panties...which was a good thing for the sake of our emotional health, but not so much for the sake of our belongings. I was pretty sure that Crew's collar had been washed clean by the water rising up around our feet, so even that long shot was now absent from our arsenal. Hopefully Lia's surroundings would prove more productive.

"We're in a locked room," she began....

Then, abruptly, I could see out through the girl's eyes. The dim but present light from a small lamp settled into my belly like a balm, and it took me a solid minute to gather my focus enough to pay attention to details.

There was Savannah, conked out on a metal cot, the thin mattress lacking any blanket or pillow. Her hands and feet were bound, but no gag covered her mouth. So the girls were probably stashed somewhere far enough away from civilization that the SSS was unconcerned about strangers hearing their prisoners scream.

Unfortunately, this close to the vast expanse of the national forest, that didn't narrow our location down much at all.

"Show me the rest," I requested. Obediently, Lia's gaze panned slowly around the small space as if she were filing its contents away for later perusal. I saw a commode and a sink, although how the girls were supposed to use either with their hands tied behind their backs was beyond me.

The only object that looked remotely weapon-like was a pencil. "Can you slide that into your waistband?" I asked, and Lia promptly obeyed.

Not that a thin piece of wood and graphite was going to help us out much in the struggle ahead. What we really needed was an exit point, but the room boasted no windows and only a single door.

"Locked?" I asked. Even hog-tied, I was pretty sure Lia possessed the spunk necessary to check out all of her options.

"Yeah," she answered dispiritedly.

And yet, even as the girl sent her words down the pack bond, the knob began to turn. Slowly enough to feel like the entrance of the lead monster in a horror movie, the door cracked open to reveal a familiar face.

Not Hunter, of course, but Quill. The cowboy shifter looked even more put together than he had while slumming it with our pack, and I realized that his drifter persona had been just that--an act. As my wolf had tried to point out at the time, the male's van with the perfectly clean countertops and lack of clutter had likely been delivered by an SSS buddy to shore up his intended characterization as a lonely outpack male. I should have guessed that Quill had never roughed it a day in his life.

"Why would you have expected Hunter?" Lia asked me, confused by the hints of emotion that had filtered down our shared line. But even though the girl sent her words in my direction, her eyes remained trained on the SSS member whose smile sent a tremor down both of our spines. There was nothing pleasant about Quill's anticipated pleasure.

"Because you said his name," I explained. "Ginger found the video...."

The pack bond broadcast images from my end to Lia's in an instant. The showdown in the hotel room, the expression on Hunter's face when he saw a bloodied Lia and heard his own name dripping from her cracked and swollen lips.

Despite myself, my own feelings showed through as well, my pain and humiliation at having believed in a shifter who would dare to harm the youngest member of our pack. How I hadn't even been able to bear the sight as my anger chased away a male who I'd thought was my mate. How I hadn't seen him since.

"But Hunter wasn't there," Lia exclaimed. "I was saying his name because it gave me the strength to go on. Because I thought he'd find me if I called out loudly enough. To help me escape."

Then our communication was abruptly cut short as Quill demanded Lia's full attention. "Do you want to be first?" he asked, posing an unanswerable question. "Or should I wake Sleeping Beauty over there and see how well her heart goes with tonight's dinner of liver and onions instead?"

***

NO WAY WAS I GOING to let either Lia or Savannah be injured on my watch, not if I had another way to counteract Quill's evil intentions. And I realized as I looked out through my pack mate's eyes that I did have a way to stall at least. I should be able to draw the SSS member to me and away from the easy pickings he was now perusing with such an avaricious gleam in his eyes. In the process--with a little luck--I might also buy the rest of our friends time to track us down.

Assuming I could summon help via the pack bond, that was. But I'd cross that bridge when I came to it.

Instead of focusing on the unknowable, I forced words out of Lia's mouth. "Don't you think I'd taste a little better than these skinny kids?"

The girl's head jerked as her tongue fumbled a sentence she hadn't planned on emitting, the words alien in her mouth. To our shared ears, the question sounded a little like Lia and a little like me, a strange combination of her voice and my intonation.

But Quill didn't notice the distinction at first, nor the unusual plural. Instead, he reached out, grabbing Lia's arm roughly and jerking her upright. "So good of you to volunteer."

Time to really get the bastard's attention. "Do you think this is what Faye would have wanted?" I demanded. I was pretty sure Quill hadn't taken the time to confide in Lia about his dead mate--if the female was even real--so evoking her name now should be enough to prove my presence. And maybe the memory would also remind our enemy of his nearly absent humanity as well.

Sure enough, the cowboy shifter was shocked into momentary stillness. Then he narrowed his eyes. "Fen? Is that you?"

I nodded Lia's head, hoping the kid didn't end up scarred for life due to this short-term possession. "Yes, I'm really this powerful," I taunted him. "Too bad you won't be the one to tear out my heart and take that power for your very own."

"What do you mean I won't be the one...?" Quill's voice trailed off as he came to the same conclusion I'd hoped he would--that one of his compatriots had decided to sneak around behind his back and make off with the greater prize while Quill was busy checking on the younger prisoners.

"Who's there with you?" he demanded. When I didn't speak, he slapped Lia's face hard in retaliation. My pack mate and I both cringed away from the sensation of warm blood drizzling down the girl's chin, her bottom lip resplitting where it had barely started to scab over. The cut burned.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, this time for my pack mate's ears alone. "But I need to buy us some wiggle room so our friends can find us. And you probably won't be able to hear me soon. Will you be alright on your own?"

"Of course," the girl answered, her chin nudging upwards once again.

She was so much braver than I was. Even as I began to draw away, Lia still stood strong and tall on her shackled feet.

In contrast, my lupine form was already huddling into the corner of the pit, pressing our sodden and matted fur into the mud in an effort to disappear. We could almost feel Quill's lupine teeth ripping through our skin.

Worse, my human mind was already reeling from the imagined future agony that would flare up when I put the other facet of my plan into action.

But I didn't let any of that terror color my words when I spoke mind-to-mind with my youngest pack mate for the last time. "Good," I told Lia. "I'm proud of you." Then I watched Quill slam back out of my friend's prison cell before I retreated into the quietude of my own mind.

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# Chapter 24

Wolf, I called softly. I need your help.

Obediently, my animal half rose up to join me. What's the plan? she murmured, her voice nearly too quiet to hear.

We'll try the easy way first, I replied. But if all else fails, we'll break the unbreakable and see what happens.

The wolf sipped my intentions out of our shared mind as if they were a long drink of cool water. Then she hummed her assent. It's worth it, she agreed, to save Lia.

Of course it was worth it. I closed our shared eyes and inhaled a few deep breaths, then reached out with as much force as I could muster in search of the tangle of intangible energy that bound me to my pack mates.

There was Lia, alone once more. And now that I pushed more energy into the effort I could also catch my pack mate's connection to the sleeping Savannah. Lia had obviously taken the other girl under her wing and connected her cell mate to our clan through sheer force of will.

Good job, Lia, I whispered to myself. And I almost thought I saw the girl smile in reaction although I'd made no effort to push my words down our shared line.

But those weren't the shifters I was looking for. Instead, I visualized Glen, my most stout-hearted and steadfast companion. The lone male who had abandoned his chosen clan for no reason other than to protect my back. I could almost touch this firm friend with my human fingertips even though I currently wore paws. Could almost taste his scent on the air.

But I couldn't. Not quite.

Frustrated, I growled into the darkness. Glen must be too far away for our more moderate tether to access. Which meant Ginger was my best bet for mind-to-mind contact.

The female trouble twin and I'd had our disagreements of late, but our connection had previously appeared the strongest of anyone's in the pack. I brought to mind the young woman's smile as she danced atop the bar table. The glint of mischief and simple joy in her eyes as she--I now realized--tried to capture the attention of an elusive pack leader rather than--as I'd then assumed--catering to the libidos of a roomful of outpack males. Surely the friendship we'd built combined with Ginger's dreams of something more would help me reach the young woman even from this distance as long as I concentrated hard enough.

I sank my muzzle down onto my paws, trying to relax into the pack bond. But the puddled water had risen too high and I inhaled a choking noseful of muddy water by mistake. Coughing, I sprang to my feet and jabbed my hip hard against another stone jutting out of the rough walls of the pit.

This is stupid, I berated myself. I should be putting every ounce of energy I've got into escape rather than fighting for alpha powers I don't know how to use.

Hunter, my wolf rebutted.

Sighing, I admitted that my animal half was right. I'd already tried physical escape, so contacting the uber-alpha was my only remaining option.

If bond strength was anything to go by, in fact, I should have called out to my newest pack mate first. Now, remembering the bright thread of light that had connected me to the Tribunal enforcer, I wondered how I could have ever doubted that he really was my mate...and that I was more closely intertwined with Hunter's animal half than I was with any other member of our clan.

Okay, that wasn't quite true. Not the mate bond part--no, I was finally willing to admit that I'd made a supreme error in judgment sending Hunter away. He'd obviously been trying to protect me all week long, and his strong set of teeth might have provided the power necessary to sway yesterday's outcome in the other direction.

Sorry, Hunter, I whispered to no one. I screwed up.

Past mistakes aside, though, there was one other shifter who I could be confident of contacting quickly and definitively. One other shifter who would surely come to our aid...although bringing Wolfie into the mix would mean losing the right to remain alpha of my own pack.

Hunter first, my wolf demanded and I opened our mouth into a lupine grin in response to her haste. Unlike me, my animal half wasn't terrified of the consequences of losing our alpha powers. She was simply impatient at the delay in contacting our chosen mate.

On it, I agreed.

But before I could do more than send a lone tendril of thought wisping down the pack bond, I heard the deep rumble of a truck's engine starting up above my head. The hatch enclosing my pit shook in sympathy, explaining why it had been impossible to move the thick wooden boards when I'd strained against the obstruction earlier. No way was I strong enough to push my way out from underneath what sounded like a half-ton pickup truck.

A tarp slapped aside, the door above my head cracked open, and light seeped into my prison cell at last.

Too late. The SSS must have stashed Lia much closer to me than I'd thought, because it hadn't taken Quill long at all to reach my prison. Which meant I was running out of time. Once our captor joined me in the pit, I wouldn't be able to muster sufficient focus to call upon anyone at all.

Save Lia now or save the whole pack later. It wasn't as difficult a choice as I would have thought. Not when losing my own clan only meant I'd no longer be a pack leader, not that my friends would perish upon some crazy outpack male's altar.

Even as those thoughts rushed through my mind, I was frantically shifting into human form and combing through the mud at my feet with fumbling fingers. I needed to call in the cavalry, but I also needed to ensure I could buy enough time for my friends to travel to our remote location.

There! A torn fingernail caught on woven fabric, and I quickly clasped Crew's collar around my throat. Then, knowing I was losing the ability to shift again for several hours due to two transformations in quick succession, I fell back down onto lupine paws and hunched my body into the mud. Rolling my head quickly from side to side, I matted the fur there so completely that the muddy collar became completely invisible around my neck.

Now or never, I told myself, closing my lupine eyes to buy a couple more seconds of focus before the cowboy shifter took me in hand. Rather than trying to grope a final time for my elusive connection to Hunter, I instead contacted the only shifter I was 100% certain I could get through to immediately.

Because I'd been trying to take the easy way out before rather than going for the sure bet. The pack bond I'd been gifted with less than a month earlier was immature and tenuous as it strung a line of connection between me and my young pack mates. But the alpha dominance that backed those links up was sure and strong, a gift solidly granted by my previous pack leader Wolfie Young.

Just as Ginger had been able to sever her tie to me and fling our connection back in my face, I could do the same to Wolfie. But in my case, I wouldn't just be disconnecting one strand of a web...I'd be cutting through the linkage that bound my entire clan together. Basically, I'd be severing my newfound alpha abilities from my body and wrenching my pack mates out of my soul in the process.

Details, details.

Meanwhile, the results would be just as extreme for Wolfie as for me. The mantle's recoil would slap the bloodling alpha in the face with such strength it would surely get his full attention. Then, hopefully, my former pack leader would be annoyed and intrigued enough to follow that blow back to its source. In the process, he'd be able to pull Lia and Savannah out of their prison...assuming he reached us before Quill stopped chasing my tail and turned his attention to the younger halfies.

Of course, I wouldn't be able to lead a clan any longer after breaking the bond. And without the sharp edges of my current alpha abilities to protect those I cared about from the depredations of outpack males, I'd be forced to send my friends and companions home for the sake of their own safety.

But wasn't that the true heart of the matter anyway? If I wasn't a strong enough leader to protect my clan while backed up by the full strength of the alpha mantle, then I didn't deserve the extra powers in the first place.

So even as the falling rain clumped together fur and trickled down through underfluff to my bare lupine skin, I ignored the externals and uncurled my incorporeal human body within the confines of the wolf's skull. There was the thin thread of light connecting me to Wolfie, the line stretched taut by distance and appearing easy to sever. But when I began yanking at the strand with human fingernails, an iron core resisted every effort at dismantlement.

Above my head, distant voices coalesced into words. Then light seeped through clenched lupine eyelids as the hatch above my pit opened yet further. I was running out of time.

Tool use, my wolf whispered. And despite the impending danger and diceyness of the current situation, I had to smile as the animal reminded me what separated humans from wolves.

In case you haven't noticed, we're in fur form at the moment, I bantered back. Good thing incorporeal speech didn't require a mouth because I'd given up on prying apart Wolfie's tether with fingernails and had since moved on to ripping with blunt human teeth. Unfortunately, my jaws were no more effective than my hands had been.

I'm in fur form. You're not, my wolf countered.

Much as it pained me to admit the fact, she was right. I felt like I'd been squashed into miniature and stuffed down the wolf's gullet, but my human brain was really just as ethereal as the thread of light I was currently trying to gnaw apart.

Which meant that perhaps I really could just imagine a tool and it would appear here in my virtual abode. Perhaps I wasn't forced to rely on clawless human hands to break Wolfie's tether after all.

Even though I'd already closed the wolf's physical eyes, I now clenched shut my virtual human eyes as well. And I begged the heavens for the weapon that fit so perfectly into my human fingers that it felt like it had been made for me--Wolfie's grandfather's sword. After all, since my previous pack leader had given me the katana to symbolize my newfound alpha responsibilities, it seemed like poetic justice that I might use the same device to relinquish said powers.

My imaginary hands were abruptly weighted down by the rough, corded hilt of the katana, and I gasped out a virtual breath of surprise. Wolf intuition aside, I hadn't really thought the gamble would pay off.

But there wasn't time to be amazed at my ability to materialize weapons as I crouched inside my wolf's scheming skull. My captors would be invading my more physical personal space at any moment, and the tether connecting me to Wolfie still pulsed just as strongly as ever.

So, there inside the wolf's skin, I grasped the virtual hilt of Wolfie's grandfather's sword tightly with ten trembling fingers. Then I hacked at the strand of light connecting me to another.

The rebound this time around was so strong that I fell flat on my face, nostrils once again filling with water.

But it was done. I'd called for help.

Now I just needed to delay until my chosen rescuer showed up to save all of our skins.

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# Chapter 25

"Doesn't look like much does she?"

I'd planned to feign weakness, but the truth was that throwing away the alpha mantle had taken a lot more out of me than I'd expected. So there was nothing pretend about my passiveness as one heavy human body after another jumped down to squelch through the muddy pit beside me.

"Looks can be deceiving." This was Quill's voice, his southern drawl no longer sounding so charming now that I understood the depth of his depravity. "So pay close attention."

Then the cowboy shifter's firm tone flickered into laughter as he caught sight of my underwear. I hadn't taken the time to rip the thin layer of cotton off my wolf's body during the minute recently spent in human form, instead choosing to focus on hunting down and then donning Crew's collar during my last seconds alone. Now, as I realized how absurd my bedraggled wolf must look in her Tuesday undies, I regretted the oversight.

"Nice granny panties," the nameless sidekick said, slipping one finger beneath the waistband to pull it taut, then letting the elastic snap back against my fur.

I almost growled, but restrained myself in time. Sorry to disappoint, boys, I thought instead. If I'd known you were going to kidnap me and stuff me in a hole in the ground, I would have sprung for classier lingerie.

"Let's get her up where we can see her," Quill commanded, the moment of merriment past. My supposed pack mate clearly remembered how I'd taunted him with Lia's stolen lips a few minutes earlier, and even my days-of-the-week panties weren't enough to sidetrack him from his mission.

Two sets of rough hands settled beneath my shoulders and hips, and my wolf twitched despite my efforts to remain completely unmoving. At least I wasn't two-legged while these monsters touched my bare skin. Instead, I felt absurdly grateful for the animal fur that buffered my wolf from our enemies' malicious fingers.

Then my stomach swooped as I was heaved up to land on the edge of the hole. Until this point, I'd kept my eyes squeezed tightly shut, feigning slumber. But with my captors still in the pit below me, I knew my chance to escape had finally arrived.

Rousing my wolf with an effort, I reminded the animal of her marching orders as succinctly as possible. I'm not going to weigh you down, I told her. Because you'll need all the fleetness of foot you can muster. We've got to find cover before we're recaptured.

She and I both knew that the wolf brain would only be responsible for the first few minutes of our retreat. After that, I'd take back over and buy us more time, keeping the SSS members away from Lia and Savannah for as long as possible. But, for now, our success or failure rested on the head of the wolf.

My animal half didn't answer in words, but I felt her willingness as I carefully disentangled my human mind from her senses and dropped down her throat toward her belly. I didn't want to go so far that I wouldn't be available if she needed me. But I also wasn't willing to repeat my usual mistake of not trusting the animal half to command her own skin, slowing our reaction time in the process. We'd need every bit of skill we could muster to tease the SSS males without being caught.

Then my lupine form was on her feet, running through wet grass that felt heavenly beneath our mud-caked paws. The sensation was distinctly different from my usual experiences of either being in charge or being entirely lost within the darkness of her insides. This time around, I could see our surroundings, albeit at a distance, the sensations similar to watching a movie rather than participating in the action.

As I'd suspected, my prison pit had been located beside a small house surrounded on all sides by trees. An inholding in the national forest, most likely. Probably no more than an hour's drive from the hotel where our pack holed up, I mused.

Which meant we were roughly eight hours distant from Wolfie's territory. If I'd had a body, my stomach would have sunk into my shoes. As it was, my human brain drifted a little lower down the wolf's esophagus as I realized I'd made the wrong decision. I should have tried harder to track down local assistance rather than spreading my net so far afield. My new task of keeping Quill and his buddies busy for a third of a sun cycle seemed like an eternity.

"Shit! She's awake!"

Speak of the devil. I didn't look back, but from the sounds behind me I gathered that the second male had emerged from the pit and caught sight of our lupine form streaking away through the rain. Then Quill must have joined his comrade aboveground because energy began gathering in the air between us.

The tingling, hair-raising sensation was similar to the moment just before lightning struck, when electricity accumulated in the earth in preparation for spearing through the unwary. Although not as natural, our current reality was equally dangerous. My ex-captor was preparing to hit my wolf form with an alpha compulsion that her submissive nature had no chance of fighting against.

Based on the evidence of his elongated shift and his supposedly gentle persona, I hadn't thought the cowboy shifter had it in him to order another wolf around. But now I realized that his supposed weakness had only been part of the act, just like his drifter persona and the tale of lost love. All had worked together to lower my defenses and prompt me to accept the cowboy shifter into our clan against both Lia and Hunter's better judgment.

Now, I could finally sense the truth--Quill wasn't a passive, laid-back shifter like Cinnamon. Wolf senses didn't lie, and my animal body's fur was standing on end even as she strained to put more distance between us and the power-hungry male.

We only had one chance of escape left. If I could squash my wolf as I'd done for most of my life, then the upcoming alpha compulsion would roll right off our back just like Hunter's had when the uber-alpha appeared in my life for the first time. Quill's superior dominance wouldn't matter if I had no lupine nature to vanquish.

So I clawed upwards, struggling to dislodge my animal brain before Quill could recapture us with a single word. But it was too late.

"Halt," the cowboy shifter commanded, the directive calm and even as if he knew exactly how his prey would respond.

And he was right. I guess all those stolen halfie hearts paid off, I thought as my wolf's muscles froze to the earth.

Once again, we'd been caught effortlessly in Quill's trap.

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# Chapter 26

The pounding rain had picked up even more in the seconds I stood frozen to the earth, so I could barely hear the outpack males advancing. Still, I knew my wolf had only run about fifty feet before our muscles stopped working. Which meant I had roughly thirty seconds to get my act together before we ended up back down in that dark, dirty hole.

"Why are we taking her out now if moon-rise isn't for another six hours anyway?" the nameless partner grumbled as the duo advanced on my frozen form. I felt my stomach rumble as I realized it had to be Saturday afternoon already, meaning I'd lost nearly a day to drugs and claustrophobic dazes. My legs abruptly weakened, and I rolled my eyes at my own psychosomatic reaction.

Wait a minute--I rolled my eyes?

Sure enough, taking stock of my physical sensations proved that my human brain now shared our lupine body with the animal. Which meant I might be able to push the latter aside after all and take to my heels before our captors reached our side.

Here goes nothing.

I strained with all my might against the wolf's usually weak persona. Generally, it took no more than a flick of a virtual finger to toss her back down into the darkness of our shared subconscious. But Quill's compulsion appeared to have locked the wolf in place just as thoroughly as it had pinned our paws to the earth a moment earlier.

But maybe.... Rather than straining against Quill's command, I opted to work sideways this time around. Short of uber-alpha levels of control like Hunter's, a compulsion didn't usually halt involuntary body movements. Otherwise, underlings would all keel over from lack of oxygen to the brain.

So while Quill's barked order made it impossible for me to move my legs or neck, my heart was still pumping and my lungs were still billowing. Plus, I maintained that other involuntary lupine reaction...the urge to scratch.

I tunneled my attention down to an imaginary itch directly beneath Crew's collar. First, I pinpointed it in my mind--just under my left ear, midway down my neck. And as I focused, the creeping sensation slowly became real.

Muddy fur hung up beneath harsh fabric, I thought and felt those wrong-directed hairs tweaking nerve endings in my skin. Wet, heavy, I noted, paying attention to the way the collar chaffed against my sensitive flesh. And was that a flea burrowing into the warm cavity underneath?

The imagined itch had become nearly unbearable by the time my wolf reached up with one hind leg to jab at our neckband. But I could have danced and sung inside her body with sheer relief. My ploy had worked!

Now, I'd just have to hope that the SSS's banana extract was oil-based rather than water-based and hadn't been completely washed away by the collar's dunking. And that the wolf's relentless clawing would be sufficient to dislodge whatever trace was left behind.

Scratch, scratch, scratch. The collar moved in a circle around our shared neck, easing the itch and spreading relief through our nerve endings. But I didn't relax because Quill and his partner were still moving ever close behind us. It might already be too late.

Then one lupine nail knocked against the tiny plastic receptacle that some nameless SSS member had sewn into our collar. The claw caught and dug in...and then the faintest aroma of rotten banana filled the air.

Abruptly, my wolf was gone. Or rather, the animal mind had been banished, leaving my human brain in full command of our once-shared lupine body.

Quill was close enough now that I could feel his body heat as one hand reached out to grab me by the ruff. But I was faster. I darted to one side, watching with delight as the cowboy shifter slipped and fell into the muddy ooze beneath our feet.

Then I was racing flat out toward the treeline not far away. Once I reached the forest, I'd have a little breathing room. Time to regroup and get my bearings, time to come up with a more complex plan than my current escape at all costs.

"Stop, damn you!" Quill roared behind me. I glanced over one shoulder and saw that my enemy had regained his feet and was pulling out what looked like a handgun from a holster beneath his armpit. The SSS member's current compulsion had failed, so he was going for more serious firepower.

Uh oh. Good thing my wolf was still absent and my human brain wasn't required to obey that second command.

I dodged behind a broad pine trunk as the first bullet ricocheted toward me. The next missile clipped the end of my tail as my human reflexes didn't quite manage to dodge in time.

But then I was diving into the midst of a patch of greenbriers, slithering down a ravine, and darting deeper into the forest.

The outpack males' voices dimmed behind me. I'd eluded pursuit.

Now, to see if I could keep Quill and his compatriots from giving up the hunt and turning their attention to the other prisoners for eight long, grueling hours.

***

AS SOON AS I MUSTERED a little breathing room, those dratted Tuesday panties were the first thing to go. I rubbed up against a rough-barked chestnut oak until the underwear slid down off my lupine hips and fell with a damp splat onto the ground at my feet.

Wrinkling my upper lip, I wished I could afford to simply dig a little hole and bury the offending garment right there. But, instead, I picked the fabric up in my mouth and trotted off. I had a plan.

As I'd hoped, my supposed alpha powers turned me into me a prize worth hunting despite the pouring rain. Nearly immediately, in fact, Quill had called in the third SSS member to join him and his partner in their search of the dripping woods, leaving Lia and Savannah alone in the momentary safety of their locked room. In other words, my plan had thus far been successful.

The goal now was to keep all three outpack males so busy searching that they didn't have any leisure in which to molest the girls. To that end, I'd dodged into sight several times, leaving a paw print or purposefully broken twig here and there to signal my progress. It was a difficult game--always staying ahead of my potential captors without letting them lose hope that they'd eventually be able to find me.

But I needed a break. My stomach was rumbling and my brain was getting a little mushy from lack of calories. Plus, despite hours spent comatose within my prison cell, my eyelids were now heavy and begging a dose of REM sleep.

Let me lead, my wolf whispered. Rather than soothing her with platitudes the way I would have in the past, I nodded our shared head. Yes, that was the perfect solution--for my human brain to nap within our shared body while the wolf took command for half an hour or so.

But the wolf didn't boast the same complicated human logic that I found easy to harness. So I wanted to set her up with a good situation before I took a break.

Soon, I promised, speeding up from a walk into a trot. One of my paws was cracked and already becoming infected after being dragged through miles of mud, but I ignored the pain and instead ran forward until I caught sight of a handy snag.

Riiip. The inch-wide shred of pantie that remained behind on the protruding branch stub was just large enough to be noticeable without using up too much of my stash of fabric. And, to my delight, I saw that raindrops were already dragging dirt particles out of the cloth, leaving a whitish color behind.

Perfect. Even Quill's brain-dead sidekick can't miss that, I noted. Then I turned right, wriggling under a deadfall to make the trail more difficult to follow before trotting straight up the nearest hillside.

Another snag, another pantie scrap, another elusive twist in my trail to keep the SSS members scratching their heads while thinking they were edging ever closer to their prey. Then, finally, when the last scrap of underwear was tossed atop a nearby bush, I gave my wolf the reins.

Wake me if you need me, I requested. And, finally, I fell sound asleep.

***

THE CRUNCH OF BREAKING bones roused me from what turned out to be a surprisingly effective nap. The sound was obviously not caused by big, worrisome wolf or human bones. Instead, tasty, little rodent bones splintered beneath our sharp lupine teeth.

My animal half had hunted down a snack.

Resourceful wolf, I praised her. But then my human brain rose to look out of our shared eyes, and I had the impulse to take back every word of commendation...plus the hours of slumber that had preceded them. Once again, I'd trusted the wrong partner and let down my pack in the process.

While I'd been sleeping, the rainy day had dimmed into a clear but damp evening. And my wolf had hidden our shared body beneath a rhododendron bush at the edge of a clearing, so I didn't have to worry about being noticed. No, the issue wasn't inability to take in the scene or worry over my own safety...it was the gut-wrenching sight slowly coming into focus before us.

Altars. I remembered one of the barflies mentioning that word on Tuesday evening and wondered now how I hadn't realized that yesterday's farm field was the wrong place entirely for an SSS ritual. Because there had been no sacrificial paraphernalia present there...unlike in our current location, where two huge stones caught the glow of the rising moon on their polished surfaces.

Surfaces that gleamed dark with previous rounds of spilled blood. Surfaces on which two small female figures were even now being bound into place.

Why didn't you wake me earlier? I demanded of the wolf. It was almost too late already. The SSS members must have given up on their hunt and returned to plan A some time ago, figuring two halfies in the hand were better than one in the bush.

I should've been present to dog their footsteps from prison cell to altar.

Maybe there would have been an opportunity to break the girls free. Maybe we could have all escaped already if my animal half hadn't been more interested in rodent snacks than in the safety of our clan.

No chance to free them, my wolf replied simply. Images flashed through our shared mind. Guns, an alert Quill, two other males watching his back. Then, she finished: You needed rest and food. Now you can save our friends.

The animal brain wasn't the best at expressing herself, but I could feel her emotions flowing through our shared body. She trusted me to come through with a clever plot to save the day. She figured that after a nap and a field mouse, I'd be capable of springing Lia and Savannah from their sacrificial altars, no sweat.

The wolf had so much faith in me. But I didn't see how I could live up to her expectations. Not when I was naked and defenseless and faced with three armed men.

Speak of the devil. While I'd wavered, Quill decided to get the ball rolling by calling into the half-light: "I know you're out there, Fen. And I'm willing to offer you a deal. Surrender yourself and we'll let these kids go."

He paused, his honey-smooth voice turning ominous as he pulled a knife out of a sheath that hung from his belt. The blade was long and wicked, with a hook at one end perfect for gutting a deer...or a girl.

Savannah moaned in despair, but Lia kept her lips pressed close together as Quill's knife rose seemingly of its own volition to settle in the soft spot at the base of her neck. "So what will it be, Fen?" my once-pack-mate demanded. "Them...or you?"

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# Chapter 27

I had no plan. Just a hope and a promise--a hope that I'd think of something on the fly and a promise to Lia that I wouldn't let the SSS harm another hair on her head. The combination would have to be enough.

Are we able to shift? I asked my wolf. I wasn't sure how much time had passed in wolf body since our last transformation, but I was optimistic that my longer-than-intended nap plus the wolf's snack might have been enough to recharge the relevant muscles. I guess my wolf was smart to let me rest after all, I decided.

Rather than remarking upon my change of heart, the animal obediently relaxed her control over our furry body. And I responded by pushing against the inside of her skin, trying to force my way out.

Slowly, ever so slowly, we lost fur and regained thumbs. The transformation was neither fast nor elegant, and I wound up kneeling on the wet leaves of the forest floor rather than standing on two feet. But it had worked.

"Fen." Quill's tone was filled with warning now as he called out a second time into the slowly darkening forest. "I'm losing patience."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It wasn't as if I was dilly-dallying around out here. I was simply trying to ensure that when I walked into the cowboy shifter's trap--because of course his proposed exchange was actually a trap--that I had every possible factor lined up in my favor.

To that end, I spun in a frantic circle, eyes peeled in hopes a weapon might miraculously appear. What I wouldn't give for the sword I'd left behind in the clan vehicle the day before and that I'd used in virtual form only hours earlier. Or for a gun like the one I'd noticed bulging beneath the cowboy shifter's clean, dry shirt when I'd peered out between rhododendron leaves with lupine eyes.

Heck, I'd even take a plastic spoon at this point, I thought, quirking up one side of my mouth as I laughed at my own helplessness. Hunter had been worried I wouldn't be able to go in for the killing blow when the time was right. But neither one of us had envisioned this scenario--me walking up to three enemy shifters naked and entirely unarmed.

Well, not quite entirely unarmed. The pine tree a few paces behind me had cut off all nutrient flow to its lower limbs when the plant grew so tall that new branches shaded out the first attempts. Some of the resulting dead wood was too spindly to do much good. Other possibilities were too high above my head to reach. But one tantalizing branchlet was about two inches thick and looked both tough and sturdy. I suspected the limb would break to create a sharp, jagged point if I grabbed the far end and yanked.

Of course, the sound of breaking wood would also alert my enemies that I was nearby. But I didn't think I currently had the element of surprise on my side anyway. Quill knew me well enough to assume that I wouldn't save my own skin at the expense of my pack.

So I went for it. Edging out from beneath my bush, I leapt up to capture the targeted branch with both hands. And for a moment I dangled a foot above the ground, feet swaying in the air. Just my luck--the limb I'd chosen was stronger than it had initially appeared.

"This is your final warning." I twitched at the sound of Quill's voice, then winced as his sentence was followed by a short shriek of pain. The recipient of the cowboy shifter's wrath had to be Savannah since I knew for a fact Lia would bite through her tongue before she'd emit a sound that she thought would draw me into danger.

Craaaaccck.

I stumbled as I fell, stabbing the sharp end of my new weapon into the tender flesh of my own wrist when stick and arms ended up tangled beneath me in an effort to break my fall. The wound stung and I smiled. This wasn't a sword, but it would do.

I spared only a single moment for one final thought of my absent mate. Now would be a good time to show up, Hunter, I called down the invisible and probably absent pack bond. Then I paced forward to meet my destiny.

One of the SSS males had grunted out a surprised query seconds earlier in response to the sound of cracking wood followed by the thud of bare feet falling onto the forest floor. And now I was the one listening to heavy footfalls as they started toward my place of concealment. My wolf pulled my human lips upward into a lupine sneer. Perhaps this would be easier than I'd thought after all.

Just a little closer, I begged the outpack male. If a single SSS member set foot within the seclusion of the forest all on his lonesome, I'd soon have two enemies rather than three to deal with. Between the element of surprise, my pointy stick, and the anger that kept my animal half rampant behind my eyes, I didn't doubt for a moment that I'd be able to make short work of any shifter one-on-one.

But Quill was too smart to allow his party to be split up. "No," he commanded, wasting an alpha compulsion on a compatriot who I suspected would have obeyed a human command just as easily. "Fen will come out on her own. And quickly if she doesn't want me to start carving fingers and toes off little girls."

His words seemed to turn the air ten degrees colder in an instant and I shivered. The cowboy shifter wasn't bluffing--instead, I heard gleeful anticipation in his voice.

So I held the branch as loosely as I could, hoping it would look like a walking stick rather than a weapon.

Then I stepped out from amid my leafy cover.

***

WHILE I'D BEEN HARVESTING a half-assed weapon, the sun had fully set. But the rising moon was already bright enough that I could easily make out the expression on Quill's face as I emerged from my woodland lair.

He was gloating. His eyes danced with the knowledge that he'd soon capture a halfie pack leader without having to relinquish either young girl from his clutches. And while I'd like to say that pride goeth before a fall...even though I was armed with a pointy stick, the odds were still definitively stacked in the SSS's favor.

Not that I planned to let my enemy realize I felt that way. "I'm here," I said firmly, pacing forward slowly in order to give myself time to think. Bluffing came as naturally as breathing, so I continued to keep my shoulders high and my chin raised as I emulated an unbeatable alpha. The playacting probably wouldn't do any good, but it also couldn't hurt. "Release the girls and you can do whatever you want with me," I finished.

Unfortunately, my adversary wasn't so easily swayed. Ignoring my posturing, he ground out a truncated order. "Drop the..."

But rather than finishing the sentence, Quill paused and took a closer look at the weapon I held loosely in one hand. "Well, I was going to say sword," he finished, laughter now evident in his voice. "But it appears that you've come to a gunfight with a stick." Then his voice hardened. "Still, you can put it down. Now."

The knife that had drifted groundward as his attention focused on me now rose once more to settle against the smooth skin of Lia's neck. One erratic movement and our aggressor could easily slice through the halfie's jugular, ending her life before I could so much as scream in disbelief.

He needs to harvest Lia's heart while it's still beating, I reminded myself. But, despite my best efforts at mustering confidence, my fingers loosened involuntarily from around my hard-earned branch. I couldn't risk a pack mate's life based only on my judgment of Quill's character...or lack thereof.

Still, I gave the weapon a little forward momentum as it fell so the stick landed only a few feet away from my enemies' feet. If I was able to edge just a little closer, then the branch would be there waiting for me to snatch it back up....

Although that first hope was a little far-fetched, my unruly toss had another unintended consequence. Quill lowered his guard in response to what must have appeared a feeble attempt to strike out at him. "Not even close, girl," he taunted with a short laugh. "Now hold your hands out to your sides and walk over here slowly so Mick can bind them."

The now-named shifter was the same outpack male who had snapped my granny panties, and he was even more interested in my unclad human form than he had been in lupine lingerie. Mick's eyes burned into the bare skin of my breasts and crotch, and I had to force myself not to shield my exposed flesh with arms and hands. Or perhaps to lunge forward and smack the guy across his greedy face. Still, the time wasn't yet ripe for me to strike, so I simply paced obediently toward my future captor.

Except Mick might not earn that label after all. Because I noticed Lia and Savannah sharing a quick glance behind our enemies' backs, proving that I'd underestimated both girls. Far from the cowed captives they'd at first appeared, they seemed to have cooked up some sort of plan between them.

Savannah, especially, had initially appeared so beaten down that I'd assumed she'd lie back and accept her fate. But that persona had only been an act. Now that the enemies' eyes were all trained on me, the bound halfie struggled erect. Then, doing her best to keep herself out of her captors' line of sight, she wriggled toward the edge of her altar stone.

Unfortunately, I had a feeling Quill was too alert to be taken by surprise. Time for a little evasive action.

"I've been wracking my brain all afternoon," I lied loudly, halting all forward momentum as I snared the enemy males' attention more fully once again. "The name Faye sounded so familiar to me, and I couldn't quite figure out why. Then I realized. Wasn't she that bitch who was caught sleeping around a few All-Packs ago?"

Quill jolted backwards as if he'd been physically struck. Whether the B word or the implications of my lie had done the trick was irrelevant. Regardless, the cowboy shifter was thoroughly knocked off his game by my on-the-fly fairy tale. "She would never..." he spluttered.

I knew my adversary would figure out pretty quickly that I'd neither seen nor heard of Faye before he spoke her name in that VW bus. After all, I couldn't so much as weave her last name or her hair color into my story--I'd honestly never known the woman existed before Quill dropped his star-crossed history on me.

The question was--would the cowboy shifter see through my bluff before the girls' plan bore fruit?

Ah, here we go. A pencil was fumbled out of a waistband...just not by the girl I'd assumed would possess the small weapon. Instead, Savannah was the one who shrieked out an attack cry, Savannah was the one who lunged forward, and Savannah was the one who fell into the unnamed captor's outstretched arms.

"What the..." he began. The outpack male had reached for the girl, I realized, out of some nearly forgotten sense of chivalry rather than in an effort to recapture a prisoner who was already restrained hand and foot. But when those bound hands raised and stabbed a pointy graphite tip into the male's open eye, his scream was gut-wrenching.

The SSS member fell to the ground, writhing as he cradled his injured face with both arms. And without free hands and legs to halt her descent, Savannah plummeted earthward right along with him. But the spunky halfie shuffled to one side as soon as she landed, bracing her back against the altar even as Lia completed her shift atop the other standing stone.

My youngest pack mate must have begun calling on her wolf the moment I stepped into the clearing in order to have so quickly gained fur. And, even so, her transformation was far from smooth. She was excited and scared, I knew, Quill's knife only inches away from her jugular and who knows what fate on the horizon if she failed. But with her captor's attention trained on me and then on his injured compatriot, the teenager was able to not only don fur but also to wriggle her way out of the now-loose ropes that had previously bound her wrists and ankles together.

And then the fight was on. It still wasn't a fair fight--a tired halfie wolf, a tied teenager wielding a pencil, and me with the pointy stick I'd just now scooped back up off the ground against two armed and able-bodied men. But as Lia leapt from one stone to the other and ended up crouched against her new friend's back, I knew we made up in grit what we lacked in firepower. For the first time all day, I truly believed all three of us would make it out of there alive.

But I didn't have time to join my companions beside the standing stone because Quill had finally gotten his act together and was reaching for his handgun. Mick was a bit slower on the draw, but I could tell from the look in the lead SSS member's eyes that my almost-pack-mate wasn't going to bluff this time around. He'd aim for my shoulder or leg--not quite close enough to the head or chest to kill me outright but still causing a serious enough wound that I'd be forced to stay put while he ripped out my beating heart.

Not happening, my wolf growled. We didn't have time to think or to plan, just to lunge at the greatest threat in exactly the way Hunter had trained us to.

It wasn't a killing blow, but it wasn't meant to be a killing blow. Our goal was simply to get rid of the gun so our fight wouldn't end before it really began.

And we succeeded. I heard the bullet burst through the barrel and explode out into the air at the same moment I felt the pain in my forearm. But it didn't matter. My sword--my stick--whatever--had met its mark.

As I watched, the smoking hunk of metal skittered away across abruptly invisible leaves. A well-timed cloud had crossed in front of the moon, and Quill roared his rage as the weapon he depended upon to maintain his competitive edge disappeared into momentary darkness.

Then, far closer than I'd dared to hope, I heard an answering cry rend the night. One wolf howled, then two, then an entire pack.

My clan had finally come to our aid.

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# Chapter 28

They entered the clearing from every side. Hunter's huge brindled wolf was flanked by two ginger-haired canines and one gray--my entire pack united at last. From the other direction, Wolfie and his mate soared forward ahead of an even larger number of furry marauders, their feet moving so quickly that pads barely touched the ground.

Without conscious thought, I reached out with the pack sense to greet them. But the only tether I found was the one linking me to Hunter. Every other thread of the tangled cat's cradle that had recently bound our small clan together had since disintegrated into the warm summer night.

Still, the glowing strand linking me to my mate remained, and I couldn't resist brushing the lightest finger across our tantalizing connection. In response, my mate immediately turned his head to meet my gaze with eyes that glowed pale gold in the returning moonlight.

Thank you for coming, I told him, not sure he'd hear the words but knowing my mate would at least see the welcome in my eyes.

Thank you for calling me, he answered, his reply clear and warm within my mind.

The simple sentence was a soothing balm plastering over the aching hole in my gut, and my hunched shoulders settled down from around my ears for the first time since I'd cast Hunter out of our shared hotel room thirty-six hours earlier. My relief was almost tangible.

But there wasn't time for further honeyed words because Quill didn't give up easily. I smelled bananas--a preemptive strike against Hunter's uber-alpha abilities--and then the air around me was abruptly consumed by dense black smoke.

Coughing, I stumbled with watering eyes toward where I thought Lia and Savannah might have been located. It was impossible to see the girls through the haze, but I was able to use my bond with Hunter as a guideline to orient me in the abrupt pitch darkness. Just a few more steps this way....

Then hairs abruptly stood erect on my arms as Quill transformed far too close to my exhausted human body. His wolf was invisible amidst the fumes, but I could tell my enemy was present as easily as I could tell that Hunter was still racing toward me. The former's hunger and anger were a palpable presence now, and I knew without being told that Quill had one intention and one intention alone--to eat at least one halfie heart before he fled the field of battle this night.

No! I screamed within my own mind. I couldn't--wouldn't--let my opponent leap atop the girls we'd all converged upon this clearing to protect.

So, despite the fact that my adversary now boasted sharp teeth and claws to back up his claims, I stepped boldly in front of him. "You'll have to go through me first," I whispered harshly. I couldn't muster any impressive volume due to a smoke-tightened throat, but I was pretty sure grimness would get the message across.

My enemy didn't appear at all chastened though. Instead, he continued to stalk closer until I could see his wolf easily through the man-made fog. The huge dark shape was so near, in fact, that I could have reached out and patted his tremendous head.

Not that I wanted to. Not when Quill appeared to be elated at the opportunity to snare me instead of the weaker teenagers.

I could feel the SSS member's hot breath on my bare shin when he halted, opening his mouth into a lupine snarl wrought with anticipation. Hard animal eyes bored into mine and I found myself unable to move. My chest tightened and my vision tunneled, even my heart slowing its beat in the face of Quill's silent compulsion.

So this is what death looks like.

And then a huge brindled wolf was flying through the air toward my opponent. Hunter didn't bother with a warning blow, simply landed atop the other beast's back and crunched down with iron jaws. Immediately, Quill shuddered, legs losing their ability to hold him upright as his spine snapped. Life fled his dark eyes in an instant.

Rather than letting his deceased prey go, though, Hunter instead fell to the ground with his enemy's ruff still firmly clamped between his teeth. Then the uber-alpha shook his head so vigorously that blood splattered through the air and landed on my cheek.

I didn't look away as my mate tore into the shifter who had killed innocent women and who had tried to do the same to me and my friends. For long moments, the uber-alpha growled and ripped and battered, not stopping until Quill had become an unrecognizable lump of meat and fur splayed across the wet ground.

My mate was a beast. He was wild and rough and barbaric.

And utterly glorious.

I could hardly take my eyes away from Hunter's welcome form long enough to peer out through the thinning fog. But I had to check on the rest of my pack, and especially on the teenage girls who had so recently been lying atop twin sacrificial altars in preparation for losing their hearts.

Because there was still that final uninjured SSS male to deal with. Savannah had taken down one captor with a pencil to the eye, Hunter had made short work of the other, but Mick was still unaccounted for.

I hoped that with so many shifters rushing to our aid, Lia and Savannah would have been safe from the final shifter's aggression. But I wouldn't believe it until I saw the girls with my own eyes. So I wrenched my gaze away from Hunter's depredations with an effort and scanned the clearing.

The first form I was able to pick out through the clearing smoke was Ginger, the trouble twin resembling nothing so much as an avenging goddess as she stood two-legged and naked beneath the moon. Her brother was still in fur form at her feet, while Glen surged upward into humanity even as he caught my eye. In response to my questioning gaze, my steadfast beta stepped aside as soon as his transformation was complete, allowing me to take in the huddle of female limbs on the ground behind him.

I caught my breath. No! We'd been too late. I'd been too late.

But then Lia moved, the knife in her right hand slicing through the final rope binding her friend in place. And the two girls rose arm in arm, stiff and a little wary but also clearly giddy with relief. They bounced and hugged with the resilience of youth, wide smiles opening their faces as they realized they were encircled by friends instead of enemies at last.

Just as I was now being encircled by Hunter's strong arms. He was flecked with guts and goo, but I didn't care. I squeezed him so hard I thought I might break a rib, and he hugged me back with equal vigor.

For the first time in days, my muscles relaxed and my wolf released her wary stance. We'd succeeded. We'd survived.

And with Hunter in my arms, I was finally home.

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# Epilogue

I slept fitfully even though I had little reason to complain. My bullet hole--a flesh wound only--had long since been cleaned, and members of both my pack and Wolfie's were now spread out across soft beds in the adjoining hotel rooms. We were all safe and alive and together.

Well, not quite together. Hours earlier, pack mate after pack mate had invited me to join them in a post-battle jumble of furry limbs. But it hadn't felt right to bed down with other shifters when the network of incandescent filaments that bound us together as a cohesive whole had been severed by my own free will.

So I thanked each friend but declined their advances. And, one by one, my companions had acceded to my wishes and left me alone.

But now, isolated in my solitary den, I dreamed of a deep, dark hole in the ground. I dreamed of Quill ripping the still-beating heart out of Lia's chest. And I dreamed of the agony in Hunter's eyes when I'd cast my mate out of the pack two mornings prior.

Only when a warm, furry body leapt up onto the bed beside me did I finally jolt out of my fitful drowsing. There was no need to open my eyes as the heavy weight settled into the hollow between knees and stomach. Instead, I simply smelled sassafras with a hint of agitated spring water and knew I was safe.

The thread of sound that I realized was my own whimpering eased as Hunter shifted into human form just long enough to pull me up against his long, lean body. "Shhh," he whispered, stroking my hair. "I'm here."

I meant to open my eyes and respond. But, instead, my mate's soft puffs of breath tickling against the inside of my ear lulled me into a slumber as deep as the one I'd enjoyed when my wolf took the lead during our game of hide and seek a few hours earlier. With Hunter at my side, I could finally let go.

But my mate was gone when I woke again, this time to late morning sunlight streaming through my window. Instead of the uber-alpha, a red-haired bombshell perched on the edge of my bed.

Ginger was fully clad this morning and just as perfectly coiffed as ever. Looking at her now, in fact, I was pretty sure the trouble twin hadn't so much as chipped a fingernail while single-handedly tearing Mick to shreds the night before. She'd looked like a raging beast when I first reached her side, her worry over Lia's safety completely squashing her usual civilized facade of humanity. But the essence of sure-of-herself pack princess had since returned with a vengeance.

I breathed a sigh of relief that lasted...oh, about as long as it took for my companion to open her mouth. "Wolfie says the pack bond might regrow," Ginger told me without preamble, raising one eyebrow as she waited impatiently for my response.

I was barely awake. My mouth tasted like old socks, and my throat was as dry as a desert ravine. But, okay, it looked like we were really going to get into this here and now. "What are you trying to say, Ginger?" I croaked out.

"I'm saying," she began, deleting the mitigating word that held no place on her tart tongue, "that we can still be a pack. I know you want to ditch us, to tell us to move back in with our old clan. But that's not happening. Once you're all healed up and ready to go, we're coming right along with you."

"Coming with me where?" I asked gently. "Coming with me to wander through outpack territory hoping we won't get snatched up by another sociopath who thinks halfies make good appetizers to prepare the palate for a pack-princess lunch? Coming with me to watch your cousin traumatized all over again?"

I knew I'd struck a nerve when Ginger glanced aside, and I smiled grimly at my success. I wanted our clan to remain united as much as anyone. But it was time for us both to face reality. Whether or not I'd been a capable alpha in the past, I no longer boasted the strength necessary to lead us to safety.

So, risking getting slapped, I reached out with my right hand and slid workmanlike digits between the trouble twin's slender fingers. "I appreciate your loyalty," I told her. "But without the alpha mantle, it's just not safe for me to drag Lia around hither and yon any longer."

My unoccupied left hand tightened unconsciously around the envelope that Wolfie had dropped off in my room the night before. Truth be told, I wasn't actually going to be wandering aimlessly once my bullet wound healed. But Ginger didn't need to know that right away.

Not when my goal was for her to accept responsibility for her own safety and for that of our shared friends. To let our pack drift apart as organically as the threads that once bound us together had disintegrated into the summer air the afternoon before.

"Then ask Hunter to let you move back into Haven," Ginger demanded, ice-blue eyes flashing. She wasn't willing to let the issue drop and my throat tightened as I realized the trouble twin really did care about me as a friend, not just as a crush. Otherwise, she wouldn't have brought up my mate's ability to reverse the decree that had kicked me out of Wolfie's pack in the first place. No, her words now were as much of a show of acceptance as I'd ever get for letting the uber-alpha into my life and my heart.

Still, Ginger's suggestion--while the easy way out--wasn't the right solution. "I could," I agreed. "But I won't."

"You won't?" Ginger leapt to her feet, unable to sit still any longer now that anger filled her body with unharnessed potential. She paced from bed to door and back again. "You won't ask him for one little favor to make your life better? He'd give it to you in heartbeat."

"I would."

The deep male voice carried easily through the closed door and I smiled. Ginger had clearly begged my mate for a minute alone with me. But while Hunter had been willing to step away from my bedside, the uber-alpha hadn't gone far.

I was glad.

So I spoke to them both when I answered. "I know he would," I said. "But back when Hunter kicked me out of Haven in the first place, he realized I needed that nudge if I was ever going to flee my safe but constraining little nest. He said I'd thank him for it later, and he was right. This is me thanking you, Hunter, for helping me learn who I really am. Or at least for prodding me into taking the first step in that direction."

Then I turned my attention back to the girl who had sunken down onto the bed beside me once more. The girl who had been a true friend, even if a little scattershot with her emotions. "But you don't need to remain a part of Wolfie's pack forever," I told her. "If anyone in our little clan had the potential to grow into an alpha's abilities, it was you. So rest and regroup...and then spread your wings and fly."

It was true. Ginger had led our fur-form hunts for a reason--she possessed the strength of will necessary to turn a group of independent-minded werewolves into a cohesive pack. Once she matured a little and learned to mind her tongue and passions, the teenager would become a powerful alpha. I was proud to think I'd had a small hand in her growth...even if it meant losing a friend and pack mate in the process.

I think we were both crying a little when Ginger hugged me one last time. "Okay," she muttered. Then, eyes flashing, she landed one last peck on my lips before flouncing out the door and into her future. My mate growled at the twin's forwardness but otherwise held his peace.

Watching her go, I knew that Ginger would be fine. She'd have Cinnamon at her back, and Lia would remain her full-time project until the younger girl overcame any post-traumatic stress developed as a result of her imprisonment. Maybe they'd even form a clan of their own some day.

Still, the hole in my gut felt cavernous as my mate slipped in through the entranceway that the trouble twin had left gaping wide open. "What will you do next?" he asked, pushing the door closed behind him.

I swallowed down my sorrow, then flourished the envelope I'd hidden beneath the covers to keep it away from Ginger's keen nose and eyes. "Wolfie brought me a note from my mom last night," I told him. "From the parent I haven't seen in twelve years. The human who couldn't stand the thought of living among werewolves and who was willing to orphan her daughter if that's what it took to get out from under the beasts' terrifying thumbs."

The uber-alpha's nostrils flared as I spoke and his hands closed into fists. One of these days, I was going to have to learn what it was about halfies and their human parents that pushed his buttons.

But my mate quickly squelched his own emotions, sinking down into the spot that was still warm and indented in the shape of Ginger's well-padded bum. "Go on," he said, his fingers trailing up my arm as if he couldn't quite manage to keep his hands off me when we were in such close proximity.

I didn't mind. I felt the same way.

Still, I needed that appendage free in order to pull the invitation out of its envelope. So I shifted over to lean against my mate's broad chest instead, managing not to sever our connection even as I extricated my arm from his light caress.

Despite now possessing two working hands, I nearly couldn't pull the small black card out of its sheath because my fingers were shaking so violently. The paper boasted silver lettering and ornamentation that shone against the dark background like a wedding invitation turned on its head. There was my mother's name and my father's, a date, a time, a place.

A little line drawing of a gravestone.

"I've been invited to my father's funeral," I told Hunter. "And I think I really have to go."

***

DID YOU ENJOY FEN'S adventure? If so, I hope you'll consider writing a review. Reviews make or break independent authors and help others decide whether to take a chance on a new book.

After that, Fen's journey continues in Lone Wolf Dawn, now available on all retailers. Or turn the page to dive into yet another werewolf world....

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# Huntress Born

Book 1 of the Wolf Legacy Quartet

Werewolf and baker Ember leaves safety to hunt for her missing half brother. But with danger looming on every side, it's only a matter of time before she gets burned.

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# Chapter 1

I stepped off the bus into a darkened city full of human muggers, territorial werewolves, and countless other scoundrels. But I was prepared. I'd brought cupcakes.

Unfortunately, it wasn't yet time to eat those cupcakes. Instead, I keyed an Uber request into my phone with one hand while dragging my rolling suitcase clear of the massive wheels with the other. Then I froze as my inner animal abruptly straightened onto full alert.

Wolf. The hint of fur, musk, and testosterone warred for pride of place with urban odors, and I found myself turning in a tight circle in search of the source of the barely present aroma. If my inner beast wasn't mistaken--and she rarely was--then this wasn't merely a shifter in human form sliding seamlessly through the city streets the way I hoped to do. No, a fur-form werewolf was nearby, running four-legged in a space where only two-leggers belonged.

Hairs lengthened on the backs of my arms as my inner beast responded to danger by requesting ownership of our shared body. We were female, far from our pack, and boasted no recourse save our own lupine fangs. It was time to pull out those ivory weapons and show this stranger how capable we were of fighting back.

But instead of obliging my animal's request, I merely stalked to the edge of the lighted circle that marked the bus drop-off zone. Then, drawing extra sensory assistance from my inner wolf, we peered together into the asphalt shadows.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Even in human form, it was easy to pick out the staccato beat of a leaky faucet inside the closed Greyhound station behind our back. Grumbling cars rolled past one block over while human laughter emanated from what smelled like a bar further down the street. But nothing pointed to danger more severe than tired businessmen enjoying a night out on the town. Nothing suggested that my initial impulse--the urge to track down a wolf who possessed the scent signature of a stalker--was anything more than inexperienced-traveler jitters.

This is unknown territory, I reminded myself. Maybe smelling a wolf here is no big deal.

After all, there were several hundred times as many people per square mile in this city compared to the rural enclave where I'd grown up. Presumably, there were several hundred times as many werewolves too.

Still, given the legal imperative against displaying our animal skins to the one-body world, surely it made no sense for a werewolf to be wandering these city streets on four furry feet. No sense...unless the shifter in question was hunting a very specific sort of prey.

Prey like me.

Back home, I would have responded to imminent danger by shifting and running for higher ground. In the process, I'd tug at the pack bond that sat invisible yet ever-present at my fingertips then would laugh with exhilaration as dozens of uncles and aunts and cousins came sprinting up to join me. Together, we'd been known to roust troublesome werewolves away from our borders in less time than it took to whip up a batch of buttercream frosting.

Here though, I was deep in the heart of Greenbriar territory, an invader rather than a defender...from a legal standpoint at least. I had no permission to be present. No permission to walk these streets in search of the brother I'd never before met and who I only hoped was still alive. As such, the smart response would have been to keep my head down and to stay out of trouble. I couldn't go haring off after a total stranger based on nothing more than a whim combined with a trick of the light.

Chase him. Find him, my inner beast countered. She urged me to blow off human worries and slip into the skin of our wolf. To follow our instincts and run. Now, she added impatiently.

But before we could duke out our disagreement, the distinctive odor of wolf began receding into the distance. Within seconds, the hint of fur had faded to nothing, hidden beneath the overwhelming aromas of rotting garbage and over-applied perfume.

Perhaps the danger had never been present in the first place other than in my own over-tired brain.

And as the scent trail dissipated, I was once again left alone in a strange city with only a few possessions at my disposal. A suitcase, four cupcakes, and a phone that promised connection to my beloved pack mates. The combination would have to be enough.

***

THE UBER APP REPORTED that my ride was still several miles out and my stomach ached with the enforced distance from pack. So I sank down onto the curb and succumbed to that most lupine of yearnings--the necessity of calling home.

"Ember." The voice of my father--who wasn't biologically related but who was very much my alpha--crept over me like the scent of a newly mown meadow. Shoulders that had hunched up around my ears for the last eighteen hours drifted gradually downward and I eyed the cupcake bin strapped to the top of my suitcase with renewed longing.

Not yet, I chided myself. Hearing Wolfie say my name might have made me feel at home, but I hadn't actually reached a safe harbor. Which meant it wasn't time for my much-anticipated treat. Not quite yet.

"Dad," I answered instead, trying to sound like a capable twenty-five-year-old woman rather than like a scared little girl. Despite my fanged alter-ego, this was the first time I'd left Haven under my own volition. No wonder I felt as jumpy as a newborn colt.

And my father must have sensed the worry imbuing that lone word. Because he dove right into the heart of the issue with all the single-mindedness of a born wolf. "Trouble?" he asked.

"Nothing I can't handle." My tone was firm but I knew Wolfie heard the lie in my voice as easily as I'd picked out the pride and affection in his. So I strove to make the next sentence true by recalling the way the scent of fur had faded almost as soon as it entered my nostrils. "I'm fine," I added, focusing on the fact that the trouble really was gone. I had handled the potential problem. So my initial words weren't really a falsehood after all.

And the evasion seemed to work. Unfortunately, my father moved on to a question that was much harder to sidestep. "Are you eating your cupcake yet?" Wolfie asked next, his deep rumble the lupine equivalent of a relaxing purr.

This time I hesitated, unwilling to fudge a question so tightly tied to a beloved childhood ritual. Because Dad had been baking gift cupcakes ever since I'd reached my teens, using the unique pastries to celebrate hurdles overcome and milestones achieved. In today's case, the pastry Wolfie had concocted with his own two hands--unlike the more numerous ones I'd made myself--was tucked away deep within my suitcase, a single-serving bin hiding what was bound to be a work of art.

I hadn't even seen my present yet. Was saving that particular boost for the moment when I was finally able to let down my guard and relax into my bed tonight. I wanted to eat the gift with care while feeling the pack bond encircle me just like my father's arms had done so many times before. I wanted to use Dad's cupcake to remember I was loved.

So, in the end, I didn't even attempt a lie as I answered my father's second question of the evening. "Not yet," I admitted. Then, remembering my supposed independence and the very real distance separating me from my home pack, I added: "But you can go to sleep anyway. I have this covered."

Wolfie hummed acknowledgement of my honesty, but that didn't mean he was willing to let me off the hook just yet. "If you're not eating, then I'm not sleeping," my father murmured, his words warming my belly far more than a mere morsel of chocolate might have done.

But then the silence between us turned brittle, and I sighed, knowing which often-repeated conversation was coming next. "You don't have to say it," I interjected, cutting my father off at the pass. "This might be a wild-goose chase and Derek might not want to be found. If my brother really intended to get to know me, he would have come to visit in person rather than sending cryptic messages that resulted in me crossing territory lines. That all makes just as much sense as it did the first time you said it...but I'm willing to take the chance. I can't leave my brother dangling if he's really in trouble."

"I know," Dad rumbled, his voice just as warm now as it had been a moment earlier. He didn't correct my semantics, either. Didn't mention that Derek was only a half-brother or that our shared mom had chosen to abandon me at birth. Instead, Dad's next words proved that my adopted father, at least, would always be on my side even if he disapproved of my current actions. "That wasn't what I was going to say at all."

The phone went silent as my father paused, and I closed my eyes to better sense his presence. Despite the hundreds of miles that separated us, merely breathing in tandem revitalized exhausted muscles and soothed traveling jitters. I would have gladly sat there all night, soaking up Wolfie's strength and reveling in the connection of pack.

But I had places to go. Brothers to meet. Alphas to charm. So, at last, I prodded my father back onto track. "Dad?"

Immediately, Wolfie's deep rumble filled my ears once again. "No matter what happens, Buttercup, I'll be here to back you up. You can always come home."

A human twenty-something would have responded with an agitated eye roll. There were even some shifters who might have felt stifled by an adopted parent's clear obsession with their continued well-being.

But I wasn't one of the latter. For me, family was everything. As such, I had every intention of finding the half-brother I'd never before met, making sure he wasn't in trouble, then high-tailing it back the way I'd come as quickly and carefully as possible.

Unfortunately, now wasn't the time to bask in familial reassurances. Because the scent of fur had returned, filling the air more strongly than ever. And this time, it was all I could do to swallow down a lupine growl.

"I've gotta go," I said instead, disconnecting the call without waiting for a reply and slipping my phone into a pants pocket for safekeeping. Then clambering to my feet, I stared out into the darkness in search of a wolf.

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# Chapter 2

When the stranger emerged from the shadows at last, an inexperienced human would have found him inconsequential. His lupine belly nearly scraped the pavement and each step was placed more cautiously than the last, producing the impression of an abused and tentative stray dog.

But, to a shifter, the threat was obvious. This wolf wasn't skittishly searching for a handout. He was exercising the careful moderation of a practiced hunter. And, as the only living being within eye shot, I was definitely the one who'd been earmarked as prey.

Opening my mouth, I rolled a great gulp of air across my taste buds in an effort to analyze the stranger's threat level. He wasn't particularly dominant--I could smell that much from a distance. But despite his lack of alpha oomph, the male was crouched in readiness to spring while his teeth were plenty long enough to take down an average human.

Luckily, I was neither average nor human.

"I'm Ember Wilder-Young," I said loudly, taking one long step forward as the stranger paused at the edge of the slim circle of illumination provided by the streetlight above my head. A werewolf shouldn't have needed excessive volume to pick out words across the distance that separated us. But I opted to raise my voice anyway, mimicking the firm yet gentle dominance my father had embodied for my entire life. "I've got a ride coming and your alpha's expecting me. So there's no need to wait around. I'm good."

I seemed to be telling everyone that I was good today...and no one was willing to take my assertion at face value either. Like Wolfie, this shifter snorted out a huff of air that called my sanity into question. But then he lifted his muzzle and inhaled deeply through his moist, black nose.

I could see the moment the stranger caught my scent. The breeze, such as it was, had been blowing in the opposite direction from the beginning or this wolf would have gathered all salient details before even stepping out of the shadows. Now he froze, head cocked to one side as he tried to figure out how a woman like me came to be in a place like this.

"You smell like rich, irresistible chocolate to any red-blooded shifter male," one of my cousins had told me the day before. "You're nuts to leave pack lands unprotected."

Other family members had chimed in with similar admonitions, trying to keep me at home where I was safe. But I had reasons to be here and I definitely wasn't going to let the first starry-eyed shifter with more libido than sense send me scurrying back to Haven with my tail between my legs.

So I stood my ground as the wolf drifted closer, his eyes gleaming and the first hint of slobber trailing across pink gums. Yuck. Apparently even the mention of an absent alpha wasn't enough to get me off the hook this time around. Time to come up with a plan B.

Let me, my wolf murmured underneath my skin. She wanted to speak with my tongue, to order the less dominant wolf to stand down. The compulsion would have worked, too...and yet I hesitated, shifting nervously from foot to foot rather than reaching for our most obvious line of defense.

Because I'd learned the hard way that bending a weaker wolf around my little finger with a simple verbal command wasn't as painless as it appeared from the dominant side. Instead, being controlled by a stronger shifter was akin to listening to nails scrape across a blackboard while watching someone vomit out great big gobs of stinky stomach contents...all while dangling upside down over a deep abyss that ended in a trough of voracious alligators. There was no long-term damage associated with the compulsion, but the ordeal itself was certainly unpleasant in the moment.

So, yes, I could bark this growling shifter into line...but should I? What if my initial impression had been wrong and the male wasn't busy stalking women who'd made the unfortunate mistake of walking alone at night? What if I was merely on edge from my recent trip and this male intended to remind me not to traipse through someone else's territory without permission?

When in doubt, don't, I decided, opting against forcing my opponent to back down the easy way. Instead, I stood a little taller and gazed directly into the wolf's greenish eyes. "You really don't want to mess with me," I promised too quietly for a human to hear.

Then, relaxing my hold over my own inner beast, I allowed the stranger to see a hint of the animal hidden beneath my human skin.

She might have been smaller than my opponent's animal, but my wolf was no lightweight. Instead, she was twice as dominant as our aggressor, twice as able to stand up for herself in either a physical or verbal battle. As intimidation tactics went, showing a glimpse of her behind my eyes was akin to a war-like nation threatening to drop an atomic bomb.

And, sure enough, plan C worked like a charm. Drool dried up in an instant as the shifter swiveled without a sound. Then he was heading back into the shadows from which he'd come, not a single yip of protest reaching my ears.

There was nothing like a stronger force to make a budding bully back down.

"And my Uber's almost here too," I noted, glancing down at my phone. I'll admit my voice was a little smug as I watched headlights flicker across the wall behind me. Already, I was thinking three steps in advance, counting my remaining cupcakes as I imagined doling them out to each person I'd need to charm before I could lay my head on a pillow and drift into rejuvenating sleep.

One for the Uber driver, one for the Greenbriar pack leader, one for my eventual host. Luckily, I had precisely three cupcakes left...not counting my own treat smashed between clean undies and a work blouse, that is. Perfect.

Which is when I picked up a sound from the direction in which the wolf had fled. A wolf's growl. A woman's gasp.

Meanwhile, the air around me filled with the sharp scent of overwhelming fear. Perhaps I shouldn't have given that wolf so much benefit of the doubt after all....

***

MY INITIAL IMPULSE was to take off in search of my erstwhile companion, but the oncoming vehicle had already purred to a halt before I could make my move. And as I stood eying the expanse of sleek, shiny metal, a tinted window rolled down to reveal a man twice as beautiful as the hunk of steel that surrounded him.

"You called an Uber?" the driver asked, sable hair floating down to partially obscure equally dark and mysterious eyes. Despite myself, I leaned in closer to harvest a sniff. Soap, smarts, confidence. The scent was intoxicating.

The driver was human, though, which in this era of extreme shifter secrecy meant he was also entirely off limits. Forcing my head away from the open window, I bit my lip and squashed the hum of lupine interest threatening to rise up through my human throat. Never mind the rules--there was no point in considering a relationship with a one-body when I had no intention of mating outside my pack.

My wolf whimpered within my stomach, chastened by the reminder. But it was the muffled shriek--just distant enough to be indiscernible to a normal human--that pulled me back to the present with a jolt. "I forgot something down there," I said hurriedly before twisting my arm to gesture awkwardly at the suitcase by my feet. "Help yourself to a cupcake," I added, "and I'll be right back."

Hoping the treat would keep my driver occupied while he waited, I took off at a run just barely slow enough to appear human. Then even that pretense fell away as shadows settled around my furless skin and shielded me from view. I'd made one mistake already in letting the stranger off scot-free. I had no intention of allowing him to harm a human on my watch.

Still, even as I raced down the dark alley intent upon rescue, my mind was attempting to assemble a puzzle whose pieces didn't quite add up. I was new to this city and unfamiliar with local customs, but it made no sense for a shifter to be attacking females willy-nilly. After all, the Greenbriar alpha would be acting under the same mandate that guided Dad's governance--the imperative to keep the peace within his pack while also ensuring werewolves remained hidden from prying human eyes. Moral implications aside, Chief Greenbriar would have to be an idiot to allow underlings to draw attention to themselves by breaking one-body laws.

Shivering despite the warmth of the night, I allowed my wolf to rise up and join me within our human skin at last. She wasn't concerned about the inconsistencies presented by this city's rotten underbelly. Instead, her attention latched onto the renegade werewolf who'd cornered a human woman in the shadowy enclave between a metal dumpster and an unyielding brick wall.

Despite the darkness, my shifter senses made the scene all too clear. And I winced as I realized the attacker had taken yet another step into the unthinkable during the moments he'd spent alone. Because he wasn't a wolf now. Instead, the male was two-legged and naked, presumably having transformed right in front of the young woman he was currently attempting to maul.

Unsavory repercussions flew in front of my mind's eye in one jumbled heap. There was no wiggle room in this particular law. No way to save a human who had been privy to a shifter's transition from wolf to man. Instead, if this woman had been able to discern her attacker's shift despite the darkness...well then, she'd have to be killed for the sake of werewolves everywhere.

I'd just have to hope the woman's eyesight wasn't up to the task.

The victim didn't need night vision, though, to be terrified. Not when her attacker had ripped open the front of her blouse, his other hand fumbling with the buttons of her jeans. "You're fertile," the male murmured, his words more wolf than human. "Ripe, round, ready."

And despite my former intentions not to make waves, I abruptly saw red. This wasn't the way werewolves acted. Forget the mandate not to show ourselves in public, this was uncivilized.

Uncle Hunter would have punched out the attacker's lights. Dad would have shifted into lupine form and torn into this stranger with tooth and claw. Right now, either option seemed like a good one to me.

But stumbling footsteps in the alley behind my back marked the approach of my Uber driver, his advance slow but steady. Darn his cute face, the guy was too chivalrous to allow me to be assaulted in a dark alley on his watch.

Which meant, unfortunately, I didn't have the wiggle room to assault anyone in a dark alley either.

So, instead, I readied the talent I'd rejected earlier as akin to killing a mosquito with a sledgehammer. This time around, I figured the bug in question deserved to be squished. "Go home," I ordered, my voice too quiet for either human to hear.

The stranger, though, not only heard but felt. Predictably, he jerked like a puppet whose stage manager had pulled the strings and bade him to dance. But the shifter didn't flee immediately. Instead, the bastard tried to fight against my overt command, swiveling around to glare at me over one naked shoulder as he fought against the compulsion to obey.

Then the Uber driver was in the alley behind us. His flashlight shone across the wall and dumpster before glinting against the woman's eyes...and that was all the illumination the latter needed to raise the canister of Mace she'd been clutching in one white-knuckled grip and spray it directly into her attacker's face.

My shifter dominance would have done the trick eventually...but I have to admit the effects of pepper spray were far more satisfying. Because the attempted rapist yowled as if his victim had stuck a knife through his groin. Then he was running down the alley in the opposite direction, air humming with electricity as he shifted into lupine form just out of sight.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I crossed my fingers and hoped the two humans didn't realize they'd just sighted the impossible--a person able to transform into the body of a wolf at will. Because if they put two and two together, the law said I had to put them down.

I definitely didn't have enough cupcakes on hand to deal with that sort of catastrophe.

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# Chapter 3

To my relief, neither human appeared to notice anything beyond the obvious--that a terrified woman had finally found safety once her attacker was chased away. My luck continued to hold, too, when the victim made it all the way to the sleek sports car before collapsing into a tearful heap in the leather-lined safety of the small back seat.

The female didn't respond to any of my condolences, though, suggesting that she needed a little time to collect herself. So, after offering yet another unnoticed pat on the back, I glanced up and caught the Uber driver's gaze in the side mirror instead.

In stark contrast to my own suitcase-top perch outside the car's open door, the driver was visibly distancing himself from the feminine gaggle behind his back. Not that I blamed him--he probably needed to get back to making a living. Figuring it was only fair to let him off the hook, I smiled grimly and offered the driver an easy way out.

"I'm sorry," I began. "I think this is gonna take a while. It won't hurt my feelings at all if you need to go find another fare...."

And in response, a wave of emotion so intense I could smell it from outside the car flickered across the driver's chiseled face. "Are you serious? You think I'm going to leave you two here alone in the middle of the night when there's a potential rapist on the loose?"

The male's tone was as curt as any alpha werewolf who thought his pack mates were in danger. And despite the driver's complete inability to change forms, testosterone sizzled through the air while barely banked rage attempted to break through his cool facade.

Huh, guess I had him pegged all wrong. Here I'd thought my driver was irritated and uncomfortable with the crying woman parked in his back seat. Instead, the human was furious about the events that had come before. In fact, I got the distinct impression he wanted nothing more than a chance to pound that potential rapist into the pavement.

Well, that makes two of us.

As quickly as the rage appeared, though, the man's face smoothed and I was left wondering if I'd merely imagined the strength of his former reaction. "I'm here for the duration," the driver continued, twisting his body sideways and reaching into the space between the seat and door so he could shake my hand. "So I guess I might as well introduce myself. I'm Sebastien Carter...and you're Ember Wilder-Young."

"How...?" I asked, the human's firm grip short-circuiting my already weary brain. Close up, Sebastien's odor enveloped me like a warm hug, the faint addition of sandalwood-scented sweat lingering beneath his more signature aromas. My companion smelled like adventure and danger and hidden potential...and I wanted to transform into a wolf so I could jump into his lap and lick his square-jawed face.

Releasing the large hand a tad too quickly for the sake of politeness, awareness fled in an instant as my usual perspicuity returned. Of course my name would have been listed on the user profile when I requested a ride. There was nothing magical about an Uber driver knowing who I was.

"And I'm Harmony Garcia," the woman beside me interjected, straightening at long last in response to our more-intimate-than-intended exchange. As I finally got a good look at her, I realized that she must have been on her way home from work despite the late hour. Because a black pant suit hugged her trim curves while carefully applied mascara remained pristine despite her recent sob-fest.

Impressive on both counts. Perhaps I'd underestimated the average human woman's inherent spine.

Still, even with the steely inner strength Harmony displayed, recent shock pinched the corners of her lips and grayed her skin. She needed a little boost to fully brush off the close call with a werewolf. Good thing I had just the ticket right here on top of my suitcase....

The woman's lips curled upward into a hint of a smile as I silently offered the cupcake carton in one outstretched hand. And after perusing the selection with all the intensity of a stock analyst choosing where to invest her retirement income, Harmony plucked out the strawberry-flavored confection I'd made with someone very much like her in mind.

Now it was my turn to grin as Harmony inhaled half the pastry in one great gulp before leaning back against the seat with a sigh of relief. Success. My greatest weapon--the mighty cupcake--had come through at last.

***

FIGURING HARMONY WOULD fare even better if not forced to eat alone, I held out the nearly empty carton to Sebastien next. And to my surprise, the Uber driver plucked the triple-chocolate overload rather than the raspberry-crumble I'd figured would be in his wheelhouse.

Huh. We both have the same favorite flavor? What are the chances of that?

But before I could verbalize my surprise, the chime of my phone reminded me that I had far more important matters on my agenda than psychoanalyzing humans based on their cupcake selections. Because even though the name on the screen--"Top Dog"--wasn't one I recognized, the associated text message sent a shiver running down my spine.

No greeting, no small talk. Just a street address and a deadline. Midnight, the final word read, curtness evident in the truncated command.

Reading between the lines, I could only assume that my hosts had noticed my uninvited presence in Greenbriar territory far sooner than I'd anticipated. I'd considered calling ahead and using diplomacy to find a legal way into this city, but in the end had decided it was better to ask forgiveness rather than permission.

Actually, I'd kinda hoped I could find my brother and hop back onto the bus before anyone was the wiser. No harm, no foul. Perhaps I'd send Chief Greenbriar a fruit basket once I was safely back in Haven.

Only that wishful-thinking bubble now burst like a Yorkshire pudding falling flat as soon as the pan left the oven. Chief Greenbriar had discovered my intrusion far faster than I'd estimated. And now I possessed twenty short minutes to achieve the lair of this region's alpha before my neck would be on the chopping block...perhaps quite literally.

Despite the need for speed, I felt a strange aversion to the idea of running off and leaving these humans behind. Instead, I watched wistfully as the color returned to Harmony's cheeks while the male in the driver's seat leaned inward to shield her body from imagined danger. Strawberry and chocolate go well together, I reminded myself, ignoring the flutter of disappointment that rose in my chest at the very thought of leaving my Uber driver to take the other female home.

Still, I did what had to be done. Snapping the nearly empty cupcake container back into place, I yanked up on the handle of my suitcase in preparation for making tracks.

But I wasn't quite quick enough. Sebastien's door opened and his large hand clamped down around my luggage-handling wrist before I even saw him coming. The guy was nearly werewolf fast.

"Where do you think you're going?" the male demanded.

"Sorry about the fare, but I just realized I'm running late," I answered, words tumbling all over themselves in their rush to exit my mouth. "If you don't mind, can you take Harmony home and charge the trip to the credit card I have on file?" Then, glancing backwards at the aforementioned female, I added, "It was a pleasure to meet you! Have a good night."

Finally, I pulled away, thoroughly expecting Sebastien's hand to fall free as I exerted myself. But instead, I found myself swinging back around to face the human, his iron grip refusing to budge. "No," he said simply.

My brows drew together. Really? Dude thought he could keep me from going where I wanted to go?

And even though I was predisposed to like anyone who opted for a chocolate cupcake, muscle memory took over as soon as I found myself restrained. Dropping my weight into a semi-squat, I bent my elbow and pushed forward with all of my might.

Sure enough, Sebastien grunted and let go. In a contest between muscles and skillful use of physics, physics won out every time.

Thank you, Uncle Hunter, I thought silently, ignoring the grumbling of my wolf at the less-than-savory parting.

But I had no time to apologize, no time to make nice with the humans. Instead, turning on my heel, I ran down the sidewalk into the night.

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# Chapter 4

Despite my haste, I paused just out of sight and listened until the murmur of voices ceased and two car doors slammed shut. Sure enough, Harmony had accepted Sebastien's offer of assistance, her throaty voice reciting a street address that I quickly keyed into my own phone...just in case.

Then my human companions were gone and I was left to chart a course through the unfamiliar neighborhood by myself. And even though the mapping software on my phone would have come in handy to ensure I made no wrong turns on the way to my intended destination, my gut told me I'd be better off taking this trek unencumbered. So I made a short pit stop first.

Heaving my suitcase into a storage locker in the antechamber of the bus station, I then emptied my pockets until all I had on me was a t-shirt and jeans. Even my phone went into the keypad-locked metal box, the gesture essential if I didn't want to be tracked by a shifter who had already found a way to hack into my supposedly untappable phone.

The mystery of that cleverness would have to wait, though. Instead, I slithered up a tree, scampered across a balcony, then chinning my way onto a low rooftop that would serve as a stepping stone to those levels higher up. This part of the city was so densely packed that it was feasible to turn buildings themselves into an aerial pathway...as long as I didn't mind making running leaps over alleys from time to time, that was.

My wolf definitely wasn't fazed by the necessary loss of contact with the earth. In fact, I barely managed to squash her howl as we embraced freedom together, sprinting across the wide open spaces and stretching legs that had been pent-up within the squashed confines of that dratted bus for far too long. The ability to run unfettered was pure bliss.

After a few seconds, though, we got back down to business. Beneath our feet, humans clomped by entirely unaware that a predator could drop down upon them at any moment, and I had high hopes that any nearby shifters were equally oblivious to my current MO. Still, I wasted a few precious minutes looping the loop until I was certain no one trailed my current movements or accidentally stumbled across my path.

Only then did I dig into my memory of the city's map and begin making my way toward the location Top Dog had ordered me to attend. My destination was relatively close by....but I still began second-guessing my own navigational abilities as I neared Top Dog's designated intersection.

Because this wasn't the wealthy and polished neighborhood I'd expect to find housing an alpha werewolf. There were no park-like expanses of trees, no fenced mansions to keep prying eyes at bay. Instead, human hookers posed on street corners while boys far too young to be out and about so late at night sold small baggies of illicit substances to an endless stream of easy marks.

As I passed unnoticed above all of their heads, a clock tower tolled proof that my evasive maneuvers had already put me behind the designated hour. I'd need to apologize for my tardiness now as well as my cheekiness in arriving unannounced...but who was supposed to grant me amnesty when I hadn't smelled a single shifter since leaving the bus station behind?

Then I saw them. Three wolves lounging beneath a basketball hoop where the streetlights just happened not to shine. Gray fur blended easily into the silver moonlight, explaining why they felt safe walking four-legged while one-bodies worked nearby. Their camouflage was good. Still, I suspected Dad wouldn't have allowed this level of overt wolfishness to fly.

But threats to shifter secrecy weren't the largest issue currently on the table. I'd hoped to keep roof-running as a backup plan in case the upcoming meeting went south, but the wind was out to get me. Even as I began planning a circuitous descent, a gust of summer trickery carried my scent down toward the pavement. And as one the trio tilted their heads to peer upwards into the dark.

I'd been sighted. Now, there was no going back.

***

I HESITATED, CONSIDERING flight for one short second. But my brother was still out there, somewhere, waiting for me to answer his digital plea. And I had other aces up my sleeve even if the roof was no longer my personal playground.

So, using an awning to slow my descent, I landed gracefully on two human feet even as strange wolves came padding up to greet me.

Okay, so perhaps "greet" wasn't the right verb. Instead, as soon as I hit the ground, the pack was chivying me deeper into the shadows and further away from human eyes. The largest male led the way while others nipped at my heels, brushing against my legs hard enough to make me stumble.

"You don't have to be so pushy," I grumbled under my breath, nonetheless picking up my heels as we all padded away from the more trafficked street corner at a ground-eating trot.

The only response to my complaint was another bite, and this time the wolf in question didn't bother to exercise restraint. Instead, his sharp teeth tore through the fabric of my jeans, making me wince as the metallic tang of blood rose to permeate the warm evening air.

Just what I needed--to excite these predators further with the scent of flowing blood.

True to form, the lead animal immediately dropped all pretense at stealth, raising his chin to the sky and howling into the night. Luckily, by this point the neighborhood we were traveling through had changed from inner city to well-heeled gentry, which meant the residents were all tucked away snug in their beds. Hopefully no one heard the truncated howl...or the more elongated scuffle as three impatient wolves herded a mostly-willing human down the pavement beside an endless string of night-darkened homes.

Only there weren't only three wolves hemming me in any longer. Two others had slipped out of the bushes while I wasn't looking, after which a pair of youngsters pranced up to join the hunt. So there were eight of us, all-told, when we paused at the edge of a busy, two-lane road.

The pups were what prompted me to make it easy for my escort at last. "I assume you want me to go straight on through," I told the leader, who hadn't once glanced over his shoulder since beginning to lead us all on this entirely unnecessary dance. "How about I cross here and you meet me on the other side?" I continued, speaking to ears that swiveled even though the male's snout remained firmly facing the brightly lit pavement twenty yards ahead.

And I must have struck the right tone at last because the male finally turned to face me head-on. I'd assumed from his high-handedness that our leader was an elder, but a glance at his muzzle now proved that he was actually no more than a year or two older than myself.

More important than his age, though, was his mood. Our current leader was understandably annoyed by my recent tardiness, was pissed at having been asked to herd me along in the first place. And yet...the male was currently in lupine form and tuned into the thoughts of an animal rather than to those of a man. As such, a willing addition to the hunt overrode all petty grievances from the already foggy past.

Soon enough, the leader's eyes widened slightly, a request for me to clarify my recent words. And, willingly, I repeated my offer. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I'll follow wherever you lead."

I'd expected perhaps a nod of acceptance or a snarl of retort. Instead, in a strange burst of inclusiveness, a temporary pack bond settled across my shoulders, attaching me to wolves I barely knew. I could feel not only these shifters waiting impatiently on the street corner, but also members of the pack not currently present who--I now knew--were running toward us along other darkened city streets.

The sensation was scratchy and uncomfortable, blocking me off from more familiar connections to my father and home clan while tying me to strangers I'd never even met. And while I wouldn't have wanted to keep a Greenbriar mantle in place for very long, its current presence was welcome nonetheless.

Because being tied into the local network meant an end to backbiting and herding. An end to the skepticism that filled the air like the scent of moldy bread. This Greenbriar leader didn't precisely trust me, and I also hadn't tied myself so thoroughly to the other shifters that I couldn't veer away at will. Despite those caveats, we were all in total agreement. For tonight, at least, we'd chosen each other's company for the upcoming run.

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# Chapter 5

As soon as the decision was made, we were off. Wolf-form shifters slipped away into the shadows, darting down alleys before reappearing atop an unlit bridge that crossed the thoroughfare two blocks away. For my part, human feet carried me more sedately across the closest intersection and I nodded at a policeman before picking up my heels on the opposite side. Just a human, out for a run, I told the official with the relaxed set of my shoulders. And, like most one-bodies, the policeman saw what he expected to see.

On the other side of the avenue, even more wolves settled in around me until I was trotting amidst a sea of fur and paws. The road we were following twisted into seclusion here, trees cropping up as we passed through an abandoned industrial district. Then a vast chain-link fence rose before us just where I'd thought a human park would exist based on my perusal of satellite photos during the long bus ride north.

My assumptions had apparently been flawed, though. Because a shifter waited at the gate, suggesting that this area wasn't open to the public...nor was it frequented by the two-legged set. Unlike the other shifters milling around me, this teenager was in human form. But he was also entirely naked save for an incongruously orange pair of flip-flops that slid around his otherwise bare feet with every step.

"Welcome to the Greenbriar pack," the male told me, swinging open the gates then standing back as the flood of wolves streamed through, jostling against each other in their haste to achieve the wooded side.

I stood back to let them pass but didn't attempt to argue with the gate guard about the temporariness of my recently assumed pack mantle. Instead, I slipped fingers over each shoulder then below my waistband, unsnapping special fasteners I'd added to my underwear after learning that my dominant nature made the upcoming party trick feasible.

Then, as the two-legged shifter who'd let us in began a slow and laborious transition into lupine form, I dove forward...and shifted into wolf so quickly that my trousers and shirt, my panties and bra all fell into a crumpled heap beneath my paws.

Finally, four-legged, I followed the other werewolves into the trees.

***

CHIEF GREENBRIAR MET us at the top of the highest rise, his grizzled muzzle lined with scars from battles long past. Otherwise, though, his markings were reminiscent of those on the shifter who'd played Pied Piper during my recent journey through town. And as I breathed in similar aromas emanating from either side of me, I realized the two males likely also shared common blood.

Father and son, I decided, noting the way all other wolves dropped to their bellies and lowered their eyes at the sight of their waiting leader. In stark contrast, my guide walked right up and sniffed his alpha's nose without obvious sign of deference. So this wasn't the sort of pack where an heir apparent was required to defend his place ad nauseam. A very good sign.

Too bad I didn't have a cupcake on hand to grease the wheels of my own arrival and prompt similar familiarity. Still, I opted to assume Chief Greenbriar would be a raspberry sort of fellow just like the cupcake I'd saved for him--a bit sour and well able to hold his own amid other flavors, but sugary sweet on the inside.

Testing my hypothesis, I pranced up to the alpha just as I would have to my own father. Then, without waiting to gauge his reaction, I granted the older wolf a playful but deferent lick beneath his furry chin.

My breath caught as the older male's ears pinned back for a millisecond, but then his tongue lolled out in a lupine laugh. Accepting my far-from-formal introduction, he took my head between massive jaws and shook me gently from side to side in a formalized rebuke for my tardiness. But at the same time, the scratchy connection that his son had applied eased into silky smoothness across my back as the strongest alpha in the vicinity approved of my temporary inclusion within his clan.

In stark contrast to the loosely applied mantle that had broadcast nothing more than the pack's shared enthusiasm earlier in the evening, individual reactions now rolled toward me in emotional waves. The two youngest werewolves were full of trepidation, unsure whether they'd show themselves to advantage during their first formal hunt. One adult shifter was hungover, while another harbored annoyance at being required to attend an event that cut into previously scheduled plans.

Despite these few dissonant notes though, most of the wolves were raring to go. They were impatient with the hunt's late start, uninterested in my unexpected presence, and thinking of nothing more than running flat out while cool night breezes wafted through stifling fur.

But the alpha didn't give us permission to begin at once. Instead, he tightened the reins and held us all in check for a long moment until we were stamping like race horses impatient to be off. Then he cocked his head...and gazed directly into my waiting eyes.

I tensed, fully aware that an eye lock like this one would have been a stark challenge among alpha males. But I was female and often capable of wiggling out of dominance battles with an appeasing smile...assuming no handy cupcakes were lying around waiting to be doled out, that is.

This time, though, I didn't even need to resort to feminine wiles in order to defuse the tension. Because Chief Greenbriar wasn't confronting me. Rather, he was assessing, measuring, asking if I'd like to be the one to lead the evening's hunt.

The gesture was still a test, of course, albeit a more palatable one than the stare-down he could have chosen. Definitely far better than I'd expected from a pack leader who had no reason to even allow me to walk his streets unhindered, let alone grant me the honored position of leading a full-pack hunt.

Of course if I failed to find prime prey....

Luckily, I was always up for a challenge. Closing my eyes, I raised my nose as if scenting the breeze, and in the process recalled the maps I'd stared at for hours as the pitifully slow bus paused in each small town along its path.

Based on those images, this fenced-in sanctuary was too small to contain anything more tasty than a doe or two. On the other hand, if the pack headed downhill for a few short miles, we'd come upon an arm of national forest that my research suggested had been stocked with elk decades before.

The large ungulates had done so well for themselves during the intervening period that the state's department of game and inland fisheries had instituted an annual hunting season with the goal of preventing overpopulated elk from wandering down city streets in search of flowerbeds to nibble on.

And if humans were allowed to hunt elk...well perhaps werewolves were too.

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# Chapter 6

No one argued when I took off to the south. Instead, they fell in line behind me as easily as if I were their usual guide rather than an uninvited guest. And before we'd even reached the limits of the pack's fenced sanctuary, the alpha's son was running by my side, his shoulder bumping playfully against my own.

Well that's a change of tune, I thought wryly. Still, I couldn't blame the younger male for dropping his former aloofness as soon as Chief Greenbriar offered explicit approval of my presence. After all, the city's leader was that rarest of alphas--a male like my father whose profound power meant he had no need to threaten or punish in order to make his pack obey.

By his actions, Chief Greenbriar had suggested I was more important to their pack than anyone had initially suspected. So now his son was wooing me far more seriously than was merited by our short acquaintance.

In response, I played along. Well, not too overtly--after all, the younger male's scent of warm granite and damp clay did nothing for my libido and I had absolutely no intention of formalizing the borrowed Greenbriar mantle by mating within their pack. But I didn't push my hunting companion away either. Instead, I matched him nudge for nudge, even allowing the alpha's son to pull ahead and choose the direction of our travel when the path we were running along split in two.

After all, I'd scented elk in both directions. No reason not to let the heir apparent claim the final prize of leading us all to a feast when my own short-term status meant I had no dog--or, rather, elk--in this race.

Instead, I merely relaxed into the heady sensation of running with a pack. The moon was high, the cool air flowing gently over my hot fur. I wasn't home, I wasn't with family, but I was happy.

And then, abruptly, a very different sort of scent froze my feet and reminded me that I wasn't just an uninterested bystander acting as an audience to Greenbriar power plays. Slipping out of the stream of wolves, I padded over to sniff at the earth beneath a straight-trunked walnut, trying to determine whether it was my nose or my mind playing tricks.

The answer was--neither. A wolf had definitely peed here not long ago...which wasn't a big surprise since the hole in the fence we'd passed through half an hour earlier suggested this area was often treated as an addendum to the pack's more official hunting grounds. The identity of the scent-marking wolf, though, raised hairs along the entire length of my spine.

Derek. My brother had been present in this very spot no more than a week earlier. And in the way of wolves, he'd imbued not only his identity but also his mood into the chemicals that laced his urine.

The youngster had been scared. Not outright fleeing from a dangerous pursuer, but skulking as lone wolves tend to do around the periphery of an established pack.

Only Derek hadn't been looking for a way in. He'd been looking for a way back out.

I lowered my muzzle closer to the earth, doubting the evidence of my own nose. The facts simply didn't add up. Not when Chief Greenbriar and his son had drawn me into their ranks as adroitly as ever my own father had soothed the fears of time-worn loners and given them a place to call home. I'd arrived in the city late and uninvited, expecting to be chased out of town on a rail. And instead, no one in the host clan had so much as hassled me during the recent race through forested glades.

Pawing at the earth, I whined out my confusion. And, to my surprise, the dusty patch yielded up a more tangible prize.

A key on a chain. And nearly hidden beneath the scents of urine and earth, the faintest aroma of moss still adorned the metallic surface. Derek had definitely been the one to tuck away this offering. Perhaps I could use the clue to track my elusive brother down?

Glancing over one shoulder to see if anyone had noted my absence, I slipped my head through the chain and shook myself until the metal settled down invisibly into my thick lupine fur. I didn't know why Derek had come this way several days earlier. Could find no further indication of why he had been frightened or who might have been hounding his trail.

But my missing sibling had left behind a key. I had to assume that meant I was finally on the proper track.

***

UNFORTUNATELY, THE mystery of Derek's disappearance would have to wait. Because I could feel the alpha's son racing in for the kill via the borrowed Greenbriar mantle. Meanwhile, a change in the connections streaming between me and the other shifters suggested I was about to lose my chance at making a good impression on this borrowed pack.

Sure enough, when I glanced up, Chief Greenbriar's gaze met mine through gaps in the intervening trees. The older male's eyes narrowed in speculation, and I could almost feel his questions streaming toward me down our temporary pack tether...

...only to be cast aside as a glint of reflected moonlight illuminated the younger Greenbriar male's teeth. Fangs latched onto the loose skin beneath the neck of a tremendous elk, and across the scrimmage the alpha howled his immediate approval. Then both alpha and son were lost from view as a surge of wolves darted past the prey animal's feet, snapping at flanks and belly in an effort to take the elk all the way to the ground.

It was time to join in or be left out entirely, I realized. There needed to be blood on my fangs before this night was over if I wanted permission to hunt in this city ever again.

To that end, I pressed forward, thankful that the wolves on the periphery of the battle so readily allowed me to pass. Well, they all stepped aside...save for one skinny beast whose fur stank of fox-musk and dirty socks.

I recognized the rapist more by scent than by sight. Somehow, I'd assumed Harmony's attacker would materialize into a lone wolf like my brother. After all, who but a packless beast would have the temerity to break such a serious law? The male likely made a living out of skulking around the perimeter of claimed territory, succumbing to gaffes that would eventually get him tossed out on his ear...assuming the pack leader was in a good mood at the time and didn't produce a far more final form of punishment for the indiscretion.

But in this case, the foul-scented male was right in the thick of the action. And unlike his fellow pack members, he didn't budge as I approached. Instead, the shifter remained directly in my path, lip curled and teeth bared in a reminder that not every resident of the city was thrilled by my uninvited presence on their home turf.

I was more surprised by the male's ability to rub shoulders with hunt participants than I was scared of his menacing posture, but my vacillation must have resembled fear from a distance. Because before I could make a move to push the troublesome shifter out of my path, Chief Greenbriar barked out a curt command and his son released the elk's neck with alacrity. Then the younger male was leaping between me and perceived danger, fangs bared and lips curled back as he dove in for the kill.

The battle that ensued felt far harsher and stranger than I would have expected. Snarls soon turned to yelps, and a spray of blood forced me backwards even as I shook my head at the severity of the attack.

This isn't how it's done back home, I couldn't help thinking. Dad would never have turned punishment over to an underling then watched what appeared fated to become a battle to the death.

And even as I backpedaled away from the altercation as quickly as possible, the rest of the pack pushed closer, hemming me in while also providing the formerly beleaguered elk with breathing room in which to make its escape. I only realized I'd been pushed to the outer edge of the circle, in fact, when hooves bit into moss inches away from my unprotected tail, nearly startling me out of my skin.

Whirling, I leapt sideways and found myself spinning up against a female who'd been preparing to dive in the opposite direction. My shoulder knocked against her foreleg and she fell...directly into the retreating ungulate's flight path.

Long legs and blunt teeth prove that elk consider themselves prey rather than predators, but even runners eventually fight back. The beast shrieked at what it must have considered renewed aggression, and one hard hoof kicked out sideways to slam into the female's skull with a sickening crack of keratin against bone.

The wolf beside me fell to the earth as soundlessly as death.

Rushing to the female's side, I leaned down to lick away the blood streaming from a cut across her brow. But before I could make contact, closed eyes opened and teeth snapped shut inches away from my muzzle, proving that the other wolf had no interest in being soothed.

Well, if she can bite, she can walk, I decided. Stepping back, I paused and took in the scene that had, seconds ago, hosted two equally vigorous fights to the death.

The clearing was now silent, the elk gone and the shifter-on-shifter scuffle ended. To no one's surprise except perhaps the lupine underdog, the alpha's son had been triumphant in the latter battle. And now the fox-scented male lay on his back with belly exposed to the heir's sharp teeth.

I held my breath, expecting further carnage to ensue. But after the merest hesitation, the loser reached up to lick the winner's chin. And rather than growling further reprimand, the alpha's son released the latter from his grasp. Just as at Haven, once subdued, the loser was set free.

I overreacted, I decided, releasing my pent-up breath in a gust of relieved air. No one had died, no one had even been seriously wounded. Finally, we could return to the hunt.

Only, Chief Greenbriar wasn't content with the current state of affairs. The alpha's displeasure bent down my spine until my tail tucked between my legs and my ears fell back against my skull. There was no explanation and no warning for his change of heart. Instead, our leader merely lashed out with a heaviness that threatened to split my body in half.

And I wasn't the only one affected. All around the clearing, I could hear my fellows similarly wince and whine. We'd failed to please our alpha. We'd failed the pack. Pain was our reward.

Dropping to my belly, I attempted to escape into the earth. This wasn't how I'd intended the hunt to end. For the third time that evening, I wished I could sweeten up my companions with a bin of distant cupcakes.

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# Chapter 7

Despite the less-than-auspicious middle of the hunt, we did manage to track down a deer in the wee hours before dawn. The lone animal didn't possess enough flesh on its bones to turn snack into feast. Still, the carcass provided a bite of rich, red meat for each of us, the sustenance soothing ruffled tempers and cementing my temporary place in the pack. Good enough.

After that, sleep deprivation caught up with me at last and turned pack-wide jubilation distant and hazy. I lay down nose to tail, flanked on either side by similarly exhausted werewolves...and when I woke, dawn was already coloring the distant horizon while the ground beside me had turned cold and bare.

My host pack was gone.

Shivering, I shook a spray of dew out of my fur as I rose onto furry feet. Someone had taken the time to bury the deer's entrails, bones, and hide, so nothing remained of the previous night's carnage save the jolt of warmth that always lingered in my stomach after enjoying meat in lupine form. Unexpected solitude threatened to extinguish that glow...but then curiosity snapped the sensation back into place with a vengeance.

Because an odd, blocky object poked through the fog at the edge of the tree line. And when I padded closer, I recognized the shape at once. A suitcase. My suitcase.

Cocking my head to one side, I tried to make sense of finding my own luggage--complete with untouched cupcake container--out in the woods when I'd last stuffed all possessions into a locked metal cage back at the bus station for safekeeping. The realization that Chief Greenbriar had ordered a lackey to trail my footsteps back to the bus terminal and retrieve my possessions froze the last hint of warmth out of my belly. The city pack had by-and-large seemed open and inviting last night...so why would they ditch me, stealing away in silence before delivering a clear warning to beat it out of town?

Meanwhile, the buzz of my phone, slipped into an external pocket of the hand-delivered suitcase, drew me out of my brown study. And, immediately, I winced for a different reason entirely.

Oops. How could I have left my father dangling all night long without checking in? I'd probably scared Wolfie so badly when the borrowed Greenbriar mantle settled onto my back and hid our own connection that he'd likely jumped into his car to drive north and rescue me.

I need to fix that, I thought, preparing to tug on Dad's connection and reassure him the easy way. But when I rolled my shoulder blades experimentally, I was surprised to find the Greenbriar mantle still present and accounted for against my skin. Which meant I couldn't set Wolfie's mind at ease nonverbally, not when another pack's network of connection continued to stifle my own.

On the other hand, when I closed my eyes and sought the threads that bound me to other wolves, a tug in my stomach directed my attention west and proved that I wasn't alone after all. Dad will have to wait, I thought, swiveling to face the newcomer even as Chief Greenbriar stepped out of the trees in human form.

"Gretchen forgot to drop off your clothes when she brought the suitcase," the alpha greeted me cordially, holding out carefully folded garments in one long-fingered hand. The gesture was strangely subservient for a pack leader. Still, my companion was walking on two legs while I still boasted four, so perhaps I was missing something that would have been obvious to a two-legged being.

Shifting upward in an effort to tune into my more rational human brain, air turned cooler and damper against bare, furless skin in an instant. And it wasn't only the fog that made me shiver as my companion drew closer. It was Chief Greenbriar's eyes, which roved across my exposed body as if I was a horse at market that he was planning to sell...or to buy.

In response, my hand rose to the chain that still dangled around my neck, clasping the key in one fist a moment too late. But that item wasn't what had caught Chief Greenbriar's attention. Instead, despite shifters' usual casual approach to nudity, the alpha's gaze resembled slaps and pinches as it slipped across my bare breasts, around my innie belly button, and down into the V between my legs. For the first time in my life, I was made to feel naked while...well...naked.

"Thanks for bringing my clothes," I said instead of commenting upon the alpha's faux pas. And in response, my companion's scent strengthened, the hard granite that he shared with his son turning rougher and more abrasive. Chief Greenbriar took a single step closer...and I bent to snatch up the plastic container I'd found atop my suitcase, using its rectangular bulk to fend off my companion's further approach.

"I saved you a cupcake," I offered, noting the way water had beaded atop raspberry frosting as humid air adhered to the sugary coating. Remember your sweet core, I admonished Chief Greenbriar silently, knowing he wouldn't be able to hear my command.

But it was almost as if the alpha had plucked the words straight out of my mind. "I'll trade you," he said, eyes returning to my face as he slipped the tupperware bin out of my hand and replaced it with a stack of folded fabric. Then, less like a wolf and more like a fine-food connoisseur, the older male took a single particle of pastry into his mouth before allowing his eyelids to drift shut in appreciation. "This is delicious," he said at last around a mouthful of frosting and fluff.

Just like that, the strange energy that had infused the air dissipated without a trace. And the male before me was once again a civilized man rather than a randy wolf.

"I'm a wolf of many talents," I answered, donning clothes far more rapidly than I would have done in the company of any other shifter. My stomach remained queasy, but my fears did ease a trifle...

...Only to return in full force as Chief Greenbriar opened his eyes and pinned me with a steely gaze. "I've decided," he told me, "that you will make the perfect match for my son."

***

BACK HOME, I WOULD have laughed in the alpha's face. Here and now, I instead felt like I was tuning into the grand finale of a TV series I'd never before watched while surrounded by the show's most ardent and devoted fans.

Because there was no way I planned to tie myself permanently to a Greenbriar werewolf when doing so would cut off the most important part of my life--the bond to my home pack. Of course, it would be rude to say as much. Instead, I pasted a polite smile onto my face...and deflected like a pro.

"I didn't get to tell you about my job earlier," I started. "But I'll be working on campus. Baking cupcakes. Well, and other stuff too. Plus manning the coffee bar and taking out the trash. Actually, I'm supposed to start today...."

"You're babbling," Chief Greenbriar interrupted after a long moment. His nostrils flared and he cocked his head in consideration. But to my relief, the older man appeared amused rather than annoyed by the cascade of trivialities.

"Yes, sir. Sorry," I answered. "I just really, really like cupcakes."

Having run out of further blind alleys to talk us down, I held my breath, hoping the verbal detour would succeed. Unfortunately, Chief Greenbriar didn't let me off the hook so easily. Instead, he pierced me with one of those gazes that seemed to peer directly into my soul before pinning me right back down with pointed words. "You're saying you traveled all this way to work a job among humans?"

And there it was, the call to either lie about my brother or tell the unfortunate truth. Something in my gut said that Chief Greenbriar wouldn't be so thrilled to invite me into his pack if I let slip that I wasn't simply a mating-age female hunting for a new pack to call home. But would I be putting my brother at risk by bringing his presence into the limelight?

With no better option on the table, I accepted the inevitable and told the truth. "No, sir. This has nothing to do with humans," I admitted, ignoring the vivid mental image of dark hair falling across equally dark eyes that impinged for a brief instant upon my internal landscape. Shaking my head ever so slightly to remove Sebastien's face from view, I elaborated. "I'm here hunting for Derek...."

Then I winced, realizing I lacked a surname to tack onto that threadbare explanation. For all I knew, the first name I'd been using wasn't even the right one. Because my brother had initially introduced himself online as Roadrunner, and he'd equivocated for quite some time before offering any additional information beyond that. Who was to say "Derek" hadn't been lying, at least by omission, when he finally coughed up a real name?

And who was to say--given my previous lack of contact with biological family--that Derek was even my brother at all?

None of my internal confusion was lost upon Chief Greenbriar, who placed a fatherly hand atop my bowed shoulder. "If you don't even know this male's last name, perhaps he's not worth searching for," he told me kindly. "My son, on the other hand, has a pedigree that traces back to the Mayflower. In twenty years, he'll be alpha in my place...and you could be that alpha's mate."

I could have argued that I'd never been told this heir apparent's first name, which definitely put him a step below Derek on the know-o-meter. Still, that wasn't the point.

Instead, I spent a moment assuming the demeanor of strawberry shortcake, all fluffy and sweet with vanilla-flavored whipped cream on top. Then I tilted my head to emphasize our height difference before playing my trump card. "I think I gave you the wrong impression, sir. I'm not here to find a life partner. I'm hunting for my brother."

"Ah."

Chief Greenbriar's self-satisfied smirk relaxed my shoulders for the first time since I'd woken up alone on the cold, hard ground. My temporary alpha hadn't been thrilled at the idea of me spouse-hunting outside his nuclear family, but I felt as clearly as if he'd spoken that he was quite willing to let me stay on in order to track down an elusive sibling. After all, what better way to trick a non-pack female into partnering with his son than to keep me close at hand where I could be easily managed?

Sure enough, when the alpha spoke again, it was to lay out ground rules I was easily able to accept. Well, not the first one--I lied and told my host that I already had a place to stay when he tried to offer up his guest room for my accommodations. But I willingly agreed to dine with the Greenbriar family every evening...despite the sinking suspicion that a single mating-aged son would be the only shifter to show up at the event, turning what should have been a pack affair into a de facto date.

"I appreciate your hospitality," I told Chief Greenbriar rather than arguing the point. These rules I could live with, and I was glad to have been let off the hook so easily.

But my temporary alpha continued speaking, talking over me as if I hadn't even opened my mouth. "And on the seventh day, you and Aaron will make your mating bond official. It will be my pleasure to welcome you as my daughter-in-law and as the newest member of the Greenbriar pack."

Well, at least now I knew my supposed fiance's name. It was a start, right?

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# Chapter 8

The dawn meeting with Chief Greenbriar took the wind out of my sails so thoroughly that I slumped atop my suitcase for ten solid minutes before remembering I had places to go and people to see. But first, I pulled out my phone and paged back through missed calls. Dad, Dad, Dad, Mom, Dad, a cousin, an aunt, an uncle, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad.

At least I wouldn't have to flounder around trying to decide who should be contacted first. The frequency of Wolfie's calls suggested he was a hair's breadth away from worried-parent meltdown. Time to pull out the big guns and remove my father figure from the hunt.

To that end, I spent another minute unzipping my suitcase and rifling through my possessions in search of the small plastic container that held my own personal party favor. And when I popped open the lid to the single-serving cupcake box, my throat tightened with homesickness so abrupt it nearly sent me scurrying back to the nearest bus station with my tail between my legs.

Because I'd half expected to be sent on my way with a joke cake, maybe something built out of doggie bones to remind me to trust my lupine instincts. I'd been ready to take my father to task if he dressed up the icing in my least favorite color--orange--or ruined the sugary concoction by imbuing it with a yucky licorice flavor.

Instead, Dad must have spent long hours with frosting bag in hand in order to craft the work of art that currently sat atop my pastry. The scene was as elaborate as that found on the highest class wedding cake despite its diminutive size.

Haven--my home--sat upon a field of chocolate, small houses interspersed with wolves and humans built from spun sugar seasoned with carefully applied food coloring. I could pick out individuals easily, not just based on their location across the landscape, but from their stances and actions as well.

Next door to Wolfie's and Terra's home, my gardening aunts were busy tending roses that spiraled up the face of my own small cottage. Meanwhile, my car-loving uncle scrubbed his Ferrari while two pups frolicked in the spray of water that was supposed to be washing down the sleek black hood.

Off to one side stood my parents, Dad in lupine form and Mom human with one loving hand resting atop her mate's furry head. Their customary pose showcased more than two decades of shared affection, and I could almost smell their signature aromas as I leaned in for a closer look.

That was just the window-dressing, though. The clear purpose of this cupcake message lay in the exact center of the village green: a tremendous yellow flower that didn't actually exist. Well, the plant wasn't literally present in our community gathering space...but metaphorically I knew at a glance that the floral monster referred to me.

Because "Buttercup" had been my father's pet name for me ever since I was a child. And the plant was not only physically central to the scene, every eye was riveted upon its glowing yellow expanse.

The cupcake meant love...and Dad knew I'd be unable to eat the dessert without picking up the phone and giving him a call. So I pressed his name on the screen with one sticky finger even as I licked a cousin off the edge of the frosted panorama. This particular teenager tasted like oranges and cinnamon--his signature aroma perfectly replicated in sugary splendor. Exactly how long had Dad spent crafting this offering to have imbued such loving detail into every aspect of the scene?

"I'm eating my cupcake," I croaked around a mouthful of frosting and tears as soon as the click on the other end of the line indicated my call had gone through. And while a human father would have been torn apart by the emotion so vividly apparent in my voice, Wolfie merely hummed his approval with the smugness of a wolf.

"Then I guess we can turn around," Dad growled, his voice just barely human. And I couldn't prevent the short bark of laughter as I realized Wolfie really had jumped into the car as soon as the Greenbriar mantle obscured his usual ability to tap into my mental state.

Wait a minute. He wasn't.... "You're driving?" I demanded, imagining the four-car pileups that would result when Wolfie decided to slide around corners at his inner beast's behest....while completely disregarding all human rules of the road. Preventing my father from driving was one of the pack's most closely adhered to tenets. What had they been thinking to give him access to the keys?

"Relax." This was Mom's voice, fainter but still easily understandable despite the phone's tinny speaker. "I'm the one behind the wheel. And I'm pulling over...right...now."

Only when Terra spoke did I notice that there was a second item at the bottom of the box where the cupcake had recently sat. Once again, my throat tightened as I recognized the small rectangular card, worn and tattered from the endless games she and I had played during my three-year-long Monopoly obsession.

"A get-out-of-jail free card?" I asked, words ungainly as I took another bite out of the frosted adornments, this time chomping down on my uncle's beloved car. Luckily, the machine tasted like lemon rather than gasoline or oil--a sly nod to the fact that Chase's vehicle had cost so much to bring back up to speed that he might as well have bought it brand spanking new.

"Just in case you need the help," Mom answered. "Not that I think you will."

Then all three of us lapsed into companionable silence as I ate my way through the rest of my relatives and their most precious possessions. Dad had been more poetic than literal in several instances...which meant the entire cupcake turned into a medley of deliciousness rather than harboring hints of swamp muck and leaf mold. And by the time I'd eaten down to the fluffy cake interior--and discovered a molten truffle core--I could feel the strength of dozens of beloved werewolves buoying me up despite the borrowed mantle that cut off our direct mental connection.

"I have to be at work in two hours," I told my parents at last rather than explaining why I'd taken so long to call...and that I was now promised to an alpha's son if I didn't track down my brother and beat it out of town within the next six and a half days.

Usually, Dad would have sensed my conflicted emotions down the pack bond. He would have nibbled away at my resistance until I admitted that I'd woken that morning with the deep-seated urge to run home to Haven with my tail between my legs. Slowly, he would have drawn me out until I admitted that I'd been badly shaken by Chief Greenbriar's ogle and subsequent ultimatum. And then my father would have done everything in his power to make those problems go away.

But today, the borrowed mantle eliminated our usual close connection, so all Wolfie had to go on was the sound of my voice on the other end of the phone. He could hear me inhale deeply, but he couldn't understand that with each lungful of air came the deep realization that I was risking the family I adored more than anything in the hopes of finding a brother who might not want to be found. Wolfie heard me exhale, but didn't feel my gut-deep acceptance of the risk I was accepting for the sake of a sibling who'd never even told me his own last name.

"I love you," I said at last, rather than trying to use words to explain what Dad and I usually communicated with raw emotion and short grunts.

"We love you too, Buttercup," Wolfie replied. And for a split second, I could feel him encircling me with those strong, familiar arms despite the Greenbriar bond that dulled the contact with my true pack. I closed my eyes and stretched my mind as far as it would go until everyone was there around me for one split second--Mom and Dad and uncles and aunts and cousins too numerous to count.

Finally, without another word, I let my lids rise and the connection fade away. Clicking off the phone, I tucked my empty cupcake wrapper back inside the waiting suitcase and rose to my feet.

I had pastries to bake and a brother to find. Only then could I return to Haven and take my proper place within the pack.

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# Chapter 9

After dragging a heavy suitcase across several miles of bumpy terrain during my return to civilization, I was huffing and puffing and running a bit behind. But my wolf gnawed at my stomach, angling us away from campus and toward a different neighborhood entirely. And since I was just as worried about Harmony as my animal half was, I chose an indirect route toward my ultimate destination, disembarking from the train in a poorer section of town than the one that college students usually frequented.

Human muggers weren't the reason a growl rose from my throat, though, as I stepped up to the soot-streaked wall surrounding Harmony's apartment complex. No, I found myself clenching my fists and fighting for control for a different reason entirely. The door smelled like wolf.

Instantly, my formerly somnolent animal half rose up behind my eyes, nearly ripping control out of my human hands with the intensity of her reaction to perceived danger. And with the beast at the fore, scents grew so intense that I was forced to stop stock still, only vaguely aware that I was blocking the flow of traffic while gazing intently at the building's front door.

Together, my wolf and I assessed the barrier. A hefty lock promised to guard against unauthorized admittance. But any Tom, Dick, or Harry could currently walk right on through since a length of wood had been wedged between the door and frame to keep the portal from falling all the way shut.

An even louder growl ripped itself from my human throat. And as my lips parted to allow the sound out, the scent of shifter slammed its way in. Fox musk and fur. Lust and the urge to mate. The rapist had been here. This morning...but also yesterday afternoon and the night before and the day before that. He'd walked through this opening dozens of times, had done who knew what to Harmony while I'd slept off my deer dinner in the national forest the night before.

The fox-scented shifter had harmed someone who was mine. Now I would find him and tear him apart.

Then a human shoulder slammed into my side, knocking me out of the path of foot traffic and reminding me that I was supposed to be squashing my lupine nature while surrounded by innocent one-bodies. Accepting that nudge for the impetus it was, I followed my nose up the stairs and down a narrow hallway before sliding to a halt in front of a banged-up wooden door.

I could smell the rapist here just as clearly as I'd sensed him outside. He'd stood in this exact same spot mere hours earlier, sniffing at the crack just like I was currently doing. He'd waited on Harmony to emerge from her protected lair. And...then what? Had the stalker finished the job begun earlier in the evening? Had he assaulted the woman my own inner wolf had chosen as part of our pack?

I shook my head to clear it both of rage and of less familiar emotions that currently ricocheted through my body and brain. My wolf was urging me to draw this human into our inner circle, to bare our teeth and protect her with our life. But that instinct, while gospel to my lupine nature, made no rational sense to my human brain.

Because, sure, it was my responsibility to prevent Harmony--and any other innocent human--from falling afoul of shifter power struggles. But the female in question wasn't a wolf and she wasn't part of my pack. As such, the proper way to protect an unwitting one-body was to go up the chain of command and let Chief Greenbriar deal with the issue as he saw fit.

Tonight, I promised my wolf. I'd talk to the local alpha at dinner and ask him to place Harmony under his protection. In the meantime, the best option was to walk away so my presence wouldn't draw additional werewolf attention to this human's battered door.

I hadn't quite managed to talk my feet into motion, though, before the portal swung open to reveal the woman my wolf and I had gone to such lengths to track down. Harmony was far less coiffed than previously, a food-splattered sleep shirt barely hiding her curves while a wriggling toddler bounced on her left hip. But despite the domesticity of their pose, two sets of dark eyes widened as one when they took in the presence of a predator waiting in the hall.

***

BERATING MYSELF FOR allowing wolfishness to terrorize the innocent, I struggled to tamp down my inner animal post haste. But before my lupine half was even partially subdued, the child began babbling out a welcome that meant nothing to my human ears yet said "Oh boy!" and "Hello!" and "Play with me!" to my wolf.

For her part, Harmony's greeting emerged a mere hair's breadth behind. "Come on in," the woman told me, opening the door wider and motioning me inside. Despite her initial emotional reaction, the human clearly recognized me from the previous evening and appeared abundantly willing to give me benefit of the doubt.

Not smart, my human brain decided.

Still, feet carried me forward on the wind of wolf instinct even as my rational brain rebelled against entering Harmony's domain. I really hadn't intended to do anything beyond reassuring myself that my current companion had bounced back from last night's trauma. But the child's eyes drew me closer step by step until my finger trailed across feather-soft wisps of fur atop her tender infant skull. And I softened yet further as the youngster's fingers curled gently around my outstretched thumb.

To my surprise, Harmony didn't swipe her offspring out from under my nose the way I would have expected. Instead, the other female glanced down at my suitcase then up at my matted hair with narrowed eyes. Finally, closing the door behind my back, she slid the safety chain into place and locked us all inside. "You spent the night on the streets," she said.

A human would have sidestepped the issue, would have danced the polka of politeness until the woman before us let the issue drop. But I wasn't human. And I'd realized as soon as the pup's tiny fingers touched my skin that I wasn't leaving this family undefended.

Because why relinquish Harmony into Chief Greenbriar's dubious care when I could protect her the easy way, by staking my own claim hard and fast? If that meant making the other female think I was homeless so she'd invite me to spend the night...well, that would be easy since I technically had no other place to stay.

Ours, my wolf reiterated simply, and this time we were in full agreement. I'd move in and scent mark every inch of this building until any shifter in his right mind gave the residence a wide berth. Eventually, we'd find Derek and be forced to make other arrangements. But for now, these humans were ours to protect.

To that end, I smiled shyly and agreed with Harmony's assessment. "I'm looking for a room to rent," I told the mother boldly while wiggling my ears to entertain her offspring. The latter descended into a chorus of musical giggles, proving that wolf pups and human pups weren't so different after all.

Another string of babble emerged from the little girl's lips, then she was flinging herself through the air between us, landing in my waiting arms as ably as any monkey. And as the child's warmth soaked through the intervening t-shirt, I could have sworn infantile heat made its way through my skin and impacted the heart underneath.

"You are a charmer," I whispered, lowering my head to nibble ever so gently upon the lobe of one tiny ear. The toddler smelled like innocence, joy, and sunshine. Tastier than a cupcake, more tantalizing than any bar of European chocolate. I wanted to shift into lupine form and snuggle the little critter until she fell asleep cradled between four furry paws.

And while I would have expected Harmony to swipe the child back, my hostess instead stuck to business. "How long will you be in town?" the other woman asked, seemingly unconcerned by her daughter's traitorous jump into a stranger's waiting arms.

"Six nights," I answered quickly. No way was I planning to remain behind once Chief Greenbriar's clock ticked down to marriage-ville. And if I was forced to leave earlier...well, from the looks of Harmony's scrupulously clean but seriously shabby furnishings, my hostess could use the extra cash.

The time frame seemed to be acceptable to all involved. "For a week, I can move into Mama's room and give you my bed," Harmony began.

Only, before my companion could name a price, the sound of a cane tapping across linoleum put our incipient deal on pause. The newcomer who appeared around the corner was wizened with age, a bent back and a preponderance of wrinkles giving me the impression of a fragile elder who should be cosseted and protected.

But the matriarch's eyes were even darker and more piercing than her daughter's. And her head whipped from side to side with the speed of a power mixer. "No," she told Harmony before erupting into a stream of Spanish far too rapid for me to follow.

I did catch one word, though. Bruja. Harmony's mother was calling me a witch.

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# Chapter 10

"Mama," Harmony protested. Still, she plucked the toddler back out of my arms as adroitly as ever a mother bear stepped between a pack of dangerous werewolves and her curious yet innocent offspring. "We aren't campesinas supersticiosas. Speak English so our guest can understand."

I forced a healthy helping of confusion onto my face even though my own grasp of Spanish was good enough to know that Harmony was accusing her mother of being a superstitious peasant. Unfortunately for me, the older woman's subsequent words were even easier to understand.

"You. Leave," the matriarch ordered, pointing at the door behind my back with all the force of a parent chasing a stray dog out of her spotless kitchen. Meanwhile, the older woman's grip slid down the shaft of the cane as if she fully intended to use the weapon to protect herself...or perhaps to club me to death.

And no wonder. As I edged around Harmony and neared the diminutive yet powerful elder, I caught a hint of fox musk clinging to her weapon. Had the old woman risen in the night, seen a werewolf at the door, and chased him away with her trusty stick? Did something about my own posture reveal the lupine nature hidden beneath my human skin?

Sensitive one-bodies often reacted negatively to alpha werewolves like myself, which was part of the reason why I'd brought so many cupcakes along on my road trip. Unfortunately, I was completely out of sugary bribes at the moment. Instead, I donned my most sincere smile and attacked with an honorific combined with pure honesty.

"Doña, I'm not here to harm your daughter and granddaughter," I told the older woman, raising my hands as if their emptiness would prove I was neither witch nor wolf. "I'm just looking for a place to spend a few nights. Nothing more, I promise."

In response, the grandmother's nostrils flared and her eyes flashed. I could tell that she'd noticed my lapse, had tuned into the way I'd skipped right over the human promise to leave if I wasn't welcome. The trouble was, I knew I wasn't welcome...and I still wasn't leaving.

Well, not for another hour and fifteen minutes, at which point I needed to be on campus and ready to start my first shift at the coffee shop.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to figure out how to change a mind that appeared as stubbornly made up as my own. But Harmony solved the problem for me. "Mama, this is ludicrous," the younger woman said, stepping in front of her mother's cane without worrying that the stick might come down upon her unprotected back. "Ember is a friend and she's staying here this week whether you like it or not."

The old woman didn't buy her daughter's reassurance, I could tell. Instead, she and I locked gazes in a stare every bit as intense as a werewolf challenge of wills.

But, in the end, my opponent gave in. Shaking her head angrily, she turned away and stomp-tapped back down the hallway. She wasn't happy...but apparently Harmony was alpha in this household despite the latter's relatively tender age.

I'd definitely need to mend that bridge in the future, but there was nothing I could do about the old woman's dislike now. On the other hand.... "Blueberry muffins?" I whispered to Harmony, hoping old ears weren't werewolf-sharp.

"Her favorite," the younger woman agreed.

***

LEAVING MY SUITCASE behind in the hands of a human family who already felt strangely like pack, I hightailed it back toward the subway station and boarded a train bound for campus. And in that moment of enforced stillness while the vehicle conveyed me toward the college, I pulled the chain out from beneath my shirt and considered my brother's hidden key.

The number "404" was engraved in the center, ringed by a smaller admonition: "Do not duplicate." But there was no explanation, leaving me with more questions than answers.

Did the key belong to a room? To a safe-deposit box? To a padlock? I wasn't sure...and I didn't have time to worry the issue further because I needed to switch lines and clock in at my new job ASAP.

Still, I nibbled around the edges of the enigma while racing across a summer-empty walkway in order to catch up with the cafeteria manager who'd offered me this gig. And I worried the problem up and down while collecting a pass card that allowed me to open the doors of my newfound shop.

And, okay, I'll admit that I lost track of the mystery for several long minutes while relaxing into the wonder of having a commercial kitchen at my beck and call. There were brownies to bake, frozen blueberries to retrieve from the pantry in preparation for creating a batch of muffins bound to sweeten the sour temperament of Harmony's elderly mother. After that....

"Are you open?"

The jingle of a bell combined with a timid voice caught my attention as the first customers of the day blew in from outside. The two females were evidently students...perhaps friends of Derek's? And while I served them with a smile, I also nudged my smartphone a little further down the counter, brushing my fingers across the darkened screen to bring Derek's unsmiling face eye-catchingly to life.

It was time to remember my larger goal and lure in some confidences out of the wild.

Unfortunately, the gaze of the shorter girl skittered over my brother as if he didn't exist. The other customer's pupils, though, dilated with interest. "Do you know him?" I asked innocently, gesturing toward Derek's handsome face while handing over a paper cup full of steaming liquid.

"Your boyfriend?" the second student answered. "Naw, but he's a hottie."

And, just as quickly as I'd thought her hooked, I cranked in my reel to find bait gone and line empty. "See you tomorrow," I told the two with a nearly inaudible sigh, not bothering to correct the student's assumption about Derek's and my relationship. Then I forced my feet to dance with their previous joy as I returned to the oven, casting off the leaden weights that had threatened to materialize at the ends of my formerly buoyant feet.

"Of course it won't be that easy. I don't even know if Derek went to school here," I reminded myself, my voice echoing oddly in the empty space as I got back to work creating treats so tantalizing they'd draw just the right sort of prey in my door. There were plenty of people on this campus beyond the students. Perhaps Derek had cleaned the floors or merely wandered along the walkways enjoying the scenery. Whatever his reason for mentioning the spot during our video chats, I was confident that some person with information pertaining to my brother's current whereabouts would eventually drop by. I just needed to settle in and wait....

To that end, I whipped up a batch of triple-chocolate cupcakes, decorating the domed tops with artful curls of yet more chocolate along with a thin drizzle of raspberry syrup. Those were immediate crowd pleasers, so I branched out into another confection...this time concocting a chocolate croissant intended to gratify the supposed fiance I'd meet for the first time in human form tonight.

After that, business picked up to the point where I no longer had time for baking. Instead, I busied myself changing customers' minds about what they thought they wanted. First, I tempted an elderly professor into choosing the brownies over the muffin he thought would please his health-conscious wife, then I actually managed to bring a smile to a scowling student's lips as she nibbled around the edges of a tartlet filled with rich, sweet blueberry jam.

And yet, every time I nudged my phone to life and drew human eyes to my brother's image, a sublime lack of awareness remained on my customer's faces. Meanwhile, with every moment that passed, Chief Greenbriar's deadline hung heavier upon my slender shoulders.

Had Derek just been teasing me with his frequent mentions of this tree-lined campus? Or perhaps my brother had been trying to impress by referring to an institution that possessed sufficient name recognition for its prestige to carry over into the werewolf world.

By four hours into my shift, I was hovering on the edge of quitting the job I'd only just begun. Because I was tying up half of every day in a coffee shop when I could have been out pounding the pavement and sniffing for any sign of my brother's scent throughout the city. Perhaps it was time to be honest and admit that I'd applied for this position not because of Derek's dropped hints but instead due to a selfish urge to surround myself with baked goods during my first solo adventure away from my home pack.

Before I could tease apart my own ulterior motives, though, breath caught in my throat. The brownie-eating professor had slipped out the door while I pondered further options, and in the process a tendril of outside air blew inside in the older man's wake. The hint of aroma flooding my workspace shouldn't have been out of place on a college campus...yet, it still froze me in place just as thoroughly as the scent trail of an elk had done the night before.

The air was filled with the tang of dusty old books. Scintillating sandalwood. And heart-pounding adventure.

Forcing reluctant muscles to flex while slowing my breathing with an effort, I lifted my chin to take in the scene beyond the window...and my gaze instantly locked with dark orbs as familiar as my own. Sebastien--my Uber driver--was peering through the plate-glass and directly into my soul.

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# Chapter 11

For fifteen interminable seconds, my body rebelled against explicit instructions to stay calm, cool, and collected. My chest heaved, my cheeks reddened, and I panted like a sprinter stuck at mile five of a marathon as I attempted to wrap my mind around the vision outside my shop. Had Sebastien really been this handsome when I ran into him the previous night?

Struggling to breathe against the vise-like pressure in my chest, I found myself tracing the human's outline with hungry eyes. Sunlight glinted against jet-black hair and the lines of Sebastien's jaw were so sharp that my hand rose without permission in an effort to stroke his stubbled chin. The human's chest was as broad as any werewolf's, his stance calm and confident. But it was his eyes that snagged my attention and drew me in further yet.

There were mysteries hidden within those dark depths. A flicker of pain, a hint of regret. Mostly, though, the newcomer's face told me what I desperately wanted to hear--that Sebastien considered me every bit as enticing as I found him.

The muffled tinkle of the bell above the door broke through my reverie, then hard-soled shoes rang out across intervening tiles. "Is it too late to snag a coffee?" Sebastien asked, gaze rising to the clock above my head before his eyes pierced mine once more.

The cafe was supposed to close in five minutes, but I busied my hands filling a cup anyway. Better working than reaching out and pulling this human close enough to sniff the tantalizing aroma emanating from the crook of his neck....

"Were you delivering somebody to campus this afternoon?" I asked, interrupting thoughts that I couldn't afford to have flow any further. Glancing over one shoulder, I was proud of the fact that my voice remained steady despite my heart continuing to beat a staccato in my chest.

Unfortunately, I was paying more attention to Sebastien's anticipated answer than to the hot liquid nearing the top of the cup. Because just as an expression I didn't entirely understand wafted across Sebastien's chiseled countenance, coffee overflowed across my fingers, stinging tender flesh.

"Ow!" I exclaimed, barely managing to take four steps to the sink before the cup slipped and spilled across the stainless-steel expanse. So much for coffee.

Then Sebastien was there beside me. The fabric of his sports coat brushed against my arm and his scent enfolded me as the male reached across my body to turn on the cold-water tap. Before I knew what was happening, warm fingers were nudging my wound beneath the soothing flow, human contact doing more than icy water to dull my pain.

I could have stood like that for hours, soaking up Sebastien's intoxicating aroma like the scent of a baking cake. But the coffee hadn't been quite hot enough to truly burn. And if I let this go on for much longer, my wolf was going to take the lead and do something we'd later regret.

We won't regret anything, my inner animal murmured even as I slipped out from beneath Sebastien's arm and took two long steps back.

"Thanks," I said to my human companion, ignoring the complaints of my inner wolf. "I really appreciate the help. But health-department regulations require all customers to remain on the other side of the counter...."

My words flew fast and furious, building a wall between us. And, in response, my companion raised one dark brow quizzically before proceeding to obey. Footsteps against tile, the whoosh of moving air, then my companion was safely back in the seating area from which he'd come.

"Better?" he asked, elbows leaning against the scratched counter.

And I nodded...even though my affirmative was a total lie.

***

THIS TIME AROUND, I was more careful as I filled a cup with steaming liquid. And Sebastien followed my lead, retreating to surface pleasantries as I finished up my work.

"The Uber thing is just a side gig," my customer said, returning to my original question at long last. And as he spoke, he pulled out a credit card and a rectangle of card stock to exchange for his cup of joe.

"Sebastien Carter, Professor of Psychology," the business card read, along with a phone number and email address.

Huh. Now that was interesting. What college professor willingly chose to spend his evenings shuttling random strangers from point A to point B? And what perspicacious werewolf would have missed the fact that her driver's sports car was far too fancy to be used for ten-dollar taxi fares?

Kicking my ailing brain back into gear, I leapt to conclusions I should have drawn hours ago. "You're a student of human nature," I guessed. "You signed up with Uber so you could observe people in their element."

"Guilty as charged," Sebastien answered, eyes crinkling up at the corners as his face broke out into a breathtaking smile. Yet again, I found my chest tightening as I struggled to inhale.

In an effort to regain proper focus, I bent down to examine the nearly empty display of pastries, trying to decide which selection would suit my current customer the best. Last night, Sebastien had chosen the chocolate...a decadent and seductive move hinting at enigmatic depths beneath his apparently clean-cut persona.

But the choices at the time had been severely limited and the current cocoa-related option--triple chocolate chunk--was a whole 'nother ball game of complexities. Would Sebastien prefer one of the milk-chocolate oatmeal cookies I'd stirred up after realizing that most of my customers were searching for fiber along with their jolt of sweet? Or perhaps....

"That one."

Ah, so he was a decider. I liked that in a customer. No hovering indecisively above the most tasty choice while calculating future impact to heart and liver. No wishy-washy meanderings down the candy aisle, tasting each treat with hungry eyes before allowing a single morsel to touch his lips. No, Sebastien saw what he wanted...and he took it.

What would it feel like if the thing he wanted had been me?

Shivering, I raised my eyes from the display case and found Sebastien squatting with his head on the exact same level as my own. A thick sheet of glass and several feet of air separated us, but I could almost feel the professor's pointer finger trailing across my lips, around one ear, then down along the side of my jaw. For the first time in my life, in fact, I experienced a sensation more enticing than the first taste of 70% chocolate...and Sebastien hadn't even touched his finger to my bare skin.

"The triple-chocolate cupcake," my customer elaborated when I remained frozen and tongue-tied. "I like...the curls."

Tendrils of my own hair had escaped from its health-department-approved bun while I worked, and now a wisp brushed against my face in counterpoint to Sebastien's statement. The cheek in question heated up yet again and I knew my blush would be bright red and obvious--embarrassing when faced with nothing more than a little innocent flirting.

Turning away to hide my reaction, I managed to grab the most elaborately decorated cupcake...and the one to which my customer's finger had seemed unerringly drawn. "It isn't too froufrou?" I murmured, my voice catching on the final word.

"I'm a connoisseur of beauty," Sebastien said softly as the first hint of fur--a response to his presence--broke out along my spine.

And then my companion reached forward to accept the chocolate treat, our fingers brushing as paper-coated pastry transferred from hand to hand. Only as sparks of profound awareness ran from fingertips all the way down my spine did I realize that I'd meant to put the pastry in a box with a couple of napkins, to follow the health-code rules to the letter.

Yet another violation--I was seriously flubbing my job as barista today. And yet, I found that I didn't care about the lapse one bit.

My wolf didn't mind the oversight either. Instead, she pressed against the inside of my skin, hunting for a way to come out and join in the fun. Shhh, not now, I told my inner animal. But I pressed my lips closely together rather than continuing our banter, afraid of what my companion would see if I opened my mouth to speak.

After all, fur came first, but the next symptom of an incipient shift was generally fangs. Not quite what this innocent human was expecting to have delivered along with his cupcake.

Sebastien, darn him, seemed entirely unaffected by the same skin-on-skin contact that had sent me reeling. "I don't just study human nature in the wild, you know," he continued, carefully peeling back the paper from each dark-chocolate ridge of the treat in his hand. The professor paused as a segment of pastry caught on the lining, and after backing off the pressure he tried again from a different angle. This time the wrapper came away clean.

"Hmm?" I answered, not hearing a single word Sebastien had to say. Because I'd gotten lost in another flight of fancy, this time wondering what it would feel like to have that same attention applied to the buttons of my shirt, the zipper of my pants, the skin along the side of my neck....

"The business card," my companion reminded me, gesturing toward the pale rectangle that lay abandoned atop the nearby counter. "I'm running experiments this summer on campus. They're easy and fun. Each session takes about an hour and pays ten bucks plus a candy bar. It's the candy that draws the students in."

He smiled again, a devastating widening of lush lips that sent my stomach plummeting down toward the sticky floor. That expression on Sebastien's face should be outlawed. It was definitely contrary to the purpose of the health code--keeping me alive long enough to finish out my shift.

"I hope you'll come by and give it a try," the professor continued. "Maybe tomorrow?"

I think I might have nodded, although I can't be entirely certain. Instead, I watched as the pastry I'd baked with my own two hands rose toward Sebastien's lips. The experience was a close second cousin to being kissed, especially when warm breath flung the scent of chocolate and coffee out of Sebastien's mouth and toward my flaring nostrils....

Then the bell above the door rang yet again and the moment was broken. Letting the uneaten cupcake drift down to his side, Sebastien swiveled around and watched with raised eyebrows as two very angry werewolves pushed their way through the open door.

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# Chapter 12

"What do you think you're doing?" the fox-scented shifter demanded. I recognized him immediately, not from any glimpse of a face that I might have caught in the dark alley the night before, but because he looked precisely the way he smelled. In human form, the male was tall and lanky, his angular countenance made even more rat-like by its squinty-eyed expression of distaste. Harmony's potential rapist was definitely the last person I'd hoped to see that day.

But before I could usher the male out of my shop, a second voice rang out across the room. "Roger," this one warned.

The second werewolf to speak was more appealing...especially once the alpha's son reached up to place a steadying hand atop his underling's shoulder. Like his companion, I recognized Aaron by scent, and I was vaguely aware that I should have been spending this time assessing my supposed fiance as mate material. Instead, I found myself more interested in the way the heir apparent's touch so effectively reduced the angry energy of his companion down to a dull roar. Apparently Aaron shared alpha capabilities with his powerful father.

The pack leader's son also possessed the familial ability to exude geniality on command. Stepping forward, he offered a hand to Sebastien while producing a one-body-friendly smile. "Aaron Greenbriar, a friend of Ember's."

"Sebastien Carter, ditto."

I was warmed by Sebastien's claimed friendship. But then I winced as the cupcake--which had been juggled from hand to hand in preparation for the human-style greeting--slipped out of the professor's grip. He grabbed for the falling pastry, barely missed its descent, then watched in dismay as the offering landed icing down on the scuffed and dirty floor.

Sweaty skin, hot kisses, and other entirely imaginary aspects of the preceding moments instantly dissipated into grime and disillusionment. And Sebastien evidently shared my chagrin because he released a stream of syllables that I suspected was invective in...maybe Swahili?

I wanted to bask in this evidence that my attraction hadn't been entirely one-sided. But Aaron's shoulders were tense and rat-faced Roger's laugh seemed intended to start a fight that no human could ever win. So I palmed both my phone and Sebastien's card as surreptitiously as possible, then glanced at the clock to support my upcoming lie.

"I'm sorry," I said, "But I've gotta shut things down. The door locks automatically fifteen minutes after closing and I definitely don't want to spend the night sleeping on icing-covered floors. So I'm afraid I can't sell you another cupcake today...."

Never mind that there were three similar chocolate confections remaining in the case along with several other types of dessert, all of which would be good for nothing but the dumpster come morning. I'd be handing out leftovers to all and sundry after work...but I couldn't afford to let Sebastien spend one more moment in the danger zone. "See you later," I continued, my eyes adding: Why won't you go already?

And Sebastien moved...but he didn't obey. Instead, sidestepping two burly werewolves, the professor stepped closer to the counter until the two of us stood nose to nose, surroundings hidden by the proximity of the other's face. "I'll see you tomorrow," he offered far too quietly for Aaron and Roger to hear...

...Well, too quietly for them to hear if they'd been human.

Unfortunately, the two bystanders weren't precisely human and they picked up the professor's words far too well. "Should we put the chairs up on the tables?" Aaron suggested loudly, as if he'd been helping close cafes all his life. Playing along, Roger added: "Where's the broom?"

Tuning out my pesky chaperones, I scooted one hand a fraction of a centimeter further across the cool glass countertop. I wasn't accustomed to human mating rituals, wasn't accustomed to the impulse to gauge every move carefully so I'd both capture Sebastien's attention while also allowing myself to save face when and if my interest wasn't reciprocated.

Only, Sebastien didn't ignore my advancing fingers. Instead, his larger hand slipped beneath mine, our joined appendages rising as a unit until his lips could brush butterfly-soft kisses across my sensitive skin. Behind his back someone--I thought it was Roger--began to growl just barely low enough to elude the professor's ears.

I was playing with fire and I knew it. Still, Sebastien's kiss curled the corners of my mouth up into a smile while my other hand fingered the corners of the business card now buried deep within my front pants pocket. "Tomorrow," I agreed.

Then, before either Aaron or Roger could chase down the human rapidly retreating across the tile floor, I shot out orders with my best alpha oomph to back them up. "The broom is in the closet behind your back, Roger. And, yes, Aaron, we'll be out of here twice as quickly if you put up the chairs."

***

WHEN SEBASTIEN WAS present, the air had been so full of testosterone that I might as well have possessed two jealous fake-fiances rather than just one. But the instant the human turned the corner and disappeared from sight, the act--and the broom handle Roger had been holding awkwardly in his arms--clattered to the floor.

"This thing my father thinks he's orchestrating," Aaron began, waving a hand between the two of us, "isn't going to happen."

The shifter's jaw worked furiously as he prepared to dive into a long-winded explanation that likely ended with, "It's not me, it's you." But I beat him to the punch. "Agreed," I said simply.

"What you have to understand..." Aaron continued, then broke off as he realized I hadn't offered up a single argument. And, predictably, alpha werewolfishness rose up behind my companion's eyes at the perceived slight.

Because, sure, Aaron had wanted to ditch me first. But I'd been the one shooting him down in the end...and that just wasn't kosher. "Look," the male started, advancing toward me angrily.

This time it was Roger who placed a chastising hand on the shorter male's shoulder, and my eyebrows rose at the abrupt change of roles. Rather than remarking upon the inconsistency, though, I gave the alpha's son an easy out.

"Under other circumstances, I'd be honored to become your mate," I jumped in quickly, trying to make my voice sound honest despite the shiver of repulsion that raced up my spine at the very idea of mating with the Greenbriar heir apparent and leaving my own pack behind. "But that's not why I'm here. I'm in town for one reason and one reason alone. To hunt for my brother. Then I'm going home to my own pack where I belong. So, you see, choosing a mate isn't in the cards...at least, not right now."

And even though I'd been eying Sebastien avariciously ever since the latter crossed my path--making the preceding speech a total lie--the alpha's son accepted my explanation as gospel. "Well, that's good then," Aaron countered. "Because I can't come to dinner tonight. That's actually why I dropped by."

Now it was my turn to flinch. Chief Greenbriar wasn't going to take that particular news flash well at all, and it looked like I'd been signed up as the bearer of bad tidings. I just hoped the city's pack leader wasn't the type to shoot the messenger....

But while I remained profoundly concerned about the future--or rather, about whether I'd get a future--Aaron had apparently dropped all cares as soon as he got his own way. His eyes roamed greedily across the glass-fronted display case, and I sighed as I accepted the inevitable. Our meeting wouldn't be over until I rustled up some grub for my uninvited guests. After all, werewolves were always hungry and heir apparents were used to being served.

"What can I getcha?" I asked, pulling out a sheet of waxed paper to separate myself from whatever pastry Aaron might choose as his own.

Rather than responding, though, my customer wandered idly down the row, proving that he was definitely not a decider. And in response, I tapped my feet for ten long seconds before plucking a chocolate croissant off the tray to hurry our transaction along. I knew what my customer wanted better than he did, proven by the real pleasure that spread across Aaron's face when he inhaled the first bite.

"And for you?" I asked, tamping down disgust as I turned to rat-faced Roger. I had a feeling my final customer of the day was a licorice type of guy...mostly because a potential rapist deserved to join that detested flavor on my shit list. Of course, I didn't allow licorice in my kitchen, so I settled on a different guess in my efforts to hurry the duo out of the shop.

"I'll bet you like oatmeal cookies," I suggested with false joviality, hand already reaching to snatch the final lumpy morsel off its transparent platter. But then my brow furrowed as the second shifter's gaze instead latched onto the blueberry tartlets two trays down.

Blueberry? That selection didn't make any sense. Blueberry lovers possessed an inner core of steely integrity. And, sure, a tartlet was sweeter and less wholesome than the muffins I'd baked with Harmony's mother in mind. Still...I had a hard time lining up Roger's current choice with the man who'd pawed my landlady without permission the evening before.

But Aaron had already returned to business, leaving me no time to ponder the conundrum at length. "Can you get to Dad's house on your own?" the pack leader's son asked, speaking with his mouth full as he wolfed down his croissant like a, well, like a werewolf. If I hadn't already determined that Chief Greenbriar's son wasn't mate material, this display would have clinched the deal. After all, I preferred a little more savoring before the main event.

Then, remembering I'd been asked a question, I hastened to shrug off the male's concern. "No problem," I answered before shooing them both away from my counter. "Now, go. I really do need to finish cleaning up. Unless either of you wants to help...?"

As expected, my not-so-subtle hint was enough to send the duo scurrying for cover. And, for the first time in several hours, I was left with nothing but baked goods and the memory of Sebastien's shiver-inducing touch to keep me company.

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# Chapter 13

My brain hummed with questions as I jogged down the steps into the subway tunnel half an hour later...which is the only explanation I can give for why I neither smelled nor heard the mugger until his arm settled around my neck. Before I had time to retaliate, in fact, my attacker had pressed my spine up against his hard chest, giving me a good, long sniff of the aromas that should have clued me in to his presence several minutes earlier.

The stranger smelled like lust and anger and fur, the last nearly hidden beneath a human-style cologne. "This must be my lucky day," the stranger breathed, teeth lengthening into fangs as he proceeded to nibble the cartilage along the top of my ear.

I suspected the bites were my attacker's idea of foreplay. But they instead roiled my stomach and made me regret the oatmeal cookie I'd scarfed down while washing out the display cases and preparing the cafe for its nighttime rest. A teaspoonful of bile clawed its way up my throat and I opened my mouth to release odors that should have cued any sane werewolf in to my lack of interest.

But apparently my attacker wasn't sane. Instead, his whisper devolved into a nearly lupine growl as he continued spitting words and water droplets into my ear. "Imagine. A pack princess falling directly into my arms," he hummed in satisfaction. "I've landed the perfect mate."

My over-protective cousins would have told me to hit hard then run for cover. But I was more curious than afraid. Did this male really think that a little cologne to shield his scent would allow him to get away with a crime of this caliber? What was going on in this city that a friend of the alpha's son would attack a human one night and a strange shifter would go after me the next?

So I merely twisted my neck to take in my assailant's face. The male was clean-shaven, well-dressed, and looked far more like a pack werewolf than like a battered loner. Not that I recognized him from last night's hunt...but I also hadn't seen any of those shifters in human form.

"You don't look like an idiot," I said companionably while my brain raced, trying to figure out whether my favorite self-defense move would require me to drop the box of pastries I still clutched in one white-knuckled fist. I didn't particularly want to lose the blueberry muffins I'd stashed away to please my landlady's mother, but I would if I had to....

Meanwhile, I continued the attempt to return my attacker to his right mind. "You look like a smart guy without a death wish," I added. "So I can't quite figure out what you think you're doing."

Rather than answering, the male tightened his grip, cutting off all access to air. He was serious, then, not just a friend of Aaron's intent upon chasing me out of town. As if to further prove his point, the male's left hand reached across to fondle my breasts...at which point I gave up on deciphering the mystery and stomped down as hard as I could on the arch of his right foot.

The move should have worked. It would have too...had the male not been wearing such heavy boots that my attack made little impact. Without even grunting, my opponent swayed away from my flailing legs, twisting us both around until my lower limbs were clenched immobile between his hard-boned knees.

"Not so fast, vixen," he rumbled. Then, pulling upon alpha dominance that he really shouldn't have possessed, the male ordered, "Stay."

***

IN RESPONSE, I TRIED--AND failed--to shake my head in dismay. No. This can't be happening to me. Not since Wolfie had provided a taste of my own medicine when I was a child had I been barked into line by a stronger wolf. There just weren't many shifters out there below pack-leader status whose inner beasts were more powerful than my own.

And as I fought against the order freezing my lips and legs in place, fear clawed its way up my throat for the first time all day. This doesn't make sense, I growled silently, trying to keep my thoughts rational even as my wolf began whining and clawing against my insides. Why would a male so powerful he could freeze me with a single word be stalking deserted subway stations in search of an easy lay? Shouldn't my attacker be busy guiding dozens of other shifters, creating a pack of his very own instead of poaching upon someone else's?

Then reason and logic flew out the window as panic fully engulfed my inner wolf. She flung us from side to side with the force of desperation...or at least she tried to. But instead, muscles merely twitched impotently beneath our skin as the alpha compulsion held us in place as strongly as any hand.

Okay, so that's not quite true. Our struggles did manage to tip the cupcake box out of our fist, cardboard falling open against the concrete floor as blueberry muffins plus an array of treats intended for my Greenbriar hosts turned into so much flotsam to feed the rats.

And as quakes wracked my body while failing to move me an inch further away from my attacker, I found myself screaming silently within my own head. I have Chief Greenbriar's permission to hunt within the city! I told my attacker with my eyes. Then, as I grew more desperate yet: Don't you know who my father is?

Because it wasn't as if Wolfie's reputation was a local phenomenon. Even three states away, any shifter with a lick of sense should know that my father was bound to rip an attacker's entrails out through his nostrils if anyone dared to lay an unkind finger upon Daddy's little girl.

And yet, despite all evidence to the contrary, this male did very much dare to break the law. He walked around me, gaze tunneling through my clothing as a smirk filled out his weak-boned jaw. Meanwhile, the male's inner wolf rose so high behind human eyes that I wasn't entirely sure whether he wanted to rape me...or to eat me.

"Delicious," the male growled, hard fingers gripping my hips and pulling me up against his erect dick. My muscles refused to even shiver now as his head bent down to suck at the rigid tendons lining my neck.

This is really happening, I realized. Now would have been a good time to carry a canister of mace in my pocket like my landlady did...assuming frozen fingers were able to move sufficiently to deploy the physical defense, that is.

Then, before I could relinquish the final shred of hope, my attacker jolted backwards as if he'd been struck. And in the exact same instant, his cell phone chimed.

It looked like my wishful thinking had borne fruit after all. I'd been saved by the bell.

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# Chapter 14

The mugger glanced at his phone's screen then took off like a shot...leaving me frozen in place with no way to break free. Well, isn't this delightful?

I could see it now. After doing my best to keep my nose clean, I--rather than the males who seemed to be ignoring shifter laws right and left--would be the one tossed out of the city on my ear. Or worse.

After all, human travelers would flood the station as soon as the next train arrived. I'd remain locked in place as travelers dashed from train to stairs. Most probably wouldn't even notice the oddity, but I was sure at least a few would question me, prod at my unyielding form, and try to figure out what was going on.

Then a good Samaritan would call the police. I'd likely be carted off to a human hospital, might be tested and analyzed by doctors who would find my blood work highly irregular...and highly intriguing at the same time.

At which point, the carefully nurtured secrecy protecting shifter society would really fall into disarray.

I didn't expect any amount of effort to speed up the unfreezing process. But, to my surprise, pins and needles of returning sensation prickled into my fingertips while I was still pondering the implications of my current dilemma. And by the time the last echo of retreating shifter steps rang out from the stairs behind my back, I was up and moving in the attacker's wake.

Immediately, my feet took two lunging steps forward, my lupine half itching to track down the bastard and give him a taste of his own medicine...then to figure out why in the world this city of ordinary shifters had attracted so many would-be rapists to its streets. But instead, I found myself sinking down onto my butt, never mind the nastiness that threatened to rub off the well-traveled concrete and onto my best pair of slacks. I didn't exactly descend into a sobbing heap of girlie goo. Still, I'll admit that a single tear streaked down the curve of my cheek and I allowed my attacker to make tracks with no attempt to chase him back down.

This isn't what my first adventure was supposed to turn into, I screamed silently inside my own head. The excitement of the journey shouldn't have descended into a jumble of ruined pastries, a missing brother who stood me up at every turn, and a pack of shifters who acted more like wolves than like men. I wasn't supposed to feel like such a failure seated amid a heap of fallen dreams.

Pulling out my phone, I stared at the smiling faces beaming back at me out of my digital address book. Despite the sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach, the array proved that I was never truly alone. Not when dozens of cousins and uncles and aunts would drop anything to come to my rescue...then never speak of the lapse again.

I couldn't contact any of them, though. Not when a mere breath of my predicament would send my father on a rampage, initiating an inter-pack battle that would tear our already splintered society apart. No, it was my turn to protect the pack...and that meant keeping my own counsel.

As if I'd called his presence into being, a new notification popped up on my display, halting my scroll through dozens of familiar faces. Dad, the caller ID read, and I smiled around the pain tightening my throat.

Predictably, Wolfie had sensed my moment of terror down the pack bond and had immediately picked up his phone to check in. It warmed my heart to possess a parent so perspicacious...but it also put me in a bit of a pickle.

Because I knew I couldn't leave Wolfie hanging. But I also didn't trust my equilibrium sufficiently to speak aloud when my father was bound to hear the tremble in my voice.

So when Wolfie followed up on his failed phone call with a short text--"Are you alright?"--I just tapped out a quick reply in the affirmative before powering the device down.

I wasn't dodging his calls. I was merely late to my meeting with the Greenbriar alpha. It was time to endear myself to the local pack.

***

CHIEF GREENBRIAR WAS surprisingly cordial when I showed up without either his son or a hostess gift...and fifteen minutes late to boot. The alpha's spouse, on the other hand, took an instant dislike to me that chilled the room by approximately twenty degrees in an instant.

"You have a little something right here," Andrea Greenbriar murmured, pointing to the spot above her left eyebrow. And even though she hadn't meant to draw my attention to her own blemish, I caught sight of a healing laceration that was still visible on the other woman's brow despite having been carefully caked over with concealer.

So Andrea was the female hunter whose toes I'd stepped on the night before. Not a good first impression...especially considering the fact that her mate intended to bring me into the family as their one and only daughter-in-law.

Of course, Aaron and I had formed an understanding to the contrary. Still, I immediately lifted my hand to pat at the offending area on my own head...and winced when my index finger came away streaked with frosting. Speaking of bad first impressions, turning up at a formal event dressed like a sugar-smeared baker definitely wasn't the introduction I'd meant to embrace.

My muscles tensed as the fight-or-flight reaction kicked in, and in response the faintest hint of a smirk curled Andrea's lips. She was mocking me...which was just the wrong approach to take if the female really did want to chase me out of her clan home.

Up until that point, my wolf had been resting inside our shared belly. But at the first sign of opposition, she woke, straightening my spine and moving my finger to pop one frosting-smeared digit into our human mouth. Rolling our tongue from side to side, we made a show of savoring the sugary concoction. "Mmm, delicious," I offered...then blanched as I realized I'd mimicked my own mugger's unfortunate terminology.

This time around, Chief Greenbriar was the one who picked up on my internal angst. "Is everything alright?" the older male asked, drawing me out of the crowd with one hand at the small of my back. And despite his ogling leer the first time we'd met in human form, the similarity of this alpha's words to those of my own father tempted me to open up. I'm listening, his stance told me. Trust me, added his inner wolf.

But I didn't fully understand the undercurrents currently flowing through this pack. So, instead of succumbing to the urge to over-share, I merely shook my head and offered: "Long day, no sign of my brother."

Then, since the pack leader and I had ended up in a secluded alcove where no one else would likely overhear our conversation, I took advantage of the moment to press my own case. "But I wanted to talk to you about something. Is now a good time...?"

"Of course," the alpha answered cordially, flagging down a passing waiter then pressing a tall flute of something alcoholic into my hand. "And I'll bet you'll feel better after a drink."

I wouldn't feel better post-imbibing, and I would need my wits about me when playing games with tricky werewolves. Still, I sipped obediently, the bubbles of a quality champagne tickling the inside of my nose. I barely managed to stifle a snort in reaction, proving that my sensitive palate was limited to baked goods alone.

Except my lack of sophistication was beside the point. Forgetting the champagne, I proceeded to launch into my own song and dance. "Something happened on my first night here, before I met you," I told the pack leader, going on to explain the bare bones of Harmony's near-rape combined with the scent of werewolf I'd found lingering around her apartment complex the very next day.

"Could you tell who the offender was?" Chief Greenbriar asked, his tone attentive yet calm. I wouldn't have dared tell a story like this to Wolfie without my mother in the room because Dad had been known to shift into lupine form the instant his protective instincts were aroused. Was my host's polished poise a sign that Chief Greenbriar possessed more control over his emotions than my hot-blooded father? I hoped so. Still, instinct told me to be vague, and I paid heed.

"It was dark and I was exhausted," I said by way of reply, telling the truth but not the whole truth and hoping my companion would spin the intended misunderstanding within his own head. "I know it's tough to do anything without being able to pin down who's at fault, but I was hoping you could still find a way to protect the human female? She has a pup and doesn't deserve to be harassed by dangers she can't possibly understand...."

"Of course. Consider it done." Chief Greenbriar's hand landed on my shoulder, the weight meant to be comforting but instead reminding me far too tangibly of my own near-rapist's touch. Only an effort of will locked me in place when both human and lupine halves of my character itched to wriggle free.

"Now tell me about my son," the pack leader continued. "And why he couldn't come out with you tonight."

This time, I didn't have to lie. "I have no idea what Aaron's up to," I answered, shrugging. "But he was polite when he dropped by to say he had to bail. I hope you won't hold it against him." Or me, I added silently.

Chief Greenbriar wanted to, I could tell. But even though he'd ordered my attendance at dinner tonight, he'd forgotten to require me to attend with his son in tow. And here I was, sipping champagne I clearly hated while appearing just as out of place as a baker tends to be at your average white-tie affair.

In the end, the city's alpha opted for fairness. "Tomorrow night, Aaron will be present," the older male promised.

Then a shifter hailed my companion from across the room and I was left alone in my corner of the busy party. Sticking the mostly full glass of champagne behind a planter, I slipped out the side door and hoofed it back to the empty subway station.

My duty was done. Now I could finally finish this seemingly endless day.

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# Chapter 15

Of course, Dad refused to be soothed by my half-hearted text. I should have guessed as much, but I was still surprised to find three missed calls from the male parental unit when I checked my phone on the walk up to Harmony's apartment building half an hour later. One I could have ignored, two might have been staved off with a second text...but three meant business.

Leaning my head against the smeared safety glass of the entranceway, I sighed and accepted that dealing with Wolfie's worry was a mandatory prerequisite for collapsing into my own bed. On the bright side, the scent of werewolf around the front door was fading, no additional shifters having passed by the spot since I walked out the door this morning. So that was one danger out of many that appeared to have become less tenacious than formerly anticipated.

Still, I wasn't quite ready to don a happy face for the sake of my discerning father. So, when my phone rang yet again, this time with my mother's name showing up on the screen, I decided to take the easy way out and use Mom as a conduit to Dad.

"Why are you avoiding your father?" Terra greeted me the instant I accepted her call. Rolling my eyes, I dropped down onto the concrete planter--devoid of life but full of cigarette butts--that marked one corner of the grungy doorway.

"I'm fine, Mom, and how are you?" I teased half-heartedly.

"Not so fine when I'm saddled with a worried mate," she muttered. I could almost see Mom's pursed lips and drumming fingernails. "Wolfie thinks you're mad at him. Want to tell me what's going on?"

"Mad at him?" And now I felt like the worst sort of scoundrel. I'd been evading my father's calls so Wolfie wouldn't show up on my doorstep with the cavalry in tow...and here Dad thought I'd somehow gotten pissed off enough to give him the silent treatment. How was it possible to hold a grudge against the teddy-bear/rottweiler hybrid that was my adopted dad? "I swear I'm not angry. Can you tell him that for me?"

"I'd make you tell Wolfie yourself, but your father's out putting the pups through their paces," Mom countered. Then, caving as she always did when faced with a potential breech in family cohesiveness, she added, "He'll be glad to hear you're doing well. Any sign of your brother?"

And that, likely, was what Dad really wanted to find out with his frequent calls anyway. Luckily, I trusted both of my parents with my life, so I downloaded every little detail...well, except for the nearness of my own miss earlier in the evening. Okay, and I might have left out my supposed engagement and the crazy attraction I felt for a human professor too. But other than that, I told her everything.

Mostly.

Mom was no dummy--she knew I was sidestepping key points. But unlike Dad, Terra wasn't adept at pushing the right buttons to get me to spill. So, after a few minutes of increasingly idle chitchat, she finally let me go.

And even though I hadn't told the whole truth and couldn't feel the Haven pack through the invisible tether that bound us together, I climbed the stairs with renewed energy. Because just touching base with home had put a spring back into my step. Meanwhile, as I exited the stairwell at the proper level, I could hear Rosie's laughter creeping out from underneath the Garcia door.

The portal in question opened before I even had time to knock, and my favorite toddler ran out crowing "She's here!" in baby-ese. Okay, so I'm totally guessing at the words. But the sentiment was obvious. Regardless of the details, the sight of welcoming faces was sufficient to carry tired feet over the last few paces between the outside world and my current safe harbor.

Today I'd baked and fought and hunted and lied. And now, at last, I was home.

***

"WE DON'T HAVE PIZZA for dinner every night," Harmony informed me, biting her lip as if she expected to be judged for lackadaisical culinary decisions. "But the lawyer I work for just won a big case, which means I get tomorrow off with pay. This is a celebration."

Rosie babbled something that sounded like "sick bay" but might have actually been a repeat of her mother's final word. Grinning, I pulled the sticky mass of pudgy limbs and boundless energy into my lap and snuggled her close while eying the final slice of pizza in the box. Maybe I should consume that lonely triangle of cheese and dough...just to make my hostess feel better about not cooking from scratch, of course.

There were only three of us sitting on the floor around the coffee table at the moment, the matriarch having disappeared into her room the moment I walked through the door. And despite the momentary wet blanket the older woman's absence caused, our celebratory mood was now so powerful that I had a hard time reminding myself that these people weren't pack.

Well, back home I would have honored a success by baking. So even though my legs ached and my eyelids drooped, I leveraged Rosie down onto her bare feet and padded into the tiny kitchen in search of supplies.

"What are you looking for?" Harmony asked, coming up to stand behind my left shoulder. She and I were still getting to know each other, so my companion left three more inches of air separating us than rightfully belonged. Still, the human's voice was easy when she added: "If you're still hungry, I think there's leftover stew in the fridge."

I opened the door of the appliance in question, but I wasn't looking for stew. Instead, I pulled out a jug of milk and a carton of eggs, then went hunting other baking paraphernalia in the nearby cupboards.

"Which do you like better--cookies or cake?" I asked Rosie after ascertaining that the bare minimum ingredients for each were indeed present. Then, realizing my mistake, I swung around to face her mother instead. "Except I'm betting it's past Rosie's bedtime and maybe she's not allowed to have sweets anyway...." The human metabolism, I knew, made werewolf-level consumption of sugar unrealistic.

But Rosie was already dancing around my feet shouting "kak, kak, kak!" at the top of her lungs. Oh boy--I'd created a monster. I winced as I raised pleading eyes to the mother who was bound to shoot us both down.

Only, she didn't. Instead, Harmony flicked on some music and lifted Rosie up to twirl around in the small space. Then, setting the munchkin down on the counter beside my baking gear, my hostess put me out of my misery.

"Usually this would be too late for dessert. But I don't have to work tomorrow, so I can stay up and wait out Rosie's sugar high. Plus," my companion said, lowering her voice and leaning in closer, "we never get homemade treats. Mama doesn't approve and I'm a terrible baker."

"You won't be after tonight," I promised, donning my teaching hat and feeling excitement course back into my veins at the same time. Harmony needed to know how to whip up something delicious at the drop of a hat--that was an essential life skill. "This recipe is so easy I could make it in my sleep. Actually, I think I did make it in my sleep once," I clowned, causing my smallest helper to hoot with laughter.

Of course, happy toddlers are clumsy toddlers. In her merriment, Rosie kicked her heels with delight....and knocked the entire carton of eggs off the counter. Only quick shifter reflexes managed to nab the container before its contents splattered all over the kitchen tiles.

That was a close one--in more ways than one. Glancing at Harmony out of the corner of one eye, I was glad to see the human's attention had been sidetracked by holding her daughter steady on her elevated perch, causing Harmony to miss out on my supernatural speed.

Time for a bit of distraction.

"Here, how about you take pictures?" I offered, pulling out my cell phone and swapping it for the container of salt Rosie was about to upend. Sure enough, the human toddler was just like the pups back home--obsessed with the idea of taking selfies--and the plaything became an immediate hit.

Child safely sedated, Harmony and I got to work...or rather, to play. Because despite baking for half the day already, moving around a tiny kitchen with my cheerful landlady filled my stomach with a strange sort of melty happiness not so different from the sensation I knew I'd get once the cake popped out of the oven and I imbibed the first steaming bite.

Of course, the kitchen was really too minuscule for two bakers. At first, we bumped into each other, laughing at our own clumsiness. But then something clicked and we were more dancing than cohabitating. Harmony's arm reached out to grab the measuring spoons and I instinctively leaned the other way to pluck flour out of the cupboard behind my back. We were on a roll.

"And that is how you bake a cake," I intoned in my most serious, professorial voice as we slid the second round pan into the hot oven. Harmony's cheeks were glowing and she appeared five years younger than when I'd first met her. Meanwhile, Rosie was still snapping photos with the vigor of a born paparazza.

"Let's see if you caught any good shots," my hostess said, pulling Rosie onto her hip and beginning to page back through the photos her daughter had recently taken. Predictably, the toddler reached forward to grab at the phone, and her mother tweaked the youngster's nose playfully while holding the device just out of reach.

But then fun fell away as Harmony's face paled. The other woman's chin rose and her brow furrowed, then she turned the screen around to face in my direction.

"Why do you have a picture of Derek on here?" my hostess demanded, her voice abruptly both brittle and cold. "Are you the reason he left his daughter behind?"

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# Chapter 16

No wonder Harmony and Rosie had felt like pack from the instant I met them. My hand trembled as I set down the butter knife I'd been using to test the doneness of the cake a moment earlier...a cake that suddenly appeared far less appealing than it had before my hostess dropped her verbal bomb.

"Kak, kak, kak!" Rosie chanted from her mother's arms. But the kid was bound to be disappointed, because no one was going to be eating cake anytime soon.

"Don't you move," Harmony told me, pointer finger extended and tone as adamant as that of any alpha werewolf. Then the human disappeared down the hallway, her voice softening as she soothed Rosie's fractious complaints before tucking the child into her crib to sleep.

For my part, the day's exhaustion fell back onto my shoulders like a ton of bricks, and I found myself sliding down the side of the counter to land on my butt on the newly mopped floor. I could smell cleaning agent all around me, the chemicals far too strongly scented to ever be used in a shifter household. And I imagined for a second that my brother had sat in this exact same spot, trying to decide what to do with a human woman he'd impregnated in complete disregard for the rules of shifter-kind.

A shiver ran down my spine as I--like he--considered the consequences. Chief Greenbriar didn't seem like the type to fold humans into his pack against the mandates of nation-level werewolf law. Instead, the alpha would have ordered Derek executed for his crimes, slaying Rosie and Harmony right along with him. No wonder my brother had stopped returning my chat requests....

Shaking my head to clear it, I reminded myself that the alpha would have killed Harmony and her daughter first since loose human lips presented a much greater danger than Derek's reckless dick. And that was an even worse thought than the initial one. The image of Rosie's lifeless body splayed out across the white floor filled my mind, the vision of toddler blood running down the cracks between the tiles so vivid that I reached out as if to touch the stain.

Abruptly, the cupcakes and cookies and pizza I'd eaten earlier that day didn't sit right in my stomach and I barely made it to the toilet before everything came back up in a stream of foul-tasting regret. Rosie was a bit over a year old, which meant it had been roughly twenty-four months since my niece was conceived. Coincidence that Derek had tracked me down at nearly the exact same time...or the beginning of a plan I had yet to fully understand?

"Please tell me you're not knocked up," Harmony demanded from behind my back, her words startling me into stillness. I couldn't believe she'd managed to creep up on me unnoticed while I was vomiting into the toilet bowl, but I guess I had enough on my mind to explain the slip.

To my surprise, my hostess's hands were kind as she pulled hair away from my face and wiped my neck with a damp washcloth. Then, in a further display of unwarranted generosity, she handed over a cup of water to clear the acid out of my mouth.

Despite her lack of overt anger, I still opted not to stand in Harmony's presence. Instead, I kept my eyes carefully averted as I accepted the liquid, and I took my time as I went through the motions of swish and spit.

Finally, though, I was forced to speak. "Not knocked up," I promised. Then, taking a deep breath, I told my companion the parts of the truth that were mine to give away. "Derek is my brother. Which, I guess, makes Rosie my niece."

For a moment, my throat tightened again, but this time from an emotion I'd never before felt. I adored my pack, cherished every single one of the people both in and out of Haven who had wriggled their way into my heart and turned themselves into my family moments after I was born. And yet...none of those clan members shared my blood.

Well, that wasn't technically true--Wolfie did. In a convoluted display of family fucked-up-ness that rivaled seventeenth-century royal families, our pack leader was technically my uncle in addition to being my chosen father. Because my birth dad had been Wolfie's brother...until our pack ran the former through with a sword, that is.

Other than Wolfie, though, I'd never before touched a living soul whose chromosomes shared so many alleles with my own. Was our genetic similarity the reason why Rosie's sweet little fingers had felt like a benediction every time they poked me in the eye?

I only remembered that Harmony was still present when the human dropped down into a squat by my side. "So where is he?" she demanded, her voice no longer furious, but anger still simmering beneath the words.

And it was at that moment that I realized Harmony was family too. She was my sister-in-law, I decided, marriage or no. Then, as I shortened the term to "sister" in my mind, warmth refilled the belly I'd so recently emptied of both dinner and lunch.

Still, when I gazed into my hostess's face at last, I winced. No, Harmony wasn't going to be pulling me to her bosom and welcoming me into her family anytime soon.

"I don't know," I answered at last, wishing I had something more salubrious to report. "That's why I'm here--trying to track him down. I actually had no clue Derek found a m...." I paused. "A wife and daughter. Running into you was just a fluke."

"Not such a fluke," Harmony answered, inhaling deeply through her nose before explaining. "Derek was a bus guy. Whenever he traveled, he always came home on the Greyhound. So I changed my routes to go past the station whenever I could, just in case." She paused, then added: "And we're not married."

Her emphasis on the final point suggested she thought it actually mattered, as if a human legal ceremony was responsible for anything beyond lowering a mated pair's tax bill. But, looking into Harmony's eyes, I saw more than a two-legger's need for formality. Instead, confusion and hurt glowed forth, along with stark uncertainty about her relationship with Derek that cut me to my very core.

I wanted to tell my sister that she was wrong, that Derek adored his mate and pup. But...my brother had never so much as mentioned their existence during our long hours of video chat. He hadn't moved into this apartment, which smelled nothing like moss, not even in the dusty corners where no one had thought to scrub. And he hadn't left any contingency plans in place to support a woman who should mean more to him than his own skin.

So maybe Harmony was right about Derek. But that didn't mean she lacked a clan. "You're my sister," I told her, reaching out one hand to pat her knee. The contact calmed my human side and soothed my wolf all at once. But then my eyes widened as I realized the disaster I'd unwittingly set into motion just a few hours earlier.

Because assuming he was true to his word, Chief Greenbriar would come sniffing around this apartment soon, seeking the stalker who had threatened my sister the previous night. Would the alpha smell what I had missed--that my brother's sperm was responsible for the baby napping in the other room? Would "Top Dog" pull the Garcias into his pack...or would he take the easy way out and slay the humans to maintain the sanctity of shifter-kind?

I digested the danger for a split second, then I made my decision. "You're my sister," I repeated. "And you have to move. Tonight."

***

PREDICTABLY, HARMONY refused to obey my ultimatum. Equally predictably, she thought I was nuts to even suggest such a thing.

"We can talk more about this tomorrow," the human interjected when my words disintegrated into a pile of muddled explanation...that didn't, you know, actually explain anything. Then Harmony disappeared into the room already occupied by her mother and baby, leaving me no alternative save retreating back into my own space to gnaw on the issue alone.

And for the first few minutes, I tried to walk my worries away right there in my borrowed bedroom. But, let's be honest, pacing down a six-foot-long aisle partially obstructed by a chest of drawers on one side and an overhanging comforter on the other isn't entirely satisfying. Unsurprisingly, I soon found myself growing more frustrated rather than less so.

Meanwhile, my brain whirled through so many might-have-beens and may-bes that I wasn't really getting any rational thinking done. So, I turned around to twist the lock on the door behind my back, then I slipped out of my clothes and relaxed into the skin of my wolf.

In lupine form, the room brightened even as the intensity of colors dulled. Rosie's snuffling breathing and her grandmother's snores traveled easily from the other room, while the subtle rustle of Harmony tossing and turning suggested that my sister--like me--had ended the evening with more questions than answers running through her head.

At least she doesn't have to get up early tomorrow to go to work, I thought, salving my guilt for having dropped a bomb on my newfound sister without thinking up an adequate explanation to go along with it. Unfortunately, my own work schedule involved no such leeway. Not only was I expected at the coffee shop at eleven as usual, I had a full morning planned before my job even began.

Still, as a wolf, I understood that tomorrow would take care of itself. There was really nothing to be done except to finish out today.

To that end, I plopped down onto the bed, tucking my nose beneath my tail and forcing aching muscles to relax into somnolence. But my ears continued to twitch at every sound emanating from the other room, and the streetlight outside the window persisted in glaring directly into my sensitive eyes.

Rising, I turned in three tight circles to soften my nest, then flopped back down once again. But this time my own panting grated on my ears, fur itching all up and down my spine as my skin rebelled against mandatory solitude.

I needed pack. At home, I would have slipped outside my cottage door and howled once, then watched as cousins poured from their homes to join me on a midnight run. Or, if I'd really felt low, I could have crept inside my parents' home and jumped up into the tiny space between Terra's front and Wolfie's back. Sure, I was all grown up...but a wolf is never too old for a heart-felt cuddle.

I knew this would be a problem, I reminded myself. I'd hardened myself in preparation for the trip, resolving to run solo through the city no matter how welcoming the Greenbriar clan turned out to be. That was the way shifter society worked if I wanted to keep my nose clean and still make it home with no entanglements I'd later regret.

At the time, the task had appeared simple enough. And yesterday, I'd managed to fend off my urge for family despite the Greenbriar mantle tugging me to form a more permanent connection with the local pack.

Tonight, in contrast, my family was present in the very next room. A sister, a niece, and a grumpy old woman who I supposed must be my very first great-aunt.

Thumping my nose against the wall that lay between us, my wolf assessed how thin and breakable the barrier might be. Drywall--not so hard to tear through as long as we didn't run into a stud.

Whoa, there, I reined in my inner beast. Creepy stalker guests might open their hostess's door and peek inside in human form. In contrast, only monsters burst through the wall to lick at humans' sleeping faces.

But I needed pack so deeply that my claws tucked in and out like those of a cat. Slobber soaked the bedspread where I'd drooled out my distress and my ears pinned back against my skull. Finally giving in, I leapt to the floor and nosed at the pocket of flour-dusted work pants.

The phone glowed to life immediately, Derek's face shining up at me as it had done repeatedly throughout the day. This time, though, I winced and looked away, my brother's enigmatic smile suddenly more confusing than it was heartening.

Still, I managed to swipe over to the call function despite Derek's ambush, then I tapped at Dad's image on the screen. And, when Wolfie answered, voice scratchy with sleep, I whined out the thinnest trickle of sound by way of greeting.

"Buttercup," Wolfie murmured with no surprise or annoyance evident in his voice despite the late hour. He must have put some serious effort into our connection too, because as he spoke the Greenbriar mantle rippled and folded back out of the way. Then I could feel my father through our own pack bond, his incorporeal arms hugging me and filling my belly with wolf-imbued warmth.

"Go to sleep," my father crooned, his words descending into a lullaby. And, curled around the phone like a life line, I obeyed my alpha. Dropping chin onto paws, I went out like a light.

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# Chapter 17

Everything always looks brighter in the morning...especially after waking up in lupine form with the sound of my parents' steady breathing on the other end of the line. Shaking off my lupine skin and picking up the phone with human fingertips, I pressed the device to my ear with a genuine smile on my lips.

"Morning, Mom, Dad."

"Good morning, Buttercup," Wolfie answered, his voice a whisper. Muffled by distance, I could still make out the steady whistle of Terra's not-quite-snore in the distance, and I lowered my own voice to keep from waking my mother up.

"I know you want details, but I've got to hustle," I started, excuses more unwieldy when I had to spin them directly into my father's ear rather than through an intermediary.

But Wolfie didn't press the point. Instead, he offered the same unconditional support as always. "You know we're here if you need us," he rumbled...and as Dad spoke I realized there was something he could do to help me protect my newfound sister without putting everyone's noses out of joint.

"Actually...do you think you could track down a phone number? I know the Greenbriar pack almost certainly keeps theirs just as deeply unlisted as we do, but maybe...?"

Dad harrumphed as if he'd been insulted. "You ask that as if you're uncertain of my skills," he growled, reminding me that his day job was keeping businesses' computers safe from internet attack. "Give me a name and I'll have the number before you're done brushing your teeth."

Then he, rather than I, was the one to click off the phone. Grinning, I ran my tongue around the inside of my mouth, feeling the moss that had built up after failing to attend to basic dental hygiene the night before. Sometimes, I thought Dad was a mind reader--he certainly didn't miss a single trick.

So I texted over all the information I had available before creeping into the bathroom, carefully bypassing the cheerful voices that emanated from the other end of the hall in the process. And, sure enough, by the time I'd regained my usual minty fresh breath, Andrea Greenbriar's number sat on my phone's screen, just waiting to be used.

Only, now that the avenue had opened before me, the idea of using Andrea to fend off her mate seemed trickier than it had a few minutes earlier. Time to add a trace of self-assurance to my voice.

To that end, I pulled my most formal set of clothing out of my suitcase, slipping into a business suit that cupped my breasts and thighs while still making me feel more like a badass rather than a femme fatale. I even swiped on a coat of lipstick and splashed eyeshadow onto my lids. Then, sitting on the bed as primly as any society matron, I dialed the relevant number and waited for the alpha's mate to pick up.

The phone rang so many times I wasn't sure if the city's matriarch would even accept my call. But at last, Andrea answered, her voice both curt and cold. "Who is this?"

My number would have shown up on her phone as "unlisted," and it said something about the tenuousness of the female's current position that she'd bothered to answer at all. So I left her hanging for ten solid seconds to consolidate my perceived dominance. Then, one instant before Andrea would have ended our connection, I spoke. "We need to talk."

"We have nothing to talk about." Despite her terse response, though, Andrea didn't bother pretending ignorance. She recognized my voice, had likely expected a call like this for over a decade. How could she not when her family secret made the future appear so dark that she didn't dare peer further ahead than the following day?

It was hard not to feel sorry for a mother placed in such an impossible situation...especially when the future she feared was built upon old-fashioned beliefs as precarious as a house of cards. But Andrea had bought into the bunk and I needed leverage to protect my human sister and niece. So I played dirty. "With Aaron as your son...you really don't think we need to meet face to face?"

For one long moment, it appeared that I'd pressed too hard. Andrea's breathing grew harsh and loud on the other end of the line, and I could almost feel her wolf rising up behind human eyes. Sure enough, when she spoke at last, the words came out garbled around lupine fangs. "When and where?"

"The coffee shop on campus. 10:30," I answered. Then, feeling thoroughly dirty despite my recent shower, I ended the call.

***

I ALMOST LEFT THE ROOM as I was rather than digging out the gift Auntie Fen had given me at the beginning of my journey. After all, what good were physical weapons against a werewolf who could freeze me in place with a single word?

But, if nothing else, the knives would act as a physical connection to my absent family. So I unwrapped the slender blades with care then slipped each into a sheath, the first accessible through a slit in my pants pocket, the second around my ankle, and a third hidden alongside my spine. Assuming a shifter didn't get the jump on me so quickly I was unable to move my hands, I was ready for anything.

Well, I was ready for anything...save the two sets of accusing eyes that met mine when I stepped into the combined kitchen/dining room at last. Only my niece was still a member of the Ember fan club, as evidenced by the refrain of "Kak, kak, kak" she embarked upon while holding out a fistful of chocolate fluff in a sweet yet misguided attempt to share.

"No thanks, Rosie-Dozey," I told the child with forced cheer. But before I could pat my favorite munchkin on the head, her grandmother's cane rose one menacing inch off the floor and my hand snapped back against my side. Uh oh. "I've got to head to work," I explained to the downcast toddler as I changed my trajectory and backed quickly toward the door instead.

Unfortunately, the Garcia matriarch wasn't willing to let me escape so easily. "Tell her," the older woman demanded, the words aimed at her daughter even though her gaze continued to pierce me with arrow-like sharpness. And as a wordless exchange passed between the two adults, I could feel my future solidifying in the air.

An eviction from the premises, a complete inability to protect my family from danger, total divorce from the niece I'd known for only one short day. "Please," I started, not sure what I could possibly say to avert such profound disaster...from a werewolf's point of view at least.

Harmony opened her mouth to obey her mother's wishes. But before I could think of a single way to change my hostess's decision, the younger woman's teeth came together with a snap and she shook her head instead. "Ember and I can talk tonight," Harmony told us both after a moment of loaded silence. "I don't want to make her late for work."

The truth was, I had scads of time before I needed to open up shop, even possessed quite a bit of leeway before my appointment with Andrea Greenbriar. But I seized on the offered out like a drowning swimmer who'd been tossed a life line.

"Yes, right, I'm running late," I babbled, darting through the waiting doorway and into the hall. I didn't breathe easily until the heavy wooden barrier had slammed shut behind my back.

***

AT WHICH POINT I REALIZED that I lacked a key to the apartment I'd just left behind. If the Garcias failed to let me back in this evening, then I'd be stuck in the city without so much as a single change of clothes. Dad wouldn't be impressed by my dental hygiene then, now would he?

In which case I'll just buy new stuff, I decided. After all, panties and toothpaste were easily replaced. In contrast, the slender thread of possibility that I might still make things right with my sister-in-law trumped all else.

So, turning away from the door, I double timed it down the hallway and stairs before Harmony could change her mind and call me back for a much-deserved dressing down. Out in the morning air, I breathed in the dampness of a freshly washed city, overnight rain having swept away the scents of too many people and cars. I could smell grass and pollen and flowers for the first time since the Greenbriar hunt, the mild aromas mixing together to encircle me in a haze of welcome.

The subway was still dirty as ever, though, and my heart rate picked up as I passed through the empty station on the campus end after exiting my northbound train. This was where I'd been attacked yesterday, and the tang of my own terror still hung heavy on the subterranean air.

Rather than rushing out into the light and making the same mistake a second time, though, I slunk along pitted walls, scanning the open space between me and the exit. One hand slipped into my pants pocket, settling around the hilt of Auntie Fen's knife, and in response my breathing gradually eased to normal levels once again.

Only when I felt able to survey my surroundings with the mind of a predator rather than prey did I advance out into the open. My attacker wasn't present, of course. No matter what they say about perpetrators returning to the scene of the crime, only an idiotic werewolf would linger in the spot where he'd nearly raped a pack princess. Especially when his victim possessed guest rights granted by the local alpha himself.

In contrast to the dangerous scene I'd been envisioning, in fact, the campus was bright and cheerful beneath the morning sun. I passed two of the previous day's customers as I skirted the main administrative building, and another waved hello as I used my key to enter the coffee shop. There, I flipped the lock closed behind me and finally relaxed into a round of baking therapy.

First, I pulled together apple turnovers for Andrea--might as well sweeten the female up as reparation for my upcoming blackmail. Then, with a smile, I beat together a batch of the super-fluffy cupcakes that were Dad's favorite. After all, Wolfie deserved a culinary thank-you in exchange for his endless offerings of surprisingly hands-off support.

While the cupcakes cooled, I created a mailing box out of taped-together take-out trays then penned a quick note for my mother and pack. Without bothering to lock the door behind me, I trotted back across campus the way I'd come and turned into the mail room that sat only a few hundred yards away from the subway station. There, a wall of small metal boxes ended in a counter manned by one very bored human clerk.

"What can I get you?" the employee asked, his eyes remaining trained on the magazine in his lap. Then, looking up at last, the clerk's eyes brightened as he recognized me from his visit to my shop the day before. "You're the cupcake girl! Want to open up a PO box? Faculty, students, and staff all get one free of charge."

"That's nice of you," I answered, glancing at the clock above the clerk's head and realizing I was cutting it closer than I'd intended with regard to Andrea's appointment. "But I'm not sure how long I'll be in town. I just need to mail this one thing...."

Luckily, the human required only thirty seconds to calculate postage and accept my payment, then I was trotting back the way I'd come. Past the library, through a little grove of evergreens, then around the bend that hid my shop from view...

...At which point I walked directly into the arms of last night's attacker.

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# Chapter 18

He hesitated before going on the offensive, and that was the only mistake I needed in order to launch my counterattack. Whirling, I yanked a knife out through the slit in my pocket and slashed at the meaty hands reaching for my throat. Red blood arced away from my opponent's flesh, ruby droplets glinting on the steel of my blade before turning dark as they splattered across the perfectly manicured grass.

The other shifter swore but didn't retreat. Instead, he groped around at the small of his own back and drew forth something far more dangerous than my own throwing knives--the cold, hard weight of a gun.

Auntie Fen was right after all, I thought with a shiver. Because my aunt had tried to hand over a highly-illegal pistol rather than the three mostly-legal knives I'd ultimately accepted. She'd told me that toeing the line of human laws might not work out in my favor outside Haven's walls, that guns hadn't been illegal long enough to have dropped off the average criminal's radar.

"But what if a human cop stops me and demands a body search? What then?" I'd asked her.

"So don't do something stupid enough to get on their radar," Auntie Fen had countered.

Now I regretted brushing off advice from someone older and wiser than myself. I'd been leery of carrying a handgun when possession alone was sufficient to send non-military personnel straight to jail. But getting shot by a shifter suddenly seemed like a much worse alternative...and significantly more likely too.

The shock of staring down the barrel of a pistol, in fact, sent words tumbling out of my mouth before I could weigh them against the requirements of good sense. "What do you think you're doing?" I demanded. "Are you trying to get the human police involved?"

Unsurprisingly, my opponent didn't answer. Instead, he widened his stance, bringing his second arm around to steady the first as he sighted along the top of the gun. The easy familiarity with which he held the pose suggested that this wasn't any stolen weapon. Instead, my opponent had likely practiced with and experimented upon this pistol until he wielded it like an extension of his own skin. Bad news.

"Drop the knife and go inside," my opponent told me after one long moment, backing up his command with a jerky gesture of his shallow chin. But he didn't speed me along my way with an alpha compulsion like the one he'd slapped onto me the night before. Was the oversight merely due to confidence that I'd already been beaten, I wondered, or was there another reason behind eschewing his own werewolf strength this morning?

Either way, I wasn't about to walk into what was bound to be an ambush. So, taking care to slump my shoulders and keep my eyes averted in a show of submission, I nonetheless refused to budge. "I can't drop a blood-stained knife on the grass on a human campus. Think for a minute about where we are and who's around. Chief Greenbriar will gut us both if we're responsible for cluing in one-bodies to our presence."

Rather than reasoning with me, my opponent growled and took a single step closer, prompting hairs to rise along the back of my neck. My mind raced as I assessed options, finding each one less palatable than the last. Because every potential solution I dreamed up ended in the exact same way--with shifter blood analyzed in a human hospital where doctors were bound to notice the oddities of werewolf metabolism and DNA. The potential for discovery was more daunting than the current risk to my own skin.

"Don't..." I started. Then a cool, feminine hand landed on my left shoulder blade and cut into my desperate plea.

"Enough," Andrea Greenbriar intoned, her word encompassing us both and pushing all air out of my lungs in the process. Rather than looking in my direction, though, she chided the male werewolf for his overstep. "I merely asked you to ensure Ember wasn't armed," she said, her words quiet but their intensity nonetheless prompting her underling to look away submissively while tucking the gun back underneath his clothes.

Then the female's piercing gaze turned on me, cold air spiraling around my face as her displeasure made itself known. "And you," Andrea murmured, "you should know better than to come to a meeting with knife in hand."

It was patently unfair to accuse me of being armed when her own bodyguard boasted the more dangerous weapon and had been the first to attack. Still, I kept my mouth shut and instead tried to figure out how much of today's kerfuffle was coincidental...and how much pointed at another, deeper game.

Had Andrea's bodyguard really acted against her wishes, both today and last night? Was there a reason the male had been able to use an alpha compulsion on me then but not now?

Puzzles pieces clicked together in my mind, but gaping holes continued to mar my understanding of the situation. However, since the female before me was obviously powerful enough to force me to jump off the top of a building if she so desired, I figured there was only one truly important issue to deal with at the present moment.

My companion needed that apple turnover sooner rather than later.

So, flipping my knife around until I gripped the bloody blade instead of the handle, I extended the hilt in her general direction. "My apologies, alpha. I only came to talk."

Andrea had been willing to tear out the throat of an elk with her own lupine fangs two nights earlier, but her lip curled in disdain now as she took in the red smears and greasy sweat that streaked the recently handled hilt. "Keep it," she told me. Then, speaking to her underling as if to a dog, she intoned an unnecessary compulsion: "Stay." Finally, turning on her heel, Andrea Greenbriar strode back into my shop, allowing the glass door to settle closed behind her with a whoosh of displaced air.

For a moment, the bodyguard and I eyed each other with stark distrust coloring both of our faces. Then, with a shrug, I wiped the sullied blade on the inside of my shirt where the stain wouldn't show before slipping the weapon back into its holster.

It took an effort of will to turn my back on an armed werewolf who had attempted to maul me only eighteen hours earlier and had considered shooting me today. But I clenched my jaw and raised my chin. Then, ignoring my own trepidation, I followed the alpha's mate into my own chocolate-scented shop.

***

"I'LL TAKE A LARGE COFFEE, cream and no sugar," Andrea informed me the moment I entered the space. She was seated at a corner booth where she could watch all activity both outside and inside while being largely hidden in shadows herself. Despite the less-than-adequate lighting, though, my lupine eyes could pick my opponent out quite admirably.

And as I filled the female's order, my surreptitious glances proved that she wasn't nearly as poised as she wanted to appear. Instead, one shoe tapped repeatedly against the floor tiles even as her fingernails drummed against the table top three feet above. Meanwhile, Andrea's gaze slid in my direction far too frequently to maintain her pretense of aloof boredom.

No, the conclusion was obvious--despite her heavy-handed tactics, my current companion was a devoted mama worried about her adult pup. I couldn't let her off the hook entirely, but I still slid a pastry onto a plate and carried it over along with the requested coffee. "I hope you like apple turnovers," I murmured as I took my own seat on the other side of the scuffed tabletop.

For a split second, my companion's face softened as the scent of cinnamon rose between us. But rather than digging in, Andrea ignored the treat and got right down to business.

"If you threaten my son, you threaten me," she intoned, eyes boring into mine so dangerously they sent my inner wolf whimpering for cover. And between the lines, I read the rest of the threat as easily as if it had been voiced aloud. Being mugged in a public setting isn't the worst that can happen, Andrea's eyes informed me. Last night and this morning were warnings. Don't force my hand.

Growling very faintly under my breath, I accepted her words for the admission of guilt they were. And I was very tempted to reply in kind, maybe offering up a verbal slap that reminded Andrea of my own pack's power.

But that would have been counterproductive...especially since I was currently acting under my own volition and without any nearby relatives to back me up. So I merely shrugged and pointed at her turnover. "If you don't want that, I can get you something else."

Closing her eyes in momentary frustration, human politeness eventually won out over Andrea's lupine urge to dominate. The alpha werewolf raised the pastry to her lips with the daintiness of a debutante...and, ever so gradually, the power of spicy apples began relaxing her tensed muscles.

Here's the thing about apple turnovers. They don't look like much compared to a triple-chocolate-chunk cupcake with a drizzle of syrup across the top. And yet, the treat's melding of apple, sugar, and cinnamon proves that a chef doesn't need dozens of complicated ingredients to create something truly divine.

At her core, Andrea was similarly simple. She was a hunter, a mother, and a mate. And while I'd brought the female here as a mother, it was the hunter I wanted to tap into now.

So I waited until the sugared fruit had sweetened my companion's temperament, then I let her parental instincts off the hook. "I'm not going to say anything about Aaron," I informed her. "That's his own personal business...although, if I was sticking my nose in, I think he and Roger make a pretty good match."

For a moment, Andrea's eyes flashed with anger. I'd brought the city's second most powerful werewolf here under false pretenses and we both knew it. Still, it was hard for a mother to fight against open-armed acceptance of her pup, so after a moment her inner wolf stood down.

"Then what do you want?" Andrea asked carefully, sipping at her coffee and forgetting to scan for danger this time as she nibbled another bite out of her rapidly disappearing turnover. Not that there was likely to be anything worth guarding against on this college campus...well, except for the barely leashed bodyguard she herself had brought along.

"I want protection for a family of humans," I answered once Andrea's eyes returned to my face, only to be interrupted before I could get another word out.

"The Garcias?" my companion asked, eyebrows rising. "Arnold told me you were concerned about them. He'll send a few men to look over the situation this afternoon. But I have to say, it's already under control." And not worth blackmailing me about, my companion's accusing eyes added.

"Well, here's the thing," I answered. "I don't want him to send out any men. As you well know, the males in this city are having trouble keeping their paws to themselves."

Because I didn't entirely buy Andrea's implication that her bodyguard had attacked me the previous evening under her own overt orders. Sure, the female had learned about her underling's lapse and had used that knowledge to intimidate me today...but I suspected she'd neither commanded nor approved of his actions at the time.

I'd yet to figure out exactly why the bodyguard attacked me yesterday, and I had similar questions about Roger's actions the night before. But I was close to tracking down answers. And in the meantime, I couldn't afford any loose cannons sniffing around Harmony's apartment, nor did I want Chief Greenbriar sussing out Rosie's connection to my missing sibling if the toddler happened to step outside and into the jaws of a supposedly protective wolf.

So I ignored Andrea's glare and barreled right into the solution I'd come up with the night before. "I won't tell anyone about Aaron and I'll continue pretending like he's mate material. But you have a problem within your own clan. After setting a female guard on my landlady, I recommend you track down the source of your pack's rotten core."

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# Chapter 19

Despite the drama of the morning, the rest of my work day proved surprisingly uneventful. The brownie-eating professor brought in his wife...who was plump and cheerful and didn't complain one bit about her husband's dietary preferences. Meanwhile, yesterday's female students returned with three friends in tow, and the shop gradually began to feel more like a cheerful meeting place and less like the cold, silent corner of campus it had initially appeared.

Feeding the masses warmed the cockles of my heart...but I still grew increasingly jittery as the day progressed. It was hard to remain in one place while my mind ran in several different directions at once, none of which involved pastries and all of which reeked of potential danger. So, at 3 pm, I dialed the same number I'd called far too often throughout the day, hoping for yet another status report on my absent sister.

"Still no trouble," Lissa answered, not bothering to wait for my question this time around. The female shifter and her partner had been stationed outside Harmony's apartment building within fifteen minutes of Andrea leaving my own premises, and their calm assurance should have dismissed all worries about my sister-in-law's safety. And yet...I still harbored a sinking suspicion that something was going wrong out in the city while I whipped up frosting and poured cream into coffee cups within my insulated bubble here on campus.

"Are you positive?" I asked for the sixth time that day. Then racking my brain in an effort to guess what the stationed guards might have missed, I added: "What about the side entrance?"

"Marcia is standing right in front of it. And before you ask, neither of us has seen or smelled a hint of fur since we got here. This isn't the shifter side of town. You can relax."

Lissa's frustration was evident in her clipped sentences, and I couldn't really blame her. Staking out a human apartment building was a pretty low-level chore, and it wasn't fair of me to suggest the shifters in question weren't up to the job. Still....

"What about the roof? Would you be able to see if anyone took an aerial approach?"

"Have you even been here?" Lissa snapped back, her politeness finally wearing thin. "There's no way to access the roof short of a helicopter. And I can promise you, I would hear a chopper if hypothetical miscreants tried to fly in and nab a human out from under my nose."

"Okay," I answered, dropping my head into one hand and letting the issue drop. The other shifter was right--I was being overprotective and a total pain in the butt.

So, after a much-needed apology, I forced myself to hang up the phone. I didn't call to check in for the next two hours. And when quitting time rolled around, I didn't take advantage of my spare hour between work and mandatory Greenbriar dinner to rush home and check on Harmony's defenses as I'd initially intended.

Instead, I accepted the fact that the Garcia family was being guarded by pack. Since I'd also run out of avenues to explore with regard to Derek's disappearance, I chose not to spin my wheels and instead headed in the one direction bound to soothe my tattered temperament.

I'd take Sebastien up on his invitation and drop by his office. The decision had nothing to do with the molten chocolate coloration of the human's eyes, nor with his absence from the shop today. Instead, I told myself I was merely looking forward to talking about something other than werewolves for a change.

***

LIKE THE REST OF CAMPUS, the college's psychology building was nearly empty at quitting time on a summer evening. So I wandered down dimly lit corridors for several minutes, searching for the room number from Sebastien's card. And as I skimmed research posters lining the endless hallways, my eye snagged upon the long list of funders who had supported even the simplest of experiments.

Dad would have laughed at all the ten-dollar names, and I couldn't resist perusing them now as I ambled past. I was vaguely familiar with the National Institute of Science and the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (or DARPA for short), but even the private scholarship funds seemed to require listings up to a dozen words long.

"Dorothy E. and Kenneth C. Upton Foundation," I read aloud, trying to decide whether the couple had been clowning around by creating an acronym that turned into an invective when read backwards...or whether they'd just missed out on the joke. Humor aside, Derek--with his lone wolf's obsession for making ends meet--might have been attracted to the seemingly endless funds made available by well-heeled college alums. Was my brother's obsession with the campus merely an attempt to support his lavish lifestyle without having to sign on with an established pack?

The idea made intuitive sense...yet it still didn't quite ring true. Maybe I just didn't want to turn my brother into either a desperate loner or a money-grubbing scam artist, but my gut told me there was more to Derek's interest in the college than the mere need for easy financing.

The answer, I suspected, lay with the key tucked away in my pocket. Fingering the cool metal, I considered trying it in every knob I passed. Surely the answer to Derek's disappearance lay here on the campus he'd talked so much about.

And yet...how many doors existed in this building alone? And how many other parts of the city had Derek mentioned in passing during our dozens of chats? No, I needed to come up with a more structured approach to the current investigation or I'd continue getting nowhere fast.

Meanwhile, I turned a corner and discovered that the room numbers lining the hallway were finally heading in the proper direction. The clack of fingers on a keyboard drew me yet deeper into the complex, then I forgot all about my brother as I peeked through an open doorway and caught sight of the back of Sebastien's enticing head.

I knew the professor could never be anything more to me than an intriguing acquaintance, but my breath still caught as I took in the sunlight glinting through my companion's short yet tangled locks. My muscles relaxed for the first time all day as his scent wafted into my nostrils. And for an instant, my lupine half closed its eyes and sighed in contentment, as if we'd returned from a lone hunt to snuggle into the heart of our chosen pack.

Focus, Ember, I reminded myself. I wasn't here to be sucked in by masculine beauty and I definitely wasn't here to find a mate. I was hunting for my brother, and to that end I forced myself to tear my eyes away from Sebastien's muscular form and peruse his workspace instead.

Unfortunately, what I saw made the human more intriguing rather than less so. Because the room was awash with plants. A well-trained ficus arched around the side of one large window while spider plants spawned babies in hanging baskets above his head. Along the opposite wall, a fish tank burbled with life, colorful swimmers darting out from amid the fronds of pond plants while colorful snails slimed their way up the insides of the glass surfaces.

"It looks like you'd rather be outside," I said aloud, forgetting for a moment that my companion wasn't a shifter and thus wouldn't have heard me approach. Sure enough, Sebastien's entire body jolted at the sound of my voice, his head swiveling toward me like that of a startled deer assessing its surroundings. But then a broad smile lit the professor's face as he caught sight of me hovering in the entranceway.

"Ember," he greeted me. "Come on in."

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# Chapter 20

I'd meant to use the seconds before being noticed to build some sort of internal wall against Sebastien's overwhelming charm. But, instead, the warmth in my companion's voice was as effective as any alpha compulsion. Muscles moved without conscious volition, and before I knew it I'd skittered through the doorway and right up into his personal space.

Only then did my companion realize that I had no place to sit. Which meant I missed out on the handshake I'd been looking forward to all day, although I was graced with an excellent view of Sebastien's well-formed backside as he turned to scoop a stack of well-thumbed periodicals out of the visitor's chair.

"I'm afraid I've spread my research out over every available surface," the professor mumbled as he worked. "I don't get many drop-bys in the summertime..."

Then his voice trailed off as his cheeks turned ever so faintly red. In response, I nearly laughed aloud, realizing the human I'd thought unflappable was embarrassed to be caught with his office in disarray.

"Please don't clean on my account," I told him. Reaching out without thinking, I placed two fingertips on Sebastien's wrist in a werewolf gesture of consolation....then lost track of what I'd meant to say as the momentary contact pushed all further conversation out of my mind.

Because Sebastien's blood pulsed beneath the pads of my fingers, his heart beating just a little faster than it ought to have done. His skin was warm, his scent mild compared to that of a werewolf but strangely enticing nonetheless. And when I gazed into the professor's eyes, I noticed his pupils were dilating...just like my own despite the more-than-adequate light.

By the time my hand slipped away from my companion's skin, I was barely verbal. So I dropped down into the newly emptied chair rather than opening my mouth. No need to let potentially embarrassing words spew forth while my equilibrium was so thoroughly compromised.

"Did you come for the..." Sebastien began, then cleared his throat before continuing. "...for the candy bar?"

"I...yes, of course."

I hadn't, actually. I'd forgotten all about my companion's request that I take part in his study, hadn't given so much as a passing thought to the promised sugar rush and cash prize in exchange for relinquishing half an hour of my time. Instead, I'd been drawn to this plant-filled study by an instinct too powerful to resist...and definitely far too complicated to explain to a human I'd barely met.

Still, I'd cling to any excuse that allowed me to spend extra time in Sebastien's presence. So I didn't argue when my companion launched into what sounded like a well-rehearsed spiel, and I nodded sagely when he told me the study had to be carried out in pairs.

"Just give me a sec to text the participant at the top of the waiting list," the professor said absently, matching actions to words. Then, piercing me yet again with those un-look-away-able eyes, he stilled my lungs with another breathtaking smile. "We're in luck. Gracie says she can be here in just a few minutes."

After that, the professor leaned back in his chair while I perched awkwardly on the edge of my own seat. A mere four feet of empty space separated us, but the distance felt more like a yawning abyss rather than the width of a rather book-and-plant-crowded study.

For thirty excruciatingly long seconds, in fact, we each made an earnest effort to be polite and not to stare. Then we both opened our mouths to speak at once.

"Did you ever...?" he asked just as I started with "Why did you...?"

We both paused, mouths snapping shut in tandem. Then Sebastien's warm brown eyes crinkled with mirth as he placed a finger over his own lips, dropped his chin into his chest, and waited for me to finish my thought.

"Why did you choose to go into psychology?" I said into the resulting silence. Then I immediately wanted to kick myself as I realized the question was far too nosy for two humans who had only recently met.

But rather than taking offense, my companion merely shrugged. "For the same reason you bake, I imagine," he answered. And I found myself scooting backwards in my seat, surprised to have been so thoroughly seen by a human who hadn't visited my shop more than a single time.

Because Sebastien was right. I baked to understand. I baked to assist. I baked to be needed.

I opened my mouth to question a human who sounded more like a werewolf than many shifters I knew. But a tap on the door burst the bubble of privacy that surrounded us, and I looked up to find one of my own customers leaning into the doorway from the otherwise empty hall.

***

"GRACIE, THANKS FOR joining us," Sebastien greeted her, rising so quickly that I was left wondering whether our moment of shared understanding had existed entirely within my own head. The professor was all business as he ushered us back out into the hall, but his physical and emotional distance didn't prevent the student from thrusting out her chest and simpering prettily as she followed his lead.

She's a pup and he's an alpha, I reminded myself, trying to tamp down the wave of lupine jealousy that threatened to overwhelm my human body. I couldn't blame the girl for trying to attract our companion's attention, never mind that both age and profession placed Sebastien firmly out of her league. Still, I found myself sidling around so that I, rather than Gracie, was standing at Sebastien's elbow when he stopped at last inside the sparsely furnished lab.

And who's the lovesick pup now?

Luckily, the professor appeared as oblivious to our competitive maneuvering as he had been to the wares Gracie put so flagrantly on display. Instead of remarking on either, he launched into a long-winded explanation of the apparatus before us, which had apparently been designed with dozens of safeguards in mind.

"As I told Gracie when she first signed up," the professor concluded, strapping electrodes onto various portions of the girl's anatomy as he spoke, "our lab is studying pain tolerances this summer. The participant who sits in this chair--that would be Gracie--will be subjected to increasing voltages of electrical shock...."

And, abruptly, the fizz of attraction winked out as I realized what sort of study this really was. Sebastien's breezy manner when introducing the chair had suggested we were in for something simple and harmless, maybe virtual-reality puzzles or a team-building exercise. Instead, my brain went entirely blank as I tried to come up with a different explanation for what I'd recently heard.

Was this man--who I'd pegged as gentle and kind--really planning to harm a pup barely old enough to leave her parents? To send electrical currents pulsing through Gracie's veins...for what purpose? To end up with a readout that would assist in the creation of yet more boring articles that only a few other scientists might ever read?

"I'm not sure..." I interjected, backing toward the door. But I was sure. I was sure I'd made a tremendous mistake, both in offering to take part in this study and in thinking the attraction I felt for Sebastien was worth the risk to both of our necks.

"Please don't go," the human countered, stepping so deeply into my personal space that his body heat brushed against my bare skin. And despite the horror that churned my stomach and tensed my muscles...I still found myself leaning closer to the professor rather than away.

"It's entirely safe," Sebastien continued. "I promise. And Gracie will be well compensated. She receives more than a candy bar for being the subject in the chair. You want to take part, don't you, Gracie?"

The professor's dark eyes bored into mine even as the student chirruped from behind his back. "Absolutely, professor. It's the highlight of my day."

She really did seem to mean it too, so I exhaled a long breath and turned away from Sebastien with an effort. "You want to do this?" I asked the younger female, brow wrinkling as I tried to understand the nonsensical undercurrents filling the lab. There was more going on here than a puppy-dog crush, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what I was missing.

"Absolutely," the teenager answered. "'Cause you're here to make sure it's all safe and kosher. Tell her that part, professor."

And Sebastien immediately launched into the second half of his prepared explanation. I was the spotter, he explained, present to ensure Gracie's pain threshold was never exceeded. Before every pulse of electricity, the professor would ask his subject if she wanted to continue, but I was the one ultimately responsible for determining whether the electrifying button got pushed.

"So if I say no, you pull the plug?" I asked, making sure I understood. Part of me wanted to track down a member of the administration right away, to argue my case until this inhumane experiment was shut down both immediately and permanently. But Gracie peered up at me with such pleading in her youthful eyes, and Sebastien's further clarification suggested the study was no worse than my cousins' customary test of bravery--prodding at electrified fence wires back home until the current nipped at their skin. Surely this scientifically formulated shock wouldn't hurt more than the time I'd been conned into licking that fence with my unprotected tongue....

"It would be a big favor to me if you'd help out," Gracie interjected, looking even more childlike as she pouted plump lips and stared at me with widened eyes.

And, at last, I caved. Utilizing my werewolf senses, I'd be able to assess the girl's pain threshold far more effectively than a one-body could have done. Perhaps taking part in this experiment wasn't the same as assisting in torture.

Perhaps.

The experiment moved quickly after that. Sebastien stood in front of Gracie, his finger hovering atop a big red button, while I was placed in a chair off to one side. And the girl really didn't seem to mind the initial shocks--which Sebastien explained were less painful than even a pinprick, intended to calibrate the sensors and ensure everything was advancing according to plan.

But then the professor turned up the dial on his control panel and Gracie began biting her lip in anticipation. I winced, expecting fear pheromones to fill the air. To my surprise, though, Gracie was braver than I'd given her credit for. The girl jumped when Sebastien pressed the big red button the first time, but the air between us remained scentless and clear.

"Turn it up, professor," the girl said while I was busy flaring nostrils and sucking in scents. "I really need that scholarship."

And, in a blaze of tearing regret, I realized what motivated the child. Gracie possessed no pack mates ready and willing to fund her higher education, boasted no relatives who would fall all over themselves to ensure her every need was met. Instead, the poor human was strapped down in an electric chair, paying her way through college by dint of her own physical pain.

Abruptly, I'd had enough. There were other options, I just knew it. If nothing else, I'd ask Wolfie to create a scholarship just for this girl--the joy of cobbling together his own amusing acronym would more than make up for the loss of cash from our community coffers. Regardless of the eventual methodology, I was confident my pack leader would ensure this pup wasn't forced to shock herself through college ever again.

Placing a supportive hand on Gracie's wrist, I glared at the professor. "That's enough."

"But Gracie said to turn it up," Sebastien answered, fingers twisting the dial higher even as his mouth voiced the words. And for a moment, I froze, hardly believing that even one-body society would be so cruel as to think this was acceptable behavior.

While I hesitated, the professor's finger reached toward the red button for the sixth time that day. And I should have lunged forward to stop him. Should have responded like any ordinary human being and used my physical body to halt the madness.

But the shocks, in the past, had been instantaneous and I wasn't sure I'd be able to come between Sebastien's finger and the instigating button before current began to flow. So rather than considering the fact that most humans weren't even sensitive enough to notice a werewolf's command, I allowed an alpha compulsion to roll off my lips.

"Stop," I ordered. Then I watched as unexpected delight filled Sebastien's mahogany eyes.

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# Chapter 21

At the same moment, Gracie began to laugh. The student's merriment was so honest and joyful that it would have been contagious...if my wolf hadn't currently been attempting to crawl out of my skin and rip out Sebastien's throat, that is. As it was, though, I needed several seconds to even make sense of my companion's subsequent words.

"You're such a lightweight," the girl told me, pulling electrodes off her skin as she hopped off the chair. "Most people make it up to ten 'shocks' before they give in." Air quotes completed, Gracie turned to drag a box of candy off the shelf behind her back, then rummaged inside to come up with four options. "Here. Which one do you want?"

I gazed at the girl in befuddlement. I was a lightweight...and now it was time for candy?

"It's just pretend," the pup explained, shaking the crinkly-coated chocolate bars to catch my attention. "No electricity, no pain. I'm the professor's lab assistant this summer. Hard job, but somebody's got to do it."

Silently, I turned to cock my head at Sebastien, struggling to reassess the conversation that had gone before. A moment ago, I'd thought Gracie was a poor waif down on her luck and the professor was a monster using the girl's desperation for the sake of his own experiments. And now...now I wasn't even sure what to think.

I expected glib explanations to roll forth from the professor's lips, but Sebastien appeared nearly as tongue-tied as I was. The human eyed me speculatively, one index finger pressed against his mouth as if he wanted to speak and was struggling to keep unintended words inside. And as I took in his posture, a shiver ran up my spine.

I had a feeling I'd just made a terrible mistake.

Luckily, Gracie was talkative enough for all three of us. "You've probably never taken a psychology course, have you?" she asked. And when I shook my head mutely, the girl launched into a long-winded explanation that my harried brain finally managed to condense into a mostly understandable core.

The experiment--and it was an experiment, that much was now clear--had nothing to do with pain tolerances. Instead, Sebastien was gauging my reaction to the situation, determining how far I was willing to go when both other participants were supposedly on board with creating supposed agony in the pup.

"This project is funded by DARPA, isn't it?" I said at last, drawing conclusions that were perhaps too far-reaching and perhaps a little paranoid...but that felt entirely right at the time.

Because, despite the pretty words Gracie had used to class up her explanation, this didn't seem like the sort of experimentation a civilian organization would care to have their name attached to. And, of the funding organizations listed on various posters running down the hall, DARPA was the clear choice for creation of such an inhumane scheme.

"Yes," Sebastien admitted, speaking carefully as if afraid to set me off...as well he might be since my teeth were bared and I was barely holding back a menacing growl. "It's true that DARPA provided some of the baseline funding. But they support thousands of projects around the globe, and this experiment was and is entirely under my control. Look, I'm sorry we lied to you, but what you took part in today is just a slight twist on the classic analysis of reactions to authority figures. The Milgram experiment...."

Werewolf-like, the male reached out to place one soothing palm atop my forearm as he spoke, and I immediately lost track of all words. Because contact with Sebastien felt like heaven. Like being wrapped up in my family's protective embrace...while diving out of an airplane with only one small parachute strapped to my back. I could almost sense wind whipping against my cheeks, could nearly hear the whisper of a pack mate begging me to pull the ripcord and slow my plummeting descent.

But my usually mild-mannered wolf fought against any attempt to step away from the human's side, instead keeping us stuck in heart-pounding free fall. Mine, the beast growled silently, freezing our joint muscles into place.

She and I were usually so closely attuned that I didn't differentiate between our wishes. Sometimes we were wolf and sometimes we were human, but the distinction had more to do with which set of muscles would best achieve our goals rather than it did with any battle of ego or will.

Now, though, we each struggled to take control, fighting for command of a body we usually shared equally. I clenched my teeth and strained against her efforts...and I might just have lost had the ringing of my phone not provided a wolf-friendly excuse for us both to step aside.

Pack is calling, I reminded her. Pack, the one thing that every wolf understood deep within her bones. And, reluctantly, my own inner beast accepted my retreat from Sebastien's touch, allowing me to dig into my pocket for the chiming telephone before turning away to break all contact with the confusing college professor standing by our side.

Then I forgot Sebastien's magnetic attraction as nearly incoherent apologizes filled my ear. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

And just like that, I dropped back down to the hard pavement of reality with a nearly audible thud.

***

AT FIRST, THE VOICE on the other end of the line was so garbled and confused that I couldn't even figure out who it was. Only after I pulled the device away from my ear and glanced at the screen did I realize this was Lissa, one of the shifters left in charge of guarding my sister's house.

Immediately, my stomach made a beeline for the hard tile floor, but this time for a far less palatable reason than enjoying an enticing human's touch. Because I was sorely afraid that anything Lissa might be so vehemently sorry about wasn't something I wanted to hear.

But I needed to hear what was going on...and soon if Harmony's life lay in the balance as I currently suspected. "Stop groveling and start explaining," I commanded, not bothering to take the time to soothe the other female's fears in the human way. Instead, ignoring the other inhabitants of the lab, I unleashed my inner wolf and allowed the beast to carry our human body toward the building's exit, first at a walk then at a trot.

On the other end of the line, Lissa gulped then obeyed. "We watched the apartment all day just like Andrea told us to," the guard started, her voice still quavering but her words significantly more understandable as my compulsion did its work. "No one of Ms. Garcia's description left and no werewolves entered on our watch. But you sounded extremely concerned when you called, so Marcia went to check out the human's hallway. And an old lady came to the door...."

My lips tried to turn upwards into a smile as Lissa painted a picture of the eldest Garcia attempting to chase two Greenbriar werewolves out of her hallway with that ever-present cane. But I could guess where this story was going...and there would be no happy ending to smile about. So I cut into the stream of chatter yet again.

"Tell me," I ordered, forcing Lissa to cut to the chase.

For a moment, even an alpha compulsion wasn't enough to break through the pained silence lying cold and hard between us. Then, at last, Lissa spoke, her words nearly too quiet to hear. "They were gone," she whispered, the pain of a wolf who'd failed her alpha strong even if her voice remained muted and weak. "The human and her pup left before we even got there. They went to the zoo early this morning...and they never came back."

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# Chapter 22

I was halfway down the block, analyzing the density of nearby shrubbery and trying to decide where I could safely shift, when a sleek black sports car pulled up by my side. "Hop in," Sebastien greeted me, reaching across the passenger seat to push open the gleaming front door.

And even though I needed a ride, I hesitated. The professor's vehicle was the perfect way to get across town as quickly and efficiently as possible...but I couldn't afford to tip my hand further to someone who'd proven himself far more perspicacious than the average one-body. Shifter politics aside, I didn't dare drag this human into the altercation that was soon to come either.

The car looked fast, though. And the human, I had to assume, would be ditchable before any werewolves came into view.

"We don't have anything to talk about," I told the professor...but I nonetheless slipped inside the waiting vehicle. And even though my own unaccustomed rudeness grated on my ears, I found myself unable to mitigate the words with further small talk. Not when my wolf barely allowed me to snap the seat belt into place before forcing our spine to take a hard left turn toward the enticing human in the driver's seat.

Ours, the wolf whispered, filling my mind with a far-too-vivid image of myself wriggling into the space between Sebastien and the steering wheel, letting my shirt ruck up so his chest rubbed against my bare skin. In the wolf's animalistic understanding, it was entirely irrelevant that giving the professor an unrequested lap dance was likely to cause the vehicle we sat inside to wreck. Trying to argue the complete and utter inappropriateness of the gesture was also a recipe for failure, so I didn't attempt to make either point.

Instead, I merely shushed my inner animal while plugging an address into the vehicle's GPS. Not the zoo's coordinates, of course--I couldn't risk Sebastien following me into a showdown that I suspected would turn into a blood bath at my first misstep. But I'd killed time during lulls at the coffee shop researching outings Rosie might enjoy, and the children's museum lay only half a mile away from the zoo's side gate. I could easily hoof it that short distance...and there were plenty of distractions in between to help shake a tenacious human off my tail.

Predictably, my wolf took offense at the idea of running away from a male she would have vastly preferred reaching toward. But when she opened our shared mouth to say something I was sure we'd later regret, Sebastien's aroma coated our tongue and sidetracked the beast from any ill-advised speech.

Our companion's scent was different than it had been just an hour earlier. Equally as enticing, but darker and more bitter, as if the human understood as well as I did that his supposed experiment had harmed the tenuous bond forming between us.

But despite the regret hanging heavy in the air, Sebastien didn't open with an apology when he finally spoke. Instead, keeping his gaze firmly riveted on the road, the male beside me cleared his throat loudly. Then he shattered the ounce of equilibrium I'd managed to rebuild since losing my cool inside the clinical interior of his lab.

"Derek is your brother," the professor said, eyes glinting as they drifted over to catch my reaction. "Isn't he?"

***

THE SHOCK OF HEARING my sibling's name roll off a human tongue forced words out of my mouth that I immediately wished could be taken back. "How did you know?" I demanded.

And while I half expected my wolf to growl protest of my curtness, she instead turned quiescent beneath our shared skin. Because, attraction or no attraction, family came first. And if this male had harmed our brother...well, I just hoped I could make it out of the car before my wolf skinned our driver alive.

Perhaps the professor sensed the shift in mood, or maybe he just regretted dropping his verbal bomb with such a profound lack of subtlety. Either way, skin around his mouth tightened as the car merged onto the freeway. And after waiting for three long seconds, I was forced to prod in search of a reply.

"Professor...?" I prompted, trying to sound polite even as I fingered the mostly clean knife strapped against my bare thigh.

The tiniest hint of a smile came into my companion's face then, and he shook his head slowly from side to side. "I thought you looked familiar when I first met you," he began, answering my question but also apparently thinking through an issue he hadn't previously attempted to put into words. "Derek was just as cagey as you are when I first ran into him at the bus station. And, in the lab.... Well, I've never experienced anything like that, except with Derek...and you."

I wanted to pounce on the "was" he'd placed so close to my brother's name, but instead I forced myself to cover my butt and smooth over the human's final point first. Just my luck that the one time I'd slapped a compulsion onto a human, the one-body in question was both sensitive enough to notice and scientific enough to be intrigued. "In the lab?" I offered in lieu of an explanation. "I'm not sure what you mean...."

"Okay," Sebastien answered, dropping the topic far too readily for my peace of mind. "So the...tingle...or whatever...was all in my imagination. But you do look like him. The hair and the nose and something around your eyes."

You're cuter, though, my companion's scent insinuated, and I had to force myself not to respond to the attraction thrumming back to life between us. Now wasn't the time to be derailed by fickle hormones.

"Where's my brother?" I demanded instead, reminding myself that this human might have been the last person to see Derek before he went missing. Had my sibling fallen into the trap presented by the professor's kindly face and interested manner? Had he revealed too much and ended up as an unwilling test subject in a government laboratory?

As tempting as it was to blame Derek's absence on this human, though, I had a bad feeling that my brother's fate had been his own darn fault. In which case, Derek might not only be a lone wolf but also the worst of werewolf offenders--a traitor I'd be forced to kill on sight.

Shivering, I reached over to turn off the AC.

"I have no clue where Derek is," Sebastien answered, apparently oblivious to my own internal struggle as he broke into my thoughts. But even though he was finally offering information without further prodding, my wolf's ears pricked up as she returned to full alert. Because for the first time since meeting him, we could taste the distinctive odor of an acridly scented lie rolling off Sebastien's formerly enticing skin.

So the professor was part of the problem. Disillusionment bit into my skin like the pang of a torn-off band-aid, and I was too upset to feign subtlety this time around. Instead, I barely managed to keep the alpha compulsion out of my voice as I gritted out a repeat of my initial question. "Where...is...he?"

In response, the car skidded slightly as it bumped up against a curb, and a horn sounded off to our left. The intensity of our preceding conversation had prevented me from noticing that we'd exited the highway and entered the downtown area, but I guessed that we were now no more than a couple of miles from my intended destination.

That obliviousness was something I needed to fix. A warring werewolf didn't last long if she lost track of her surroundings.

My hand hovered over the door latch as rush-hour gridlock slowed the surrounding traffic--and Sebastien's car--to a crawl. I ought to step out now, I thought, and leave this human behind. Harmony's absence turned my spine ramrod stiff while the threat to Rosie's future was a spider-crawl of tension skittering across my skin. Even on two human feet, I could easily reach my sister in a few short minutes if I exited the vehicle now....

And yet...once I left his side, I'd never see Sebastien again. Because the professor was too clever for me to safely cultivate, regardless of our budding connection. He was already on track to figure out that Derek and I weren't your average one-bodies. Meanwhile, his government affiliations made any potential realization far more dangerous than it might otherwise have been.

No, this was my last opportunity to dislodge answers. So, forcing myself to sink back into the car's soft leather seats, I ignored the snail's pace of the traffic around us and instead bored my gaze into the side of Sebastien's head. "Are you really going to leave me dangling, thinking my brother may be dead?" I asked, allowing myself to sound just as young and wounded as that scenario made me feel. I wasn't a defenseless damsel...but I could play one on TV. "Please, just tell me what you know."

For one agonizing moment, I thought Sebastien might not comply. But then he turned the wheel rapidly, pulling the vehicle into the entrance of an underground parking garage. Not bothering to hunt out an empty spot, my companion merely screeched to a halt in the middle of the aisle and swiveled around in his seat so we were facing. Only a few inches of heated air now separated our eyes and skin.

"Ember, I really, honestly don't know where your brother is," Sebastien told me, his voice rich with both contrition and truth. The professor swallowed, then continued. "I can't give you an address or even a city...but I do know it's probably my fault that he ended up there."

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# Chapter 23

Humans love the dark. Being unable to look into a companion's face gives them an entirely unwarranted belief in anonymity...and Sebastien was no exception to that rule. So, like a church-goer shielded from view by the confessional, as soon as the headlights went dim my companion's story came pouring forth.

"Your brother showed up on a Greyhound bus two years ago," Sebastien told me, his voice steady in the darkness. He glanced toward me, providing an opening in which I might explain the familial mode of transportation. But I merely shook my head rather than taking the bait.

Because I couldn't tell my companion that moving vehicles were exempted from the territorial rules governing werewolves. That my brother and I had both felt safe within those metal walls while passing through land owned by other packs. Off the bus, on the other hand...I doubted a lone male shifter would have been welcomed into the heart of the Greenbriar clan with the same open-armed generosity I'd recently been granted as a pack-affiliated female.

"And you picked him up?" I asked instead, nudging Sebastien's story beyond what I suspected would be the first of many disclosures my wolf wanted to share but that my rational human brain forced us to sidestep.

Sebastien nodded in agreement, his eyes searching my face in the near darkness. Then a sigh gusted out as he accepted my evasion for what it was. "I handed your brother a business card just like the one I gave you. Told him about the candy bars and the cash. Unlike most of my subjects, Derek seemed more interested in the latter than the former."

And this I could explain...at least tangentially. "My brother lived pretty close to the poverty line," I murmured, shivering as I realized I'd joined Sebastien in referring to my sibling in the past tense.

"I don't think he's dead," the professor interjected so quickly that it almost felt as if he'd read my mind. One large, male hand stretched toward me, and I itched to accept the consolation physical contact would provide.

But, instead, I tamped down my inner wolf's urges and glanced the other way, effectively cutting my companion's offer of solace off. "Where do you think he is then?" I asked instead. Even to my ears, my voice sounded hard and cold.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then the professor answered my spoken question while ignoring the undercurrents flowing beneath. "It's complicated," Sebastien told me. "During your brother's first experimental session at the college, I felt something strange happening when Derek shut the shocks down."

My nostrils flared as I took in the scent filling the car. Discomfort, curiosity, worry. Not so different from the feelings currently running through my own body in fact.

"I was intrigued by the sensation," Sebastien continued after a moment. "So even though it wasn't really appropriate, I hired your brother under the table and let him stay on my couch for a while. He seemed to need somewhere to sleep, and my house is really too big for one person."

A good home, my wolf interjected. For a moment, I didn't understand what she was referring to. But then, abruptly, I could envision my companion's living room in all its book-lined glory.

Because Derek had called once from a place that looked less like a hostel and more like a home. Shelves and plants competed for pride of place along brightly painted walls, tweaking my inherent curiosity. And before I could think better of the question, I'd found myself asking my brother who he was crashing with.

I realized the error of my ways immediately, of course. Because my brother failed to give a straight answer to my simple question, instead setting off on an extended tangent that told me nothing except that I'd crossed an improper line. For three days after that, Derek hadn't answered my chat requests. But when he'd returned, the lapse was forgotten, my question never spoken of again. He'd even provided a PO address to send a care package to later that month--a compromise from a shifter who was unwilling to let even his sister know where he currently denned.

It had hurt to confirm how little Derek trusted me, and I now sensed that Sebastien had been equally stung by my brother's failure to confide in his pro bono house-mate. But while I could understand Sebastien's regret, there were more important matters at stake. Matters like my brother's safety and continuing existence. So, ignoring the human's bowed shoulders, I continued to nibble around the edges of Derek's unexplained absence.

"You gave my brother room and board so you could study him," I guessed. It wouldn't have been a formal experiment. No, Sebastien was far too clever for that. But if he placed Derek in situations that would tempt the latter to spill alpha compulsions then subtly monitored the results...well, what human scientist wouldn't be thrilled by the opportunity to explore such inexplicable behavior?

"I was too fascinated not to," Sebastien admitted, the scent of old books--the tell of his intellectual curiosity--once again filling the air. "But then I made the ultimate mistake."

Now we were getting to the heart of the matter. I clenched my hands together, hoping the professor would say he'd scared my brother away with a lapse much like my own verbal faux pas. But I knew that wasn't the case. Not when the scent of guilt was now so thick in the atmosphere that I almost choked on my companion's unspoken words.

"You contacted your funders," I suggested, filling the extended silence with words my companion seemed unable to spit out. "You told DARPA about this test subject that made you feel...what...all tingly inside?"

"Something like that." Sebastien laughed, but it was an embarrassed chuckle rather than any indication of true amusement. "I mentioned Derek's name in my usual monthly summary. And, the next day, your brother failed to show up for dinner. I waited a week, then had to admit the truth. My test subject had disappeared without a trace."

***

HE'S GONE.

For a long moment, I sat in stunned silence, trying to wrap my head around complete and utter failure. Because I'd been willing to leave my pack behind and fight the Greenbriar clan for permission to hunt my brother within their territory. I'd kept my options open to travel even further afield, had envisioned sniffing along Derek's trail and rambling from pack to pack if necessary until I finally tracked my little brother down.

But going up against the human government? At some point, even a wolf has to admit she's been beaten.

It's not supposed to end this way. Because Derek was my blood, dammit. I could feel the connection in my soul even if our bond couldn't be explained away using my rational human mind. Losing my only sibling before I'd so much as felt the touch of his bare hand against mine...the concept was so foreign as to be unthinkable.

Two and a half days earlier, I certainly hadn't been thinking about the possibility for failure. Instead, rolling my suitcase up to the waiting bus at dawn had felt like embarking on a brand new adventure while the butterflies in my stomach originated from excitement rather than dread. As a result, I hadn't even looked over my shoulder when dozens of pack mates called fond farewells toward my retreating back.

Now, in contrast, all I wanted was to run home to Haven with my tail between my legs. I'd hole up in my cottage, pulling the covers up over my face and pretending the outside world didn't exist. Or maybe it would feel better to pound my head against the wall until the pain outside matched the agony of losing a brother I'd come so far to meet. I was willing to leave my options open and play the mourning period by ear.

Because, either way, the end would be the same. Once my pack mates decided I'd enjoyed enough solitude to soothe the cavity in my gut, they'd come to call in ones, twos, and half dozens. I'd fix us all cups of rich hot chocolate and let tears salt the frothy drink. Eventually, my loss would be forgotten amid the scents and sights of home.

Even though I was currently located hundreds of miles outside Haven, I was still tempted to curl up inside those fond memories. To let the present and future fend for themselves while I drifted back into the rose-tinted past.

But my wolf's predatory hunger gnawed at my belly, and the increasingly adamant buzz of my phone jolted me awake. The call, my inner beast urged. Our pack.

Take it then, I countered, not quite willing to relinquish the seductive allure of an imaginary homecoming. The bus ride home would give Wolfie enough time to bake me another masterpiece, and Mom would welcome me with open arms. We'd go running in lupine form as soon as the sun set, would explore our mountainside in search of prey that put this city's measly deer and elk to shame.

This time when my wolf broke into my pity party, she didn't bother with human words. Instead, seizing control of our shared body, she pulled the buzzing phone out of our pocket with a predator's intensity and swiped the screen alight.

And for one long moment, we hung in suspended animation. I tried to tiptoe back toward my self-pitying solitude...while the wolf struggled to read a message that didn't quite make sense to her dyslexic lupine brain.

In the end, curiosity drew me in just as my inner beast had known it would. The amorphous letters my wolf was peering at so intently materialized into words before my very eyes. And the resulting message slapped me in the face with its reminder that Derek wasn't the only innocent whose safety currently hung in the balance.

Top Dog: "Dinner venue has been changed. Dress is informal. Your presence is required immediately."

And beneath the curt invitation came a familiar street number. The zoo. Could it be mere coincidence that Chief Greenbriar was summoning me to the same location in which Harmony and her daughter had recently disappeared? I somehow doubted as much.

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# Chapter 24

Immediately, I lost the final vestige of lassitude as my mind kicked back into gear. Male shifters were attacking women in Chief Greenbriar's own city. At least one of them was doing so using alpha compulsion that the male shouldn't have been strong enough to wield.

Meanwhile, the alpha's mate was well aware of the problem, as evidenced by Andrea's choice to bring my potential rapist along on our morning meet and greet. Surely what Andrea knew, her spouse knew as well...which suggested the latter was implicitly supporting what was not only an ethical lapse but also a potentially earth-shattering breach of shifter security.

I'd gotten sidetracked down a blind alley earlier trying to figure out what could prompt a strong alpha werewolf to allow such shenanigans to go on under his very nose. Chief Greenbriar was no pushover, no pack leader clinging to power by the skin of his teeth. So why look the other way when his underlings' actions threatened the shroud we'd so carefully drawn over our very existence? Why risk his entire pack--and werewolves everywhere--for the sake of a few males who could easily be barked into line?

"He didn't ignore it. He caused it." I only realized I'd spoken aloud...and walked halfway across the parking garage...when a car door slammed behind me and the human professor called after my rapidly retreating form.

"Wait! We can figure this out together. Whatever happened to your brother is my fault, and I'll do anything I have to in order to fix what I broke."

Nice thought. Sweet thought. And, at its heart, such a very human thought.

"It's too late," I called back, turning my head slightly so the words would carry...but not allowing myself to set eyes on a male who strummed at my heartstrings as if they were stretched across the barrel of a banjo. Instead, I pushed a modicum of alpha compulsion into my final response, hoping the order would stick. "Go home."

Sebastien wasn't a shifter, though, so my command didn't push him backwards with unerring gravity. Instead, footsteps continued in my wake as I tore down the ramp and out into the darkening city. The clatter of shoes on pavement dogged my heels as street lights flickered to life above both of our heads, and the sound impinged on the cheerful chatter marking the post-work rituals that were the closest human beings came to pack life.

Deep within my belly, my wolf whined her confusion. It shouldn't hurt this much to walk away from a human we barely knew. It shouldn't feel like we were ripping our heart out of our very chest when we ducked into a blind alley, clambered up onto a brick wall, and flattened ourselves atop a shadowed awning while waiting for our follower to pass unwittingly by.

Unfortunately, Sebastien was a more than adequate hunter despite lacking a lupine skin. So rather than following the false track I'd presented, the professor paused beneath my perch and stared down the empty lane toward the only sign of life--a stray cat jumping up onto the lip of a dumpster in preparation to dine. The professor might be facing in the wrong direction, but he knew when he'd lost a trail.

For a long moment after that, the human merely stood silently, pupils dilating against the deepening gloom. Then he murmured into the empty air. "Ember, please don't disappear like your brother did."

The words would have been inaudible to a human standing further than five feet from his current position. But I was a wolf, and I heard every syllable.

I heard every syllable...and I knew I couldn't respond. So, slithering up onto the nearest rooftop, I rose to my feet and padded away on silent hunters' feet.

Because Harmony and Rosie were in danger two blocks to the west. And while I'd failed my brother, I refused to let down the rest of his small but deeply important pack.

***

AS SOON AS I LEFT SEBASTIEN'S side, a sharp jolt of pain cut through my belly. And the churning grew worse rather than better as I made my way across a series of darkened rooftops, leaving the professor further and further behind.

Only when I'd descended back to street level at the midpoint of my journey did I find something more interesting than cramping to capture my attention. There, stomach troubles were quickly forgotten as rigid hairs on the back of my neck suggested I was being watched.

Spinning in a tight circle, wolf-assisted senses took in the subtle clues hanging in the evening air. The faintest aroma of shifter proved that a member of Chief Greenbriar's pack had passed this way within the last half hour, and the faintest tinge of fear coated my tongue like mud. Still, no one accosted me as I strode onward through streets that appeared completely devoid of life. Even the zoo--which rose out of the darkness as a long line of cast-iron fencing--had descended into nighttime silence.

The side gate, though, wasn't locked tight for the evening as it should have been. Instead, one half of the ten-foot-tall barrier swung in the breeze, the opening inviting me forward like the sight of a gingerbread cottage had drawn Hansel and Gretel out of the woods and into the witch's lair.

Unlike those unwitting children, I knew I was making a mistake by diving in without spending appropriate time on reconnaissance. And yet....the ache in my stomach was making it difficult to think while the faintest gasp of a baby in the distance sped my feet rather than slowing them down. If I hesitated too long and allowed harm to come to Rosie in the interim...was that really worth the safety of my own skin?

I was through the gate before I'd even made a conscious decision to continue forward. And as soon as I stepped through the gap, words came whispering in around me, encircling my skin like a confounding fog.

"Find a mate. Find an appropriate female mate. Find a mate and settle down. Settle down and make some pups."

I shook my head to dislodge the noise, glancing up at the speakers that dotted the top of the monkey habitat off to the left. Had Chief Greenbriar tapped into the zoo's PA system? Because that was the alpha's voice layering additional tension onto the roiling of my gut.

"Find a mate," the refrain began again, growing neither softer nor louder as I padded deeper into the quiet zoo. I stalked past the reptile habitat--locked up tight--then wandered alongside sleeping giraffes and elephants.

There was still no sign of two-legged life, though. So when the pathway split, I made an educated guess and followed the most likely direction. After all, what shifter wouldn't naturally gravitate toward real live wolves?

"Find a mate. Find an appropriate female mate. Find a mate and settle down. Settle down and make some pups."

Despite my best attempts to keep my wits about me, the compulsion to breed built as I traveled deeper into the animal habitats. First, it was just an easily ignorable hunger that reminded me of the craving for chocolate. But then I found myself salivating over an educational poster on the side of the penguin enclosure, eying a two-dimensional woman's cloth-covered curves as if she represented the most delectable croissant from a Paris cafe despite my formerly relentless heterosexuality.

I could handle the siren call of a poster--barely. But then the scent of an ovulating human slipped inside my flaring nostrils. The female had sat on this exact same bench only an hour earlier, had risen and walked out into the city alone. Perhaps if I turned west and picked up my pace, I could find the breeder before someone else took her to mate....?

Okay, this is bullshit. Sticking fingers into my ears did nothing to break the compulsion's hold, but closing my eyes and holding my nose helped a little. The obsession eased yet further when my wolf rose up to join me in guiding our shared body down the path, her simple mind keeping more complex human emotions at bay.

The compulsion is coming via the Greenbriar pack bond, I realized at last, my wolf's assistance lending me sufficient breathing room to analyze the effect rationally. Which meant Chief Greenbriar was more powerful than I'd originally imagined, his ability to compel behavior from pack mates at a distance something I'd never run into before.

Perhaps that explained the apparently civilized males driven to rape females along this city's tree-lined streets? If so, then one of those potential rapists might have been given leave to wield his alpha's power in the process, the pack leader's compulsion being sufficient to freeze my feet in place when the male in question shouldn't have been powerful enough to even stare me down.

I shivered, wondering what would lie at the epicenter of these insidious commands. Because if a female like me with no interest in members of the same sex was being so easily manipulated by the alpha's compulsion, then what chance did male members of his own clan have against the endlessly repeated refrain?

"Find a mate. Find an appropriate female mate. Find a mate and settle down. Settle down and make some pups."

Once again, my skin itched with the urge to obey. My hands dropped back to my sides in an attempt to speed my walking...and then, above the deep rumble of Chief Greenbriar's voice, came the thready wail of a fussy child.

My niece.

Forgetting both caution and compulsion, I changed trajectory so Rosie's voice guided me forward. Then I let the wolf have her head as our human feet broke into a run.

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# Chapter 25

"There she is, the guest of the hour."

Chief Greenbriar was dressed every bit as formally as he had been the evening before, and the tux he wore should have looked out of place along the dusty paths of the overpopulated wolf habitat. But, instead, I almost imagined the animals had invited him over for dinner and were even now whipping up a feast within their shadowed cavern...rather than cowering in the far corner hoping to escape from a predator twice as dangerous as themselves.

"Alpha," I acknowledged, advancing slowly so I had time to scan the surroundings in search of the child who had initially drawn me in. At first, I couldn't find her. But then Harmony's arm twitched and I caught sight of mother and daughter huddled together beneath a spreading maple tree at the edge of the enclosure.

I heaved a sigh of relief...then sucked the same recently exhaled breath right back in. Because what I'd taken for a tussock of browned grasses at the humans' feet now turned its head toward me, eyes glowing forth above a slender snout. Harmony and Rosie hadn't chosen the tree as a safe harbor in a dangerous storm. Instead, they were being herded and guarded by a territorial wolf.

Or rather, a territorial werewolf. Because the unmistakable aroma of shifter emanated not just from Chief Greenbriar, but from his lackey as well.

And while the realization that this beast was governed by human emotions might otherwise have calmed my nerves, the alpha's compulsion was still reverberating within my own skull. Sure enough, the wolf's teeth were bared and his gaze was intent upon the thin-skinned innocents who huddled so close to his pointed fangs. Whether or not the male's human intellect was awake and active behind those shadowed eyes, the animal could be summed up in a single word--dangerous.

For their parts, Harmony and Rosie were terrified. Human fear spread across the enclosure like a suffocating smog, and it was all I could do to prevent my wolf from carrying me directly to my family members' aid. Instead, I walked up to the fence line separating me from both alpha and hostages and tried to act casual as I leaned against its metal railing.

"You asked me to come and I came. Now I'd appreciate it if you released these humans into my care."

Harmony's already stuttering breathing caught in response to my speech and I winced, realizing what I'd said. Unfortunately, my sister-in-law was no dummy. She'd been herded here by humans, wolves, or some subset of both...and in the process she must have discovered the existence of monsters that sometimes wore humanity's skin. My words had just lumped me in with the monsters instead of the humans. I somehow doubted Harmony would willingly parole herself into my care any time soon.

Not that my sister's release appeared immediately imminent. "You know the law," Chief Greenbriar answered, breaking through my regret like a hot knife through cold butter. "These humans have become privy to information they shouldn't have ever known. As such, their fate is predetermined. But that's not why we're here...."

Once again, the refrain from earlier rose up through my thoughts. "Find a mate. Find an appropriate female mate. Find a mate and settle down. Settle down and make some pups."

And as I strained against the mental intrusion, I caught the faintest flicker of movement along the path from whence I'd come. Barely managing to keep Harmony and Chief Greenbriar in view at the same time, I swiveled to look behind me...and caught sight of two shifters stumbling out of the shadows that lined the concrete path.

Aaron came first, back ramrod-stiff as he fought his father's compulsion and nearly stumbled over his own feet in the process. I apparently wasn't the only one whose head was filled with sexual orders, either. Because as soon as the male took in my existence, his eyes lit up and his mouth dropped open while drool began sliding down the side of his slackening face.

Charming.

Meanwhile, Roger slunk out of the darkness with more attentiveness to his current surroundings. This second male's jaw was clenched, and he reached one hand toward his significant other before shaking his head and allowing the arm in question to fall back against his side.

And as Roger advanced yet further into the light, I realized the reason for his hesitation. Because one eye was ringed with purple bruising while a cut leaked blood at the corner of his brow. The two had struggled already, I gathered, probably initially against Chief Greenbriar's orders then later--once Aaron fell under his father's sway--amongst themselves.

In the end, though, alpha compulsion had won out over the restraint of a lover. So Roger had found no solution save trailing along in his partner's wake. He, like I, had been drawn here in an effort to save someone he held dear, and he, like I, now waited impotently to see what the pack leader had in mind.

"Son, welcome," Chief Greenbriar greeted Aaron, either ignoring or failing to notice the other recently arrived werewolf. Now that his offspring was present, in fact, the older male stepped down from the mound he'd used to elevate himself above the fray, striding forward and unlatching the enclosure's gate before extending one arm toward the entrance as if to usher us all inside. "I've selected two fine specimens for you to choose from," he told his son proudly. "Tonight will be a very special night."

Whatever his personal feelings on the matter, Aaron had no choice but to obey. Jerky movements suggested the heir apparent was fighting against his alpha, but legs carried him forward through the open gate anyway.

For his part, Chief Greenbriar led his son back into the wolf habitat without concern for the two other shifters--Roger and myself--who could easily have leapt upon his unprotected back. We all knew who had the upper hand here and who was no more than an audience for the upcoming charade.

"Find a mate. Find an appropriate female mate. Find a mate and settle down. Settle down and make some pups."

For a split second, Roger and I united in our joint rejection of the stifling command. Our eyes met across the intervening space, and I thought the male might try something profoundly stupid. How easy would it be to end the craziness by spilling Chief Greenbriar's blood across the grass?

But we weren't wolves. We were people. And, after a split second, my companion's lips pursed as he turned to trail along in his lover's wake.

Which left me alone on the other side of the heavy metal gate. Steeling my courage, I followed my companions into the jaws of Chief Greenbriar's waiting trap.

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# Chapter 26

Rosie caught sight of me as soon as I passed beneath the half-strength lamp at the entrance to the enclosure. "Kak, kak, kak," the toddler crowed, hands waving wildly as she abruptly lost interest in the menacing wolf at her mother's feet. Apparently, Auntie Cake was more interesting than a predator who could have swallowed one of the child's limbs in a single gulp.

For her part, Harmony met my gaze steadily despite my recent verbal lapse. Protect my child, she as good as said into the intervening air, dark eyes flashing with the fervor of a desperate mother. And my feet obeyed the silent plea, thrusting me forward across the uneven ground in an ill-fated attempt to protect my blood.

Chief Greenbriar, on the other hand, offered no leeway for me to complete my mission. "Ember, join us," he ordered, the overt command turning me away from my original trajectory until I was being pulled up onto the knoll the alpha and his son had so recently ascended. Now Roger was the only one lagging behind in the enclosure's shadows, and I held out little hope that the male in question would make a move to protect my family when his gaze remained firmly fixed on the younger male by my own side.

Stage set to his satisfaction, Chief Greenbriar dismissed non-relatives as beneath his concern and turned his attention fully upon his only son. "This is the spot where your mother and I pledged our troth," the older male began, gracing Aaron with a toothy grin that struck me as more than a little unhinged.

Then the alpha's tone turned honey sweet as he reminisced about events that had occurred before the rest of us were even born. "Andrea and I mated in the wolf pen," the alpha murmured, "to prove that our wolves would always be at the forefront of our partnership." He paused, stared up at the stars, then closed his eyes dreamily. "And that choice has served our clan well. We've led this pack for thirty long years, and never once has an enemy breeched our borders."

Chief Greenbriar is living in a dream world, I realized, tensing as I imagined using the alpha's distraction to assist in my escape. But before I could begin prying my feet out of the compulsion that held them stickily in place, the older male's eyes cleared and he leaned toward his son once more.

"Soon," Chief Greenbriar continued, the snarl of a wolf returning to his tone, "it will be your turn to make the sacrifices necessary to guide our people into the future. It's time for you to make the proper choice and decide for the good of our pack."

Then beneath the male's audible words, that familiar refrain rose in volume, circling again through my aching head. "Find a mate. Find an appropriate female mate. Find a mate and settle down. Settle down and make some pups."

Both words and yearning were the same ones that had pushed against my skin ever since I entered the zoological park. But now they impacted me differently. After all, for the first time since becoming affected by Chief Greenbriar's compulsion, there was a living female present for the urge to latch onto. And I found myself craving Harmony's touch with every fiber of my being.

The intensity of the pressure, in fact, twisted my body around to face my sister even as feet that had been ordered to stay put brought me up short. A grunt from Aaron suggested the alpha's son had slammed up against a similar obstacle. Unfortunately, no such impediment stood between Roger and his goal.

I tried and failed to yell a warning. But Harmony had no eyes for the male who had attacked her two nights earlier and who now lunged forward with lupine grace but on flat human feet. Instead, her face paled as her own guard broke with shifter law and sentenced my sister to death by surging upward into the form of a man.

"An appropriate female mate," the guard growled, his words seeming to emanate from the body of the wolf he'd recently left behind. Then, batting Rosie's questing hands aside, hard fingers closed around Harmony's quivering arm.

"Mine," the male intoned, his final word dripping with lust.

***

I WATCHED IN HORROR, my muscles unwilling to even strain now and my lungs forgetting to breathe. There was nothing I could do to stop the depredations about to occur. Nothing except watch in horror as the wave that had carried us all toward Harmony broke over each of our heads.

Overwhelming pressure stifled our collective breathing for one split second. I was not only unable to move, I could almost feel my bones melting inside my skin as my vision hazed out. Only my wolf's steadfast presence held me erect....

Then the pressure was retreating back into the distance from which it had come. The tension in my muscles eased. Harmony's guard remembered his humanity and turned aside to block his prisoner's scent from flaring nostrils. And as quickly as it had come, the danger dissipated into thin air.

Unfortunately, the alpha's secondary compulsion took advantage of my momentary relaxation to slap me back into line. Legs and torso twisted unbidden until only eyes maintained contact with Harmony. Then even that connection faded until my sister and niece were once more invisible behind my rigid back.

And now, at last, my attention returned to the closer tableau that resembled nothing so much as a human wedding ceremony. Chief Greenbriar was the officiant, elevated atop a rock that generations of wolf feet had worn smooth. On his left side, Aaron--rumpled clothing, angry eyes, and all--was obviously the groom.

And despite my own sugar-streaked attire, there was only one conclusion I could make about my part in the upcoming farce. I wasn't the wedding-cake baker or the caterer--my preferred roles at such an event. Instead, my stance mirrored Aaron's, my location making my own part disappointingly obvious.

I was the bride.

Chief Greenbriar had even wrangled a sufficient audience to make our mating official from a human point of view. Roger and the unnamed shifter stood close enough to see but too far away to take part--witnesses. And behind their backs, I caught the first glimpse of moonlit eyes as wild wolves crept out of their cavern to form a ring around us, providing the additional spectators that Chief Greenbriar clearly craved.

The beasts hovering in the shadows lacked humanity and boasted long teeth and nails. But they weren't the reason my heart pounded and my breath drew short. Instead, I found myself running through every possible escape route in an effort to avoid the upcoming ceremony...and coming up short.

There was no way out. A few short words were all that would be required to bind me to a mate and a pack I had no intention of calling my own. Words that Chief Greenbriar could easily coerce into existence. Words that then couldn't be truly broken until my own death.

"Find a mate," the silent voice whispered beneath my increasingly scattered thoughts. "Find an appropriate female mate. Find a mate and settle down. Settle down and make some pups."

Then--mood set--Chief Greenbriar pierced me with a pack leader's relentless gaze before returning his attention to his only son. "The moon is full," the alpha said ceremoniously into the air between us, "and the night is young. Soon we'll run. But first, the mating ritual must be complete."

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# Chapter 27

To my surprise, Aaron was the one who jumped into this opening with his first real offensive move to date. "Dad, you don't want to do this...." the younger male began, hands clenching into fists as he fought the compulsion that held us all in place.

Down in the long grasses below, Roger's eyes locked with those of his lover. And for a moment, I thought Aaron might be able to utilize his partner's strength to break free of his father's commands. After all, there was fortitude in blueberries, Roger's chosen dessert. Maybe that same tenacity would be enough to wiggle Aaron out from under the alpha's thumb....

But even that thread of possibility snapped as Chief Greenbriar's intention alone silenced his errant son's complaints. "You're wrong," Chief Greenbriar countered. "This is exactly what I want to do."

Then the older male's heavy hands whipped out, pressing me and Aaron together until our shoulders touched. "I've waited long enough for my son to do his duty," the older man intoned. "This clan craves a crown princess and a new heir on the way. It's time and past time for you to put childish yearnings aside and to choose your mate for the sake of the pack."

Meanwhile, the alpha's unspoken words continued to whirl through the air between us. "Find a mate. Find an appropriate female mate. Find a mate and settle down. Settle down and make some pups."

This time, though, the words slunk beneath the thin armor presented by my Haven mantle and sunk their teeth into my unprotected skin. I realized a moment too late that my white-knuckled grip on familial protection had slipped. And now Chief Greenbriar's compulsion took advantage of that lapse to seep into my veins and run through my body like blood.

A mate, I thought, head cocked. I need a mate.

Meanwhile, Aaron's gaze latched onto mine as he also gave up the struggle. The heir apparent had tried to force his father to see reason, had tried to use Roger's bond to fight against the older male's instructions. But, in the end, neither defense turned out to be enough. Aaron had surrendered to the inevitable...and so, at last, had I.

"Find a mate. Find an appropriate female mate. Find a mate and settle down. Settle down and make some pups."

My intended reached out across the small space that divided us, taking my unresisting hand into his own. He was virile, I noticed now. Strong and handsome. Our blood would merge well together, creating offspring capable of leading the Greenbriar pack into a brighter future. Widening my mouth, I smiled at the vision of family soon to come.

But my mate didn't speak. Instead, he cocked his head and waited for me to make my move. "Tradition," Aaron whispered after a long pause, reminding me that the female werewolf was the one to initiate the mating pledge.

And Chief Greenbriar--despite having used compulsions to enforce our arrival--observed the proprieties as well. The alpha waited silently for the better part of a minute, night turning darker around us as I opened my mouth in preparation for the requisite words to emerge.

Only my tongue refused to twist into sound. My vocal cords remained resolutely silent. I no longer remembered why I was resisting. Couldn't recall any reason not to bond myself permanently to this prime specimen of manhood who stood with head cocked waiting for me to make the first move.

Still, something told me to wait. Something told me I needed to touch base with my family before I made this unalterable choice. So I strained with every fiber of my being to find the tether connecting me to my home pack. I could do this, I knew...even though the Haven thread was currently so deeply hidden that it might as well have snapped and dissipated into thin air.

Nonetheless, I trusted that my pack's joint strength was somewhere out there waiting to be tapped, waiting to remind me why I wasn't yet ready to embrace my Greenbriar future. And for a second, I thought I'd found the safety net my family represented. I smelled Wolfie's distinctive aroma of pine needles and leaf mold, and I reached out with incorporeal fingers to snag the connection...

...only to have the tether slip through my fingers as Chief Greenbriar's patience abruptly ran thin. "Ember, choose your mate," the older male commanded me, his compulsion so strong it nearly sent me tumbling to my knees.

My ears began to ring as I lost track of what I was trying to do. Didn't I want a mate? Wasn't there an appropriate male ready and willing and only eighteen inches away from my nose?

Like Aaron, I was now past the point of no return. Past the point of railing at the fates or scheming for a way around my apparent future.

Instead, I opened my mouth. And I chose the partner who would determine my clan, my future, and my happiness for the rest of my natural-born life.

***

"MY MATE..." I GULPED then licked my lips as further words failed to materialize. Two feet away, Aaron's blueberry eyes bored into my own and the thready growl of a werewolf's complaint rose from the heir apparent's partner as Roger padded two steps closer to our elevated mound.

Meanwhile, the wild wolves moved in tighter as well. There were at least a dozen animals present, and their scents suggested each one was half crazed from domesticity. But despite the imminent danger, a single huff of breath from the Greenbriar alpha returned shifter and animal attention alike to the task at hand.

"Ember," Chief Greenbriar prompted, not bothering to raise his voice or fully reiterate his command this time. After all, he didn't need to. The previous words hung heavy in the air between us, my skin attempting to peel away from the underlying bones as I used every tactic I could think of to delay...and failed.

"My mate," I began again, closing my eyes to block out the sight of the darkened zoo. And, to my surprise, the evasive maneuver worked. Because the darkness beneath my lids wasn't entirely black this time around. Instead, thin threads of light popped into existence, most so tenuous as to be nearly invisible but two brightening by the moment as Haven pack mates managed to bridge the gap that stood between us.

The bond was too weak to protect me from Chief Greenbriar's overt compulsion, but the connection was just enough to kick my faltering brain back into gear. In response, I grabbed the literal breathing room with both hands and sucked in the reluctant scent of my intended, the anger of his true partner, Rosie's chubby toddler sweetness, and the faintest hint of Harmony's floral shampoo.

I can't mate with Aaron. Reality washed over me like a cup of scalding coffee, and with it came the understanding that I needed to act fast. Because at any minute, the Greenbriar pack leader would break with tradition and force his son to make the first move...in which case I'd be even more stuck than I already was.

After all, if the stories I'd heard were true, then the only thing worse than a mate bond built like a bridge between two disinterested parties was half of a mate bond. The tether would slap in every breeze, dragging us to and fro against our will. I'd turn my head...and accidentally force Aaron to walk into traffic. He'd scratch his nose...and my own finger would poke me in the eye.

The reality of my current situation felt like a car-sized cast-iron skillet balanced atop my head. I needed to make a decision immediately. Either accept the inevitable and mate with this male or somehow close off that possibility before Aaron could begin to speak.

Which means, I realized even as my mouth gaped open against my will, that I need to choose a different mate.

The flash of brilliance blinded me...then revealed, in its afterglow, an avalanche of fatal flaws. If anyone in my home pack had possessed even an iota of possibility as mate material, I would have dragged the unfortunate werewolf to the altar long since. There simply wasn't any mate beyond Aaron on the metaphorical table.

Wrong, my wolf whispered. Easy, she told me. Just look.

But look where? I'd searched for mates for the better part of the last decade. I'd hunted high and low and found nothing...within the bounds of Haven, at least.

Because my cousins, despite our lack of shared blood, were far too family-like to become mates. Instead, I'd dated a few drifters. But it had been easy to let those go once they wandered beyond Haven's borders. None was worth a second glance.

Beneath my skin, my wolf growled out wordless lupine exasperation. Until now, she'd been hanging back, attempting to understand the muddle of human maneuvering that had washed around us. But mate she understood. Mate was a concept she could sink her teeth into.

Allow me, the beast said with the lupine equivalent of steely politeness as she pushed me gently yet forcibly out of the way. Then, moving my tongue without permission, my animal half spoke words I somehow knew in my heart to be true.

"My mate," she said--we said-- "now and forever...my mate is Sebastien Carter, human professor and holder of my heart."

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# Chapter 28

The nagging pain that had followed me ever since leaving the professor's side disappeared in an instant...and in its place a tearing agony of loss forced a cry from my lips. The sensation was akin to losing a leg to a shark or ripping out my own entrails with jagged fingernails...except, I'd have to say my current agony was far, far worse.

In response, I glanced down, half expecting to find blood squirting out of my femoral artery as the ground rose up to meet my face. But I was still standing erect and the night-darkened grasses appeared just as dry and unsullied as ever beneath my feet. No, this desperate ache hadn't resulted from a physical injury that I'd been so oblivious as to miss.

On the other hand, the summer air had turned so cold against my skin that I could barely prevent chattering teeth from taking off my tongue. My head swam as the moon abruptly transitioned into two moons within the evening sky. And I breathed too quickly, oxygen supersaturating my blood as my wolf clued me in to what had been lost.

The Haven bond. Our pack. They're gone.

My inner animal's reminder was silent...and even so, the words slurred as if she could barely force her thoughts to coalesce into linear form. Not wanting to believe, I squeezed my eyes further shut and reached into the darkness of my mind with ephemeral fingers. The pack tethers had always been there, just out of sight. I couldn't believe the seemingly ironclad bonds could ever disappear entirely.

First and foremost, my link to Wolfie--father, alpha, and cupcake-decorator extraordinaire--should have been so thick and strong it wrapped itself around my wrist like a friendly boa constrictor. And beyond that familiar foundation, there would be other connections present as well, dozens of life forces interwoven into a rope so strong it never let me drop to the cold, hard ground.

But my grasping hands found nothing. Just emptiness, darkness, and a cold that seemed to permeate my very soul.

Which begged the question--without those invisible threads, without my family...did I even truly exist?

I tried to rein in my terror, to remind myself that I'd known this would happen from the get-go. Rationally, I'd understood that whoever I mated with would determine which pack I eventually called my own.

If I mated with Aaron, I'd become a Greenbriar. The obvious corollary, though, was far less palatable now that it had become a reality. If mating with a pack wolf would draw me into his clan, then mating with packless Sebastien left me attached to...well...nothing, I guessed.

I shivered, trying to find another answer beyond the one that currently stared me in the face. No matter what I'd thought would happen, I hadn't expected the transition to be so quick. So sharp. So final.

Squaring my jaw, I tried to force my scattered thoughts back onto the task at hand. The connection couldn't have disappeared completely, I decided. So, with wolf-like attention to detail, I hunted for any bond at all. The Greenbriar mantle--borrowed and soon to be cast off--would be sufficient to buoy me up until I worked this minor problem out. I'd draw against that alpha's power and soothe my shattered soul...then I'd find a way to rebuild what had been so recently left behind.

Because I couldn't afford to lose my family. I refused to break ties with mother and father and cousins and uncles and aunts who meant more to me than life itself.

There was no way I could extricate myself when I knew each family member's favorite flavors and colors, their foibles and strengths. My calendar included every birth date along with which nights each pack mate might need a friendly shoulder to lean on. And, in return, my closest companions knew the exact same facts about me.

I just have to search a little harder. A one-way mating bond probably acts like the borrowed Greenbriar mantle--hiding what's still there underneath. Mating to Sebastien won't have cut off the connection entirely. It will have just driven my basic connections deeper so they're harder to find.

But I knew even as I formed the words inside my mind that they were, each and every one, desperate lies. Because there was nothing inside me to be found. No borrowed weight like the one that had sat lightly upon my shoulders for the last two days, no iron-clad connection attaching me to the Haven pack within which I'd grown from pup to adult. Instead, searching fingertips found only one lax thread leading out from my soul...a thread that gave way beneath my tugging as if the knot on the other end had never been fully tied.

And as I pulled against the slack, I opened my eyes and saw not the zoo but the inside of Sebastien's vehicle. Around me--around him--the fancy sports car was illuminated only by the glow of buttons and dials. Meanwhile, the professor's emotions hung heavy in the air, a fog of exhaustion and disappointment combined with the barest sliver of niggling guilt.

For a moment, I relaxed into my mate's imagined proximity. Then, far too quickly, he sensed me there, hovering behind his eyeballs.

In response, our shared head cocked to one side as Sebastien's voice filled the small space. "Ember?" he asked into the night.

My mate felt me...but he was also entirely human and had no idea how to complete a mating ritual even when the unattached tether was slapping him in the face. Plus, who said the professor would bond with me even if he was able? We'd barely spent two hours in each others' company during a similar number of days and had never heard of the other before that. It would have been crazy to consider forming a partnership on such short acquaintance when a true mating bond lingered for the rest of a being's life.

It would have been crazy...unless the decision was the last gasp of a desperate werewolf who didn't want to harm anyone except herself.

Then our shared eyes blinked and my connection to Sebastien was broken. In my belly, my wolf circled uncomfortably, whining at the absence of our mate. Meanwhile, down by my hip, the adamant chime of a cell phone demanded my immediate attention.

***

RELUCTANTLY, I OPENED my eyes and reached for the phone. Because even though I could no longer feel the current caller attached to my very soul, I could guess who this would be--Dad. The shattered pack bond would have forced my father to jump to an entirely warranted--if thankfully incorrect--conclusion. No way would I punish Wolfie by making him think that his only daughter had left the Haven clan the most likely way...by growing stone, cold dead.

Unfortunately, wrangling the cell phone out of my pocket was easier said than done. My breath came in gasps, I wasn't so sure I could speak, and I was absolutely certain I needed to be somewhere else. My skin prickled with the urge to run toward my absent mate even as my rational brain reminded me that a very angry alpha hovered inches away from my unprotected neck.

Oh yeah--and then there was that unnamed shifter who held similar control over my sister and niece. Plus wild wolves inching closer by the moment. Details, details.

Despite the danger swirling through the air around us, I refused to be responsible for Wolfie's rampage if I failed to accept his call. So I forced fingers to behave long enough to answer, then I pressed the cool plastic against my ear as I attempted to turn pained grunts into actual words.

"I can't talk now, Dad. But I'm alive," I told him quickly. Then, duty done, I ended the call and gazed at last upon the alpha whose growl had formed a counterpoint to the flurry of terrified questions running through my own mind.

"You made the wrong choice," the alpha in question rumbled. But he didn't pounce. Instead, he punished me in a way far worse than ripping the still-beating heart out of my heaving chest. "Bring the backup female closer," he called over one shoulder, not bothering to imbue the words with any alpha power.

Within seconds, Harmony was standing at the foot of the hill peering up at us, she and her daughter both leaning away from the naked shifter who'd threatened them in the recent past. For his part, the male relegated his hands to the non-erogenous zone of Harmony's hunched shoulders although his eyes remained avariciously trained upon my sister's fabric-covered breasts.

Rather than remarking upon the scent of inappropriate lust filling the air, Chief Greenbriar turned once more toward his son. And this time he failed to give Aaron any leeway, instead spitting out a stark alpha command. "Aaron, it's time for you to stop stalling and to choose your mate."

Energy filled the air as the compulsion took hold. But my wolf hummed her approval as she realized what had gone unnoticed by our puppet master--that, this time around, the Greenbriar alpha had seriously missed his mark.

Maybe the pack leader expected his previous compulsion to keep "female" and "appropriate" and "pups" at the forefront of his offspring's mind. Or maybe, somewhere deep down inside his subconscious, the alpha just wanted his son to be happy. Whatever the reason, I saw the moment Aaron noticed the lapse, saw the spark of joy filling the younger male's eyes as he opened his mouth and hurried through a choice that, in a perfect world, shouldn't have been rushed.

"My mate," Aaron said, his words both loud and joyful as they rang through the dark night air, "is Roger Jones."

Then, out of the shadows, another male mimicked his partner's words, nearly stumbling over his consonants in his haste to beat Chief Greenbriar to the punch. "And my mate is Aaron Greenbriar. I claim you now and forever, Aaron, as the only partner of my heart."

Just like that, the air filled with the scent of roses as the duo's mate bond clicked firmly into place. It was done. Aaron and I were both mated...only not to each other.

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# Chapter 29

The aftermath was beautiful. The newly-formed tether materialized so strongly as to be nearly visible, its breathless perfection filling the void in my own gut for one split second...before leaving me even emptier than before.

And in response to that cavern of need, my inner wolf stole my volition and pushed us away from the wedding mound in search of our own mate. Or at least she tried to. But despite strained muscles, our feet remained just as firmly planted as they had been five minutes earlier...

...until, that is, the compulsion freezing us in place shattered so quickly I nearly fell forward onto my face. Meanwhile, a female voice rang out from the still-open gateway at the edge of the enclosure. "You didn't invite me to my own son's wedding?" Andrea demanded, stepping out of the shadows in a sequin-studded evening gown that looked like it had been made to reflect the moonlight.

And maybe the outfit had. Because the region's second-in-command possessed a flare for the dramatic, one she was currently putting to very good use. The sweetness of honeysuckle whirled around me so strongly that I was certain Andrea had supplemented her signature aroma by chemical means, and the click of heels against concrete drew every eye in her direction as she stalked toward us as slowly as any hunter.

Meanwhile, the wolves encircling the mound began to pull back one by one, padding over to sniff at the newcomer's legs and hands. In Andrea's shoes, I would have been daunted by the proximity of wild teeth and claws--after all, most werewolves had no particular ability to communicate with beasts. But Andrea allowed and even encouraged their familiarity, trailing her fingertips along one animal's spine before turning to glare in her mate's direction.

"You harmed our son. You harmed our pack. You are the rot at the Greenbriar core," she intoned coldly.

And as much as I would have liked to stay and watch Chief Greenbriar receive his comeuppance, I had more important matters on my mind. So, backing away from the nearly visible anger that flowed between the mated pair, I slipped down the opposite side of the mound and padded over to my sister.

"This one is mine," I murmured, meeting the guard's eyes with the full force of my inner wolf. And while the male in question would have fought against my forwardness at any other moment, the electricity sparking between the pack's first- and second-in-command froze the other shifter relentlessly in place. Due to his pack connections, he was unable to so much as growl a retort.

I, on the other hand, wasn't currently hindered by the Greenbriar mantle...or any other sort of one. So ignoring the sharp pain shooting through my gut, I took advantage of my own broken pack bonds to drag Harmony away from her befuddled guard.

"Kak, kak, kak!" Rosie chanted, grabbing hold of my hair and pulling painfully as soon as I came within reach. The tears in my eyes, however, were more closely allied to joy than to discomfort. Because merely standing alongside relatives eased the pain in my stomach ever so slightly and reminded me that--pack bond or no pack bond--I wasn't entirely alone.

Andrea and her mate, on the other hand, were becoming more alone by the moment. Shifters couldn't divorce in the human sense. Instead, if they ever chose to sever their mating bond, the resulting discomfort was akin to that catalyzed by an alpha compulsion...only with the effects multiplied by a thousand and lasting for a lifetime.

Despite the agonizing consequences, Andrea had so chosen. Even from my current distance, I could feel the Greenbriar bond ripping apart, the sensation so powerful that secondhand spillover was nearly enough to send me to my knees. Wincing, I struggled to keep my stomach contents inside me where they belonged even as I drew Harmony toward the open gate as quickly as possible.

And I wasn't the only one affected. "Mom, don't!" Aaron began, his voice strangled as if his tongue was fighting against a mouthful of toffee.

For a split second, the sensation of being torn asunder eased ever so slightly, allowing us all to breathe. Then: "Aaron, Roger, Edgar, go," the female intoned, putting enough force behind her words to send the remaining members of her pack scurrying toward the looming gate. Following their lead, I met my sister's questioning gaze with a shrug then picked up my heels to accelerate our own retreat.

Because, behind our backs, the growl and shuffle of angry wolves was growing louder by the second. And the air once again filled with an emotion so intense it made my ears pop.

"You've turned into a wolf, so it's only appropriate that I throw you to the wolves," Andrea murmured to her mate. Or perhaps I should say to her ex-mate. Because the female's most intrinsic bond was gone, and I could only imagine the pain that must be tearing through her body at the loss of her other half.

There was only one way to ease that shooting pain, and Andrea was blood-thirsty enough to take it. I half expected Chief Greenbriar to fight back. But instead, there was only a single pained grunt as the first wild animal struck. Then the scent of blood followed us all the way to the gate.

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# Chapter 30

We'd escaped the worst of the preceding danger virtually unscathed. And yet...the instant Harmony, Rosie, and I burst through the zoo's gates to find my parents' car waiting at the curb, tears started leaking from my stinging eyes.

Terra and Wolfie had come for me. Despite my insistence that I needed no help. Despite the danger involved in invading another alpha's territory. Despite the broken pack bond that meant I was no longer a Haven wolf. All of those reasons aside, my parents had tracked me down and now waited patiently to pick up the pieces.

Well, not so patiently. Mom was the one behind the steering wheel--a seriously good thing for everyone's sake since letting Wolfie drive was tantamount to assisting in vehicular homicide. Which meant Dad was closer to me, his hand pushing the passenger-side door open the instant I emerged from the shadows at the entrance of the zoo.

"No!" I called, eyes drying as I realized we weren't out of danger quite yet. Because whoever won the Greenbriar power struggle tonight, I had a sinking suspicion the new alpha would be sniffing this pavement first thing in the morning, seeking any sign that Wolfie had broken pack law by setting foot outside the neutral territory of his car.

Luckily, Wolfie's feet halted just before they touched down on open pavement....although the male continued to menace all and sundry with a thready growl. For her part, Mom's hand landed on her mate's shoulder in an attempt to placate him, but she clearly wasn't confident of her own abilities to restrain my father's over-protective streak. Instead, Terra jerked her chin and widened her eyes at me from behind her mate's back. "Get over here before your dad blows a blood vessel," she commanded even as her eyes said "Welcome! I love you! Thank goodness my daughter is safe!"

Obeying her request as quickly as possible, I released Harmony's hand and hastened to Wolfie's side. "Dad, calm down," I said placatingly as I sprinted forward.

Even as I spoke, though, I knew my words would do little good. What Wolfie really needed--and what I gave him as soon as I was close enough to touch--was the sensation of my palm sliding across his stubbled cheek, my warm skin proof that I wasn't a ghost. "I'm alive, I'm okay, and I appreciate the help," I murmured into Wolfie's waiting ear.

I was alive, but even as I made a move to open the back door of the car, I doubled over in agony. "Kak?" Rosie called in concern, then Harmony's warm hand slipped around my waist in an effort to pull me back erect.

The human's willingness to come in contact with someone who'd recently admitted to being a werewolf was surprising. But even more surprising was the way my own gut-wrenching agony eased ever so slightly beneath my sister's touch.

Unfortunately, lack of pain allowed my brain to kick back into gear once again. And as it did so, I realized that I wouldn't be able to flee in my father's car. Not without Sebastien, not tonight, and possibly not never.

Because the mate bond I'd offered to an unsuspecting human was still very much in play. From the feel of things, I might be able to stretch our tether far enough to hit the other side of downtown, but that was about it. Despite the fact that the professor considered me no more than an interesting test subject, I was apparently stuck traveling no further than a few short miles from my life partner's home base for the foreseeable future.

And as my eyes rose to meet my father's, I could tell that Wolfie already understood that I wouldn't be able to rejoin the family in Haven today. He understood...and the pain of our separation was the reason Wolfie had descended into his instinctive animal brain even as he remained solidly situated within his human skin.

"Can you take Harmony and her family back to Haven to keep them safe?" I whispered through a swollen throat that threatened my ability to speak. Across the pavement, my gaze met that of my sister, and this time Harmony bowed to a necessity she'd rejected just the day before.

"Just let me text my mother," the other female said quietly in response to a question I hadn't even voiced aloud.

And, for a moment, I couldn't help but smile. The Garcia matriarch wouldn't be happy about being asked to den with werewolves. I could almost see the old woman stomping around the family's small apartment, packing bare necessities and preparing to meet her daughter and granddaughter in time to make their grand escape.

A grand escape that required the support of my parents, of course. Parents I'd left seriously out of the loop. So perhaps my sister wasn't out of the woods quite yet....

***

TURNING BACK AROUND to face Terra and Wolfie, I realized that these bedrock foundations of my existence didn't even know who Harmony was, didn't have a clue that my brother had fathered a pup whose mother was unaware of shifters' existence until earlier this evening. The details of that particular soap opera would take hours to properly tease out. But as I opened my mouth to provide the cliff-notes version, my father's humanity glowed back to life behind glittering eyes.

"Your pack is our pack," Wolfie promised, reaching behind him to push open the back door and make a place for guests within the cluttered back seats.

"We'll stop for a car seat along the way," Terra added, stretching out to take my sister's hand in both of her own. Female eyes met, questioned, matched. And, just like that, my sister and niece were folded into the Haven clan.

I, on the other hand, found my feet growing colder by the second as my former buffers against packlessness--Harmony and Rosie--were encircled by my parents' love. I swallowed with some difficulty, then forced myself to meet Dad's eyes at last. "I'm not sure when I'll be able to come home..." I started.

But Wolfie didn't allow me to say words that would only break both of our hearts. Instead, he rifled around in the debris at his feet, then came up with a cardboard box that he handed over as proudly as if he was offering a crown to a new monarch. The courtliness was strange given words on the exterior proving that the container had begun life enclosing a takeout burger. Still, a sniff test promised sweeter contents inside.

I cracked the lid then tears began leaking from my eyes yet again as I realized Dad had made me another cupcake. Somehow, in the midst of driving hundreds of miles north, waiting for phone calls that never came, and hacking into a cell phone's GPS data to determine my current location, Wolfie had carved out sufficient time and space to bake fatherly love into a treat to be delivered by his endlessly affectionate hands.

"You two are such softies," Mom said from the other side of the center console. She reached across, wiping away my tears with the pad of one thumb, then smiled fondly as she elaborated. "You should have seen your father in that hotel-room kitchen. Every time the bond went wonky, your dad threw flour at the ceiling or clawed up the counter. We had to pay extra for damages when we checked out."

And, just as Terra had intended, the image of my half-wild werewolf-baker father was enough to dry my eyes and bring me back down to planet earth. Meanwhile, Dad had gathered his own composure more closely about him before pressing his larger palms around mine--one atop the box and the other beneath my extended hand.

"Bond or no bond, you're welcome at home whenever you choose to come," Wolfie told me as the heat from his touch refilled a tiny portion of the gaping hole that had dug itself into my belly earlier in the evening. "In the meantime, eat this cupcake when you need a boost. And let me know when you land somewhere safe and sound."

"I will," I promised, agreeing to everything even though I had no idea where I would spend the night or even whether I would ever be safe again.

Then Harmony's cell phone rang and the sound of irate Spanish filled the evening air. Rosie exploded into another round of "Kak, kak, kak!" And Harmony attempted to soothe both the older and the younger generations while gazing upon my parents with hooded eyes. Despite her earlier agreement, I could tell my sister wasn't quite convinced that her best way forward was to enter a car full of strangers with her daughter on her hip.

"Later, Mama," my sister said at last, clicking off the phone and standing uncertainly beside the still-open car door. The human's muscles tensed, and for a moment I thought Harmony might grab her daughter and run...right into Andrea's unfriendly arms.

"I know everything you've seen tonight is crazy...." I started. I wasn't sure how to fix what had been broken between us sufficiently to get my sister into the car, but I did know I couldn't let her run off into certain danger.

To my surprise, Harmony didn't need further convincing. Instead, she pulled me in for a tight embrace that felt like the first sip of hot chocolate after walking miles through February snow. "Find your brother," my companion whispered into my waiting ear. "And I'll be alright."

Then Rosie was wailing at being ignored and my sister drew back to soothe her. Jiggling the child into good humor, the pair slid together into the back seat.

My parents' farewells were similarly fond but brief. Then car doors slammed, the engine roared to life, and brake lights glowed red as the final remnants of my pack faded away into the night.

For my part, I was left standing there in silence, chewing upon Harmony's final words. Because I'd thought there were no stones left unturned surrounding Derek's disappearance...but my sister's faith in his continued existence suggested that perhaps I'd given up too soon.

"What am I missing?" I murmured, fingering the key that sat cold and hard in my pocket. And as I racked my brain, my memory finally turned up the missing piece.

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# Chapter 31

"Donuts," I'd suggested twelve months earlier, not bothering to gaze into my cell-phone screen as I lounged on the sofa and ribbed my little brother about his favorite dessert--a mystery he'd yet to elucidate a year into our long-distance relationship.

"Because I look so sweet and fluffy, right?" Derek countered, a growl in his voice. Still, I knew my only sibling well enough by this point to be certain he was amused. So I refused to relent.

Grabbing the phone in one hand, I carried our connection into the adjoining kitchen and started pulling ingredients off the shelves with the other. "Oatmeal cookies? Vanilla pudding? Ooh, I know," I teased. "Pecan pie...."

"...because deep down inside I'm really a nut," Derek finished for me. His laughter was real this time around, a rarity from a male who always maintained a tough exterior even around his doting older sister.

In response, I gazed into the screen, enjoying this rare moment of solidarity. Behind Derek's lanky form, plants draped around a sun-lit window, and the worry that always gnawed at my gut when I thought about my brother's secretive nature eased. He was safe, he was happy. And, finally, he was in my life...virtually at least.

"I just want to feed you," I said, only realizing I'd spoken aloud when emotions too numerous to count flitted across my brother's usually closed-down face. Biting my lip, I prepared to backpedal. Better that than give Derek yet another chance to retreat the way he'd done every other time I'd tried to draw him closer to my home pack.

Only, this time around, my timing must have been spot-on. Derek smiled back, eyes appearing older than my own despite the fact that I had a few years on him, but his stance otherwise remaining uncharacteristically relaxed. "How about a PO box?" my sibling suggested after a few seconds. "I'm not staying here long so the address is only temporary. But if you really, really have to mail me a...."

Derek paused, even then unwilling to relinquish such an important secret as his favorite flavor. "A moonpie?" I suggested, batting my eyelashes as I named the very last dessert Derek might possibly enjoy. My brother was definitely not a lovey-dovey marshmallow sort of guy.

"Not a moonpie," Derek growled. "I'll text you the address even though you're a pest. But it's temporary. Tem-por-ary. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!" I answered, saluting smartly. And, behind my back, I'd crossed my fingers, hoping this was the first step toward meeting face to face. I wanted nothing more than to give Derek a hug...and a safe place to call his own.

Still, a momentary sugar rush would have to suffice for now. To that end, I'd put together an assortment of varied desserts, hoping to hit the nail on the head with one of them at least.

But the care package hadn't done the trick. Derek had evaded my questions about which, if any, of the pastries he'd enjoyed. And when I asked whether I could use the same address the next week, Derek told me he'd moved, that his old PO box had been canceled.

That I'd have to eat the subsequent mountain of moonpies by myself.

Now, sliding my brother's key out of my pocket, I realized that Derek had changed PO boxes as promised. Because the number etched onto this small metal surface didn't match the one embedded in my memory from twelve months prior. The post office in question had likely changed as well.

Still, I'd bet my last dollar that this was a mail-box key. And I had a feeling I knew which location Derek had chosen for his new stash as well.

My brother's recent mentions of campus, his affiliation with Sebastien...every arrow pointed toward the row of metal boxes I'd walked right past the day before without realizing my brother's secrets might be hidden therein.

Go. Now, my wolf demanded. And I obeyed. Retracing my footsteps into the darkened zoo, I shed clothes and knives, cupcake and phone before rolling my possessions up as carefully as I could into the stained and ripped blouse that had seen better days. Then, using my bra to bind the ungainly bundle around my chest tightly enough that it would stay put even in lupine form, I relaxed into my wolf.

It had been too long since we'd run four-legged, and the night was terribly empty of other pack mates. So I couldn't resist lifting my head and belting out a mournful howl bound to make human neighbors roll over in their soft, snug beds.

Then, putting my nose to the pavement and using my wolf's direction sense to guide us, we took to our heels and we ran.

***

THE COLLEGE ADMINISTRATION building was locked up tight, but someone had forgotten to close a window on the eastern end. Leaping through the small aperture was easy in lupine form, after which I shifted in order to access the hall.

And even though I was anxious to discover whether the newest clue would bring me any closer to my missing brother, I toed the line anyway and wasted thirty seconds donning human clothes. Or, rather, donning most of them. Because it appeared that somewhere between the zoo and the college, my clever bra luggage carrier had slipped, with the result that I'd lost something quite important--my only pair of pants.

Biting my lips, I eyed the video cameras stationed at intervals along the junction between wall and ceiling. A red dot glowed at the base of each lens, suggesting that the surveillance equipment was fully operational...meaning that anyone noticing my lawless behavior would also get a good long look at my bare bum. To counteract that eventuality, I slid down the length of the hallway with my back to the wall. But then the bay of mailboxes came into view, and I forgot human dignity as I broke into a run.

Which box? Well, that question, at least, was easily answered. The key in my hand had a number etched along one side--404. And, as I turned the key in the lock, I realized that this notation had been another far-too-easily-overlooked clue.

Because Derek gave my father a run for his money in the geekiness department. Even I knew that a 404 error meant an internet address couldn't be found...so why hadn't I made the connection when picking the key out of the dirt during the Greenbriar hunt? I'd assumed my brother was being his usual cagey self and making me flail about for orneriness' sake. Instead, he'd used the number as a hint that he expected to fall off the radar through no fault of his own...and I'd totally missed the reference.

"What's done is done," I murmured, allowing my own failings to flee into the night. Instead, I held my breath as the tiny door in my hands swung open and disclosed my brother's rented space. And there it was--the faintest odor of moss and sawmill lumber promising that Derek had frequented this PO box in the not-too-distant past. Success.

The mail room on the other side of the box was dark, but lupine eyes easily picked out the curved shape of a sheet of paper within the intervening space. Removing the box's sole offering, I carried the paper over to a window and read the words printed thereon.

"Box full--please come to the desk during regular office hours to collect your mail."

Seriously? I'd traveled all this way, had finally figured out Derek's elusive clue...and now I'd be required to return and talk to the mail clerk tomorrow because my brother's box had overflowed?

"No, that doesn't make any sense." Retracing my footsteps, I peered inside the small rectangular receptacle once again. It was just large enough for my arm to fit through, not that reaching inside would do me any good. After all, whatever packages or junk mail had originally clogged the small space would be unreachable on the other side of the slender divider. Not even humans were so un-security-conscious as that.

And yet...my wolf forced me to stick my arm inside anyway. What can I say? Animal instincts are seldom willing to leave well enough alone.

And just this once, tenacity turned out to be a positive rather than a negative. Because a protrusion along the top of the box scratched a minuscule wound through the skin of my forearm, and fumbling fingers soon pulled out a thumb drive that had been taped there just out of sight.

"Huh," I murmured, turning the small rectangle of plastic and metal over with questioning fingers. Derek had so much to say that he'd left me an electronic storage device to hold all the data? Not a memory card that I could slip into the back of my phone and access immediately, but a thumb drive that would require a computer to get the information out? Didn't Derek realize I'd left any computer this thumb drive would fit into back home with my own clan?

Of course, campus was full of technology centers. There were publicly accessible labs in every library and dormitory, plus one just a few doors down from the coffee shop where I currently worked. None of the spaces were open on a summer evening...but I did know one person who was bound to have a computer close at hand. According to my tangled but very thoroughly present mate bond, the male in question didn't live very far away either.

I could almost feel my wolf howling gleefully beneath my skin. She was finally going to get her way and tighten the tether that ran between us. She was finally going to give Sebastien an opportunity to solidify our bond.

I wasn't so sure about the latter point. Instead, I was purposefully keeping my own expectations low, figuring I'd be happy if Sebastien didn't close the door in my face when I showed up on his doorstep without the benefit of pants.

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# Chapter 32

As the wolf trots, Sebastien lived only five minutes away from the center of campus. Smart, my animal half decided. Easy commute.

Despite the short distance, my inner beast had forced us to shift and run here on four fleet feet. And now the wolf was so confident in her imminent acceptance that she padded up onto the darkened porch before I could even suggest a loop around the perimeter to ensure Sebastien was the only one hidden therein.

Because he was present. The mate tether told me as much, and so did the light streaming out the downstairs windows. Meanwhile, the porch smelled of nothing but mopping and Sebastien, proving that my mate was the only one currently in residence.

I didn't accede to my wolf's demand and ring the doorbell right away, though. Because I was far less sanguine about being granted permission to enter than was my enthusiastic animal half.

After all, wardrobe malfunction and current furry body aside, Sebastien and I hadn't parted on the best of terms earlier in the evening. The human had admitted his responsibility for getting my brother snatched by DARPA, then I'd run off without any explanation. Wouldn't it be smarter to catch some Zs, lick my metaphorical wounds, and beard the professor in his laboratory tomorrow? If we waited until the morning, I could even bake an apology cupcake to sweeten the pot....

But my wolf rebelled. Wresting control of our shared body out of my human hands, she plunked our butt down onto the floorboards and refused to get back up. At least she hadn't rung the bell in lupine form--evidently, I should be grateful for small mercies.

Okay, I get it, I told my animal half, relinquishing the reins long enough for fur to recede and bare human knees to end up kneeling in front of Sebastien's front door. I could feel the professor moving around inside now, awake despite the late hour. The male was ambling aimlessly from room to room, leaving me wondering whether he was as uncomfortable without me present as I was without him.

It was all I could do to prevent my wolf from pushing open the door without concern for clothes then barging inside to join him. Instead, I shook out blouse and underwear that had grown even more repulsive between here and the college, leaves and city grime clinging to every available surface while rips and missing buttons further marred the clothes' structural integrity.

Dad's cupcake was still intact within its protective box, though. And I'd lost neither phone nor knifes. So I guessed it was all good.

Tying the suit jacket around my waist to shield my lack of trousers from view, I ran trembling fingers through hair that saw no more reason to behave than my wolf had done a few moments earlier. Then I laughed at myself for even trying. Sebastien would have to take me as I was, because there was no way I'd be wowing the human with coiffed beauty tonight.

So I was half dressed, filthy, and chuckling at nothing when Sebastien opened the door before I even rang the bell. "Ember?" he asked, blinking owlishly into the darkness.

Maybe human eyes aren't good enough to pick out the minor details, I thought hopefully. Perhaps I could talk to Sebastien here on his doorstep then beat a hasty retreat. Find somewhere safe to clean up before tracking my mate down tomorrow when I looked more human and less like a two-legged wolf.

Except my mate reached behind him to flick a switch, and the abruptly glowing porch light soon illuminated me in all of my scuffed, streaked, and sullied glory.

I expected my mate to recoil. To shut the door in my face, or at least to edge away from a degree of filth that city humans rarely encountered. Instead, he reached out to take my arm.

"What happened to you?" the professor demanded. And as his fingers closed around my bare skin, the contact alone nearly dropped me to my knees.

Instead of succumbing to the seductive allure of our mating bond, though, I merely straightened my shoulders and looked directly into my partner's dark chocolate eyes. "If you invite me in, I'll tell you all about it."

"Then, please," Sebastien answered, "by all means, come in."

***

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED Huntress Born! If so, the sequel--Huntress Bound--is now available on all retailers. But before you pick up book two, perhaps you'll help lend this title wings by leaving a review?

Meanwhile, don't forget that you can download a free starter library when you sign up for my email list. Or simply turn the page to dive into yet another shifter universe....

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# Incendiary Magic

Book 1 of the Dragon Mage Chronicles

A dragon shifter's treasure turns traitor when secrets ignite.

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# Chapter 1

When life gets tough, you're left with two choices. Surrender to the pain...or become a pyromaniac. Fee chose the latter.

"Burn, baby, burn," she chanted, fingers tingling with the force of fire magic exiting her skin. All around, dormant trees woke, stretched, sought her spark of life...then went up in flames as the superheated air ignited loose bark, crunchy lichen, and eventually even the sap-sodden Green itself.

Take that, suckers!

The beech was the first to go. Ghost leaves dangling from smooth gray twigs were perfect tinder for an incipient blaze. Not quite as satisfying as the pines up on the ridge, though, which seemed to thrive on fire, popping and spewing seeds of destruction in their wake. Still.... "Not bad," she muttered as she spun, sending tendrils of fire licking up the hillside in her wake. "Not bad at all."

"Focus, Bug." As always, the male voice made Fee startle with combined fear and anticipation. Never mind that this time around the words emanated from the magic-infused cell phone at her hip rather than from a flesh-and-blood human. Never mind that Malachi--never Dad, never Father--was presently too far away to lash out with fists or fire.

Regardless, the partially healed burns dotting her pale skin ached with the pain of recent memories. The scars along her spine puckered at the mere sound of her father's voice. And the joy of fire-starting abruptly vanished.

"Yes, sir," she said, hating the way her voice quavered, hoping the distance between face and hip was sufficient to block out the intensity of her fear...and longing.

It wasn't. Malachi's voice was smug when he answered. "I know you'll try your best, Bug. I just hope your best is good enough this time."

And there was the familiar disappointment creeping into his tone. The disappointment that led to the rages, to the infernos of agony that built slowly until Fee blacked out and dreamed of self immolation. She tried so hard to evade her father's displeasure...and yet, she never quite managed to sidestep in time.

Smoke whipped down out of the conflagration, teasing tears out of Fee's eyes. Gritting her teeth, the fire mage smeared the liquid away with the back of one soot-covered hand then pushed the full force of her own frustration into the surrounding forest.

I'm just like my father, venting my rage on the weak, she realized as a standing snag exploded, splinters of flaming wood shooting off in every direction. Would she one day create a daughter of her own to terrorize? A daughter to turn into a certified firebug bent upon devastation?

"Not likely," she murmured even as she obeyed Malachi's instructions to the letter, pushing fire downwind and up the slope she'd turned to face. The Aerie lay just over that hill, close enough for dragons to smell smoke and come hunting the culprit. Close enough so she'd have no time to flee back to the hidden settlement of fire mages that Malachi ruled with an iron fist.

But running away had never been in the cards. This was a suicide mission, and that concept Fee could fully get behind.

"What did you say?" demanded the voice at her hip.

It took Fee a moment to realize her father was responding to the muttered "Not likely" rather than to the thoughts that had been whirling through her mind. A moment during which she was unable to breathe...and not just because the wall of flames had superheated the surrounding air and threatened to blister the interior of her lungs.

"I was talking to the Green," Fee prevaricated once she pulled equilibrium back around her like the quilt her mother had sewn six months before she died.

Okay, I won't lie to myself. Before Malachi killed Mama for trying to escape.

The mere memory of Mama's quilt gave Fee the spine she so often lacked in the presence of her ever-volatile father. So she elaborated on her fib even as she kicked at charred tangles of what had once been semi-sentient plants. "The vines are waking up," she said. "They're less dormant than we thought."

And it was true that the Green did hunt every spark of electricity and fire magic it could get its grubby little tendrils on. During the Change twenty-nine years earlier, the Green had swallowed everything from cities to farms, sending the remnants of humanity scurrying to the few regions too dry, too wet, or too high for plants to survive. Fee hadn't been alive back then, but she'd heard the stories.

So it wasn't a stretch to believe the Green would now be fighting back against the destruction a lone fire mage could wreak. Despite the danger, though, Fee had worked fast and the plants had lacked time to transition from winter slumber to active retaliation.

Malachi hummed something that could have been complaint or possibly encouragement. Whatever it was, Fee could tell he didn't quite believe her. Still, her father was too far away to know for sure whether she told the truth.

"They're homing in on the electrical signature," she said quickly, stepping closer to the flames in an effort to strengthen her resolve. It didn't matter that soot clogged her nostrils and burned her eyes. She always felt stronger in the proximity of fire. "I'm gonna turn off the cell phone to give myself space to work. Don't worry, though. I know what I'm doing."

Not that Malachi ever worried. He wouldn't worry now either, not even when she powered the device down without giving him time for a reply. Not even when she was the only pawn presently on the board in the face of an enemy so much more powerful than the Green itself.

Malachi wouldn't worry because he knew that Fee would obey him without question. Minor rebellions like dropping his call were one thing. A major rebellion like taking advantage of this wall of flames and using the distraction to disappear into the wilderness? No daughter of Malachi's would be so stupid as to try to evade his grasp.

Fee tried to talk herself into proving her father wrong. Into walking away from this battle she'd been enrolled in since birth. She yearned to escape the father who manipulated her and hurt her and--she suspected--didn't even know how to begin loving her.

But she couldn't. Instead, running across the charred earth in the wake of the flames, she chased her personal inferno up onto the hilltop. There, ultra-flammable pines were already sizzling into life...but not the kind of life the Green preferred. Instead, this was a plant's afterlife, one flaming pillar of catharsis reaching toward the pure blue sky, grasping at the smoke, clinging onto the skyline.

Beyond the flames, a city that had once been Knoxville stretched out across the valley below. Down there, the jungle was unseasonably active, vibrant leaves shielding most of the original human habitations from view. Because the Green didn't sleep so close to the dragons' Aerie. No, the plants reached upwards toward the high rises where dragons and humans still lived in all of the luxury of Before. Where they lived in all the luxury Fee had heard about but had never really been able to imagine.

The dragons refused to share that luxury with fire mages like her father. So Malachi had resolved to take it by force...or at least to ensure the dragon cities couldn't be used against him when he constructed high rises of his own.

As she watched, a black speck took off from the top of the golden globe just west of the Aerie proper. Winged beast dipped, rose, then arrowed directly toward her location. The fire had been spotted and a dragon was on its way.

"I did everything you asked, Papa Bug," Fee murmured, using the childhood endearment with a sad smile on her lips. Because even though she'd obeyed Malachi's instructions to the letter, she knew his plans would fail. After all, the rebellion depended upon her reaching the Aerie safely...

...And the flames had eluded her grasp, growing a mind of their own while their maker was peering out across the valley below. Now they encircled her body in a wall of overwhelming heat, dense smoke not only tearing her eyes but also rasping her breath. Her head was already growing muzzy, her thoughts slowing to a snail's pace.

"The fire," she muttered. "I can still guide the fire."

So she did. But not the way Malachi would have wished. No, rather than asking the flames to move along and leave the closest trees untouched, she pushed the heat deeper into the leaf mold at her feet. Deeper even than that until the earth itself ignited.

"I always knew I'd go up in flames," Fee whispered. Then, with a smile on her face, she slid away into darkness.

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# Chapter 2

Dragon shifters were, by definition, motherless. But Mason would be the first to admit he was a mama's boy.

Well, not in the wimpy, mollycoddled way that term generally suggested. After all, he was the Lord Dragon everyone in the Aerie looked to for answers. The Lord Dragon before whom underlings genuflected if he didn't take the time to break them of the habit. The Lord Dragon who kept his small contingent of two-leggers safe from the Green.

But despite all that, when his foster mother showed up at his office door with a concerned wrinkle creasing the bridge of her nose, Mason dropped everything and ushered her inside. It was time to call out the big guns.

"Mason..." Sarah started. But the shifter put one finger to his lips and led her in silence to the seating alcove that overlooked the western horizon. Despite the mountain of responsibilities on his desk, he'd recently noticed how stooped the older woman's shoulders had become and how her formerly sprightly steps slowed into a trudge by the end of every day.

And, yes, she was about to celebrate her seventieth birthday. But the Sarah he knew would have met aging with grace and dignity. Something was seriously wrong.

Luckily, Mason possessed the antidote. Opening the secret compartment his twin had built into the side of the sofa years ago, Mason drew out a small parcel wrapped in a much-used square of dingy waxed paper

"What is it?" his foster mother asked, intrigued.

Ah ha! She hadn't even seen her gift yet and already the spark was back in his foster mother's voice. The quiescent fire in Mason's own belly grew even as he pulled back the edges of the paper to reveal his find.

Treasure. Rare and delicious, the nuggets scintillated his senses. The scent was nearly strong enough to taste, but Mason didn't partake of a single morsel himself. Instead, stretching his arm out, he popped the prize into his foster mother's mouth before she had time to protest the luxury.

"Where...?" The question halted as Sarah's eyes closed in surprised rapture. "Mmm," she hummed gently, that troublesome crease fading back into just another lax wrinkle in time-worn skin.

And therein lay the true treasure. Sarah's joy was worth every harrowing moment Mason had spent hunting ginseng in woodland glades that yearned to eat him alive. He knew his brother Jasper would feel the same way about his own lengthy flight south to trade for this decadent treat ripped so carefully from the heart of the Green. One moment of peace on their foster mother's face was worth any number of risks to life and limb.

So Mason didn't fidget as they sat in shared silence. Instead, he watched and waited as Sarah's closed eyes signaled her contentment. Her worries would bubble back to the surface sooner rather than later, but for now he would revel in the intensity of her pleasure.

Still, when his foster mother's eyelids opened at last, her face remained almost girlish in its peacefulness. "Wherever did you find chocolate?"

Mason could smell the bitter sweetness on her breath, his shifter senses making the world more vivid than it appeared to those who spent their entire lives on two legs. Sarah's face glowed gently with infrared light as her aroused limbic system elevated her temperature ever so slightly. Operation chocolate had been a resounding success.

Now the goal was to maintain that hard-won tranquility. Sidestepping her question, Mason merely shrugged and placed the remainder of the parcel in Sarah's unresisting hand. Her slender fingers closed around the gift, a hint of a smile curling her lips upward into what he hoped were good memories from the Before.

This is how life should be. Rich, sated, full of love.

The reprieve was short-lived, though. Soon, his foster mother's usual keen intelligence filled her face and Mason braced himself for the inquisition that he knew was soon to come. Only, the initial question wasn't one he'd expected.

"Have you seen Jasper lately?" Sarah asked, that darned crease reappearing on her face. Mason wanted to reach over and strangle the worry out of existence, to snuff it out with one iron fist.

But he'd learned from hard experience that women--or at least this one very important woman--didn't react well to overbearing management. No, if he wanted his foster mother's concerns to die a speedy death, then he'd have to be more subtle about his intentions.

"Jasper?" he asked, as if he'd forgotten the name of one of the five dragons who shared the Aerie's towers.

"Yes, your brother," Sarah replied, her voice as tart as the juice of the little sour oranges that grew wild down by the river.

Mason ignored both her reproof and the fact that Jasper wasn't really his brother. Dragons only enjoyed one blood sibling apiece, a twin who hatched within their same egg. Neither he nor Jasper currently boasted such a relationship.

But long-standing sadness would do neither of them any good. So Mason squashed that line of thought and merely shook his head. "Not lately."

He hadn't spoken to Jasper in a week, actually, not since the other shifter had returned with chocolate in hand and a plan for bringing their foster mother back to her usual vibrant love of life. But a few days or even weeks between visits wasn't unusual given Mason's center of operations in the Sunsphere, a tower set apart from the rest of the Aerie by a sea of hungry Green.

"Well, you need to go check on him," Sarah countered. "He's been withdrawn lately. Absent-minded. A bit cold." She paused, then dropped the bomb she'd obviously come to share. "I'm worried he might be succumbing to the Fade."

And just like that, the pleasure of the preceding moment fled. Mason had heard rumors of the fading sickness, an unexplained ailment that began unobtrusively within certain shifters then grew like wildfire. The afflicted complained of cold, weakness, fatigue. Then, one day, they simply ceased to exist.

The magic that had merged man and beast imploded and left nothing behind but ash.

"There hasn't been a single confirmed case..." Mason began. But, uncharacteristically, Sarah interrupted rather than affording him the deference every other Aerie human offered to their dragon overlords.

"He's twinless," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. The older woman cleared her throat and spoke more calmly even though Mason could tell that squashing her fears required a supreme effort of will. "Everyone knows it hits the twinless first."

Mason opened his mouth to say...well, he didn't really know what to say. But before he could think of a way to calm his mother's fears, the older woman had jumped to her feet and pressed her nose up against the angled glass that wrapped all the way around each floor of the Sunsphere.

"Is that smoke?" she demanded.

Mason growled in frustration. Between the chocolate and that dratted crease, he'd missed the obvious. Because the vision that met his gaze was more than smoke. It was fire...and fire kindled by a mage.

Brilliant magenta light flared out in all directions, the streaks of color invisible to the human eye but vivid as the nearby sunset to the shifter retina. The sight was beautiful, but it set Mason's teeth on edge nonetheless. Because while the presence of mages was never a good sign, human magic always boded ill for their sworn enemies--dragon-kind.

Without speaking, he rose and flung open the massive fiberglass door leading into nothingness. Cold winter air swept inside, tearing papers off his desk and whipping his mother's hair into a frenzy.

Mason's long, flexible tail reached out and plucked Sarah out of harm's way. Ah, so he'd shifted. Good. The sooner back in his own true form, the sooner this crisis could be averted.

Spreading his wings, the Lord Dragon prepared to leap. Then, remembering his mother at the last moment, he paused to glance back over one shoulder.

"I'll alert the others," Sarah yelled, her voice barely audible above the roar of rushing wind. She was unfazed by his abrupt transition from ordinary man to beast large enough to eat her alive and was equally untroubled by her adopted son's descent into his instinctual animal nature. Instead, she stood tall, clutching her waxed-paper parcel in one hand while holding hair out of squinting eyes with the other.

Still, Mason strove to showcase the manners his foster mother had so carefully drummed into her family of reptilian predators ever since hatching. Nodding his thanks, he met her gaze. Then, bugling, he leapt into the air, wings beating hard to turn the initial plummet into a soar.

Jasper and the fading sickness would have to wait. Because if a mage threatened the Aerie, then Mason would have no problem squashing the intruder like a bug.

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# Chapter 3

The girl lay surrounded by ashes but untouched by flame as Mason came to earth beside her. No missing eyebrows, no singed clothing. Instead, she was as pristine as a slogger could be, the hand-knit sweater around her waist gray with age while the traded-for jeans from the Before boasted holes in each knee.

Only the t-shirt appeared intentional. An intricate line-drawing of fire and leaves swept up one side, exploding into birds and flowers at the neckline before descending into a network of roots that encircled the hem. The lines appeared to have been dyed with walnut hulls and pokeberry juice, the rich brown and purple faded and smudged with wear but imperfections only adding to the beauty of the whole.

"A treasure," Mason murmured, unsure if he was referencing the shirt or the girl herself.

He'd discovered her moments after lighting a carefully planned backfire to snuff the inferno. First, he'd caught a glint of red hair and pale skin as he winged overhead. Then something tugged at his belly, a deep connection he'd nearly forgotten was possible, the bond of a dragon to his twin. The sensation had struck Mason out of the air, forcing him to shift so he could trail human fingertips across the woman's soot-streaked chin.

Only then did he notice bruises hidden by remnants of fire. Fresh purple discolorations on her face and older yellow markings on her wrists spoke to a long captivity. Had her jailer left her here to die after setting this fire? Had nature somehow chosen to spare the girl's life, leaving flames to split and stream past her unburnt body?

Around him, charred trees were already fading into the black of night. The mage wouldn't have gone far. Knowing he was unable to outrun a dragon, the evildoer would have hidden nearby and waited until the coast was clear before returning to the scene of his crime.

When that happened, the girl would be caught in the crosshairs. And regardless of her identity, Mason couldn't leave her behind to be captured...or worse.

Despite incipient danger, though, the shifter found himself shaking his companion gently rather than transforming and immediately grabbing her up in his talons. Well, she wasn't actually a girl. If Mason had to guess, he'd say she was only five years his junior, making her just over two dozen years of age.

"I'm going to take you back to the Aerie," he murmured, hoping she might hear his words despite every appearance to the contrary. The idea of the sleeper waking while he soared through the darkening sky gave him pause. Should he instead curl around her slender figure in dragon form and put off travel for the morning? Would regaining consciousness while wrapped up in a dragon's embrace be any less horrifying than opening her eyes to see the ground streaming by hundreds of yards beneath her feet?

But Sarah would fret if Mason didn't return before morning. And the girl seemed to be out for the count. She'd be safer and warmer in his bed.

"In a bed," Mason corrected himself. "She'd be safer and warmer in a bed."

As quickly as the thought hit, his body changed. Fire that had lain dormant in his human belly exploded outward, the blaze burning away skin and replacing that soft shell with scales even as his body returned to its most familiar form.

The transition was agonizing in its perfection, like an opera singer's voice spiraling higher and higher until it shattered glass. But unlike the broken goblet, Mason splintered apart only to reform into a more perfect whole.

Wings spreading for balance, he gently scooped the girl up to lay atop his forepaws. Her head lolled to one side like a boneless doll's as she curled against his chest.

But what pierced him was her scent. She smelled like a fireplace on a winter's night. A hint of smoke, a waft of peppermint. Six baby dragons curled into a floppy heap while their mother sipped tea in front of a warm fire.

The memory fed the flames in Mason's belly and he surged upwards without a single beat of his wings. Heat alone was enough to cause his dragon body to expand and rise.

As Mason ascended, he rearranged the slogger's head so it nestled against the crook of one elbow. No need for her to wake with an aching neck due to dangling like carrion from his claws. He wanted his treasure to feel as protected as he had been on that long-ago evening when Sarah read fairy tales to sleepy dragonets before comforting flames.

Beating his wings at last, Mason whipped up spirals of ash-laden air as he rose toward the newly emerging stars in the dark sky above. The burn site was further away from the Aerie than he'd originally assumed, but he embraced the solitude as he soared homeward through the cooling night. Embraced the chance to be alone with his thoughts...and with the treasure cupped in his taloned paws.

Even if the Fade is real, we'll find a way to fight it, he decided. Everything seemed possible right then, even beating back an evil that came with no face or name.

Yes, first thing in the morning Mason would beard Jasper in his lair and see what his friend's deal was. He'd set Sarah's mind at rest if there was nothing to worry about. And if Jasper actually was ill...well then, together they'd find a cure.

Smiling, Mason only noticed that the return journey was taking longer than it should have when his muscles began to drag. A similar distance would usually offer just enough exertion to stretch the kinks out of widespread wings. But now he felt like he'd been flying all night before he caught the first glint of moonlight reflecting off the Golden Reservoir to the east.

Mason's body shrank as mass turned into energy to fuel his flight. Once as large as the biggest whales in the far-off oceans, Mason was now little more than an aerial dolphin.

And not a perky dolphin frolicking as it leapt out of froth-topped waves either. Rather, a tired, sore dolphin who could barely hold onto the woman still cradled against his chest.

The conclusion was as obvious as it was unpalatable. Either the slogger was secretly made of lead--unlikely given the heart he could hear beating beneath the roar of the wind--or the sickness Mason had been pretending didn't exist was affecting him every bit as much as Sarah thought it was gripping his long-time friend.

Everyone knows it hits the twinless first. Which meant it was Mason's own damn fault if he died. His own damn fault for failing to rein in his brother's overflowing enthusiasm and allowing Sam to drown.

The reminder of his twin's success and his own failure was vividly obvious now that the broad lake just upstream of the Aerie had come into view. The massive hydroelectric project had resisted encroachment by the Green, creating safe havens for house-boaters and also powering the Aerie's burgeoning electricity demands.

Yes, the lake was a brilliant engineering marvel. An idea that could only have sprung from the golden boy after whom the reservoir was subtly named.

But Sam didn't live to see his namesake completed because I let him perish in the making.

Closing off that train of thought, Mason focused instead upon his own labored flight. He'd do no good to either Jasper or to this rescued slogger if he allowed the Fade to pluck him out of the air and send him plummeting toward the hungry Green.

So he gritted his teeth and pushed onward, ignoring aching muscles and itching throat alike. He forced heavy wings to flap until the Sunsphere rose out of the forest below, the top gilded with the glow of the crescent moon.

Landing on the small platform at the summit of the dome, Mason mantled his wings and placed the redhead down on the concrete floor as gently as his aching muscles would allow. Only then did he see what tired eyes had missed in the descent.

Ash all around him. Ash dusting the pavement in the distinctive shape of a reclining dragon.

Ash marking the spot where Jasper had faded away.

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# Chapter 4

"...to the lowest level."

The words emerged as if from a dream as Fee slowly drifted back toward consciousness. For a long moment, she relaxed into the astonishing sensation of being alive and unburned, but then icy adrenaline surged beneath her skin.

Danger!

Like all fire mages, Fee carried the faintest aroma of smoke around with her wherever she went. By contrast, dragons smelled like the flames themselves. Like marshmallows gently browned over a flickering campfire. Sweet and inviting, but oh so much more dangerous than that rare childhood treat could ever be.

Tensing, Fee fought the urge to leap to her feet and run for cover. Based on odor intensity alone, the enemy must be located no more than a dozen inches away from her chilled skin, plenty close enough to burn her to a crisp or at least clap her into chains.

But perhaps if she pretended to be sleeping, she'd win a short reprieve. Strangely, Fee found herself craving those precious seconds of continued vitality, grasping them with an intensity that negated her suicidal impulse earlier in the evening.

Despite everything, she wanted to live.

Malachi was right, Fee thought with a silent laugh. Not only had he guessed correctly that his daughter would still obey even when out from under his overbearing thumb, but he'd also won the gamble that a dragon would be unable to resist carrying Fee back to its lair unharmed.

Because the air and voices swirling around her could only come from one place. The Aerie, the heart of the enemy's territory. Exactly where Malachi had wanted her to end up.

"To your chambers, Lord Dragon?"

This voice emanated from a simple human, no sensation of fire about his person as he slipped cupped palms beneath Fee's armpits and hefted her partially into the air. Another set of hands gripped her feet, raising her far more gently than she would have expected given the circumstances.

After all, she was a prisoner...wasn't she?

Fee could only hope her captors hadn't yet discovered the secret strapped around her waist. The secret wrapped in flame-retardant fabric to prevent stray sparks from blowing her sky high. The secret that she and Malachi had built to end this war before it fully began.

Wind cut through Fee's thin t-shirt and slipped between strands of tangled hair to lick at her scalp. Air sometimes boosted fire, but tonight the former element was her enemy, making limbs shiver and teeth chatter. Any moment now, she'd be forced to stop playing possum in an effort to prevent frostbite.

But then the original voice rumbled toward her, rich and deep and only a few inches away from her ears. "Yes. It's warmest there, close to the furnace."

Then Fee was being carried away from the sweet marshmallow aroma and out of the biting wind. Down through a sea of hushed voices and stuffy air until chatter was replaced by the cool and quiet of heavy feet stomping down an empty stairwell.

Through no action of her own, she was being drawn ever deeper into the dragon's lair. Malachi would be so proud.

"Do you think Lord Mason realizes what he's doing?" asked a younger voice near her feet after her bearers had been walking for at least five minutes. The men were leaving the staircase behind now, entering a space that felt tremendous and airy around Fee's carefully relaxed limbs. "Should we tie her up?" the youngster continued. "Lock her in?"

Despite her best attempts at pretend somnolence, Fee tensed at the words. Because while she could break free of these humans, that would mean using her magic prematurely and leaving behind a trail of death and destruction bound to alert enemy dragons to her intent sooner rather than later.

Not the best choice for herself or for her mission.

"Lord Dragon is well aware of the danger," said the older voice, breaking into Fee's panicked thoughts as he answered his partner's question at long last. Although this second man had initially questioned overt orders, he was now adamant in his support of the shifter who had plucked Fee from the flames. "Apparently he believes the benefit is worth the risk," her bearer continued as he led the way into the dragon's personal domain.

Immediate danger averted, Fee dared to open her eyes a slit and take in the view. Dimly lit room circled like a donut around a stairwell at its core. Windows lined the huge exterior wall, but other than that decadent expanse of glass the space looked nothing like she'd expected.

When Fee had imagined a dragon's den, she'd pictured heaps of jewels and gold covering the floor, intricate silk tapestries lining the walls. Perhaps even a few maidens chained to the bed if the dragon was so inclined.

After all, the shifters in question were all-powerful. Everyone said their greed knew no bounds.

But instead, this particular room was stark and simple. A kitchenette filled the area to her left. Beside it, a dining nook boasted three chairs, only one of which appeared to have been sat upon if the layer of dust elsewhere was any indication.

Meanwhile, papers upon papers spread out across the table's flat surface. Did the Lord Dragon spend his meals working? Did he read reports and pen notes in the margins while absently chewing on what appeared from the crumbs to have been a simple slice of toast?

While Fee was still assessing the initial view, her bearers turned in the opposite direction and carried her toward a mattress partially covered with rumpled blankets. At the sight, her lips quirked upward into a stealth grin. This, at least, made sense. She'd yet to meet a man who willingly made his bed in the morning.

And yet...why would a dragon lord need to tidy his own space when he oversaw scores of human helpers to do the task for him? Abruptly, the disheveled bedding turned into yet another conundrum, and Fee fought down a shiver as she pondered the evidence of her own eyes.

Was it possible Lord Mason's life was every bit as hard-working and lonely as her own? At the thought, her skin flinched away from the hard bulk of wires and explosives wrapped around her middle.

She couldn't afford for doubt to enter her mind, though. So Fee instead focused on what she knew for a fact.

Dragon lords were evil and greedy. Malachi was on a sacred mission to save ordinary humans from the shifters' overbearing rule. And Fee's own task was a means toward that very important end.

"She could be anyone!" the younger voice countered heatedly, his adamant words bringing Fee back to her immediate surroundings with a jolt. "She's definitely a mudslogger," he hissed. "You know they're desperate down there on the ground. She could steal all the silverware. She could murder Lord Dragon in his sleep."

The boy had a typical teenage temper. Still, Fee was surprised to find that his hands were gentle as he and his partner set Fee down in the middle of the dragon shifter's soft yet rumpled bed.

"That would require him to actually sleep," the older man said wryly. Despite his kind words, though, his right hand shot toward Fee's neck as fast as a snake might strike. In reaction, her breath caught in her throat and she sent frantic mental tendrils reaching for fire. Fire to burn, fire to protect, fire to send her explosives flaring to life....

Only the man's palm changed trajectory at the last moment. Through slitted eyelids, Fee watched as a soft blanket was drawn up beneath her chin, the action she'd thought an attack instead turning into a parental gesture of quiet concern.

Still, she cradled the fire against her racing heart just in case. Held her muscles tensed and ready for attack until voices disappeared back toward the stairs from whence they'd come. One man reached back to flip a switch and leave her in darkness, but neither paused to lock the door. No, they simply trotted away toward the human levels above.

And as darkness fell, the scent of charred marshmallows rose to encircle her, warm covers easing the final chill out of aching bones. Fee told herself to rise and make sure she hadn't been locked into this strange round room after all. She definitely needed to call her father and let him know she'd been granted free reign of the dragon's quarters through a fluke of luck.

But, instead, Fee found herself subsiding into Mason's soft sheets, magic dwindling back into the air from which it had come. Her eyelids refused to pry themselves open, and one hand stubbornly tucked itself beneath the contoured pillow to cradle her sore neck.

The sensation of safety enfolded her like an absent mother's arms. A dragon's rich, deep voice murmured out of memory. And, willingly, Fee slipped down into her first true sleep in nearly a decade.

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# Chapter 5

The room was bright with morning sunlight by the time Fee emerged from slumber. Her bed--the dragon's bed--was located on the eastern side of the circular tower, so there was no delay between sun slipping over the horizon and light turning the insides of her eyelids from black to gray.

The surprise was the hour. I slept all night?

Fee couldn't remember the last time she'd woken relaxed and refreshed to the brilliant glimmer of morning sunlight. Usually, nightmares pried her awake in the wee hours. She'd toss and turn for what felt like an eternity, then rise and sip a cup of herbal tea during the long, solitary wait for dawn.

Now, she swung her legs over to the edge of the bed and sunk bare feet into a rug that was unaccountably warm despite spitting snow drifting through the air outside the windows. Lush carpeting soothed blisters on her toes, the only sign of the tremendous forest fire that had left her body surprisingly intact despite burning boots to cinders.

Glancing around, the fire mage was relieved to see that the dragon's den remained empty. In daylight, though, the space appeared significantly less spartan--if no less solitary--than it had the previous night. Lord Mason didn't surround himself with gaudy signs of his wealth, but every facet of his quarters had been chosen with comfort in mind.

Soft sheets, heated floorboards. I could get used to this, Fee thought as she padded over to the closest window.

She had half a mind to take advantage of the shiny shower stall she could see through the open bathroom door, to wash away the scent of forest fire and bask in what she suspected was limitless heat. But water and fire mages didn't mix easily. Fee couldn't afford to lower her magical defenses even so far as to take her typical bird bath of damp cloth against grimy skin, not today when the enemy was so close at hand.

And exhilaration rapidly faded as gaze drifted to the nearest window. Through the glass, Aerie buildings rose above green trees like monstrous sentinels. A dragon circled around one of the skyscraper peaks, unnatural flame flaring bright as beast transformed into man.

Unwillingly, Fee was reminded of her duty. Heated floorboards and shiny shower stall or no, she wasn't here to meet this Lord Mason. She was here to kill him.

And as she took in the four blocky towers less than a mile distant, Fee realized she'd ended up in the wrong part of the Aerie entirely if she wanted her mission to be lauded as a resounding success.

I need to call Malachi.

Slipping fingers beneath knotted sweater sleeves, Fee pried loose the hidden cell phone at her waist and powered the device back to life. But then she paused and walked a quick lap around Lord Mason's quarters instead, ascertaining that no one was hiding in the one area she couldn't see from the other side of the enclosed stairwell. She couldn't risk being caught at her illicit task.

Momentarily, her attention was caught by the office opposite Lord Dragon's luxurious bed. There was a desk, of course, filing cabinets, even that rare item from the Before--a fully functional laptop.

But there were also models and architectural drawings. Intricate traceries of what Fee recognized from her own studies were hydroelectric turbines and pulley-driven dumbwaiters. It appeared that this dragon hadn't merely moved into abandoned cities and stolen his predecessor's wealth. He'd built a better life for his people through the sweat of his own brow.

"Or, more likely, through the sweat of underpaid laborers' brows," Fee reminded herself, her voice echoing oddly in the open space. Sinking down into the lush office chair in front of Lord Dragon's desk, she tapped out a text at last. "I'm in," she informed her father. "But in Sunsphere, not Aerie proper."

Immediately, the cell phone rang, its alert harsh against the morning quiet. Fee's fingers clenched nervously, a signet ring that had been sitting beside a ball of sealing wax finding its way into one fist. She rolled the marshmallow-scented metal between nervous fingers as she reluctantly accepted her father's call.

"About damn time." Malachi's words were biting, but his tone contained that warm flicker of satisfied fire that promised a reprieve from his usual physical and verbal abuse. Instantly, the tension in Fee's shoulders eased. Malachi was having a good day, which meant his daughter was having a good day as well.

Still, she kept her voice professionally calm as she reported in. No need to waken Malachi's anger if she didn't have to. "I'm on the lowest level of the Sunsphere's living quarters," she started. "And they don't appear to have locked the door. I could take the stairs down to the bottom and make the walk to the Riverview in fifteen minutes flat if you want. But I'd have to ditch the cell phone and maybe the explosives first--the Green is very much awake down there."

As Fee spoke, she swiveled the chair to take in hungry plants swaying and grasping outside the window. Most were unable to reach as high as the bulbous summit of the Sunsphere, but a few intrepid vines were pushing their way upward along the glass sides of the building. Fee shivered, glad the windows boasted no obvious hinges to open out onto the Green.

"Don't do that yet," Malachi said, his thoughts running along a similar track as her own. "We can't risk our one chance on a maybe. Explore the Sunsphere and figure out how the wingless get back and forth between there and the Riverview. Dragons like their luxuries and there's no way they spend their free time ferrying humans and supplies from one tower to the other."

Abruptly and without a farewell, the cell phone went dead. "Be careful, daughter," Fee muttered, speaking the words her father hadn't bothered to voice. Still, she didn't hesitate before tucking the cell phone back into its holster, leaving the dragon's quarters behind, and trotting halfway up the first flight of stairs.

Only when her frantic pulse slowed to a resting pace did she realize that she'd fallen back into her old rhythm of instant, thoughtless obedience. She'd left the room so fast, in fact, that she still clenched a shifter's signet ring in one white-knuckled fist.

The impulse to immediate action had saved her from Malachi's blows more times than she could count. But the older mage wasn't there to assess how she went about obeying his wishes this time around.

I don't have to jump at his every word, Fee realized, the thought filling her with an unaccustomed sensation of power. Malachi will never know whether there are real obstacles in my path or whether I'm just dilly dallying as I do his bidding. I can...take my time.

The notion was so unusual that it sent excited flames sparking from twitching fingertips. Quickly, Fee squashed the fire and slipped the stolen ring into one pocket before patting her other side to make sure the cell phone was still in place.

On vibrate mode, the latter device shouldn't be immediately obvious beneath her tattered clothing. Which was a good thing because--barring stupid use of fire in front of a dragon--the phone was the biggest chink in her current armor.

In the Before, mobile phones had been as ubiquitous as electric lights. But now the former were rare as hen's teeth and required expensive air magic to boost their signal. Fee didn't want to think about what Malachi had traded to get his hands on this particular communication device, and she knew its presence was a dead giveaway that she wasn't the ordinary slogger her captors had initially supposed.

Good thing it's winter and extra layers are expected.

Rearranging her sweater so it better sheltered the tricky bulge, Fee completed her climb and tentatively cracked open the door to the second level. It was time to figure out whether her disguise would pass muster.

Between fire magic flowing through her veins and explosives strapped around her waist, Fee was a weapon loaded and ready to take out the dragons who called this tower home. And yet--no one so much as glanced in her direction as she tentatively pressed open the door and stepped out into a sea of culinary mayhem.

Kitchens, she concluded, peering wide-eyed at the flurry of activity whirling through the open space.

The scents alone were so overwhelming she nearly swooned. Crisply frying bacon. Warm yeasty bread. Sweet icing that brought to mind the marshmallow aroma hanging over Lord Mason's recently vacated bed.

Despite her plan to remain unobtrusive, a deep, abiding hunger forced one foot forward...and Fee nearly smacked into a young man as he hurried toward the stairwell with two tremendous platters balanced on raised hands.

"I'm sorry," she started.

But the waiter danced nimbly aside to prevent collision before tilting a tray in her direction to reveal a vast selection of muffins and pastries. "Choose," he said curtly.

Her hand obeyed, closing around a blueberry muffin that was almost hot enough to burn the skin off her fingertips. "Thank you..." she started.

Before she finished speaking, though, the waiter was gone and the door to the stairwell had clicked shut in his wake. Fee glanced up skittishly at the sound, but no one asked her what she was doing or why she was skulking unattended through the lower levels of the Sunsphere.

Fee was deep in the heart of enemy territory and it appeared that nobody cared except herself. Numbly, she peeled back the paper cupping the bottom of the muffin and filled her mouth with one warm, sweet bite.

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# Chapter 6

Mason was bitterly cold. The sensation was so unfamiliar that it took a long moment to figure out why his fingers were numb and his cheeks were raw.

In the past, he'd always been filled with fire, warmth in his belly staving off the effects of both chilly winds and icy surfaces. But Jasper's wake had lasted for the better part of the night. And by the time dawn touched the eastern horizon, Mason felt empty in a way he never had before.

"It's not your fault," one of his remaining brothers said, clapping Mason on the shoulder before shifting and winging skyward in a pillar of flames.

Not his fault? Mason had a hard time believing those placating words when Jasper wasn't the first brother he'd lost through negligence. Instead, as the Lord Dragon walked with bowed head over to the recessed stairwell that shielded a small portion of the platform from the gusty bite of winter wind, his thoughts turned to a different brother entirely--his long-lost twin.

Although all six siblings had been involved in building the Aerie out of nothing over a decade earlier, Sam had been the genius behind the endeavor. Mason had busied himself carting humans around on his back and using brute strength to get things done, but his twin had been the one to design the intricate hydroponic system that fed the masses. His twin had been the one to retrofit the communications system so Sunsphere residents could stay in touch with the Aerie proper while bypassing the Green. And his twin had been the one to add an elevator to ferry the aged and infirm from floor to floor when the stairs turned out to be too difficult to traverse.

Still, life had gone on after his twin's passing, and it would go on after his closest friend's Fade as well. Despite his efforts to pump himself up, though, Mason couldn't quite cancel out the shiver that wracked his body, the cold emanating not just from without but also from within.

"Lord Dragon." The Sunsphere's steward appeared at his elbow with a clipboard in hand and Mason stifled a restless sigh. Still, he waited as patiently as he was able while the man rattled off a list of tasks needing the Lord Dragon's immediate and personal consideration. There were trade bargains to be approved of, supplies to be ordered, menus to be considered.

"Menus? Really?" Mason caught himself the moment the words left his lips. He hadn't meant to snap at the man...but surely that was why they paid cooks?

"Perhaps we could go over the rest of the items tomorrow," his steward backpedaled, cowering in on himself the way humans were prone to do in the presence of a dragon. Mason thought he'd broken the man of that particular habit after two months heading up the Sunsphere's internal workings, but apparently one wrong word was enough to set them back to square one.

"Tomorrow," Mason agreed, his word an apology. Tomorrow, he'd not only look over the menus but also find a way to prove to his steward that the Lord Dragon was merely a man like any other...even if he did possess the rare ability to transform into fire and soar through the air unassisted by modern technology.

For now, though, Mason didn't possess the patience to clean up his own messes. Instead, he pretended not to hear as a woman called out a greeting while a bevy of children attempted to rope him into a game of tag. Slipping deeper into the stairwell, he fled from the throng that still eddied around the site of Jasper's passing.

Making a beeline for his own bed was rational, he figured, when he hadn't slept in what felt like a decade and was chilled to the core. The fact that his treasure was waiting for him there, all long red locks and smooth creamy skin, merely made the destination that much more palatable.

Memory of the woman's face kindled enough fire in his belly to carry him down five flights of stairs at a trot, but Mason paused before opening the door to his own chambers. If he was lucky, the slogger might mistake him for an ordinary man and welcome him into her presence with none of the fear that usually filled newcomers' faces. And yet...Mason hadn't been lucky in a long time. The woman was likely wide awake and he didn't want to startle her by intruding unannounced.

Tapping lightly on the metal barrier, he called out: "May I enter?"

There. He'd even said "may I" instead of "can I" and "enter" instead of "come in." Sarah would be proud of his ability to feign civility even if he didn't feel like a gentleman deep down inside.

Only no one answered, and Mason couldn't decide whether it was acceptable to wake the girl from potential slumber. So he hesitated for longer than he cared to admit, pacing back and forth in the shallow entranceway that led into his private quarters. His feet were not only metaphorically cold now but were literally numbing from the toes in by the time he made up his mind.

If his treasure was sleeping, he wouldn't wake her up. But Mason had to set eyes on her face one more time before diving into the hassles of an ordinary day.

The memory of long lashes and a pert nose made him smile as he pushed open the door and strode inside...only to find his bed empty, the sheets cold. Mason transited the entire loop, searching both office and kitchen for signs of life.

Nothing.

Perhaps she'd holed up in the bathroom? But that final chamber was open to the main arena, the small space dark, cold, and lifeless. There was no one inside and Mason was finally forced to admit the truth.

His treasure was gone.

Of course, if the woman had slept ever since being carried down into his chamber the evening before, then she would have woken with the dawn. Nights were so long at this time of year that even an exhausted slogger would be hard pressed to doze for more than sixteen hours straight.

"So she got hungry and went one floor up to find something to eat."

Talking to himself--was that a sign of incipient Fade?

Squashing the thought along with a shiver that persisted in racing up and down his spine, Mason took the stairs two at a time as he reversed his journey. He pushed into the kitchen like a hot wall of wind-pressed fire flying back out a wood stove's open door. "Has she been here?" he demanded.

He knew he wasn't making any sense. Worse, he was scaring the under cook, who'd come down the river by boat just last week and was still unaccustomed to being around dragons even in their human form.

Mason had been trying so hard to tame that one, greeting her with a smile whenever she eked out enough courage to meet his eyes and tiptoeing around the woman as if she were a feral kitten when she was too scared to glance up at his face. Now, the under cook shrieked and dropped a skillet onto the floor, hot grease splattering up onto her exposed calves in the process.

Only the liquid wasn't hot by the time it reached her--Mason retained just enough presence of mind to yank every hint of flame out of the oil before it could burn her tender skin.

Which probably made everything worse, he realized as the head cook shot such a powerful glare in his direction that he might as well have been struck by a physical projectile. In contrast, her subordinate had descended into pitiful whimpering, head tucked down between shaking knees.

Between the anger of one and the terror of the other, Mason knew he was no longer welcome in the Sunsphere's kitchen. "Never mind," he muttered, backing slowly toward the door. There was no need to stay there anyway. He could see from the door that his treasure wasn't present in the large, open room.

But a waiter grabbed Mason's arm before he could take himself completely out of the space. "She was here an hour ago," the young man offered. Unlike the under cook, this particular waiter had been raised in the Sunsphere and showed no fear in the Lord Dragon's presence. "She took a muffin then went up," he added, matching gesture to words.

And that waiter deserved a raise. Nodding his thanks, Mason returned to the stairs and followed the trail of his treasure toward the summit.

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# Chapter 7

The Lord Dragon isn't a monster.

Fee had gotten her first inkling of that fact when she ran into an impish moppet on the third floor. "Who are you?" the child demanded. Then, without waiting for a reply, the girl raised her arms and demanded to be picked up.

Fee glanced around at nearby adults, expecting horror to flash across worn faces when bystanders noticed a stranger with an Aerie toddler cradled on her hip. But, instead, one woman mouthed "Thank you" from across the room while several other plump, pleasant faces met Fee's gaze with smiles and gestures of welcome.

"Mason puts me on his shoulders," the moppet complained from her hip-side perch, making Fee smile. "He said we never have to live out in the cold ever again because he's a dragon and he says so."

Fee almost dropped her living burden as it became painfully clear that the child's Mason and her Lord Mason were one and the same. And, immediately, a devilish thought cloaked in Malachi's gleeful voice whispered in her ear, reminding her that she needed a way to fly across the expanse of Green to the more central portion of the Aerie. Why not grab a child important to the Lord Dragon then turn the girl into a hostage...as well as a gateway to achieve her goal?

I refuse to pin the success of my mission onto the shoulders of a toddler, Fee told herself, only barely restraining her feet from fleeing as fast as they were able away from the dastardly temptation. Because, really, how much worse was it to turn one sweet child into a victim than to allow dozens of similar youngsters to be caught up in the eventual crossfire?

As if sensing her wavering resolve, the cell phone at her hip buzzed quiet reproof. Fee jumped at the sound, head turning rapidly to determine whether anyone had noticed the technological prodding above the clamor of the room.

To her relief, the only person who appeared interested in Fee at the present moment was the child with friends in high places. Well, the child and her mother, the latter of whom was wending her way across the room, soon ending up at Fee's side.

"He's not just a dragon," warm female voice admonished the child. "He's the Lord Dragon, sweetie. And this lady probably has better things to do than to cart you around." Then the newcomer's attention transitioned from toddler to adult as she added, "Here. I'll trade."

Fee found her hip abruptly unburdened, her hands instead filled with what appeared to be a meat-filled taco. Beef. Such a treasure to be handed over so readily by an absolute stranger. The unexpected bounty twisted Fee's gut until she found herself making hurried excuses and fleeing back toward the empty stairwell from which she'd so recently come.

"I hope you'll visit again soon!" the child's mother called just before the door clanged shut between heartless invader and the world's most welcoming prey.

Worse, the cold, empty space made the cell phone's buzz even louder and angrier. Ducking into an alcove, Fee surreptitiously checked its scratched screen. "Where are you?" her father had texted, his curt wording a slap in the face after the warmth of the people she'd so recently left behind.

Fingers shaking, Fee pushed the cell phone back into its holster without bothering to reply, then headed up the stairs toward the Sunsphere's fourth level. She needed time to think. Time to figure out what was going on in this Aerie that was so unlike anything she'd expected or seen before. Time to figure out how to help her own people without harming innocents like the moppet who gleefully rode around on the shoulders of a dragon.

So she climbed and ate. Feet moved at a snail's pace while warm, salty morsels slid down Fee's throat far too quickly to allow true savoring of the most delicious meal she'd ever eaten. The hunger was just too intense, the flavors too delicious to chew each bite until it disintegrated within her mouth the way she usually did to extend meager repasts.

Now, she reveled in the flavors of cheese, beef, crusty tortilla...and was that bite in the center a tomato like the one Fee had seen her father trade for once as a child? For a long moment, the fire mage basked in borrowed luxury and allowed herself to forget that she was on a mission to wipe the Aerie off the face of the earth. She forgot that her father was awaiting a tardy update. That the explosives around her waist could be remotely detonated if Malachi's already tenuous patience ran all the way out.

Instead, she licked the last oily juices off four fingertips then inhaled a deep breath and pressed open the heavy door leading to Sunsphere's penultimate level, another space where ordinary humans lived and worked. And this time, she was less shocked by the warm welcomes, by the lack of wariness that had been trained into Fee since birth. When offered yet another meal, she forced herself to sit back as she chewed, listening to a conversation that whirled around her head like a raging inferno of dancing flames and warm flickering laughter.

"...the crop this year will be good."

"Do you think Lord Nicholas will trade for fabric again in the spring?"

"A shame about Lord Jasper."

Then, an honorific that she'd heard many times that day already: "...Lord Dragon."

Fee turned slightly in her seat so she could take in the face of this final speaker. The man was her father's age and had a bit of the same look about him--tall and stern with features that spoke to power and ambition. But his words were soft and caring, nothing like Malachi's biting tones.

"Has anyone been to the fifth floor to check on Lady Sarah?" the man who was and wasn't like her father asked his companions. "I'm sure she took Jasper's passing hard. And the Lord Dragon didn't seem to be in any state to tend to his mother."

His mother? If the moppet on the floor below had been a potential hostage after riding piggy-back on Lord Mason's shoulders, how much more powerful would this Lady Sarah be at speeding along the culmination of Malachi's plans?

Fee stopped ladling hot soup into her mouth and instead sat stock still, hoping no one would notice they were dropping state secrets around a stranger who very definitely didn't have their best interests at heart. And as Fee listened, she quickly realized that everyone--dragons included--would cut off their own right legs if it meant protecting the elderly human from harm.

Which meant Sarah was the key to moving Fee and her explosives from Sunsphere to Aerie proper. There, she could create maximum mayhem while fulfilling her father's desires all in one fell swoop.

Once again, the phone at her hip vibrated harshly and Fee bade quick farewells before her companions could notice the buzz. Back in the stairwell, the incoming message was even less heartening this time around. "Call me in fifteen minutes or I'll detonate the explosives," it read, Malachi's annoyance at being ignored clear in both diction and tone.

Fee shivered. Remote detonation had always been their backup plan, of course. But the assumption was that Fee should do her level best to place the bomb and make her escape before Malachi pulled the trigger. That she'd have time to slip away through the stream of fleeing humans and dragons, would manage to evade hungry plants waiting at the base of each tower and return to her father's enclave triumphant.

Of course, Fee had always understood that rosy scenario to be entirely fictional. But she needed to believe Malachi thought differently. It was just too painful to consider that her father might willingly send Fee to her death like a disposable tool to be used once then discarded.

So she hesitated, torn between the clear route toward her original goal and the confusing generosity that had been showered upon her shoulders by the Aerie's inhabitants. "Wait," she typed into the dratted cell phone at long last.

Then, swallowing down the final dregs of bitter kindness, she turned left at the base of the stairs and continued up.

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# Chapter 8

Fee knew from overheard conversations that the top floor of the Sunsphere was a hydroponics lab, the location where Lord Mason's foster mother was most likely to be found. So she opened the door with teeth gritted...only to be brought up short as Sarah called out an unusual welcome.

"Never mind the smell."

Fee squinted against the brilliant lights illuminating the space, then nearly retched as the aforementioned odor filled her nostrils. "What is that?"

"Bad batch of nutrients," the older woman said, seeming no more concerned about Fee's uninvited presence than the downstairs humans had been. "I've got a window open, so the stench should air out shortly."

Sure enough, a gap in the glass wall let in breezes from a wintry day that glowered gray and overcast as the morning's snow picked up its pace. Three fans encircled the aperture, their blades humming as they pushed foul-smelling air currents outside, and an occasional gust of wind swept inside to refill the emptying space.

Unconcerned by both cold and stink, Sarah hummed as she puttered only a few feet away. "You must be Fee," the older woman said after a moment, glancing up at last from the seedlings she was tending.

Fee jolted, but whether at the woman's omniscience or at the sight of so many living plants in one area she wasn't sure. The former could be explained away easily enough--after all, as soon as she'd spun a fake history for one person, the tale had traveled faster than her feet could carry her down Sunsphere's well-developed gossip network. By level four, everyone had been familiar with the tale she'd offered on the floor below.

So, yes, Fee's name on Sarah's lips made a strange sort of sense. But innocuous plants that didn't bother rebelling against their human handlers? That extraordinary sighting was far less easy to swallow.

"Won't they harm you?" Fee asked, stepping further into the room. Water gurgled as a pump drew liquid up from tanks to cascade over trays of root-covered rocks, but the plants above appeared dead. Not leafless, but motionless, as if they'd somehow been bludgeoned into submission or trained to leave nearby humans alone.

After twenty-four years spent hiding from grasping grapevines and hungry honeysuckle, Fee couldn't begin to imagine how that end had been achieved. In fact, when a breeze from the fan sent one leaf questing toward her, she jumped backward to escape floral parry. To her surprise, the plant part merely subsided back into its former position, as inanimate as the snow that drifted down outside.

"These little guys?" Sarah asked mildly, running fingers over thin leaves as if she were petting a dog. "They're not part of the Green. No earth, no Green."

The explanation made logical sense, but Fee still held her breath as she waited for the plants' reaction. At any moment, they'd latch onto the older woman's hands, would bind her arms against her sides and reach up to her throat to strangle away all life-giving air.

But Fee was wrong and Sarah was right. The herbs merely swayed gently beneath the older woman's touch before going entirely still. No earth, no Green.

Danger averted, Fee opened her mouth to ask why the Sunsphere was growing plants, never mind that these particular individuals were apparently harmless. But then she finally surveyed the lab with a more critical eye.

These weren't mere plants; they were crops. Highly expensive and deeply coveted assets in this day and age when humans subsisted on the bare minimum nutrition carefully foraged out of an angry forest.

Lettuce Fee had eaten once before, and she'd tasted tomatoes in that precious taco on level three. If her childhood picture books were anything to go on, perhaps that yellow cylinder was a squash and the dangling pods were beans?

Despite her best intentions to remain focused on her objective, Fee found herself walking down the alley of wondrous edibles and soaking up the unusual colors and textures. At Sarah's nod, she even reached out and trailed a tentative finger across one lustrous red fruit.

"That's a strawberry," the dragons' foster mother said from just behind her left shoulder. Wow, the old woman could travel fast. "You can taste it if you want to."

"I shouldn't." Fee backed away from the plants, retreating toward the open window at the far end of the row. There had been far too much kindness during this particular morning already. Too many well-fed people with plump cheeks and wide-open smiles who greeted Fee as if she was a long-lost relative.

No, she wouldn't eat the strawberry. Because Fee had a sinking suspicion that if she accepted Sarah's offer and popped the seed-studded orb into her mouth, she might never fulfill the mission she'd been sent there to spearhead.

Speak of the devil. At her hip, the cell phone vibrated yet again, its buzz audible even over the roar of rotating fans. Sarah's eyes narrowed. "Is that...?"

But before Fee could begin talking her way out of the mess Malachi had landed her in, an even greater danger appeared behind the older woman's back. When Sarah had opened the window moments earlier, she must have assumed herself safe hundreds of feet above the ground on the uppermost level of the Sunsphere. Unfortunately, the Green was intensely attracted to the flow of electricity and was able to transcend its usual boundaries when the juice was worth the squeeze.

So while the primary gardener was otherwise occupied, a long tendril of kudzu had slipped up the side of the building and through the gap provided by one open window. It stalked its prey beneath laden benches, hiding from human eyes as stem extended relentlessly toward its goal.

Now the vine reached unerringly toward the woman in question, its tip coiled like a spring. The Green was inches away from Sarah's unprotected neck, poised and ready to strike.

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# Chapter 9

Strangely, Mason grew warmer rather than colder as he left the well-heated lower levels of the Sunsphere behind. Meanwhile, the fire in his belly expanded further as he passed through room after room, listening to tales of his treasure's passing.

Fee. Her name is Fee.

The woman he'd rescued from the forest was shy but charming, his people told him. Curious but humble. Her grace had captured the imagination of the young and brightened the smiles of the old.

For an instant, jealousy flared within Mason's chest as he considered the fact that everyone had spoken with his treasure but him. Maybe it's better this way, though. Savoring their first face-to-face encounter would only make that eventual introduction so much more profound.

Still, Mason was growing impatient by the time he traced Fee to the uppermost level of the Sunsphere, to Sarah's usual domain. In case his mother was napping, he slipped through the door silently, turning his usual quiet walk into the silent pacing of a predator. Then flames flared upward in his chest as he took in a sight both expected and unexpected.

There was his mother's familiar form, wide awake and smiling fondly. And, on the other side of the room, stood the exact same treasure Mason had worked so hard to track down.

"That's a strawberry," Sarah said, pointing toward one of the many hydroponic crops coating every surface of the circular space. "You can taste it if you want to."

The memory of sweet and sour juices burst over Mason's tongue and his mouth spread into a contented smile. His treasure was wide-eyed, obviously unfamiliar with the riches offered by Mason's carefully managed domain. Unconsciously, he leaned forward, anticipating her rapture when she tasted each delicious fruit for the very first time.

But instead of accepting Sarah's generous offer, the younger woman backed away and shook her head adamantly. Hmmm.... Her waking self was more prickly than Mason had expected, her shoulders tense and her steps jerky. Somehow, though, he found he preferred this reality over the imagined perfection of his sleeping beauty.

She was strong, poised, full of fire.

"I shouldn't," Fee said, turning away to face the open window.

The open window through which a long, slender plant currently twined. When no one was looking, the invader had curled along one wall before dropping down to hide beneath a table of cultivated crops. And now the earth's malicious intellect infused the vine and prompted tendrils to strike at Sarah's unprotected back.

Malicious greenery, here inside the Sunsphere.

Mason's mind fogged with rage and the fire in his belly threatened to overwhelm him. The enemy had breached the walls of his home for the very first time...and the last. Through blood-tinted haze, he saw Sarah's lips moving. Yet he couldn't parse a single word as he lashed out, aiming for the grasping vine that threatened his foster mother's precious life.

But something else got there first. Magenta light streaked past his peripheral vision. Flame burst into being. The vine turned black and shriveled emaciated to the floor.

Sarah was safe.

Turning, Mason took in Fee's face as their eyes met at long last. Smoke drifted up from his treasure's hands to loop around her pale features. Residual fire glinted from dilated pupils.

Fee wasn't just metaphorically fiery. She was literally a fire mage.

Puzzle pieces rearranged in his memory as Mason finally allowed himself to understand the obvious. He'd picked out the flare of magical flames from a distance the night before, had flown to the spot to find this strangely soft-skinned slogger nestled amidst the ashes. The flames had parted to pass her by, their tribute to a powerful wizard who stroked their egos and fueled their burning.

Now, Mason was shamed by his own tunnel vision. Why should all mages be old, wizened grandfathers? Of course there were young, beautiful women among the enemy's ranks as well.

Young, beautiful women like his treasure.

Fire raged beneath overheated skin as Mason's legs carried him forward without conscious intent. "Why?" he demanded, forcing his voice to come out cold and hard. But unruly fingers mitigated his harshness, reaching out to brush a wisp of lustrous red hair out of his companion's face. Remnants of fire-turned-static-electricity pressed tendrils against seeking fingers, twined hair around over-sensitized skin, clung on with all its might. Mason ached to respond in kind.

"I couldn't let her die," the fire mage breathed.

That hadn't been what Mason was asking. Saving Sarah's life was a no-brainer, the instinctive reaction of an honorable soul...

...And maybe that had answered his question after all. Fire crackled in a halo around Mason's body and he took two long steps backwards to protect his treasure from further harm. But his overpowering energy only licked at the woman's skin like a caress. No, a meager flame like this one wouldn't burn through the shields of a fire mage.

Instead, his supposed enemy straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and glared into his eyes. "I know I shouldn't be here. I failed. You've found me out. Now...are you going to kill me in front of your mother or what?"

Kill her? What Mason wanted to do was to accept the beckoning curve of those tantalizing lips and kiss this invader into submission. To drag her back down to the bottom floor of the Aerie and make love to her until she screamed with pleasure.

Instead, he compromised. Sliding back into the strange beauty's personal space, he ran fingers up one bare arm, watching goosebumps trail erect beneath his touch. Pressing in a little closer, he hummed as blue draconic flames enveloped them both. Then he waited, hoped...and growled in pleasure as her fire leapt up to join his own.

Magenta and indigo, their flames danced together. Intertwined until there was only one rich, deep purple enfolding two people in its heated embrace. Then, when he could barely breathe from anticipation, Mason growled, "Tell me not to kiss you."

He waited with tensed muscles for her to push him away. To lash out or flee, to act like the adversary she appeared to be.

Only she didn't. Instead, Fee stood up on tiptoes, her breath kissing his mouth when she spoke. "But you don't even know me."

"But I like what I see," he rebutted. And this time around, he didn't wait before plundering the lush lips that beckoned his own.

Her mouth sizzled as it made contact, sucking away Mason's breath and leaving him gasping for air. Fire raged between them, scorching his skin and heating his formerly frigid body into an inferno.

Mason hadn't realized how deeply he'd Faded until flames returned to their former levels in an instant. The agony was as painfully satisfying as changing shape and taking to the air after an enforced eternity on two legs. For the first time in weeks, he felt light, powerful, unbelievably alive.

Taking advantage of heightened senses, Mason deepened the kiss, parting his treasure's lips and probing deeper inside. The mage tasted like blueberries and sugar. She felt both soft and hard at once beneath his questing fingers, and he pulled her in closer until she was leaning against his hungry body.

She fit like the key that unlocked his heart.

But Fee was absurdly covered with clothes, clothes, endless clothes. Fingers drifted south, hoping to uncover a patch of bare skin. Instead, Mason found himself fumbling at the lumpy sweater that hid what he suspected was a perfectly curved hip from his greedy embrace.

Aha. There. The knot wasn't much, the faded gray obstacle falling to her feet as he pressed hungry belly against waiting skin...

...Only to find something entirely unexpected pressing back. Forgetting to be a gentleman, Mason sent hands darting beneath the hem of her shirt, searching for an explanation.

It wasn't the explanation he'd hoped for. Hard lumps and thin wires. Cold plastic and slick tape.

Vaguely, the shifter noticed Sarah's gasped complaint as he thrust his treasure's shirt upward with abruptly chilling fingertips. But his foster mother needn't have worried. Mason wasn't planning to disrobe this beauty and make love to her there on the hydroponic lab's tiled floor.

Instead, he was seeking the danger that his fingers had stumbled upon but that his brain refused to admit existed.

Only his brain was wrong and his fingers were right. There, strapped around the fire mage's slender waist, lay enough firepower to eradicate the Sunsphere.

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# Chapter 10

For one agonizing moment after the Lord Dragon appeared by her side, Fee couldn't gather enough breath to move. The dragon--her dragon--was terrifyingly beautiful in the flesh. He was head and shoulders taller than herself, his muscular bulk so tremendous it bordered on the sublime. His dark eyes pierced hers and his rich marshmallow aroma intoxicated her senses. Worse, the entirety of his human form was wreathed in a magnetic forest of flickering flames.

The fire must have been what pushed her over the edge. That's the only way Fee could explain forgetting who she was and why she was present in enemy territory. Forgetting Malachi's hard fists and the desperate poverty of the people who shared her underground home.

Instead, she'd clutched the dragon's shoulders for stability as she half-climbed his body to claim the offered lips with her own. She hummed into his mouth and twined fingers through raven locks as she collapsed into the satisfying heat of crackling flames.

Although, to be fair, it wasn't pure physical attraction that moved her. Instead, Fee's actions were an acceptance of the conclusion that had been trickling into her brain all morning long.

Mason was the closest thing she'd ever seen to pure good on two feet. Despite the dreary picture her father had painted of the magic-less majority bowing down beneath a dragon's overbearing thumb, the inhabitants of the Sunsphere weren't terrified and imprisoned lackeys. If anything, that particular description more aptly applied to her own compatriots who walked with bent shoulders beneath Malachi's gimlet gaze.

Knowing that Mason nurtured such trust and happiness in his community, Fee allowed herself to be drawn by his magnificent fire. She sank into their shared kiss and luxuriated into the burning fingers that caressed her shoulders and neck. For a long moment, in fact, she even forgot their joining was being witnessed by a rather embarrassing audience--Mason's plant-loving foster mother.

Only when cold air licked at her bared midriff did Fee glance down and see her secret revealed. Then breath fled as she read the words moving across the cell phone's illuminated screen.

"Last call," Malachi had typed. Her father's impatience echoed through the air, his anger sharp in the eight small letters.

He wouldn't.

But Fee's fingers were already fumbling frantically to tap out a reply. Because deep down inside, she knew that her father really would. He would punish a daughter who disobeyed his orders, even if that rebellion was as minor as a delayed check-in. He would set off this bomb in the wrong part of the Aerie out of pure spite.

He would extinguish his only daughter's life, considering the gesture an acceptable loss in the pursuit of his overarching goal.

Knowing she had mere seconds to change Malachi's decision, terror made fingers clumsy as they slid across the slick surface. Then words changed to numbers as Fee failed at her task.

2:00, 1:59, 1:58.

It was already almost too late.

"Turn it off," Mason demanded.

For an instant, her father's harsh voice filled her mind in counterpoint. This was Fee's final chance to force Mason's hand. She could dart aside and grab the dragon's mother, threaten Sarah with the knife swiped from a third-floor drawer. After sensing protective passion smoldering beneath Mason's skin during that mind-altering kiss, Fee knew her companion would do anything to save his mother's life.

But instead, she looked away, unable to meet the intensity of her companion's gaze. "I can't," she breathed.

1:55, 1:54: 1:53.

For three long seconds, Lord Dragon stared at her, pain and disappointment evident in his gaze. Then he turned his back, those joyous flames a distant memory as he barked orders at the older woman watching with cocked head from the opposite side of a hydroponics bench.

"Evacuate everyone," he demanded. Then, despite the time limit, he waited for Sarah to reach the down staircase before grabbing Fee's arm and pulling her up the stairs leading in the opposite direction. Seconds later, they stepped together onto the open platform that made up the Sunsphere's roof.

Wind snatched away what little breath Fee had managed to regain and she gasped at the cold. The wintry gust bit into her skin, whipping a strand of hair into her mouth and tearing her eyes.

"Can you at least take it off?" her dragon asked quietly. Mason should have been livid with rage. But instead, he was far more patient than rapidly disappearing numbers on the cell-phone screen gave him reason to be.

Fee forced air through a tightened windpipe and nodded. "Yes, but it'll take time."

"Hopefully less than one minute and forty seconds of time," Mason countered. She thought there was a hint of a smile on his hard face, but then the man was gone and a massive dragon stood on the open platform in his place.

If Mason had been enticing in his human form, he was now entrancing. By rights, a dragon should have grabbed Fee around her waist and gripped her painfully as he launched himself away from the people he loved. But, instead, the Lord Dragon himself stood stock still as if she had reason to be scared of him rather than vice versa. Didn't he realize Fee was strapped skin to wires with explosives?

Well, if Mason wasn't going to grab her, then it was up to Fee to find her own way aboard the only available transportation on offer. Because sometime between waking in a marshmallow-scented bed and discovering that her father considered her expendable, Fee had decided to do everything in her power to rescue the defenseless innocents below. Now, without hesitating, she gave herself a leg up via the dragon's bent elbow then created handholds out of one curved scale after another as she scrambled atop Mason's back.

Flames opened out around them like the petals of a flower. No, those weren't flames, they were wings. Sails of fire that carried the two aloft while enfolding Fee in the most profound feeling of safety she'd ever experienced.

It wasn't an entirely smooth ascent, though. Instead, the abrupt motion of the dragon's launch nearly tossed Fee from her perch. But Mason's tail bumped her back into place in the valley separating shoulders from neck, preventing her from plummeting to an untimely death.

0:58, 0:57, 0:56.

While Fee had been figuring out how to board a dragon, the cell phone had already breached the final minute of its countdown. Time seemed to expand and contract all at once, each instant lasting an eternity but also whipping past as quickly as the wind flew by her face.

Hurry up, Fee reminded herself.

She had work to do if she wanted to experience another toe-curling kiss with the human equivalent of her draconic steed. So she ignored both dizzying earth rushing by beneath unshod feet and fingers aching from their death grip around the dragon's massive neck. Instead, she pried one hand loose with an effort and stuffed bare toes into jagged cracks between heated dragon scales. Then, after hesitating only an instant, she relinquished her second handhold as well.

Fee knew she should have been terrified to ride hands-free on a dragon with ticking explosives strapped around her waist. But instead, her original fear fled as fire magic consumed her. Opening her mouth, she whooped with delight...and was nearly startled from her aerial perch as the massive dragon beneath her mirrored the cry.

Mason's bellow of sound and flame, unlike her own, served a utilitarian purpose. Down in the swirling mass of snow beneath massive dragon belly, other fliers launched themselves from the summit of towers clustered along the river's nearest bank. Three dark specks grew as they arrowed upward to join the dragon to whom she clung, and Fee knew she was soon fated to meet the other shifters who called the Aerie home.

0:39, 0:38, 0:37.

Okay, enough sightseeing. It was time to prevent the catastrophe her father had set into motion. And, really, the effort shouldn't be so hard.

After all, Fee rather than Malachi had placed the device around her waist in the first place. Fee rather than Malachi had been the one to pore over books late at night, deciphering wiring diagrams as she cradled her mug of steaming chamomile tea and ached for missing sleep.

When it came right down to it, the puzzle was merely a matter of disentangling threads of copper and teasing them back out the way they'd come in. It was as simple as pulling loose just the right wire and leaving the entirety deactivated, a harmless hunk of metal and plastic.

Okay, so there was also one small failsafe to consider, the fact that removing the cell phone from its cradle or pressing a single button would cause the bomb to detonate prematurely.

But even that trigger wasn't the cause of the sinking sensation in the pit of Fee's stomach. No, it was a second fleeting glance earthward that turned an exhilarating ride into a journey through hell. And not because of a fear of heights either.

Because back in their underground tunnels, Fee had taken her father's words as fact. She was to be the invader, the sole warrior bringing fire-mage battle to the heart of the dragons' domain.

Now she realized that Malachi had been lying about her purpose in the Aerie just as he'd lied about everything else. Even from this distance, she easily recognized the canary jacket of Malachi's second-in-command as the man crept through the tangle of winter-sleepy Green below. And once she focused on the glow of gold, she could pick out a handful...no a score...of soldiers stealthily stalking through the plant-covered city in the minor mage's wake.

The conclusion was gut-wrenching and obvious all at once. Fee hadn't been her father's carefully trained assassin. No, as she took in the scene arrayed beneath her, she realized she'd never been anything other than bait.

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# Chapter 11

Evacuate the humans to the tunnels. Mason flashed the frequently practiced but never before used code to his brothers, ultraviolet pigments in his scales changing to match the pattern they'd developed during a misspent youth. In reply, Zane immediately peeled out of formation, shifting even as he landed on the Riverview's roof then sprinting for the stairs to carry out the Lord Dragon's orders.

With both sets of towers taken care of, that left only the bomb itself to defuse. Cold air bit into Mason's hide as he turned away from the houseboats arrayed across Golden Reservoir. The west, in contrast, was a Green stronghold, a spot where Fee could drop the explosives without harming human life.

Heading established, Mason twisted his neck backward to check on his precious cargo. Despite a clear understanding that the redhead had come to the Aerie with the intent to do harm, his belly immediately filled with peaceful embers as he watched his treasure work.

Long tresses whipped around her face while pellets of ice settled into the gap between collar and skin. But Fee was so engrossed in her task that she noticed neither wind, cold, nor the fact that she was currently perched on a dragon's moving back.

So much like Sam. Mason couldn't count the number of times he'd walked in on his brother intent upon a sea of engineering drawings, how many times he'd slipped a plate of food onto the corner of Sam's desk only to return hours later to find the offering still untouched.

Instinctively, Mason shied away from the memory...but then he slowly eased back toward an image that emanated warm nostalgia rather than the usual flame-quenching guilt. His chest expanded as his fire grew. And for the first time since Sam's premature death, a reminder of his twin sent Mason soaring higher into the cloud-filled sky rather than plummeting toward the grasping plants below.

But the moment of tranquility was short-lived. Even as the dragon watched, his treasure's chin tilted earthward and her hands went abruptly still. Then she peered toward Mason's face, her already pale skin now so ashen that the dragon was terrified she'd lose her grip and fall down, down, down toward the perennially hungry Green.

Immediately, he whipped his own head forward, berating himself for startling a human who wasn't accustomed to staring into a dragon's gargantuan eyes. Fee was so small in comparison to his true form, her body so nearly weightless that he could barely feel human thighs squeezing the saddle of draconic neck as his passenger clung on for dear life. No wonder she'd been startled.

Maybe Fee can relax now that she's not gazing into eyeballs as large as she is tall....

Except his passenger didn't relax. Instead, her muscles tensed further and her fists started pounding a staccato against hard-edged scales.

The pummeling didn't hurt, but it did provoke Mason to glance backward one more time in an effort to assess the situation. "...Dangerous men!" his rider was saying, words barely audible as she yelled against the roar of the whipping wind.

But her hand signal was easier to understand. His treasure had lost her focus on the bomb and was pointing east and down, back toward the towers from which they'd come.

At first, Mason saw nothing but swaying trees and falling snow. Then, at long last, a bright yellow jacket glinted into view.

Once color alerted him to location, impending danger quickly became apparent. Here, there, and everywhere, the forest swayed with movement as humans passed underneath. The invaders were scattered at first but soon coalesced into a circle around the undefended buildings he and his brothers had so recently left behind.

Enemies. Mason whipped his tail up to loop protectively around his treasure's waist. He knew the gesture was frightening for a human unused to dragon-riding, but he couldn't risk the woman falling off as he dove directly for his dangerous prey.

Because prey they were. At any other time, the Lord Dragon might have given the invaders benefit of the doubt, might have asked questions before assuming malevolent intent despite the men's unusual actions. After all, supplicants knew they could arrive openly and make their requests at the public docks. So why bother creeping toward the towers through the danger of the Green?

Mason knew better than anyone how dragons could frighten humans out of their good sense. Still, his treasure had recognized something about these men. Why else would she have turned from tunnel-vision engineer into terrified girl at the drop of a hat? And from the way she now leaned forward, fingers tense as they clung to the gaps between scales, Fee knew the humans below were up to no good.

Which meant Mason was equally confident of the same. Thrusting swirling eddies of snow aside with beating wings, he roared out a warning as he gathered flame inside himself to prepare for attack. The initial goal would be to capture the secretive humans without loss of life. But he wouldn't risk the safety of his people to do so, not when a hot tear whipped away from his treasure's cheek and sizzled harmlessly against his flame-riddled hide.

Then an even less familiar sensation captured his attention. The vibration worked its way through his treasure's leg and into his skin, and for a soul-shattering moment the dragon thought his rider was shaking with terror. Only when he risked another glance backward did he realize the tingle had instead emanated from the chiming of a silenced phone.

The invaders were so close to the Aerie by this point that Mason's rage threatened to turn him into a ball of formless fire. Yet he managed to squash the impulse and hover above their heads, watching as Fee reached toward the cell phone with shaking fingers.

"Hello?" she said at last, one finger swiping to accept the call. But she hadn't removed the device from its holster, and her legs squeezed against his neck so hard that she must have expected the bomb to blow them both to smithereens as soon as she touched the screen.

Nothing happened, though. Instead, the only explosion was the pounding within Mason's chest that sped up to match the pulse of the woman once more clinging to his neck with her one free hand.

"Is the dragon listening?" a male voice asked, not bothering to greet Fee by name. Instantly, flame within Mason's belly channeled itself into intent focus. This was the true enemy, the man who had sent an honorable but bruised mage into the Aerie with an incendiary device strapped around her huggable waist. This was the man Mason was meant to find and kill.

"I'm not sure if he can hear..." Fee started.

Mason might have been tempted to see how much information he could glean by pretending not to notice the conversation taking place on his back. But his treasure's voice shook and his fire rose up again, refusing to accept her pain.

Roaring, the Lord Dragon made his presence known.

And as his bellow faded away, the air descended into silence broken only by the beating of massive wings. Two brothers had formed up at his flanks while invaders below gave up on stealth and began running toward their goal as fast as puny human feet could carry them.

But the Lord Dragon was willing to wait. Because he was stalking a far more important enemy now. One who wasn't close enough to see or fight.

Or was he?

"Look east," came that insidious male voice. Together, Mason and Fee swiveled to glance toward the reservoir that connected the Aerie to the larger outside world. At this time of year, the smooth-surfaced water was sparsely populated, the haven no longer quite so necessary to protect people from Green encroachment. Still, there were more than a dozen boats currently peppering the surface, each representing several human lives buoyed up by the rivers that Sam's genius had helped to dam.

But surely that wasn't what the enemy wanted Mason to see?

Then magenta light flared from the massive embankment that held back the flow of two rivers. A lone human figure stood atop the weir, his index finger pointing down to the right, down to the left, then to a dozen other spots along the tremendous face of the dam.

From his current distance, Mason could barely make out specks where the man gestured. But when a burst of violet turned into a gushing flow of water, his brain quickly filled in the blanks.

Fee's bomb was the least of the Aerie's worries. Because if this man destroyed the upstream dam and released reservoir waters to gush down into the Aerie's valley, then every human currently hiding beneath Sunsphere and Riverview would drown.

Houseboats would be swept along and crushed into splinters as they slammed into trees and fell over the newly created falls. Bodies would float to the surface just like that one gut-wrenching memory out of the Lord Dragon's guilty past.

In the end, everything Mason and his brother had envisioned would be lost in one moment of complete devastation.

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# Chapter 12

The bomb hadn't blown.

Fee couldn't quite wrap her mind around the fact that she was speaking to her father post-countdown, alive and well rather than separating into bloody fragments to rain down upon the fluffy layer of pristine snow below.

She should have been relieved. But instead she felt numb...and not just because of the rime of ice forming atop her unprotected head.

"You lied to me," she murmured as a six-inch waterfall gushed out of a small hole in the concrete dam. Her emotions felt just like that plummeting water. Anger, rage, and disappointment were beginning to leak out from behind her formerly impenetrable barriers. And Fee had a sinking suspicion that if those feelings fully erupted, she wouldn't be able to stuff the repressed thoughts back inside ever again.

Because she now realized that Malachi had played her for a fool from the very beginning. He'd planned destruction far more heinous than anything she would have willingly taken part in. And, knowing his daughter's feelings on the matter, the fire mage had purposefully left her out of the loop, twisting her bomb-making skills into a master plan Fee would have adamantly refused to embrace had she understood what she was signing on for.

Worse, Malachi didn't even attempt to deny her current accusation. Instead, his voice grew as cold as the wind biting into her cheeks when he replied. "This is no time for childish drama."

Despite herself, Fee flinched backwards, nearly sending herself tumbling off Mason's heated neck in the process. She knew that Malachi was currently too distant to harm her physically, but his tone suggested that she'd pay for her commentary sooner rather than later. Yes, she'd pay in pain once her father had vanquished the dragons and installed all of his people--Fee included--in the elevated splendor of their new home.

So perhaps it wasn't irrational after all to cringe away from the threat of punishment that came through loud and clear in her father's clipped tone.

But before Fee could fully wrap her mind around parental betrayal, her minor rebellion was forgotten as Malachi returned his attention to the shifter currently bearing her aloft. "Fly west, dragon," the mage demanded. "Every shifter will be out of this valley within the next five minutes or you'll have hundreds of deaths on your hands. You'll leave my daughter on the same charred mountaintop where you found her, then you'll discover another Aerie to terrorize. This one is now mine."

Between her thighs, Mason's muscles rippled as if he wanted to reply. So Fee spoke the words she knew her bearer ached to say. "And if he obeys, what will happen to the people he leaves behind?"

"Then they'll live." She could almost see Malachi waving away the minor issue with a flick of one long-fingered hand. It didn't matter to him whether the dragons' underlings scattered into the Green or accepted new jobs as loyal servants to a fire mage. In fact, her father likely couldn't understand why Mason and Fee bothered to ask about the fates of such inconsequential beings in the first place.

At least there's one dragon still alive inside the Riverview, Fee thought, grasping at straws as she attempted to think her way out of Malachi's trap. But even as she glanced toward the tower, a final shifter leapt into the air and winged toward his compatriots. Meanwhile, the humans were almost gone from beneath the trees, most having already slipped inside the first high-rise as they followed Malachi's orders to claim the space as their own.

Silence filled the air as dragons hung motionless for an endless moment. Mason's eyes were deep pools of sadness, but he made no move to countermand Malachi's orders. Instead, her bearer appeared to be waiting for Fee to decide whether they should go or stay.

The part of Fee that had emerged from its cocoon while she wandered up the stairs with a taco in one hand stretched and woke. It wanted to tell Mason to strike her father down, never mind the fact that Malachi was her only living relative. Her braver half wanted to urge the shifter to char fire-mage flesh to ash, removing the evil Malachi represented from their formerly paradisiacal world.

But she couldn't do it. Because she knew her father inside and out. And while obeying wasn't a certain path toward saving the lives of Sarah and the other human inhabitants of the Aerie, disobeying was equivalent to signing everyone's death warrants en masse.

Malachi would have the reservoir-side bombs rigged to explode unless he personally cut them off. And Fee couldn't live with all that blood on her hands.

"Okay," she said at last, the sound more breath than word. But it was enough, because her father confirmed his acceptance by ending the call with an abrupt click. And the dragons beneath and around her obeyed without argument, spinning in a formation of shining scales and barely repressed fire before retreating west as a single unit.

Perhaps it was because they were now flying into the wind, or perhaps the weather itself rejected Fee's capitulation. Either way, the snow that had been drifting down like gentle holiday ornamentation abruptly transformed into a gale of billowing white. Landmarks disappeared as the ground faded away, and their journey soon took on the aspect of an endless flight into the void.

Meanwhile, the heat Mason had sent into his neck faded, Fee's bare feet going numb as they clung to his rough-scaled hide. Her eyes squeezed shut at the pain in her aching fingertips, but impending tears refused to overflow.

No, Fee didn't deserve the catharsis of crying. Not after helping her father rip apart the only real refuge that had come into existence since the Before.

Between her own betrayal and the frigid cold, in fact, she should have been glad when her belly informed her that the cadre of dragons was swooping downward rather than flying straight ahead as fast as wings could beat fire through frozen air. But, instead, she swallowed hard against the obstruction in her throat. Mason would leave her now and she'd never see him again. The one spark of joy in her life was winking out as quickly as it had initially flared into existence.

Sure enough, her dragon touched down amidst a powdery mixture of black ashes and white snow that danced and sparkled around his mantled wings. Then the Lord Dragon was human, his strong arms holding Fee above the ground so bare feet wouldn't touch numbing ice.

"What now?" he demanded, his voice rough with the same emotion that coursed through her slender frame.

"Now you go," Fee answered, staring at the gray fluff settling back around her dragon's booted feet. "He'll call me to check and...I can't lie to him."

It was yet another deficiency on her part, she knew. Yet another way she'd failed to live up to the strength and honor of the Lord Dragon who even now chaffed bare arms between broad palms until goosebumps faded and warmth entered frozen limbs.

"Okay," he said simply. Then, glancing over one shoulder, the Lord Dragon jerked his chin commandingly at three men standing only a few feet away.

They were like knights out of a fairy tale, all craggy chins and ramrod-straight backs. Which would make her dragon the king, she supposed, since they obeyed him without the requirement of words.

Heated clothes flew off male limbs as a pile of socks, sweaters, and scarves accumulated in the tallest shifter's waiting arms. The Lord Dragon laid a scarf on the ground to protect Fee's bare feet, then he set her down and knelt to remove his battered boots.

Once her companion's coverings had been reduced to the bare essentials, the Lord Dragon proceeded to reassemble all four shifters' clothing around Fee herself. First he layered every sock they owned onto her frozen feet, then he laced tough brown leather back up around shaking ankles to separate skin from snow.

Three sweaters and a scarf-turned-head-covering later and Fee was actually beginning to feel warm. Still, the icy core within her chest grew larger rather than smaller as she waited for the dragons to shift and leave her behind for good.

Sure enough, three men flared into draconic shape, eyes intent upon Mason as a trio of winged monstrosities awaited further instructions. "Keep flying west," he told them. "I'll catch up shortly."

Snow chilled cheeks and ash stung eyes as the dragons leapt into flight. Then Fee found her face pressed into the protective bulk of Mason's chest. He'd given her his own sweater, so only a thin layer of cotton lay between her nose and the skin she ached to claim as her own.

He still smelled like marshmallows. Sweet, smoky, and enticing.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, knowing her actions were unforgivable. Never mind her eleventh-hour change of heart, she'd come to the Aerie intent upon blowing up Mason's home, had considered taking the dragons' mother hostage at knife-point. No, she wasn't the type of woman a shifter like the Lord Dragon would willingly invite into his ring of light.

Only he ignored her apology as unnecessary. "We'll find a way through to the other side," he rumbled. "And then, I'll return to you."

Ever since her dragon had landed, Fee had been too chagrined to look into his face. But now seductive words pulled her chin upwards at last. Caramelized sugar once again invaded her nostrils and she breathed in one final gasp of hope.

Then her shifter took three huge steps backwards and a mighty dragon lashed its tail where Mason had once stood. The Lord Dragon bugled a farewell as he ascended, and off in the distance three mournful cries matched his own.

Fee wanted to stare after her receding dragon until he dwindled into a speck and finally disappeared into the snow-shrouded distance. But the cell phone at her hip was vibrating and she couldn't afford to ignore the hated device...or to do as she really wished and stomp it beneath the hard heel of her borrowed boots.

Instead, she raised cold plastic to colder ear. "They're gone," she said, her voice emotionless and her eyes dry. "They flew west."

"Good," Malachi answered, his words just as flat as her own. "Come to the Aerie as quickly as possible. I'll be waiting."

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# Chapter 13

Mason fell rather than landed as he touched down on the flat ledge of rock at long last. He almost hadn't made it, usually harmless flakes of snow beating back his fire bit by bit as he flew away from his treasure and away from his home.

Hesitating, he drew on every ounce of energy he had left, managing one final shift to join his brothers beneath the slanted overhang. With Fee out of reach, the Fade was coming fast and his limbs quivered with bone-deep cold and exhaustion. He wouldn't leave this sheltered cranny alive, but at least he'd meet fate on two human legs.

Zane raised an eyebrow at Mason's flubbed descent, but the twins didn't appear to notice any unusual lack of grace. "The bastard!" Alexander roared instead of a greeting, his form shimmering back and forth between human and dragon as emotions riled up inner flame.

Nicholas and Zane were no less angry, but they understood that wasting energy wasn't the way to save the people they'd left behind. So the former laid a calming hand on his twin's fiery shoulder while the latter knelt to kindle a stack of damp wood into a raging bonfire. Someone had been wise enough to put his muscles to good use while waiting for their Lord Dragon to return, and Mason appreciated the gesture as warmth licked a layer of chill away from his bones.

The thaw took longer than it should have, but Mason's teeth finally stopped chattering sufficiently for him to speak. "Our people will wait until morning if they can," he said, keeping his voice firm and commanding with an effort, "but then they'll need to leave the tunnels. Zane and Alexander, I'm counting on you to hold back the Green as they head for the ferries. Nicholas, you'll begin scouting out a new Aerie, somewhere safe for this winter and for the long haul as well."

The unexpected orders caught Alexander's attention at last. "Nicholas and I can watch over our people. Send Zane to look for a new home."

The rock ledge grew silent as the volatile twin glanced back and forth between his wordless companions. Everyone knows but you, Mason thought sadly, wishing he didn't have to be the one to squash Alexander's childlike view of the world.

Because the twin's suggested alternative made perfect sense...or it would have if the dragons had been fighting off a human enemy while otherwise going about business as usual. Alexander and Nicholas worked better together rather than apart. Of course it made sense for twins to guard the Aerie's inhabitants as a unit.

But Mason could barely muster enough energy to speak, let alone fly. Yesterday, he'd believed the Fade was a figment of Sarah's overactive imagination. Today, after fighting against a headwind that nearly crushed him against the side of this rock cliff when it should have barely ruffled his whiskers, he had to accept that his foster mother had been right.

Without the boost Fee gave to his inner fire, Mason wouldn't last much longer. And twinless Zane was likely to succumb to the same fate sooner rather than later.

Only a twin could be counted upon as the long-term leader of the dwindling Aerie population. So Mason forced out a reply from between frozen lips, knowing even as he spoke that his words were terse and cruel. "No. Nicholas is our new Lord Dragon."

A gust of wind lashed snow inside their open-fronted shelter as three brothers assessed the shifter who'd been their leader for so long. Could they see the way water dripped from his sodden clothing rather than evaporating into vapor on contact as it would have done the day before? Did they note how his knees buckled, forcing him to lean against the rock wall in an effort to remain erect?

Yes, his weakness must have been painfully obvious. Because his brothers' eyes fell to the ground while their lips firmed into pursed frowns.

"I'll stay with you," Zane said after a long moment, the implication clear. His twinless brother was offering to stand sentinel as Mason succumbed to the Fade.

"Thank you, but no." It was a good thought, a kind thought. But Mason would rather leave the world behind with neither flame nor friend to buoy him up rather than allow their enemies to triumph when dragons spread their forces too thin. "Go. Take care of Sarah."

And, abruptly, even heat from the nearby fire wasn't enough to keep his inner flame alight. Because the thought of his foster mother's face when she learned that yet another son had perished reminded him of her tearless visage fourteen years earlier after Sam had died on his watch.

Cold gnawed at Mason's insides as memories he'd fought so hard to repress bubbled back up to the surface. Memories of Sam's smiling face. Memories of Sam's enthusiasm. Memories of his twin begging Mason to tag along on an ill-fated kayak journey as they scouted the confluence of two rivers before the Golden Reservoir was built.

"It's not a good idea," Mason had told his twin in the same imperious tone of voice he later used to name a new Lord Dragon. Birth order meant little when dragonets popped out of the egg within seconds of each other. Still, both boys had long ago accepted the fact that Mason was the metaphorical older brother, the one with a solid head on his shoulders.

But this time around, Sam had merely laughed away his twin's concerns. "Scared, are you? Don't worry, big bro, I'll protect you."

They'd tussled on the carpeted floor then, two lanky teenagers who were growing into the shared job of Lord Dragon. And when Mason twisted his twin's arm behind his back and forced Sam to cry Uncle, he'd assumed the matter was settled in his favor.

Except it wasn't. Because Sam had snuck back out the very next morning, had packed a lunch and a sweater just in case the day turned cold. But he didn't bring a life preserver, never mind that river water could quench a dragon's flame and take his life just as easily as the Fade.

When Sam failed to return that evening, everyone turned out to search the surrounding countryside. A bright orange kayak was found floating bottom up on the second day, but the missing shifter hadn't surfaced for a week after that.

During those gut-wrenching seven days, Mason forced himself to believe that Sam was merely injured and awaiting rescue. Perhaps his beloved twin had broken an arm and been unable to fly. Or maybe he'd fallen into one of the sinkholes the Green sometimes created to toy with uninvited guests.

But no. Sam's bloated body finally bobbed back to the surface on a sandbar in the river, his bulging eyes seeming to accuse Mason of failing in his duty as brother's keeper.

Sarah's fiery words thereafter were nearly dragon-like in their intensity when she insisted Sam's actions were not his sibling's fault. But the newly minted Lord Dragon knew better. Sam had asked him to come, Mason had refused, and his brother had died. Where else could the fault possibly lie?

Since then, Sarah had never been quite the same. And now cold shivers racked Mason's body as he wondered whether his mother would survive losing yet another dragon son, this time to the relentless cooling of the Fade.

"Our mother is a tough old bird," Nicholas said, stating the obvious. "She's lost everything once. She'll carry through yet again."

Mason wanted to beg additional promises from his closest friends, to pass along every bit of half-assed wisdom he'd accumulated while heading up the Aerie alone since Sam's passing. But time was of the essence and he wouldn't risk his people's safety for his own selfish needs.

Instead, he accepted claps on the back from one twin after the other. Let Zane pull him close in something dangerously resembling a hug while they both ignored liquid droplets falling onto Mason's shoulder in quick succession.

The water was condensation from the rocks above, he decided. It couldn't be his brother's tears.

"Here." Three chips of darkness rattled into his palm before Mason even realized he'd extended his hand. Zane's lips quirked upwards into a bittersweet grin as the familiar aroma rose to encircle both of their noses. "Jasper gave me some for Sarah," his brother explained. "But she'd want you to taste it at least once before you go."

Chocolate. The morsels were so tiny and fleeting. Mason knew from experience they'd melt in short order in his fiery palm.

Only his hand was no longer warm, but chilled. And the chocolate retained its form as his brothers offered nods of farewell then leapt out into the emptiness of the winter air.

In seconds, Mason was alone with nothing but three sweet tidbits, a spitting fire, and the roar of wind as it whipped past the opening of his shelter. Stepping closer to the edge, he stared out into the endless white.

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# Chapter 14

The chocolate tasted like love. Like one long hug from a diminutive woman who seemed to have grown smaller even as Mason stretched upward from boyhood to become an adult in his own right. Like the jewel-toned glint in the eyes of a child who'd spent years as a refugee and couldn't quite believe she was now free to run and play as she wished throughout the Lord Dragon's domain. Like a dream of the new under cook someday forgetting her fear and chasing Mason out of her kitchen with a long-handled spoon.

Chocolate tasted like Fee's kiss. All flames and excitement and smoldering fire. And like the touch of his treasure's lips, its effects warmed him from the inside out.

The other two morsels had begun melting against his fingers when Mason slipped them into his pants pocket for safekeeping. Because, Fade or no Fade, he wasn't quite ready to leave life behind. Not when he'd yet to enjoy Fee's delight after tasting a bite of rich, dark chocolate for the very first time.

So, recklessly, he leapt two-legged from the ledge, shifting in a burst of flame seconds before he connected with rocky ground. And when he soared up toward the starry sky, his body was smaller than usual but still quite capable of carrying itself aloft.

Unfortunately, the darkness of a winter night had taken the place of falling snow in the minutes since his brothers left. Which presented a problem. Even a dragon's ability to pick out infrared light did little good when everything both above and below was layered beneath a blanket of cold and ice.

I have no clue how to find her, Mason realized. In daylight, he could have returned to the charred zone of the former fire and tracked his treasure's footsteps from the source. But at night? He'd be forced to swoop upon every spark of heat in hopes one might be the woman he ached to hold in his own two arms rather than a rabbit or weasel out for a midnight stroll across the wintry expanse.

The notion threatened to quench chocolate-kindled flame in his belly, but Mason refused to allow the Fade to gain another foothold before he said goodbye to the woman he loved. Tonight, he was on a mission and the disease that clawed against his life-giving fire could bloody well wait.

Instead, he forced aching flight muscles to work harder than ever before as he ascended into the frigid heights of the cloudless sky. Moist air solidified into frost as it streamed from draconic nostrils and ice soon coated his cheeks and neck.

But Mason ignored any discomfort and instead strained his eyes to their utmost. There had to be something for him to see, some clue to point out his missing treasure's location. If he flew high enough and searched long enough, he had to believe he'd somehow find her again.

When the long-sought clue finally flared to life, though, Mason almost didn't believe it existed. Because Fee had made it abundantly clear that she couldn't disobey the man calling the shots on her mission. That she couldn't even strategize for fear she'd reveal Mason's secrets to the fire mage on the other end of the cell phone the minute her dragon flew out of sight.

So why did magenta magic wink into existence miles away, midway between the brothers' meeting place and the Aerie they'd left behind? Was it possible yet another mage was out stalking this wintry waste on what was quickly turning into the coldest night of the year?

Ignoring logic, Mason turned and sped toward the flame even as the glow flickered and went out. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, hoping the light would return.

Nothing. The violet vision might have been merely another symptom of the Fade, his eyes playing tricks as his body edged ever closer to shutting down. Regardless, he set his bearings on a distant star and winged toward the spot from which the spark had initially come.

Twenty minutes later, his faith was rewarded as magenta light flickered on once again. It was northwest of him now rather than southeast, as if he'd both overshot and lost his bearings all at once. Or perhaps the source of light had been traveling in the interim just as he had? Regardless, Mason once again latched onto its location and flew into the darkness, the flame in his belly growing just a little brighter as his wings beat against the wintry sky.

By dawn, he was hovering over a tiny figure that trudged gamely through the snow. Her right heel would be bitterly cold, Mason knew, because his boot had developed a leak at that particular seam, one he'd never bothered to fix while flames were always available to drive moisture away. Her fingers were tucked up into extra-long sleeves. Had he forgotten to offer gloves? And even from this carefully calibrated distance, Mason could see that falling snow had frozen her head scarf onto the strands of damp hair that framed her face.

But his treasure was alive and well. She had almost attained the Aerie, in fact, although she appeared to be purposefully bypassing the towers as she stuck close to the bank of the river. If she continued along her current trajectory, she would soon reach the reservoir that lay broad and blue along the city's eastern side.

Danger. The thought filled his mind even as flame readied itself in his chest. Because his treasure was walking into peril and he didn't intend to allow anything to harm a hair on her fiery head.

Previously, Fee had been passing through a dormant portion of the Green where her magenta sparks wouldn't present a threat to anyone, least of all herself. But now she made her way between trees and vines that retained their leaves, several of those sentient plants reaching out to brush at the mage's shoulders and arms as she passed.

Mason itched to wing closer and protect his treasure from the creeping enemy's assault. But he reined himself in with an effort. She knows what she's doing, he told himself. She knows I'm here if she needs me.

Or at least he hoped she did. Fee had never once waved as he circled above her head. Had never even glanced skyward to stare toward the speck of darkness that marked her dragon protector's location just beneath the low-lying clouds.

Instead, she'd walked relentlessly onward, twenty thousand steps then a flicker of light. Twenty thousand steps then another flare to prove to them both that she was still alive.

Or was the magic meant to prove her obedience to a man on the other end of the cell phone instead? A man who might even now be watching from the top of the Sunsphere where Sarah used to stand and smile as her boys cavorted in the summer breeze?

Ignoring the sliver of doubt that threatened to take up residence in his skull, Mason swooped northward then eased toward the reservoir from the direction opposite his treasure's much slower approach. Because Fee shouldn't be the only one zeroing in on that particular location now that the sun was fully visible in the sky. His brothers would be in the vicinity as well, guarding defenseless humans as the latter slipped out of tunnels and made their way to riverboats poised to ferry the Aerie's people upstream to safety with the new light of day.

Sure enough, the first boat was already being poled out of its hidden dock as Mason swung closer, the ferry master's long beard identifying him even from a distance. Lord Dragon bared his teeth in draconic approval. He'd known he could count on the wily old man to evade pursuers and protect the boat he treated like a first-born child, all while maintaining the usual spring in his step.

But wait. Was that Fee jumping nimbly onto the deck? Was that Fee grabbing the older man's arm and speaking so intently that her companion was left shaking his head as if attempting to dislodge a pesky gnat from his ear?

Despite Mason's best intentions to remain hidden in the thin haze of clouds now shielding the land, the Lord Dragon mantled his heat and drifted lower. As long as he didn't beat his wings, earth-bound humans might not even notice as he sank down within earshot.

Before he was low enough to hear, though, something passed between two sets of human hands. A glint of gold, a nod from the ferry master. Then the old man was leaving and Fee stood entirely alone on the deck of the boat.

She raised that dratted cell phone to her ear then tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the person on the other end to answer. And this time, Mason was close enough to hear Fee's words when she finally spoke.

"Papa Bug. I got turned around in the night, ended up at the reservoir instead of the towers. But it's a good thing. Because there's something here you need to see. Come as fast as you can. I'll be waiting."

There was something the enemy needed to see? Something like unprotected people soon to be loaded aboard this very same vessel?

Mason didn't want to believe the evidence of his own ears. Nonetheless, he found himself swirling away from his treasure, his flame flickering as it prepared to wink out.

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# Chapter 15

Fee emerged from the riverboat's lower level just as her father's tall figure appeared on the embankment a few hundred feet away. He was dressed in a robe that appeared to have been created overnight using the fabric from Mason's embroidered coverlet, all swirling patterns and intricate renditions of flame. Now, more than ever, he looked like what he'd always striven to be--a mage out of legend.

"Down here!" she called, waving an arm to catch his attention.

As Malachi picked his way across the slope toward her, Fee attempted to still her restless feet. But, instead, she found herself pacing back and forth across the open deck that had been intended to transport innocent humans away from the Aerie if the worst ever occurred. Now disaster had struck and Fee had selfishly claimed this riverboat for herself.

"I hope this is important," Malachi said at last, pausing on the bank only a few feet away from his daughter's elevated perch. He was out of breath, clouds of white streaming from his mouth at every exhale. And for the first time, Fee wondered if her father's incessant theater was meant to cover up his waning power as his body succumbed to the indignities of age.

Looking down onto his head, in fact, she noticed for the first time that Malachi was going bald, his red hair combed carefully backward to cover a thinning spot at the crown. Despite evidence of his mortality, however, Fee felt her shoulders rounding into their typical cringe. "Yes, Papa Bug. I swear it is important."

Her companion's face hardened at the childish endearment and Fee's eyes dropped to the metal decking at her feet. She waited to hear heavy boot steps thundering toward her, to feel displaced air as he raised an arm for a punishing blow. But when she finally risked a glance out of the corner of one eye, she instead found that her father remained earthbound at the water's edge.

"Malachi?" she prodded hesitantly.

"We both have work to do," the older mage said after a short pause that froze Fee's chest and left her unable to breathe. "So tell me what needs to be said with no other ears around, then get off that deathtrap. You've wasted enough time already."

A tiny haze of flames flickered to life at Fee's fingertips and she hastily pushed the rebellious appendages behind her back in hopes Malachi wouldn't notice. Still, her voice was firmer and louder than she'd intended when she finally managed to speak. "I promise this will be worth your while. But it's faster to show you than to tell you. Come aboard."

She expected Malachi to bristle at the request-turned-command. But, instead, he shrugged and backtracked to the plank the ferry master had left affixed between riverboat and shore. Like old times, the two worked harmoniously as they cast off the line and poled the vessel far enough away from the bank so they could start the engine without risking a stray tendril of Green flicking them both off the deck and into the icy danger of water on every side.

Finally, Fee pulled out the choke and smiled as the engine easily hummed to life. The sound was soothing, the carefully shielded fire even more heartening as it called to her inner flames. Even Malachi's face brightened a trifle as the sparks of life deep within the metal hulk brushed his habitual aggressions aside.

That complacency of banked fire bought Fee a precious few minutes of leeway, so the vessel was midway between two distant shores when Malachi's patience finally wore thin. Eventually, though, his eyes narrowed and his fingers tapped against the railing, prompting Fee to speak quickly before anger could burst free from her companion's restraints. "The dragons have come back to the Aerie, Father."

"They're here?" This time, Malachi was too startled by the news to complain about the name Fee hadn't dared use aloud since her mother died.

Rather than answer, Fee gauged the distance between boat and shore. Were they far enough away from the dam for safety? Were they still close enough to solid land for a fire mage to survive the swim?

She wasn't quite sure, and her hesitation was her downfall. A hard hand fell on her shoulder, then she was tumbling through the air, her cheek striking the deck as her hands instead fumbled at a more important task than breaking her fall.

"I asked you a question, girl." Malachi's voice was harsh against her ear, but worse was what she didn't hear emanating from the belly of the boat. Frantically, Fee pressed harder at the jury-rigged button she'd created out of odds and ends of wire and reused scraps of tape.

There. The pop was muffled yet present. And now the ear pressed against the cold decking relayed a gush of water playing counterpoint to the engine's steady hum.

"Bug?" Her father's tone turned hesitant as the first inkling of her betrayal sank into his megalomaniacal brain. "What have you done?"

Rather than answering, Fee pressed cold hands against colder floor panels and levered herself back to her feet. The wire she'd been carefully shielding was irrelevant now, so she let it drop away from freezing fingertips and tucked hands beneath armpits instead.

Immediately, the scent of dragon rose up from the sweater that encircled her shivering form. She was about to drown--a fire mage's worst nightmare. But she'd go down surrounded by marshmallows and magic, by hope and strength.

"That's not my name."

"Fee, then," her father countered impatiently, stepping back into her personal space.

Or at least he tried to. But the deck tilted abruptly as its waterlogged belly began dragging the formerly buoyant vessel down toward the reservoir floor. Instead of his usual placid walk, in fact, Malachi ended up clinging to his daughter's shoulders in an effort to remain erect.

Arms encircled her in an absurd mimicry of a loving hug, and Fee grimaced as she realized it was the only embrace Malachi had ever shared with his only child.

"That's not my name either," she replied, twisting out of his grasp and striding away uphill toward the far end of the vessel. As she marched, the engine roar abruptly stilled, its work ceasing as internal fire winked out.

Looked like mages weren't the only beings who couldn't handle the devastating effects of immersion in water.

"You're acting irrational, just like your mother." Malachi's voice was gently disappointed now rather than harsh. When orders and blows failed, he turned to reason...or to what passed for reason within his narcissistic, power-hungry brain. "This self-destruction makes no sense. We have a job to do, important work to carry out. And you've made your point. So how do we get back to shore?"

All this time, she had kept her gaze focused on the decking in an attempt to repel her father's destructive anger. But the absurdity of the gesture finally sank in and she straightened her shoulders to look him directly in the eyes at long last. "We aren't going anywhere, Father. This is the end."

She knew how he'd react even before familiar face twisted and magenta flame gushed from shaking fingertips. Because that was always the third leg of Malachi's tottery stool. Disobey him beyond blustering commands and twisted logic and the fire mage's solution was to remove the insubordinate from his presence...and from the world entirely.

Which shouldn't have been a problem for a fire mage's well-trained daughter. After all, she was largely impervious to flames of all sorts, finding the heat invigorating rather than terrifying.

But even a fire mage could be reduced to ashes if the magic quotient was cranked high enough. And Malachi had drawn deep within himself to create a billowing gust of heat that was beyond even his daughter's ability to counter.

Still, rather than attempting to dive out of the way, Phoenix looked skyward for the first time since sending her dragon away. She hadn't dared risk her carefully mustered confidence by glancing up and failing to see the support she had to believe was present. Because even if Mason wasn't there to save her, quenching her father's flame was the right thing to do for the sake of the Aerie and of the world at large.

Whether or not she went down with the ship was a matter she was willing to leave up to fate.

But of course her Lord Dragon was waiting. Mason's tail looped around willing waist and jerked her out of reach just as the flash of purple immolated a wooden railing near where she'd so recently stood. And as her mother had once promised, Phoenix rose from the ashes unscathed.

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# Chapter 16

"Do you regret it?"

Phoenix's heart had initially leapt at the sound of feet on the stairs, but the female voice wasn't the one she'd been waiting and hoping to hear. Still, Sarah's presence was welcome since Mason was busy delivering a sodden but surviving ex-fire mage to the distant reaches of the western wasteland. She didn't expect her dragon back for hours yet, so talking to his mother seemed like a fine way to fill the time.

"Do I regret quenching my father's flames for good? Or do I regret asking Mason to fish him out of the reservoir before he died?"

"Either? Both?" The older woman smiled, but she merely raised eyebrows rather than advancing further into Mason's private domain.

And even though it felt strange to play hostess in someone else's space, Phoenix plugged in the electric kettle she'd discovered an hour earlier and offered Mason's mother a choice of precious teas while waving her inside.

"Maybe a little," the younger woman admitted, once they'd both settled onto a soft sofa facing west across the broad valley. Off in the distance, she could just barely pick out the dark patch where charred earth soaked up sunlight and melted pockmarks into the otherwise solid expanse of white. "Still, it was the only real choice," she added after a moment. "He's my father, but he's a plague on the face of the earth."

"And you're the only powerful fire mage left? Or at least the only one that you know of?"

It seemed like an odd question to ask now, after the woman had spent all day setting up yesterday's invaders with beds and food to calm their aching bones and growling bellies. Most of Malachi's underlings were able to call hints of flame to their fingertips, but the mages' powers were weak enough that Zane and the twins hadn't batted an eyelash when asked to ferry wives and children from Phoenix's former home into the towers that made up the Aerie. Meanwhile, no one had questioned the sparks of fire that flitted around Phoenix's head every time she thought about the absent Lord Dragon and their toe-curling kiss.

Given that surprising hospitality, Phoenix had assumed the antagonism between fire mages and dragons ran in only one direction. Now, though, the wiry old woman leaned forward with a stiffness to her form suggesting that Phoenix's reply was far more important than the latter could possibly understand or even guess.

So the mage answered honestly. "I've never met a significant fire mage other than my father," she said, and was surprised when Sarah's shoulders sagged in disappointment. "Why, were you hoping for more trouble to show up on your doorstep tomorrow?"

Which is when Mason's mother explained why the Lord Dragon's neck had grown so cold as they flew west away from the Aerie. Why he had almost failed to return in time to save Phoenix from her own trap.

"The Fade," Phoenix murmured, a chill running up and down her spine. The notion that Mason's inner fire might wink out at any moment was almost more than she could bear, and she appreciated the older woman's support when Sarah pulled her into an awkward but heartfelt embrace.

"Not that I think Mason has much to worry about now that you're here," his mother said with forced brightness. "But Zane could be next..."

"We'll find a solution. I'll do everything in my power to protect your sons. I promise."

And then Sarah's face lit up with true happiness as her eyes darted toward the window in front of them. A dragon hovered there, all indigo scales and flickering fire. Mason tapped a lever on the side of the building with flame-tipped talons and a massive glass door slid open to invite in a treacherous gust of wind.

"Hang onto the sofa!" Sarah ordered.

But Phoenix was instead rising and running, falling at last into her dragon's waiting arms the instant he changed from beast to man. She hadn't been granted a chance to exchange more than a handful of words with the shifter before he left to carry Malachi away from her new home. In fact, if she added it all up, she probably hadn't spoken more than a couple dozen words to Mason in her entire life.

Regardless, Phoenix's fire flared so brightly as his lips brushed across hers that she smelled the sizzle of charring fibers. Glancing down, she was mortified to catch sight of twin holes in the carpet at her feet. "Oops."

Mason's eyes only crinkled up at the corners, though, as he lifted her off the smoldering floor to spirit her away from the open wall. Only after pressing the matching lever on the interior that closed the space up tight did he finally relinquish his protective grasp.

The air must have dropped twenty degrees while the door was open, but Phoenix's fire turned her cheeks red and her breath short anyway. Flames twirled around her body, begging to meld with Mason's fire and never let him go.

But, instead, Phoenix took one small step backward and dug into her pocket for the ring reclaimed from an aged ferry master after the morning's drama had died down. She couldn't imagine Mason taking offense at such a minor theft after every other betrayal he'd brushed away without complaint. Still, Phoenix's hand trembled as she held out jewelry that didn't belong to her. "Here. This is yours."

Behind her back, Sarah emitted an abrupt exhalation of air. But it wasn't a disappointed gasp. More of a romantic, rings-are-being-exchanged-between-my-son-and-a-girl-he-likes sort of gasp. Phoenix had a feeling when such a gesture was less innocent and more associated with an "I do," there would be major waterworks coinciding with the event.

Only Sarah was right and Phoenix was wrong yet again. Because Mason knelt down at her feet for the second time in twenty-four hours, squeezing oversized jewelry between two glowing fists. And when he opened his hands back up the ring had been reduced to half its size, just the right fit to slide onto a female finger and stay put for as long as a fire mage might want it there.

The mage in question was pretty sure that length of time would be...well...forever.

"Phoenix," her dragon started. He paused to clear his throat, a mist of steam rising up from abruptly watery eyes. Then he began again. "Phoenix. You barely even know me, so I won't ask for promises. But you're wrong. This ring isn't mine; it's yours. I hope you'll wear it so everyone will know that you're precious to me. You're my treasure. And maybe some day you'll feel the same way about me."

Two days earlier, Fee had thought she possessed no remaining reason to live. But now, as she breathed in Mason's sweet marshmallow aroma and listened to the quiet sobs of joy from the woman behind her back, Phoenix realized she'd been naive.

Not naive in attempting to win the love of a father who cared for no one except himself. But naive in thinking that just because her own family was irrevocably broken, she could never find a cherished spot for herself in the world beyond Malachi's domain.

The signet ring slid onto the third finger of her left hand like warm hope kindling inside a cold, dead chest. And as the shifter before her rose to his feet, Phoenix fell into his embrace yet again, feeling every bit like a lump of coal flaring bright as it dropped into a blazing inferno.

Flames encircled them both. Magenta and blue, then red, yellow, and white as dragon and mage power danced and flared in joyous abandon. Together, they were far more than either had been apart. Together, they could take on the universe.

"I'll tell you a secret," Phoenix said quietly above the crackling of flames. She leaned in closer, basking in Mason's warmth, sweetness, and strength. "There's no need to wait. I'm pretty sure I already love you too."

***

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED Incendiary Magic! If so, you won't want to miss Zane's story--Verdant Magic--now available on all retailers.

Not quite ready to leave this particular book? Luckily for you, there's one last story left to feed your appetite....

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# Jaguar at the Portal

She's a veterinarian running from her past. He's a jaguar shifter hunting for his future.

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For Kayla and her mother, who taught me everything I know about gunshot wounds.

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# Chapter 1

Ixchel always dreaded May 3, but not because she worried about growing old. No, the twenty-seven-year-old was more afraid of never getting the chance to see her next birthday than of sprouting gray hairs.

Which meant she usually ended up running into doors on her birthday due to excessive over-the-shoulder looking in search of brothers who had every reason to wish her harm.

And, yet, nothing bad has happened for the last nine years, Ixchel reminded herself at dawn as she and Mr. Fuzzy set off for his morning constitutional. The coddled spaniel had been in her charge for five days now while his owner was on vacation, and the veterinarian had quickly grown attached to the borrowed bundle of fur. She'd even gotten to the point where she'd deemed the dog attentive enough to run off-leash...assuming they set out the back way and stayed far from any roads, that is.

Now the dog bounded ahead just out of sight, and Ixchel hurried her steps to catch up as she heard him begin to bark. It would be just her luck if Mr. Fuzzy got skunked or otherwise ended up in trouble that would make the vet look bad when his owner returned that afternoon. Nothing like failing to take care of the mayor's dog to turn a newcomer to the community into the county pariah.

Ixchel wasn't terribly concerned, though. After all, Mr. Fuzzy liked to bark at squirrels, birds, and even run-of-the-mill trees that the dog thought were looking at him funny. So most of the vet's attention remained focused on self-chastisement. Today is just another day, she told herself. It's high time I got over my jitters.

Ahead, Mr. Fuzzy came into view, his front paws resting on the trunk of a spreading elm tree as he yapped up into the canopy. Treed another butterfly, have you? Ixchel thought with a grin. But she still did her best to bring the dog to heel. "Here, boy!" the vet called, before craning her neck to see what the spaniel had discovered.

Oh no.

This couldn't be happening. Not in the safest place Ixchel could think of in which to sink her roots. Her practice was rural enough that the vet couldn't see any neighbors out either the front or the back doors, but the building wasn't located deep in the back country. So there really shouldn't have been a tremendous black feline crouched on that branch. Maybe if Ixchel blinked, she'd realize that Mr. Fuzzy had simply treed a raccoon.

Nope, still there. Still a mountain-lion-sized cat whose fur seemed to suck light out of the morning air due to the intensity of its blackness.

"Mr. Fuzzy, let's go," the vet called, trying to keep her voice calm but instead hearing the words emerge as a shriek. She wasn't sure what kind of creature the huge black cat would turn out to be, yet she was pretty sure the feline could eat her charge for dinner.

But Mr. Fuzzy was too intent on the hunt to listen to his temporary mistress, and the feline appeared to be growing annoyed at the spaniel's persistent barking. So Ixchel stood frozen in place and watched as the cat stalked down one of the spreading limbs. It was now nearly at the trunk and only ten feet above the smaller animal's head.

This can't be happening!

Ixchel told her feet that the smart thing to do would be to run away, with or without the cuddly-but-not-overly-bright spaniel. Mr. Fuzzy was only a dog, after all. And if the vet walked any closer, she would likely be mauled by the sharp claws that she knew to be embedded in the feline's dinner-plate paws.

But Mr. Fuzzy was the closest thing Ixchel had to a friend at the moment. And how sad is that? Plus, she really didn't want to imagine the bad PR resulting from a dog she was boarding being eaten by a cat. So, instead of following her own advice, the vet instead found herself striding directly toward the spaniel and lunging vainly for his collar.

At the same moment, the cat jumped down and landed lightly on his feet mere inches from Ixchel and her borrowed pet. The beast's eyes were a yellow more intense than Ixchel had ever seen on a living creature, and they seemed to bore through her skin and into her soul.

Focus. What did they say to do if you meet a mountain lion in the wild? Stand tall and raise your arms so you looked bigger than you really were, maybe. Or was that the recommended procedure for scaring off a bear?

Neither option seemed like a possibility when Mr. Fuzzy continued to think he was a rottweiler trapped inside a lap dog's body. The canine lunged forward, the feline hissed, and Ixchel found her disobedient feet following directly after those of her charge.

Her heart was beating so fast the vet thought she might pass out, but she was somehow able to latch one hand into the spaniel's collar before he could sink his teeth into the massive cat. Ixchel yanked Mr. Fuzzy up into her arms, ignoring his yelp of annoyance at being manhandled, then she forced herself to stand upright rather than turning and running away.

The vet fully expected to feel claws or teeth sinking into her skin at any moment. But, instead, the tremendous feline merely stood his ground and gazed directly into her face.

That makes no sense, the vet thought inanely. Feral cats never look you in the eye.

But the cat was looking. And he was so close that if Ixchel dropped the struggling Mr. Fuzzy, she could have reached out and stroked the feline's fur.

Yep, I'm definitely going into shock now.

"I'm sorry we bothered you," Ixchel said in her best soothe-the-terrifying-animal voice. "That was very rude of Mr. Fuzzy, and I'm going to take him right home and put him on bread and water. No doggie treats for him! In fact, you won't have to worry about either of us bothering you ever again."

As she spoke, the vet slowly backed away, her gaze still trained on the wild animal that could so easily bite off her hand. And why should he stop at a hand? The words ran through her mind like a hamster on a wheel. The cat's jaws are so huge he could probably consume my entire arm in one gulp and have room for a hot-dog chaser.

Then, so quickly that Ixchel almost didn't see him move, the cat turned and loped off into the shadows beneath the trees. Immediately, Mr. Fuzzy changed his tune from barking to face-licking, marring the vet's view of the long black tail disappearing from view. And Ixchel remembered how to breathe at last.

Could it really be that simple? Could the feline actually be gone?

Lifting the hand that she'd been using to pat the brave little spaniel in an attempt to calm him, Ixchel fingered the cat charm strung around her neck. Yes, birthdays weren't to be trusted. It was time to head back to her practice and hope that nothing else terrible happened on this third day of May.

***

AFTER ITS ROCKY START, May 3 turned out to be par for the course. Ixchel passed Mr. Fuzzy back to his owner (slightly tearfully), immunized a few kittens (with much better cheer), and handled the usual array of major and minor catastrophes that sent pet owners scurrying to her practice for professional assistance every day. Now, after shuffling the receptionist and her last customers out the door, Ixchel only had to finish a quick sweep and mop-down in the exam rooms before she could retreat to her apartment above the practice for a well-deserved rest.

Rrrriiiing!

The vet laughed at herself as she jumped a foot in the air at the sound of her own telephone. She operated a business, for crying out loud. The phone often rang.

And maybe it's someone calling to wish me cumpleaños feliz.

Unfortunately, that speculation fell firmly into the category of wishful thinking. Because who did Ixchel have left in her life to remember the relevance of the current date? No one except the brothers she had worked so hard to escape...and she certainly hoped they didn't know her number.

That thought made her consider not even picking up the phone. But what if someone was calling after hours because of a severely ill pet? Despite this potential scenario, Ixchel's "hello" was much more hesitant and unprofessional than usual, and she waited to hear the caller's voice before continuing to sweep up stray pet hairs in preparation for the next day's deluge of sniffling puppies and erratic felines.

"Hi, my name is Sophie and I'm calling you today from Salt Lake City on behalf of Failsafe Insurance," the telemarketer began. Then the other woman launched into her spiel without giving Ixchel a chance to get off the line.

Someone had once told Ixchel that the compassionate response to unwanted solicitations was to end the call as quickly as possible so the telemarketer could move on to the possibility of a commission someplace else. But the vet couldn't quite muster up sufficient rudeness to cut into this woman's speech. Not when the caller's accent reminded her so strongly of the homeland she'd never seen. Ixchel would bet dollars to donuts that so-called Sophie was actually Sofia and lived in a village in Mexico rather than in Utah as she'd claimed.

Not that Ixchel blamed the other woman for the subterfuge. It was hard to be a brown-skinned woman in white-bread West Virginia, and Ixchel's own accent was intentionally subtle enough that it wouldn't give her away. After all, the vet had worked hard to lose that Latina lilt.

So instead of trying to tell Sophie/Sofia that she wasn't interested, Ixchel allowed herself to drift back into memories of the last birthday that she'd spent surrounded by family...and by that catchy accent. There had been a cake, of course. Until the confection was greedily consumed by Ixchel's five older brothers, all but one of whom still lived at home despite their relatively advanced years.

And there'd been the mandatory presents, which those same older brothers tried to lay claim to as soon as the gifts came out of their wrapping paper. Then Jose had turned up the music far too loud and Papa had swept Ixchel into his arms in order to tango her around their tiny living room. The space wasn't really that minuscule, but ten young male feet got in the way of everything. Or so the vet recalled.

Mama had been subdued, though. The older woman's grave face looked the same way it had when Ixchel carried in blood-stained panties five years earlier, at which time the tween had gone away with a lecture on the facts of life...along with a box of tampons. So Ixchel wasn't entirely surprised on this birthday when the clan's matriarch drew her sole daughter into the elder Morenos' bedroom for privacy. Clearly, her mother had something serious on her mind that couldn't be shared with five unruly brothers bouncing around and tripping the two of them up.

"You are my oldest daughter," Mama began once the door was solidly closed behind them, and Ixchel barely refrained from rolling her eyes. I'm your favorite--and only--daughter too, the teenager wanted to add. But Mama was clearly not in the mood for joking around, so the girl simply nodded.

"So this gift should be more special," Mama continued, pulling out a little black jewelry box. "But your grandmother died in Mexico without being able to pass her own charm down to you. Here in los Estados Unidos, jaguars aren't so common, and this was the best I could find to replace your abuela's lost charm."

Ixchel wasn't sure what to expect when she opened the box, not after such a subdued introduction. But, inside, the girl simply found a little metal cat figurine attached to a silver chain. Nothing special, but the teenager hadn't been raised with a silver spoon in her mouth and she was grateful for any gift, no matter how small. "It's very pretty, Mama. Thank you."

"It's not the looks that count," her mother said mysteriously. "Now lift up your hair."

When Ixchel dutifully obeyed, Mama clasped the necklace around her throat and then stood back to survey her daughter. "You're all grown up now," the older woman said, her eyes a little teary, and that made Ixchel feel good. She was sick of being the baby in her massive, sprawling family. Having Mama recognize that Ixchel was a woman at eighteen seemed long overdue, but the affirmation was satisfying nonetheless.

"There are words to go with the gift...the responsibility," Mama continued, looking even more glum. "But I've forgotten them, and there's no one left to ask for a reminder." The older woman paused and stroked the thin metal chain that ran around her own neck, giving Ixchel a jolt of curiosity about what hung at the end of the silver loop. Why had she never taken the time to notice her mother's ornamentation before?

Well, that was obvious--because Mama and Papa were simply part of the landscape that made up the backdrop of Ixchel's life. It's high time I grow up if I want to be treated like an adult, the young woman decided. She'd ask her mother more about her own childhood in Mexico at a later date, once Mama had regained her usual smiling face.

"Never mind the words," Mama said at last. "It's the intention that counts. Now, promise me you'll never take this necklace off."

"If that's what you want, Mama," Ixchel said dutifully. "I'll never take it off."

And she hadn't. Because that night was the last time the veterinarian-to-be had seen either of her parents alive. The last time she'd laughed with her brothers. The last time she'd felt like part of a family.

Afterwards, and every day for the next nine years, Ixchel had obeyed her mother's command to wear the cat charm come rain or shine, day at the beach or dinner at a fancy restaurant. Like her once-taken-for-granted mother, the figurine had become part of the scenery and the veterinarian only thought of the ornament on her birthdays.

But on May 3, the vet's melancholy musings inevitably returned to her mother's admonition. And she wondered what exactly Mama had meant to accomplish with her uncharacteristic drama.

Too bad Ixchel would never find out the answer to that question. Not with her mother and father both gone.

"...would you be willing to sign up for life insurance to protect your loved ones in case disaster strikes?" Sophie/Sofia finished her spiel, coming up for air at last.

What the heck. It wasn't as if Ixchel had anyone depending on her if she kicked the bucket, but at least the vet could improve the telemarketer's mood on this anniversary of her natal day.

"Sure," Ixchel answered. "Sign me up."

But the bliss of helping out someone less fortunate faded fast after Sophie/Sofia finished collecting her billing information. So the vet completed the mopping up quickly and headed out the front door without giving the rooms more than a lick and a promise. She had a date with a box of brownie mix in her apartment, a thought that raised her spirits a bit while also rushing her steps.

All Ixchel needed to do was to lock the practice's front door and then head to the stairs around back before she could end this long, exhausting day. But as the veterinarian bent down toward the keyhole, something pricked through her blouse at the small of her back.

Reaching behind herself to unhook the fabric from what she assumed was a thorn, the vet instead gasped as her hand came in contact with the cold blade of a knife. It looked like Ixchel's past had caught up with her despite every attempt she'd made to throw angry brothers off her trail.

Yep, this is officially a very bad day.

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# Chapter 2

Mmm, catnip.... The herbal aroma drifted up into the tree where Finn manned the controls for an array of security cameras. And as he inhaled with pleasure, the jaguar-shifter could feel muscles tense from several long days of stealth surveillance slowly begin to relax.

Too bad that vet isn't here to keep me company. The woman had been so cute, standing up to what she thought was a voracious wild animal, all to protect that shaggy being she called Mr. Fuzzy. Finn had to wonder whether, if he'd really been a hungry jaguar, the woman would have fended him off with a stick.

Finn liked her spunk, but the vet was only a backup plan that he hoped never to use. His attention should instead be focused on the archaeologists laboring away in the half-buried site that he was monitoring from a distance with the help of a dozen stealthily applied cameras.

Flipping to another view with the click of a button, Finn quickly cycled through the information being broadcast by lenses arrayed throughout the archaeological dig. The workers had rigged electric lights to make up for the fact that they were now digging deep enough into the mound to create more of a cavernous work environment than the traditional open-air dig. Yes, they'd delved deeper...and closer to the level that held interest to a shifter who liked to believe he couldn't be the only creature of his kind left in the world.

Let's hope that battered old journal was right....

The missionary who'd recorded the were-jaguar legend considered the tale a charming piece of native folklore. And Finn would have thought the same...if he weren't able to stretch out his arm and watch the air glimmer slightly as skin gave way to fur and nails turned into claws.

Not a very functional arrangement for managing his laptop, of course, which is why Finn was currently stuck in human form, tailored black suit and charcoal-gray shirt unbuttoned around his neck to capture the evening breeze. Because every cat knows that stalking should be done in style, never mind the discomfort....

But as the catnip aroma grew stronger in the air, his feline form called more and more to his human mind. Not one to ignore his urges, Finn secured his laptop using the velcro he'd attached to the device and to the rough tree bark. Then he stood and submitted to the urge to shift.

Finally, the feline thought, stretching his back mightily and feeling his whiskers spread out from his face at last. His human skin often felt so cramped.

And don't get me started on those torture devices that humans call shoes.

On huge black paws, the jaguar padded along the branch until the tree began to bend under his weight, then he leaped down to prowl along the earth. The tremendous Olmec statue that had connected this site to the journal entry towered a little higher over the dig every day as its base was slowly unearthed. And even though the misplaced Mexican sculpture was far too close to the action for safety, the shifter was drawn to the sight like a bee to honey.

Finn had once thought that this stone head might be the artifact he was looking for. But if so, he'd yet to find any indication that the sculpture impacted his abilities in the slightest. Still, Finn figured he might as well make contact once again while he was waiting around for the archaeologists to turn up something more interesting.

Of course, that journal was particularly vague about how exactly the artifact was supposed to function, Finn reminded himself. Ignoring his better sense, the cat-shifter waited until the lead archaeologist finished talking into his cell phone and walked back into the dig, then he crouched and sprang onto the top of the carved head. Perhaps I just need to spend more time getting to know this old stone dude.

As much as he enjoyed lounging atop the carved boulder as the day descended into dusk though, Finn didn't honestly believe that he'd found his much-sought-after artifact. After all, if the journal was to be believed, his ancestor had carried the artifact in question most of the way across the continent. In contrast, this boulder had obviously been carved in situ. No, the answer must be that the true artifact hadn't been discovered yet.

Either that, or this crew of inept archaeologists had overlooked the item as they sifted through the dirt.

Or perhaps the artifact was made of wood or cloth and simply rotted away.... In which case Finn would be left alone as the only were-jaguar among humans for the rest of his life. No, that option was simply unthinkable.

"Oh!"

The exclamation brought Finn to his feet before the girl's lips had even closed. Strain as he might though, the shifter couldn't quite make out what had been uncovered from his vantage point on top of the stone head. Still, the flurry of activity converging on one square of the dig certainly suggested that the intern in question had exclaimed over more than a broken fingernail.

Maybe....

The smart course of action would have been for Finn to return to his laptop so he could figure out what was going on without attracting undue attention. But the jaguar's whiskers were tingling...and he knew the cutoff switch wired into the electric system--his key to solitary dig access should he need it--was waiting right there in his pocket. Good thing items carried on the were-jaguar's person came along during each of his shifts. Otherwise, changing forms would wreak such havoc on his wardrobe....

Standing up on two human feet, Finn pulled out the little key fob, hit a button, and smiled as everything went dark beneath him. Only then did the shifter realize that he'd neglected to jump down off the ten-foot-tall sculpture while he still had flexible feline legs to cushion his fall. Perhaps that catnip was messing with his mind more than he'd given it credit for....

And why, exactly, is there such a strong scent of catnip in the middle of a dig out in the wilds of West Virginia?

The thought was gone as soon as it appeared, replaced by an excited roar of voices as the archaeologists stumbled out of the now darkened burial mound while doing their best not to trip over each other or some priceless artifact in the process. Humans are so very terrified of the dark, Finn thought smugly.

"Someone's gotta have a flashlight," one intern said, turning circles in the trampled grass outside the dig as he peered into the faces of his compatriots. "I have to see the entirety of that statue...."

"In the morning," the head archaeologist countered, silencing the chatter. "I won't have my dig ruined by a herd of people running over it in the dark. John, call the electrician. Mary, get the security company on the phone for me.

"And, as for the rest of you, don't mention what we found to anyone. We'll uncover the statue under the light of day. And then...we'll see."

"But, professor," voice number one countered. "We can't just leave it here unattended. A find of this magnitude..."

"...Will wait until morning," the head archaeologist replied. "After all, it's already waited over two thousand years...."

***

AS SOON AS THE LAST car rumbled out of the parking lot, Finn stepped from behind the Olmec head, laptop in a messenger bag slung across his torso and headlamp across his brow. The bulb wasn't on, though, and not just for reasons of stealth--Finn preferred to keep his eyes attuned to the moonlit night even while walking on two feet. But he might not be willing to wait until he'd reached the safety of his hotel room to explore the artifact more closely. Thus the head lamp.

The shifter knew that the wise course of action would consist of transforming back into feline shape and taking a few laps around the grounds to make sure he was truly alone before walking into the dig. But he'd waited so long for this moment, and he'd watched every last intern and graduate student drive away, even catching the head archaeologist speaking with the security company as he pulled out onto the main road. Trusty Security had promised to send over a pair of guards within the hour...which gave Finn plenty of time to carve the artifact the rest of the way out of the packed earth and then take to his heels.

The dig stretched in front of him like a booby trap in the dark, pits of varying depths all carefully excavated with perfectly square corners. The pursuit of science had just about driven Finn mad over the course of the spring months as he watched the archaeologists painstakingly delve and brush through one small area at a time.

The were-jaguar, on the other hand, had known right where the artifact was from the beginning. Something had called him toward the area just left of center even before the first groundbreaking. And, sure enough, that square had been dug deeper and deeper as intriguing findings continued to come to light.

Now, Finn could see a small shape right in the bottom of his favorite hole, a rough stone figurine no bigger than his hand. Unable to wait the thirty seconds it would have taken to walk the easy route around from the other side, Finn leaped straight down, falling more than a meter and landing on his toes without needing to so much as drop a hand to the earth to steady his landing. It was good to be a cat...even when he technically wasn't one.

The figurine was still mostly embedded in the soil, but Finn's multi-tool made short work of the surrounding earth. After all, he wasn't an archaeologist, worried about disrupting buried clues to the past. Plus, he'd known the artifact could handle some rough prying as soon as he touched the hard stone surface.

The little statue quickly popped out of the ground, but dirt still encrusted every curve, making the markings hard to decipher. Finn's best guess was that the figure represented a seated human, hands and head resting on pulled up knees. And perhaps those were larger-than-human ears pointing up out of the being's head?

Just as Finn was about to activate his head lamp to peer a little more closely at the figurine, the dig's lights blazed on above his head. Then the unmistakable sound of the safety being flicked off a gun came from behind his back. Which is when Finn knew that his cat-like curiosity had been played against him.

The drugging scent of catnip suddenly made more sense. As did the head archaeologist being willing to leave the dig unattended without even taking the time to pull this Mexican artifact out of West Virginia soil. Add in the man's willingness to wait an hour for a security team to arrive, and Finn had to ask himself--was it possible that someone knew were-cats existed, and that one was hovering over this very dig in search of clues to his ancestry?

Possible, but unlikely, Finn decided, even as he closed his eyes to expedite the shrinking of his pupils. For now, he'd have to assume that his deepest secret was still hidden. Which meant he needed to act like a human.

Still, when the shifter heard a finger squeezing a trigger, he didn't hesitate to use his cat reflexes to save his skin. Although Finn didn't change forms, the shifter did use his superior muscles to leap to the side and to put his shoulder--rather than his heart--in the way of the bullet.

Cursing silently in order to counteract the overwhelming pain, Finn wished once again that he could flee on cat paws. But what if there were other were-jaguars out there in the world who were counting on his stealth to protect them from humanity? And what if the human behind him became so intrigued by Finn's cat form that the were-jaguar was decanted out of the intruder box and tossed directly into the precious-artifact box? What scientist could resist tracking the first credible sighting of a were-jaguar, even if the quest took him to the ends of the earth?

So, instead of shifting, Finn gritted his teeth, slipped the figurine into his coat pocket, and turned to face his attacker.

The head archaeologist, Martin Mirabelle, stood above Finn, rifle resting in the crook of one arm. A smile on the older man's face seemed to indicate that he'd meant to simply disable rather than kill the looter all along. "Now that I have your attention," Mirabelle said, "why don't you come up here so we can talk?" His words were cordial, as if the two were simply associates meeting to talk business over sushi. Cat-like, the man seemed to enjoy playing with his quarry, a weakness that Finn shared...but was also quite willing to exploit.

"Perhaps you'd give me a hand up?" the shifter replied, silently working through his options. If he toppled Mirabelle into the pit, would the surprise allow Finn to escape despite his injury? The shifter hugged his wounded arm closer to his side, feeling blood soak through the fabric of his shirt and then his coat.

His favorite shirt and coat. That thought, as much as the pain, made him grumpy and less willing to play the archaeologist's game.

But Mirabelle only laughed and pointed to the less direct route that led in the other direction. "Do try not to step on any priceless artifacts," the older man offered, before walking around the pit to block Finn's exit.

The shifter rolled his eyes, but obeyed. After all, it wasn't as if he was a heathen totally untouched by the glamorous promise of archeology. Finn wanted to know how this Olmec head came to be located in an Adena burial mound as much as the next guy--it was only the artifact in his pocket that exceeded the importance of his cat-like curiosity. So, no, the shifter wouldn't accidentally stumble and kick apart an ancient burial arrangement, even if the archaeologist voicing the order had shot him in the arm.

Shot him! Wasn't Mirabelle supposed to be a harmless college professor? Good thing Finn had brought his own favorite weapon along....

"Look, I can explain," the shifter said, maintaining a light tone in hopes Mirabelle would keep that rifle pointed up into the air. "I read about this place in the paper and I was just curious...."

Knowing that Mirabelle's eyes were focused on his good arm, Finn ignored the pain and used his other hand to reach surreptitiously into his pocket. Then he continued to fill the air with harmless patter as he ever so slowly thumbed off the safety on his canister of pepper spray.

Then, in a move so sudden that it sent waves of agony rolling through his body, the shifter lunged forward and depressed the button inches away from his captor's face.

Mirabelle's high-pitched scream made up for Finn's own misery, and the feline smiled as he shifted into cat form and loped away into the night. After all, with pepper spray in his eyes, Mirabelle wouldn't be able to see how his quarry had made his escape...and a jaguar would reach safety much faster than a man.

Plus, now Finn had an excuse to pay a call on that tantalizing veterinarian.

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# Chapter 3

Jaguars like to swim, but an eternity spent treading water was making even Tezcatlipoca weary. The deity's imprisonment also left him plenty of time to think about topics he'd far rather forget. Such as the way he'd become trapped in this world so completely devoid of all potential worshipers.

My old buddy Q was involved in that chicanery, Tez thought, and not for the first time. Despite his efforts to ignore old memories, the betrayal still stung.

He's just jealous, the god thought to himself. I've always been the more enticing deity. No wonder poor old Quetzalcoatl felt threatened by my awesomeness.

And yet, two millennia after being trapped in this empty world, Tez knew that he would no longer win out over his brother god in a beauty pageant. No, Tez's charisma had drained away over time, falling like a rock to the bottom of this new world's endless sea until he could barely remember being dropped two-legged into the salt water.

Yes, he could barely remember ceremonial robes and feathers buoying him up. He could barely remember being a feared and prayed-to god. Slowly but surely, bit by bit, every hint of the trapped deity's powers had faded into the oblivion of darkness until even the memories of his power were disintegrating.

It hadn't taken long for Tezcatlipoca to regress into his core essence--a jaguar with one obsidian foot. Make that a lonely, grumpy, wet jaguar, who continued to tread water even though he knew that no rescue was eminent.

So when the first voice emerged out of thin air and drifted into his mind, Tez could almost feel his powers expanding. They're praying to me at last! Somehow, a lowly human being had made his way into Tezcatlipoca's domain and was speaking to his god, albeit in a language completely foreign to the jaguar deity's experience.

But when Tez continued to lack the power necessary to shift forms, he was forced to admit that the voice didn't have anything to do with him after all. Still, it was intriguing to have someone to listen to within his watery domain. So the jaguar god focused all of his prodigious brain power on deciphering the code of this strange tongue.

By the time the air was filled with what Tezcatlipoca now knew were radio and television waves--and, more recently, with cell phone signals--Tez had become fluent in English and had settled into a daily routine. In the morning, the god took in the news, catching up on the happenings around the world and doing his best to exercise his brain. Later, he drifted on a wave of day-time soap operas and afternoon cartoons, then he whiled away the rest of his hours with late-night TV.

I've become a couch potato, Tez thought, amused by his own modernity. And that was the day when the signals began to subtly shift.

At first, the god thought the new voices were simply another form of long-distance communication used by the humans so near his world and yet so far away. But the speech didn't seem to tell any story at all. Instead, the experience resembled the way Tez used to feel when eavesdropping into the thoughts of other gods' followers.

Then, as now, the humans' words didn't increase Tezcatlipoca's power the way prayers of his own worshipers did. And yet, the words seemed real. Not canned entertainment, but living humans walking around somewhere up above his world's darkened sky.

"...room together next summer," one human was saying. "And he told me that.... Oh!"

"What is it?" The other voice seemed bored at first, but then delight filled the male human's tone as he spoke again. "Whoa! Professor!"

Soon a medley of voices, male and female, young and not-so-very-young, rose up, bouncing around within Tez's watery cavern. For the first time in thousands of years, Tezcatlipoca could see! And what he saw was walls encircling his watery abode, a vista that wasn't a world at all but a prison.

Even though the view should have made Tez's hopes sink into his heels, it instead filled him with exultation. Because if his cell came complete with walls, then that meant there was something outside those walls. The god of hurricanes, temptation, and discord should have no problem breaking out into that external world.

And when I do, Quetzlcoatl...and everyone else...will feel my wrath. They'll be sorry they ever tried to capture the Enemy of Both Sides...

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# Chapter 4

It just figures, Ixchel thought as she felt the knife continue to prick into her skin. I flee the inner city, work two jobs to pay my way through vet school, scrimp and save to open a practice in a nice community, and this is where I get robbed at knife point.

Despite her best attempt at sarcasm, though, the vet's heart was racing every bit as fast as little Jason's budgie's had been pumping that morning. The winged pet had escaped from his cage in the waiting room and battered his beak against the windows for five solid minutes before flying right into Ixchel's hands...moments before Miss Gracie's cat could pounce upon her prey.

Terror doesn't help anything, the vet had cooed to the little bird then, and she repeated the same mantra to herself now. But the admonition definitely wasn't keeping her knees steady or preventing her vision from tunneling down as her body prepared to black out.

This is officially worse than coming face to face with a huge black cat that shouldn't live in West Virginia, she thought. Particularly since the vet didn't currently have a defenseless animal to protect, so she was forced to focus on her own feelings for a change. It was always better to stay outside her head's endless scattered ruminations, especially when the going got tough.

"Turn around slowly," came a calm, melodious voice behind Ixchel's back. Her attacker must have been hiding in the shrubbery, waiting until her receptionist drove away before moving in on his quarry.

I'm like a lame antelope separated from the herd, Ixchel thought, peering through the trees that encircled the office on three sides in hopes of finding a new dwelling nearby. Nope, her practice was just as isolated now as it had been when she'd started renting the space six months before. There was nowhere to run and no one to come to her aid if she screamed.

"Ma'am?" At least he was a polite mugger, although the knife did press a little harder into her flesh when Ixchel failed to instantly obey his command.

The pain, more than the word, brought her back to reality. Focus, Ixchel. This was why she preferred working with animals rather than humans--cats and dogs were so much simpler to understand than the one species that had learned so well how to lie.

Taking her own advice to heart, Ixchel kept her hands where her attacker could see them and pivoted slowly in place. He's no more dangerous than a scared and wounded doberman, she promised herself. But clearly Ixchel hadn't mastered that hallmark feature of Homo sapiens sapiens, because she didn't believe her own deception. After all, if this mugger was allowing her to see his face, chances were good that she wasn't going to make it out of this altercation alive.

Let him be masked, let him be masked, let him be masked....

Her attacker wasn't masked, and he also didn't look at all the way Ixchel had thought he would. Everyone she'd met since moving to West Virginia was Caucasian, obviously descended from the Scots-Irish immigrants who had made these mountains home centuries ago. And the current residents out here in the boondocks all tended to dress like farmers, too, with Carhartt overalls giving way to tight jeans and ball caps in the summer.

But the person holding a knife--her knife, out of her kitchen in the apartment above the practice!--instead resembled an exotic gentleman. He wore a dark suit that flattered his form so well that it must have been tailored to fit, and the seams on his trousers were pressed into knife-edge creases. In fact, Ixchel was pretty sure that the mugger was wearing dress shoes as well, likely Italian loafers that cost more than she made in a year.

The clothes were a surprise, but it was the man's face that took Ixchel's breath away. Eyes so dark they were nearly black were half-hidden by straight, raven-hued hair. The combination was unbearably handsome...and also far too familiar for comfort.

Not that the veterinarian had met this particular mugger before. But all of the guys her brothers ran with in their youthful gangs had sported similar features and similar brown skin. Plus, Ixchel saw a feminine version of the same facial structure every time she looked in a mirror. So even though her neighbors would have thought her mugger was Hispanic, Ixchel knew that he was indio, a Mexican Indian like herself.

The realization terrified Ixchel more than the knife had done. Because her brothers would have grown out of their youthful gangs since she'd seen them last. And even though those teenage ventures had seemed horrifying enough at the time, the criminal world her brothers must now be embroiled in could only be a hundred times worse. Antonio, in particular, would probably have become a mob linchpin by now if his teenage leanings were any indication of that brother's eventual adult career choice.

And if my siblings' current unlawful element is showing up on my doorstep, all of my attempts to cut off ties have failed. Which meant that Ixchel was in for much worse this evening than simply being robbed outside the door of her own practice.

Despite her best intentions to stand her ground, the vet sank onto the concrete step at her feet. This couldn't be happening. She'd tried so hard to leave that world behind!

And then a large male hand was pushing her head down between her knees. For a moment, Ixchel struggled. But then she realized that her attacker was simply promoting blood flow to her brain to prevent fainting, and she relaxed into his arms. Please don't let this get back to my brothers, she thought, imagining how her favorite sibling--Miguel--would tease her for nearly passing out in the face of an attack. What she wouldn't give to have her middle brother here to protect her now....

Then the man's other hand came around to rub away the tension that created hard ridges along the sides of her neck. Ixchel had begun to shiver in the chilly evening air, but the mugger's touch warmed her skin and seemed to clear her mind even better than sinking her head between her knees had. And, in the end, some combination of adrenaline and extra oxygen to her brain finally allowed the vet to think straight.

The knife. If her attacker had one hand on top of her head and the other one on her neck, then his weapon must be lying unattended somewhere nearby. Which meant this was her best chance to get away with skin and dignity intact.

Strangely, Ixchel's muscles didn't want to budge. Well, perhaps they would be willing to move...but only to lie all the way down on the concrete walkway and beg for the massage to work its way down her back. On the other hand, when asked to spring to her feet and flee, her legs pretended weakness at the mere thought.

Get a grip, Ixchel told her legs. There's a time and a place for runaway hormones, and this is neither!

But before she could even twitch, both large male hands had left her skin and the knife was once again present in Ixchel's peripheral vision.

Which is when she noticed the other salient feature of her attacker's appearance, the one her veterinary training should have picked up on right off the bat. There was a steady stream of blood flowing out of the wound high on the man's left arm. And, if she wasn't much mistaken, blood loss was making her mugger's face grow increasingly pale beneath his dark skin.

***

"YOU'RE BLEEDING!" THE woman exclaimed, bringing Finn's mind back to the purpose of this knife-point introduction.

The shifter had meant to get his wound stitched and then to leave the area as quickly as possible, moving on before any potential pursuers could uncover his trail. But something about the curve just above the woman's hip had caught his eye and held it. And then she'd sunken down to the ground in shock, and Finn had felt so shitty that he had to soothe her tremors.

In feline form, the shifter would have licked the woman's fur until it lay smooth and clean along her spine. But in human shape he had to settle for simply rubbing her neck, the muscles of which miraculously relaxed beneath his ministrations.

Every hint of tension that he'd teased away was back in spades now, though, as the woman peered at the blood dripping down and pooling along the inside of his elbow. So Finn decided to attempt a more human method of breaking the ice. "What's your name?" he asked.

"You want to know my name?" the woman retorted. "That's your response when I notice that you're suffering from a gunshot wound that's probably torn through your bicep and might have nicked your humerus? Is the bullet still in there?"

All valid questions, but the woman was becoming more agitated with every word, so Finn declined to answer. He'd thought his quarry was a vet rather than a human doctor, but she seemed awfully familiar with the results of gun play...and also particularly agitated about its aftereffects.

Not that he blamed her. Finn wasn't very fond of the results of being shot either. Not when blood loss was beginning to make his head swim.

But what really fueled the shifter's annoyance was the way the woman's eyes remained trained upon his knife rather than looking up into his face. It was as if she thought Finn was a predator just waiting for the perfect opportunity to disembowel his prey. As if she didn't see him as a person at all, but instead as a wild animal that required slow movements and quick wit if she wanted to escape.

Well, okay, so her analysis is technically true. But just because I'm a predator doesn't mean I like to be treated as one.

And she didn't appear this terrified when I menaced her in feline form this morning. Surely a veterinarian trained to operate with razor-sharp scalpels should be aware that a jaguar's teeth and claws are far more dangerous than this dull kitchen utensil. The were-jaguar's thoughts drifted off track for a moment as he added, She really does need to take better care of her cooking knives.

Shaking his head once to bring his thoughts back on track, Finn decided he shouldn't have bothered holding this woman up at knife point. From what he'd seen of her behavior thus far, the vet might have stitched up his wound even if he hadn't resorted to threats. And she definitely wouldn't look so wan and pale if Finn had used words first instead of slipping up into her apartment in search of a weapon to intimidate his quarry into obedience.

Lacking the ability to go back in time and remedy the past, though, Finn vowed to do what he could to ease the woman's angst and to make the remainder of their introduction a little more enjoyable for all concerned. So, slipping his purloined knife between the belt and fabric at his waist, the shifter reached out one hand toward his companion.

"Look, let's start over," he said. "I'm Finn. And you are?" As he spoke, Finn allowed both eyes to slowly drift closed for a fraction of a second, cat-speak for I'm relaxed and you should be too. No one's going to hurt you.

And unlike all of the other humans whom Finn had struggled so hard to communicate with ever since discovering his humanity for the first time more than a decade before, this woman seemed to understand what he was really trying to say. Because she accepted his hand within her own firm but gentle grip and responded, "I'm Ixchel."

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# Chapter 5

"Michelle?" the man asked, and Ixchel had put effort into not rolling her eyes. Was it crazy that a criminal had stepped out of the shrubbery to accost her and yet the issue that bugged her the most was this common mispronunciation of her name?

Yep, definitely crazy. But Ixchel still heard herself respond with words so familiar that they would have been threadbare and holey had they been a favorite pair of jeans. "No, Ixchel, without an M. It's the name of..."

"...a Mayan jaguar goddess," the man finished for her.

"Well, I was going to say a Mexican deity," Ixchel replied, her head tilting to one side as she sized her companion up more fully. Perhaps he wasn't a common thug after all. The vet could honestly state that she'd never before met a man who recognized the provenance of her unusual name.

"But what you said works too," the vet continued. She couldn't help being intrigued by the person in front of her, even if their introduction had been less than seemly. Perhaps a knife was what it took to break the ice she felt solidifying around her tongue every time she met someone new?

Despite knowing it wasn't wise to taunt erratic humans, the vet couldn't resist engaging her attacker further. "What kind of mugger are you exactly?" she asked. "One with a degree in comparative mythology?"

"What kind of parents name their daughter after a jaguar goddess?" the man shot back. He clearly wasn't willing to offer any additional identifying information, and Ixchel's lips firmed back up into a frown. Note to self, she thought grimly. This is not a first date with an intriguing romantic candidate. No, Ixchel was currently attempting to escape from a man who had held her at knife point mere moments earlier, so she shouldn't be surprised if the mugger in question didn't want to spill his secrets into her ear at the first sign of interest.

Which is really a good thing, the vet reminded herself. After all, the less I know, the fewer reasons Finn has to silence me after he's gone. And she shivered as the thought brought her back to reality. Hopefully the semblance of civility that seemed to cloak her attacker would hold firm and allow her to extricate herself from this encounter with skin and bone intact.

Not that any of her brothers' thug-like acquaintances would leave a loose end like Ixchel untied. But, despite the man's apparent ethnicity and his penchant for introducing himself with weapons rather than words, nothing else about the mugger seemed to link him to Ixchel's past. Instead, he appeared to be doing his best at the moment to downplay her initial intimidation. After putting his knife away, the man's shoulders had immediately slouched down as if to counteract his height, and his body was now angled to the side, offering Ixchel an avenue of escape rather than menacing her head-on.

So perhaps the man was simply a stranger seeking a qualified medical practitioner willing to stitch him up without calling the cops. Maybe he wasn't a compatriot of her brothers out to seek revenge after all. Ixchel had been warned about this former scenario at veterinary school, and even though her practice's rural location made the danger less of an issue, criminals could be found everywhere. Apparently.

They come in all shapes and sizes too, the vet thought, allowing appreciative eyes to linger on the mugger's lean body a little longer now that her heart wasn't trying to pound its way out of her chest. None of her brothers' acquaintances had ever struck her as particularly enticing and Ixchel had thought she'd sidestepped the self-flagellating penchant of falling for bad boys...or for their adult-male counterparts. Yet another newly discovered character flaw to work my way out of. And how depressing was that?

Only, Finn didn't really fit the bad-boy mold. Not when he backpedaled so prettily after taking in the expressions flitting across Ixchel's face. "I'm sorry," he said simply. "That was rude of me. I think it's a very pretty name. Now, what do I have to do in order to be invited in?"

"Are you going to rape me, murder me, and leave my body by the side of the road?" Ixchel found herself answering, her sharp tongue reappearing as her terror levels decreased.

And now it was Ixchel's turn to peruse her companion's facial features with interest. Was that regret she saw in his eyes, or just annoyance that his prey was standing up for herself?

"None of the above," Finn answered after a short pause. And he seemed so mortified by the very implication that the vet finally allowed herself to relax.

"Alright, then," she agreed. Her mind was telling her to run in the other direction as fast as she could, but the man was wounded and in need of medical attention. "I guess I'll invite you in and examine that oozing arm."

***

"YOU'RE LUCKY THIS WAS made by a .38 instead of a .22 or you'd be in real trouble," the vet said. "As it is, it looks like the bullet passed right through."

Ixchel viciously stabbed at Finn's open wound with a metallic torture implement as she spoke...or at least that's what it seemed like to him. Even with the aid of a local anesthetic, it was all the shifter could do not to flinch every time she moved her fingers closer to his arm. Not at all how I thought it would feel to be touched by such a beautiful woman....

"So, do you want to tell me about it?" Finn said at last, after getting his breath back from a particularly vigorous prod.

"Tell you about what?" The vet was still poking around inside his slightly numbed wound, despite the fact that she'd clearly decided there was no bullet embedded in his flesh. At this point, Finn had to conclude his companion just wanted to make him pay for his crimes...or that she was taking out misplaced aggressions on his tender skin.

"Do you want to tell me about your traumatic childhood experience with gunshot wounds?" he elaborated. Actually, Finn would have much preferred to tell the vet that he found her attractive, perhaps followed by that quaint human custom of asking the woman out on a date. But the shifter had a sinking suspicion that mentioning his companion's beauty would add even more lines to the angry frown wrinkling Ixchel's otherwise lovely countenance.

And he definitely didn't want to talk about anything that would make the veterinarian's impatient fingers yet more twitchy.

Okay, sure, so delving into Ixchel's traumatic childhood was likely to increase his pain quotient significantly in the short term. But perhaps if the vet got whatever she was stewing over off her chest, she might allow her patient to leave the veterinary practice with both arms still attached.

Unfortunately, his companion apparently wasn't in a chatty mood. "Do you want to talk about why you're running from the law?" she countered grimly, moving on from forceps to a wickedly curved needle.

Finn quickly looked away before the vet was able to jab this new tool into his numbed flesh. Am I running from the law? He hoped not.

Or maybe he hoped so. Because if Mirabelle hadn't called the cops, that meant the burglar had walked into a trap that evening after all. Which in turn meant that Finn would have to do more than simply shred the fake identification documents he was currently carrying in his pocket in order to relocate and come up with a new life as he'd originally planned. And as he'd done dozens of times before.

"Look," Finn said, keeping his voice light and ignoring the worries threatening to overcome his thoughts. "Maybe we should talk about something more pleasant. Like pets. Do you have any?"

Finally. For the first time since he'd hopped up to sit on her examining table, the vet looked Finn straight in the eye rather than avoiding his gaze at all cost. "No pets," she answered now with a hint of a smile, and the shifter grinned back, basking in the glow of his companion's sudden favor like a cat in a sunbeam. Finn didn't usually have trouble beguiling the ladies, but there was nothing like holding up an attractive woman at knife point to make her less-than-receptive to his charms....

"But you're a vet," Finn responded, not particularly interested in pets but wanting to extend the life of the smile that currently touched Ixchel's lips. "Presumably, you prefer furred, finned, and feathered friends to those of us who walk on two legs. Present company excluded, of course."

"Ha!" The vet's snort was quiet but got her point across. Present company was apparently not excluded.

"So," Finn said, ignoring the interjection. "Why no pets?"

And now honest emotion filled the veterinarian's eyes. "Why no pets?" she shot back. "Spoken like a typical, flaky human being who would pick up a puppy off the side of the road, then get rid of it a month later when the poor animal stops being cute and has trouble learning not to pee in the house."

The vet stabbed Finn again with her Needle of Doom while continuing her tirade. "And then that half-grown mutt will end up in another home--if it's lucky--where the dog will externalize its newfound separation anxiety by gnawing on the furniture. At which point you'll probably whack the poor thing with a rolled up piece of newspaper in the name of training."

She pulled the plastic thread through his skin so tightly that Finn could feel the tug despite the anesthetic. "And you have to ask me why I don't have any pets!"

That went well. Not.

Finn sat in silence for a moment, before muttering, "I can promise you that I've never even considered picking up a puppy off the side of the road." At another snort from Ixchel, he rallied and continued. "But a cat is a different matter. Why not provide a home for a stray feline? Everyone knows that cats are much less needy than dogs...."

"Less needy than dogs?" This time, Ixchel didn't even let Finn finish his sentence before taking him to task. "Now you sound like a typical dog lover. If you truly understood cats, you'd know that the average feline craves attention so deeply that he has to act like a prickly human teenager for fear of being disappointed. A cat will pretend that he's entirely confident in his skin, that he's an island untouchable by the outside world. But, to be completely happy, that same cat needs constant strokes to both his fur and his ego. He needs love and kindness, and he needs to feel safe. You can't just up and leave a cat at a moment's notice...not if you want to have a loving, well-adjusted pet to come home to. And I'm not settled enough to promise a cat all of the attention he so soundly deserves. So I won't be bringing home a stray kitty anytime soon. Not until I'm ready for a lifetime of commitment."

The frown was back, and Finn realized that his companion had just told him far much more than her words suggested. The woman in front of him didn't own a pet because no one had ever stroked her ego and no one had ever showered her with love and affection. In the end, she wasn't willing to accept even a non-human companion until she herself felt entirely safe.

So, I guess I shouldn't ask my rescuer out to dinner after all, the shifter thought. And this time his sigh didn't have all that much to do with the tug on his skin as the last stitch pulled wounded flesh together.

"There, you're all set," Ixchel said, putting the last of her torture implements down on a nearby counter. "Which, I hope, means you'll go away now and leave me in peace."

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# Chapter 6

He's gone.

Ixchel knew she should have felt relieved. After all, Finn had been true to his word, allowing her to lock up the practice with herself safely inside and with her mugger far away on the other side of the door.

Yes, the intruder had taken away her car keys and cell phone first, then made a point of demonstrating that the land line had been cut so she couldn't rush to call the police. But Ixchel was entirely unharmed in the aftermath of the not-quite-mugging, and she knew that her receptionist would arrive to provide contact with the outside world first thing the next morning. So, at the moment, the vet could simply relax and put the night's trauma behind her.

In fact, now that Ixchel thought about it, the excitement had really cost her nothing except a few moments of terror. And if she was being entirely honest with herself--which the vet tried to be--she'd have to admit that she'd enjoyed the banter more than a little bit.

Usually, at the end of a long, people-filled day, Ixchel felt so drained that she had to lose herself in a book for hours before she could crawl, exhausted, into her bed. The animals who passed through her practice were an enjoyable puzzle...yes, even including the dogs who bit her while acting out their fear and pain. But their human handlers? Ixchel found the latter's turbulent emotions so draining that it was all she could do to open the practice door each morning, dreading the need to soothe worried, frustrated, angry, and sad humans for the next eight hours straight.

So a criminal holding Ixchel up at knife point should have been equally daunting. But, instead, the vet felt invigorated...as well as abruptly and unaccountably lonely.

When did I last wish someone had stuck around longer rather than being glad to see the back of him? Ixchel wondered. Never, that's when.

And why had the vet felt so guilty as she watched her attacker's tall form stride away down the country road, his left arm cradled in a makeshift sling? It wasn't as if a victim was expected to invite her attacker in, feed him dinner, and give him a spot to sleep on the waiting-room couch.

When it came right down to it, Ixchel had already gone above and beyond the call of duty in caring for the man. Rather than playing dumb, she'd allowed Finn to browbeat her into selecting appropriate antibiotics out of the stash she kept on hand for wounded animals. It was either that or find a way to call an ambulance, the vet told herself, knowing that a gunshot wound was almost certain to become dangerously infected without further treatment.

But Ixchel was also well aware that her actions hadn't made any sense. If need be, she could probably pass off the stitching up as the action of a terrified woman faced with an armed attacker, but the vet would get into serious trouble for prescribing antibiotics to a human being. So why had she gone out of her way to make sure that Finn walked out of her practice with everything he needed to make a speedy recovery?

And why did Ixchel feel such a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach as her mugger strode out of sight down the dark road? Had she really believed that Finn would offer his number along with his farewells, despite the inherent stupidity of such an action when the man was clearly on the run?

Yep, I've been deluding myself, Ixchel thought. She'd allowed herself to imagine that a spark had illuminated both of their hearts when her attacker took her hand in farewell, and she'd embraced the delusion that his eyes had warmed as they met her own for the last time.

So when Finn finally departed, the vet had to force herself not to call out a farewell. He's not a wounded stray, for crying out loud, she reminded herself. No, her attacker was a strong and dangerous man who reminded Ixchel far too much of the world she had left behind.

Purposefully left behind, the vet added silently.

Finn might have been right about one thing, though, she thought as she picked up a tattered copy of her favorite book and settled in for her usual evening entertainment. If I'm lonely enough to wish that my mugger hadn't left so abruptly, maybe I do need to bring home a cat.

***

AS SOON AS IXCHEL TURNED her back, Finn stepped off the road and into the woods. It's a good thing I wasn't trying to make friends and influence people, he thought a bit forlornly. Or it might have hurt my feelings to have a beautiful woman hustle me out the door so quickly and with such a supreme expression of relief on her face.

But people weren't the object of Finn's efforts, he reminded himself. Instead, he was searching for were-jaguars like himself. And the little Olmec statue currently weighing down his jacket pocket was the first solid lead Finn had found in years to suggest that he wasn't the only representative of his race currently in existence.

It only took a moment to uncover the stash of supplies that he'd hidden in the woods before beginning his career as an assailant. Because why take surveillance paraphernalia along on a holdup? Then Finn popped two aspirins, donned his headlamp, and gingerly drew the stolen figurine out of his pocket.

I sure hope you're worth a bullet wound, the were-jaguar thought, rubbing his fingers along the statue's contours to brush away the grime.

And would his findings also be worth the loss of the first woman who had set his internal whiskers tingling? She would have left anyway, Finn assured himself. The words were meant as a consolation, but they instead made his chest tighten in a surprisingly strong burst of loneliness.

The shifter had given up on experiencing real relationships with human women years ago, back when he realized that his inability to share the deepest part of his being meant that any liaison was bound for failure. After a while, he'd even told himself that he preferred casual hookups and one-night stands to dealing with the nuances of the human mating dance.

So why couldn't he get Ixchel's pert little nose and wide dark eyes out of his mind?

Luckily for the success of his current endeavor, though, Finn was used to making deals with himself to stay motivated. When I finally meet another were-jaguar, then I can go back looking for Ixchel. Assuming I still want to.

Because, at the moment, the shifter had to accept the fact that his brain was probably going a little haywire from loss of blood and wasn't thinking entirely clearly. Chances were good that Finn wouldn't even remember Ixchel's face next week, let alone next year.

A thought that made the shifter's heart sink even further. Who knew that transforming into a human would turn me into a romantic sap who believes in love at first sight?

And, speaking of transforming, Finn needed to focus on the task at hand if he wanted to discover the population of were-jaguars he kept promising himself was hidden just around the next bend. He brushed his fingers across the stone statue once again, and the figurine seemed to warm at his touch.

Another good sign. And an excellent way to draw his attention away from the comely veterinarian and back onto his quest.

It could simply be superstitious nonsense to believe that the statue was aware of his presence, but Finn had learned to trust his cat intuition. And that intuition said the stolen figurine was waiting and listening.

But the statue wasn't quite ready to give up its secrets. Not just yet.

Still, it was heartening to feel more certain that this, unlike the huge stone head, might actually be the key Finn had been seeking for so long. And if it turns out to hold the power I hope for, will I be able to turn my twin into a were-jaguar like me? Because that was the shifter's most deeply held desire. No, he wouldn't be content to simply discover another cat-shifter out in the world. Instead, he wanted to transform the jaguar who had been his daily companion for the first four years of his life into a woman who would make fun of his crush on Ixchel and of his rather unmanly obsession with perfectly creased trousers.

In short, Finn wanted a family.

As he mused, the shifter was rooting through the backpack of supplies once again, and he soon drew forth a soft-bristled brush. Cleaning the contours of the figurine would provide a closer look at what he was holding. But the task also seemed like the respectful thing to do, to polish up the statue that had been sitting in the ground for hundreds upon hundreds of years.

The work paid off, allowing Finn to discern that the little statue did indeed represent a were-jaguar caught in mid shift. Because, in addition to the pointy ears he'd noticed earlier, the thief's cleanup job also uncovered the subtle ridge of a slender tail curling around the base of the figurine. And, yes, there were even sharp front teeth very slightly protruded out over the carved line of the mouth.

But no matter how closely Finn peered at the stone were-jaguar, there was no writing to give him any indication of what to do next. No instructions to press the statue up against his sister's brow, sacrifice a goat, chant magical words, and watch his twin transform into the woman he wanted her to be.

Of course not, the shifter thought. He shouldn't have expected a guidebook, not when his preliminary research had turned up the fact that Olmec cultures likely predated the invention of writing in Central America by hundreds of years. But he also couldn't believe that this little stone were-jaguar would represent a dead end, not after all the contortions he'd gone through in order to take possession of the ancient figurine.

Back to the drawing board, the shifter thought. The next step would be to hit the books once again and find out as much as he could about were-jaguar statues in the Olmec tradition. And, in the meantime, he might as well transform back into his feline shape and make tracks before Mirabelle hunted down this temporary lair.

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# Chapter 7

The sea seemed to quake beneath Tezcatlipoca's paws, forcing him to work harder at treading water in order to stay afloat. And then, abruptly, he was free!

Or, well, not precisely free. But at least Tez's spirit had escaped its prison, even if his body was still encased in stone. Looking down, Tezcatlipoca recognized the little figurine that his supposed worshiper--with the help of that traitor Quetzcoatl--had used to entrap Tez more than two millennia ago. The statue was supposed to represent Tezcatlipoca's inner self, his duality as both jaguar and man...but couldn't the sculptor have worked a little harder to capture the supreme handsomeness of the god's visage?

I should have known Yo Pe wasn't a true worshiper, Tez groused. Not if he carved a representation of me that looks so drab and homely.

Of course the statue had appeared more enticing back in the day. At that time, it had been coated with colorful paint, encircled by iridescent green quetzal feathers, and handled with supreme reverence by the were-jaguar who called out the name of his god. Yo Pe had coated himself from head to toe with charcoal to link himself to the deity sometimes known as Black Tezcatlipoca, and he'd even procured white turkey feathers to create a headdress in a further show of respect. How could Tezcatlipoca resist such well-deserved flattery?

Enough dwelling on the past. It was time for the god to break his body free of the figurine so his earthly form could rejoin his spirit, allowing him to go about the important business of revenge. Luckily, the being holding Tez's prison in his long-fingered hand was a were-jaguar, despite the complete and utter lack of mention of the species on television and radio. Now if the shifter in question would simply offer up a prayer to his god....

I'm waiting....

But the were-jaguar seemed completely unaware of Tezcatlipoca's presence, although the shifter's thoughts were broadcasting so loudly that Tez had no trouble tuning in. Loneliness, yearning, blah, blah, blah. When would Tez's followers learn to break free of their human thought patterns and embrace the solitary power of the jaguar?

Still, if this was what Tezcatlipoca had to work with, he'd accept the slightly sub-par worshiper. After all, it wasn't as if other were-jaguars were lining up to take the shifter's place. And even manipulating the life of this whiny brat had to be more entertaining than treading water within his oceanic prison.

But as hours passed and the shifter resolutely refused to pray to his god, Tez became more and more agitated. Was it possible that Tezcatlipoca had been entirely forgotten here on earth? That would be a disaster since, without at least the hint of a prayer, Tez couldn't wedge his way into the shifter's thought patterns and mold him to the god's will.

Sure, the deity was still able to capture thoughts that came streaming out into the ether. But utilize his usual deft ability to meld with the minds of worshipers and trick them into carrying out Tez's bidding? Apparently not in the cards.

Tezcatlipoca had just about decided to tune out his sole non-worshipper after all so he could tune back into the nightly news when a familiar name caught his ear. Ixchel the woman had called herself. And even though the pronunciation wasn't quite right, Tez recognized the moniker as that of one of his sister gods. (For goodness sakes don't call them goddesses if you ever wanted to have a chance of getting back on the female deities' good side!)

Pay attention! Tez told his worshiper. Ixxie would never allow one of her followers to avoid her gaze for long, the female gods having a much more hands-on approach to worshiper management than Tezcatlipoca had ever been able to fit into his short attention span. And when Tez's sister god dropped by, she would likely be able to help Tez regain his proper form. After all, Ixxie had always harbored a soft spot for Tezcatlipoca's handsome face. (Take that, Yo Pe!)

But the shifter completely ignored Tez's orders. Or perhaps the were-jaguar was simply so cut off from his cultural heritage that he couldn't hear the words of his own god? Either way, the worthless worshiper walked away from Ixxie's namesake with just a hint of the shifter's typical melancholic longing to slow his step, but with the clear intention of leaving the goddess's follower behind. (Oops, hope Ixxie didn't catch that slip....)

It was only after the shifter had dropped Yo Pe's traitorous figurine back into his pocket and prepared to shift that Tez realized that he would be able to influence his worshiper after all. Because, even this long after the god had last walked the earth, were-jaguars could only change form by tugging on the coattails of Tezcatlipoca's power. And the jaguar god had full control over whether those shifts succeeded or failed.

Or, in this case, drifted entirely awry and ended up turning the were-jaguar into a common pussycat.

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# Chapter 8

Ixchel woke up to a phone line miraculously restored, to her cell on the car seat and the key slipped into the vehicle's ignition...and to a stray cat napping on her doorstep.

"Well, hello there," the vet said to the black ball of fur. He was a tomcat, she saw as the animal rose and stretched in a leisurely fashion, and one that was well socialized despite the fact that the male clearly hadn't been neutered.

I'd better be more careful what I wish for, she thought wryly, remembering her previous night's loneliness. But under the light of day, taking in a stray cat didn't seem like such a great idea after all. Sure, Ixchel had settled down...for the moment. On the other hand, she wasn't ready to make a long-term commitment to this little rural West Virginia enclave just yet. And cats weren't very good at handling transitions if their owner decided to pick up and move next week or next year. So, no, Ixchel wouldn't keep this stray cat, although she wouldn't ignore him either.

"Don't worry," Ixchel said, speaking aloud because socialized animals enjoyed the reassuring sound of a person's voice. Most pets didn't actually understand the words, but affection and confidence came through quite easily in the human tone, and the cat responded to Ixchel's reassurance by rubbing up against one ankle. "I can't keep you, pretty boy, but I'll definitely feed you until I find you a good home."

Leaving the door of the practice open behind her as she walked back inside, Ixchel wasn't surprised when the tom followed along behind all the way to the little kitchen at the very back of the building. She poured some dry kibbles into a saucer while brewing coffee for herself, then the pair reversed their journey, ending up back out on the front stoop in order to watch dawn come to the mountain.

It was surprisingly companionable to share her morning routine with another being, even though the cat was a bit standoffish and didn't leap up into Ixchel's lap the way she would have liked. The tom was walking with a limp too, and the vet filed that data away to be dealt with once she'd gained the animal's trust a little more and was able to pick him up without risking scratches. "You'll probably need some shots just in case you missed them," she murmured aloud, feeling pleased when the cat let her hand just barely glide over his back. "And I should neuter you too."

Was it her imagination, or had the cat's fur puffed up angrily at the very notion?

But her attention was quickly distracted by the shiny new car turning into her parking lot and rumbling over the gravel on its way to her front door. "Who could that be?" she wondered.

The practice wouldn't open for another hour, but this wouldn't be the first time a worried pet owner had seen Ixchel sitting outside in the morning and decided to drop by for an unscheduled consultation. The vet didn't discourage these drop-ins, even if they did impinge on her cherished quiet time. After all, if the human owner didn't have time to work herself (it was nearly always a woman) up into a tizzy while waiting for the practice to open, then the animal would arrive calmer and more collected as well. So Ixchel pasted a welcoming smile on her face and waited to see which pet had need of her services this time.

But the car's driver turned out to be a man. And as her visitor stepped out of the vehicle, Ixchel could see neither hide nor hair of any animal companion at all.

"Can I help you?" Ixchel asked, suddenly feeling exposed so far out in the boondocks, alone on the stoop of her practice. She rose to her feet, and the cat caught her mood and hissed before running away into the shrubbery. Never a good sign if an animal doesn't like a visitor's face....

"I hope so," the man replied, stopping several feet away as if sensing Ixchel's fear. He was a dapper gentleman, older than Ixchel but not so old that she didn't notice his lithe form and handsome face. In fact, the graceful movements of this second uninvited guest in the last twenty-four hours reminded the vet of Finn. On the other hand, something about her current visitor seemed darker and more dangerous....

Or maybe you're imagining perils that don't exist after being held up at knife point last night. This second explanation did make more sense, especially since the current caller wasn't threatening Ixchel in any way. Instead, he reached out to offer a business card, which the vet accepted between timid fingertips.

"Martin Mirabelle, Ph.D.," she read aloud, then looked back up at her visitor with questioning eyes.

"I lead the dig over at the old Quizner place," he said lightly. "You know, excavating the Indian mound?"

"Oh, right!" Now Ixchel felt silly for having let her imagination run away with her better sense. She'd read about the archaeological site in the newspaper and had been intrigued by a huge Mexican statue turning up in the mountains of West Virginia not far from her practice. "I was thinking of coming to the open house next week. Are you out looking for donations?"

Ixchel turned to head inside for her checkbook, always willing to support a worthy cause. But Martin's hard grip on her shoulder held her back. I didn't even see him move. The thought--and the strong fingers squeezing into her skin--was daunting, and Ixchel took a step away to remove the man from her personal space. And to give herself room to breathe.

With an abashed laugh, Martin moved back as well and raised his hands up in the air. "I'm sorry to have startled you," he said, the words an apology, and Ixchel provided a tentative smile in response. "But I'm not looking for donations," he continued. "There was a theft at the site last night. A priceless artifact went missing, and I'm pounding the pavement to determine if anyone might have seen the man who made off with it. The theft is a tremendous loss to science, such a shame to have an artifact of this caliber sold on the antiquities black market...." His voice trailed off, and Martin peered hopefully in Ixchel's direction.

So that's what Finn was up to. Her mugger had adroitly sidestepped every question the vet had tossed his way the previous evening, and Ixchel had to admit that she was almost relieved to hear that he'd stolen some sort of archaeological artifact rather than harming another person. But if he was only taking an old pot or arrowhead...then why did Finn end up with a bullet hole in his arm?

Martin's story didn't quite add up, and Ixchel found herself strangely protective of the mugger. So, even though the ethical choice would have been to tip off Martin about the previous evening's visitor, Ixchel simply shook her head. "That's terrible," she offered. "But, no, I haven't noticed someone like that around. In fact, I didn't see anybody at all last night after I closed the practice up. Just went to bed with a book...."

Clearly, the vet had protested too much, and her nonexistent poker face was less than believable. Because the archaeologist continued to pierce Ixchel with his gaze, obviously not buying her story.

"You're sure?" he asked at last. "You haven't seen a little figurine, about yea high, made of stone, obviously old?"

And now Ixchel looked at him quizzically. Would a tiny statue like that really be worth getting shot over? she wondered.

This time, her confusion must have come through as entirely genuine because the archaeologist shrugged. "Well, I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me," he said at last, turning back to his car. "And I hope you'll keep my card and give me a call if you hear any gossip about the matter. If that doesn't happen, then I'll look forward to seeing you at the open house."

His words were entirely cordial now, and Ixchel immediately regretted lying. Surely a Ph.D. like Martin wouldn't be mixed up in anything dicey? Whereas Finn was shifty, to say the least. Why she had felt called to throw in her lot with the latter rather than with the former was beyond her. Clear evidence of a traumatic childhood resulting in bad judgment as an adult.

And yet, the stray cat had run away at Martin's approach, and the tom remained hidden even as the archaeologist got into his car and drove away. So the vet held her tongue, despite serious second thoughts.

Well, Finn couldn't have traveled far on foot, Ixchel told herself sternly. Someone else will have seen him, and the statue will be back in the hands of scientists before I know it. So it won't really matter that I played fast and loose with the truth.

Her mugger's imminent capture should have made Ixchel feel better. But, instead, the vet found herself hoping that Finn was more wily than he appeared. Maybe he had managed to get clean away.

"And that, cat, is why I don't date," Ixchel said to the rustling shrubbery. "Clearly, I don't have the foggiest idea who should and who shouldn't be trusted."

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# Chapter 9

That was fast. Mirabelle had certainly shown up on the vet's doorstep quickly enough. And although Finn was pleasantly surprised not to have been ratted out, Ixchel was also the world's worst liar. The archaeologist had to realize that Finn had visited her practice the previous evening, and chances were good that the private security company Mirabelle had hired would be scoping out the joint in short order. Time to move on.

Slinking back into the woods, Finn stepped out of his feline form and unfolded his human body upwards. Then, turning directly back into the shift, he fell down onto four paws.

Unfortunately, those paws were still the size of silver dollars. Seriously?

Luckily, Finn had a pretty good idea what was going on. Having never enjoyed the dubious pleasure of transforming into a pussycat prior to the previous evening, obviously the purloined statue was at fault.

"Okay," he said, shifting once again, the speedy transformations making him pant slightly but otherwise leaving little mark. "Let's try this again." Setting the figurine down on a nearby log, Finn closed his eyes and shifted a fourth time...then stretched happily as his usual jaguar shape solidified around him. That's more like it.

Not that he was willing to leave the statue behind. Not after braving a gunshot wound to find it.

Which left the option of escaping on human feet. Finn had considered that scenario the night before, when Ixchel's car key lay serendipitously in the palm of his hand. It would have been so easy to hit the road in a stolen vehicle then swap the vet's car out for a hot-wired pickup a few towns over. By the time he'd hopscotched his way through half a dozen stolen vehicles, Finn would be all the way across the state and solidly off Mirabelle's radar.

But as he went to put the key in the ignition, the shifter had found himself wondering what Ixchel would go through in the aftermath of the theft. Would her insurance cover the loss? Would she be stranded out here on this seldom-traveled road until she was able to hire a rental vehicle?

Would she regret stitching up a stray thief's wound?

So, in the end, the shifter had closed the car door silently behind him and figured he'd make his escape on feline paws. And how strange is that, to feel guilty at the mere idea of a little larceny? Finn didn't keep himself in designer shoes by working a steady job. No, ever since donning his human skin fifteen years before, the shifter had put bread on the table through thievery.

At first, he'd stolen simple items--electronics from the mall to be fenced at the pawn shop, for example. But then Finn's research into archeology had drawn him deeper into the world of true valuables, and he'd begun pilfering ancient Egyptian artifacts and priceless Aboriginal ornaments. The way Finn looked at it, he wasn't really stealing. After all, no one had paid for those golden necklaces and clay pots in the last ten centuries. So it was a case of finders keepers...and Finn was the ultimate finder.

Which drew his thoughts to the one human whom Finn had built a long-term relationship with--Mick Carlton, the receiver of all his lifted items. Perhaps the solution to the shifter's current dilemma was to mail the figurine to Mick and ask the fence to hang onto it for him, which would allow Finn to transform into jaguar shape and throw his pursuers thoroughly off the trail.

The trouble was, while Finn trusted Mick not to turn him in to the cops, he didn't trust the fence not to cheat him of out every last dime in his pocket. And he definitely didn't trust Mick not to sell the figurine out from under him.

And Finn couldn't think of a single other human's address where he might mail the statue for safekeeping.

"This is absurd," Finn said to the little stone were-jaguar. Was it just his imagination, or did the Olmec figure suddenly appear smug? "You're supposed to be the source of were-jaguar power, a link to my people. Not an albatross slung around my neck."

But before the shifter could consider the matter further, his head whipped around. Immediately, Finn thrust the statue back into his pocket and began to run as fast as he could back the way he'd come, only this time heading toward the veterinary practice's back door.

Because a piercing human voice had cut through the forest just then, and Finn was certain he could identify the source. He'd just heard Ixchel scream.

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# Chapter 10

"We've got one walk-in dog with a fever. Beverley canceled her appointment...again. And there are three very handsome-looking men waiting out front."

"Three additional walk-ins?" Ixchel asked her receptionist absently as she scrubbed down her arms to ensure no germs carried over to the next patient. "Are they all here with the same animal? What kind and what's wrong?"

When the middle-aged woman didn't respond right away, Ixchel looked up at last and saw what could only be described as glee on Betty Lou's face. "No animals," the receptionist clarified. "They said they wanted to see you. Plus, one of the gentlemen is holding a rose...and he sure is handsome!"

Ixchel rolled her eyes as Betty Lou fanned her face to dissipate perceived hotness. "I'm sure the rose isn't for me," the vet murmured. Then, raising her voice back up to a normal speaking tone, she added: "But you might as well show your heartthrobs in. If Beverley's backpedaling on the neutering issue yet again, then I guess we've got a hole in our schedule. Hopefully I'll be able to get rid of the animal-less walk-ins quickly so I can fully focus on the dog."

Now it was the older woman's turn to roll her eyes. "And that's why none of the fine-looking young men around here ever get up the nerve to ask you out on a date," she said. But the receptionist didn't argue her boss's orders before heading back down the hall to her post.

No, that's why I chose to be a veterinarian instead of angling for a future as a trophy wife, Ixchel thought, her mind already running in a hundred different directions. Would she be able to talk Beverley into neutering her beloved chihuahua before he impregnated the entire neighborhood if she dialed the elderly woman up once again? Would this morning's stray cat show back up after the bustle of the work day ended, or had the black tom been scared off for good? And would the walk-in with a fever be easy to soothe? The canine must not be one of her regulars or Betty Lou would have mentioned him or her by name, so....

"Excuse me?"

Ixchel looked up, a polite smile plastered on her face...then paled as she took in the three suited men filling the doorway of the examining room. To Betty Lou--and to most residents of this quiet West Virginia community--the trio likely resembled eye candy, men muscular enough to grace the cover of a romance novel. But Ixchel's childhood on the West Side of Cleveland told her otherwise. Those weren't the kind of muscles you brought home from the gym, and that bulge directly under each man's armpit wasn't a box of chocolates. Ixchel could tell at a glance that the rose was merely a cover, and that these men were dangerous.

Her visitors sized the vet up at the same time she assessed them in return, and the men's limbs tensed as they took in their prey's anxiety. Fight or flight! screamed Ixchel's muscles. Of the two options, she vastly preferred flight.

Running through alternative escape routes in her mind, Ixchel glanced away from the men and toward the second door, the aperture that the vet used to enter the examining room from the laboratory side of the building. She might be fast enough to run through that door then down the hall and out the emergency exit before one of the men could get his hands on her. It was unlikely, but possible.

However, if Ixchel escaped out the back way, that would leave Betty Lou and whoever had brought in the feverish dog exposed in the waiting room. And the vet didn't want the backlash from her past to impact the innocent. So she closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and then recalled the polite smile that had recently slipped from her face.

"I'm not running," Ixchel said at last, cutting to the chase. "But can we walk out the back exit and speak away from the waiting room?" I don't want my staff and customers to hear what happens if my assumptions are correct, her pursed mouth and flinty eyes added. And I assume that you don't either.

Her unspoken words seemed to have been understood as well as her spoken ones because both the man holding the rose and the red-headed man looked toward the central figure for confirmation. The boss's nostrils flared in consideration, then he strode forward and clamped one hard hand onto Ixchel's upper arm by way of reply.

The fingers in question were so huge that they wrapped all the way around the vet's limb, and she had to force herself to breathe. He's huge. And far too close for comfort. Not that panicking would help matters.

And not that telling herself to avoid panicking ever prevented her adrenal glands from kicking into high gear.

"Walk," the man said curtly, and Ixchel felt her feet take her down the hall in the opposite direction from the waiting room. Back here, on the administrative side of the practice, there were medical implements close at hand. The vet considered reaching out, trying to grab a scalpel....

And then what? Would she stab the man holding her arm while his compatriots pulled out the guns they hid so laxly beneath their clothing? A single scalpel clearly wouldn't be sufficient weaponry to allow Ixchel to break free of the trio, so the vet simply took another shuddery breath and kept right on walking.

For a minute, the expansive skies and fresh air of the outdoors eased her claustrophobia. But then the three thugs backed Ixchel up against the closed door, towering over her in a united front of testosterone-laden muscles.

The vet had never been bullied in school, not with five older brothers to protect her from all comers. But she'd been in enough dicey situations as a result of those same brothers' criminal leanings to know that being surrounded by sufficient manpower to outweigh her five times over wasn't a recipe for continued good health.

But the vet still had no way to fight herself free. So it appeared she would use the only weapon at her disposal--words.

"What do you want?" Ixchel asked when the elongated silence seemed to be sucking the air right out of her lungs. She wasn't trying to be a smart-ass, either. There were simply so many people in her past who would like to see her come to harm that she couldn't decide who might have sent these men to intimidate or harm her.

Topping the list were those aforementioned brothers, who had changed from over-protective to vengeful in a heartbeat when Ixchel got them all arrested on the same night. And if her siblings hadn't sent these thugs to track her down, then the men might be enemies of her family planning to sate their anger on the clan's weakest link.

Or perhaps Ixchel's morning intuition was correct and Dr. Martin Mirabelle wasn't the kindly professor that he had initially appeared. Wasn't it astonishing how many enemies a simple veterinarian could rack up while going about her daily life?

As these thoughts spun through the vet's mind, she tried to look less terrified than she felt, while also doing her best not to add any arrogance to her stance that might prompt an outbreak of physical violence. After several long seconds, Ixchel gathered up enough courage to meet the lead thug's eye, and the man took that as a cue to pause his intimidation tactics long enough to growl at her.

"We want the statue," her captor ground out. "Or we want the thief. One or the other. Preferably both."

The four short sentences were practically a novel coming from this close-mouthed but thoroughly terrifying man, and Ixchel shivered before trying her hand once again at misdirection. "You mean the man whom Dr. Mirabelle was here asking about this morning? I told the professor already. I haven't seen anyone...."

Her words were cut off as the thug with the rose grasped the vet's throat and slammed her entire body back against the door. He hadn't bothered to drop the flower before attacking, and Ixchel's eyes teared up as rose petals scratched against sensitive tissue. It's only irritation of my retinas making me cry, the vet told herself. Not the pain and terror of having all air blocked before it could make its way into her lungs.

Since she couldn't speak with his hand around her neck, the vet assumed her attacker would let her go eventually. But she was starting to see dark spots in front of her eyes and the thug showed no signs of easing his stance, so her hands rose up to claw at his hard flesh.

She was suffocating.

"Please," Ixchel mouthed, not even able to whisper without the ability to take a breath.

At a nod from the boss, the rose-carrier finally allowed her body to slide out of his grasp, and the vet clutched at the door knob to keep herself upright as she gasped in huge gulps of air. "I'm sorry. Okay. I'll tell you," Ixchel said, the words garbled as she forced them out as fast as she could in an effort to keep the thugs at bay. "He came by last night with a gunshot wound right up here on his arm."

Beginning to wave toward her left shoulder, the vet halted mid-motion as the lead thug's eyes narrowed. Doesn't he know that if I had a weapon, I wouldn't be standing here right now? the vet wondered, but she still let her hand drop back to her side without completing the gesture.

"And?" the head thug prompted.

"And I stitched him up," Ixchel rushed on. "He let me lock myself in the practice afterwards, and then he left. I swear I don't know where he is now, and I didn't see a statue."

It only took a fraction of a second for the rose-carrier to grasp her neck again, using two hands this time around for better leverage against her flesh. But Ixchel was sick of protecting innocents if it meant she wasn't going to make it out of this altercation alive. So, between the time the rose-carrying thug moved and the time all air was trapped once again in her lungs, the vet screamed as loud and long as she was able.

I hope Betty Lou has the good sense to dial 911, she thought. And then the world went black.

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# Chapter 11

Finn's feet took him onto the edge of the veterinary practice's lawn at the same moment that Ixchel's body dropped to the ground beside three very muscle-bound men. So that's Mirabelle's security company, the shifter thought grimly. Then: Please don't let her be dead.

"Jerkwad," the dark-haired thug said to the man who'd recently loosened his grip from around the vet's neck. "She won't do us any good unconscious." The boss didn't seem all that torn up about his underling's actions, though, and he proceeded to nudge Ixchel none-too-gently with the toe of one boot.

The fallen woman groaned and shifted slightly, but didn't open her eyes. Not dead. Finn almost dropped to the ground in mimicry of the vet's reclining posture from sheer relief.

But, although literally out of the woods, the shifter was far from out of the metaphorical woods. The trouble was that Finn hadn't spent much time learning to fight as a human. And he also possessed no weapons capable of counteracting the ones laxly hidden beneath the thugs' suits. So the question became--should Finn change into jaguar form and risk revealing himself to the public, or should he slink off into the trees and hope Ixchel found her way out of this precarious situation on her own?

In the past, Finn's cat nature had usually prompted him to save his own skin in similar situations. But the shifter had a sinking suspicion that these thugs were out looking for him. Which meant that Ixchel was merely a stepping stone on their path to world domination, and thus was Finn's responsibility to protect.

Plus, the vet had been kind to him even after he menaced her nearly into a faint last night. And, for some unknown reason, she hadn't ratted him out to Mirabelle this morning either. Added to which, the breakfast kibbles had been much appreciated....

So, for once, Finn chose valor over skin-saving and called to the thugs as he walked briskly toward them. "Hey! Are you looking for me?"

As one, the three men whirled to face the shifter, their broad shoulders putting Finn in mind of a pack of pit bulls he'd once stumbled across while skulking around a secluded acreage on jaguar feet. Then, as now, Finn was hoping to get away with an object that didn't rightfully belong to him. If only the shifter could manage to out-think these human pit bulls the way he'd done with their canine cousins....

"Let me guess," Finn continued, reaching into his pocket and watching as all three men's hands went for their guns. The shifter ignored the sudden firepower, though, simply pulling out the were-jaguar figurine. "I'll bet you're hunting for this?"

When their prey's hand came up full of stone rather than metal, his opponents relaxed and the head thug began to smirk. "Hand it over and maybe we'll go easy on you," the dark-haired man began, but Finn shook his head with false bravado.

"I can't come any closer while you're all pointing guns at me. Put down your weapons, then we'll talk."

Of course, even these Neanderthals wouldn't go for such simple subterfuge. Not when Finn could have whipped out firepower of his own as soon as they let down their guard.

Too bad I'm not carrying so much as Ixchel's dull dinner knife.

When his opponents failed to accede to his wishes, the shifter figured it was time to give them a little peace of mind. "Look," Finn said, unbuttoning and shrugging out of his coat in order to display his complete lack of gun harnesses. "Nothing up my sleeves," he promised, rolling up his cuffs.

When that demonstration was insufficient to wash the distrust off the other mens' faces, the shifter grumpily bent down and pushed up each trouser leg in succession. Finally, he turned a complete circle before his unappreciative audience.

"Nothing down here either," the shifter added. "As you can see, I'm entirely unarmed...except for this." He wagged the little stone were-jaguar in the air, noticing as he did so that Ixchel had regained consciousness and was looking in his direction.

The vet raised her eyebrows as if asking whether she should lend aid to the proceedings, but Finn shook his head very subtly from side to side. The entire point of this half-assed rescue attempt was rescue, and it wouldn't do him any good if Ixchel got herself killed in the process.

"Guns?" Finn prompted, and at a nod from the boss, all three men finally dropped their pistols to the earth. The shifter winced, expecting one to go off from the fall, but no shot rang out through the air.

He did hear the unmistakable sound of sirens very far off in the distance, though. Far enough away that the thugs couldn't pick out the sound...yet. Time to hurry this drama along to its inevitable conclusion.

Because claws were evidently the only way to get both Ixchel and himself out of this mess with their hides intact. Sure, each thug had dropped the pistol that he held in his hand, but Finn would have bet the men possessed at least one additional handgun apiece. Plus who knew how many knives and other means of mayhem scattered about their person. So Finn's only solution was the element of surprise...or rather, of shock.

Which meant getting rid of the figurine so the shifter didn't simply turn into a cuddly little pussycat after leaving his human body behind. Finn let his eyes drift down to Ixchel's again and he gave her what he hoped came through as a meaningful stare. Then, throwing the statue between the thugs' legs, he yelled, "Catch!"

***

CATCH? THAT WAS FINN's brilliant solution to the dilemma of three armed goons waiting to wring her neck the rest of the way? To throw Ixchel the object that had gotten her mixed up in this mess in the first place?

But, despite her terror and annoyance, the vet obeyed his command. Or tried to.

Initially, the little figurine appeared to be veering too far off to the right for Ixchel to snatch it out of the air from her reclining position. But, somehow...miraculously...it ended up smacking into the palm of her hand. "Thank God in heaven," she murmured under her breath, bringing the statue to her breast as she curled further away from danger.

"Well, fuck a duck!" the red-headed thug exclaimed, seemingly in reply, but the vet was too busy rolling away from her captors' legs and scrambling to her own feet to check out what had caused his exclamation. As she did so, she felt the rough prickle of grass on her bare skin...and a strange tingle in her fingers where they clutched the little stone statue.

Of course, the odd sensation likely came from shock at being thrust into such an explosive situation after years of avoiding scenarios any more dicey than visiting the grocery store by herself in broad daylight. Whether due to hysteria or not, though, the tingling was the last straw, and Ixchel was tempted to fling the statue (and the danger associated with it) as hard as she could in the direction of the overgrown shrubbery ringing her practice.

And yet, despite wanting nothing more than to see the last of the problematic statue, something made her instead slip the figurine into the pocket of her white lab coat. Then, at last, the vet turned her eyes back toward Finn.

Or, rather, toward the huge black cat that took up the space where Finn had stood only moments earlier. The same black cat whom Mr. Fuzzy had treed that morning.

It made no sense, but the broad muzzle and the hint of spots showing through the animal's dark fur pointed toward the beast being a jaguar. A black panther, actually--the melanistic form that she seemed to recall made up about six percent of the wild jaguar population.

A wild population that should be located in Central and South America, not here in the mountains of West Virginia.

Yet another fact that is entirely irrelevant to surviving whatever clusterfuck I've gotten myself into, Ixchel reminded herself. As the smallest human present, the vet would be the obvious prey of this surely scared and confused feline. So she needed to make her escape as quickly and quietly as possible. The thugs, Ixchel decided, could fend for themselves.

One of her attackers evidently thought that fending for himself would best be done with gun in hand, so he bent down toward his weapon...only to halt as the huge black cat growled a warning. A jaguar shouldn't understand the implications of a pistol, Ixchel found herself thinking. Although, maybe even animals now knew the scent of gunmetal, at least in this rural area that boasted hunters behind every other tree.

Still, when the jaguar turned his eyes toward Ixchel and speared her with a glance that looked absurdly familiar, the vet was forced to wonder where exactly her stray thief had gotten to. Sure, the vet had turned her back for several seconds. But her attention hadn't been off the area long enough for Finn to sprint to the tree line. And she definitely hadn't been sidetracked long enough for a jaguar to have dropped out of the blue sky to replace him.

As Sherlock Holmes would say, once you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.

And yet, what part of the were-jaguar explanation suddenly kicking around in Ixchel's mind could conceivably avoid the definition of impossible?

If Finn had been in human form, the vet suspected he would have cleared his throat at that moment to remind her of the three muscle-bound thugs standing between them. As it was, his gaze had to do the job of communication for him, the widening of the feline's eyes doing an admirable job of forcing Ixchel to get back into the game.

It wasn't as if the vet had precisely forgotten her attackers, of course. But the shock of seeing a jaguar in her backyard had driven the men momentarily out of her mind. Surely Finn could understand her confusion.

Still, if Ixchel was thinking semi-rationally once again, then that meant her opponents' consternation was likely to be equally fleeting. Soon, the men would realize that one feline--no matter how huge--couldn't attack all three of them at the same time. And then they'd recall their guns, the number of which probably trumped one gigantic cat.

At which point the tables would turn and Ixchel...and the jaguar...would once again be at the thugs' mercy.

So the vet gathered her courage and made possibly the stupidest decision of her short life. She sidestepped the red-headed thug, walked over to the jaguar, and wrapped one arm around his neck as if in restraint.

The most terrifying part of the endeavor was that she didn't even have to bend down to reach the beast's skin.

Then, meeting the gaze of the head thug, Ixchel finally spoke. Hoping her voice didn't make her sound as terrified as she felt, she advised her attackers: "If I were you, I'd run."

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# Chapter 12

The weight of Ixchel's arm around his neck sent shivers down the jaguar's spine. He'd never been touched like this, neither in cat nor in human form. Never been held possessively, as if the holder wanted nothing more than to cling to his strength in order to prop herself up.

As if she were touching him by her own free will. As if she wanted to be closer to his skin.

Of course, Finn knew that Ixchel's bravery had simply been a front, a facade intended to drive away the threat of three armed men intent upon hunting them both down. He could see the pulse in his companion's neck beating far too rapidly, could hear her inhalation catching as the thugs rounded the bend and hopped into their car before screeching out of the lot only minutes ahead of the police squad's arrival.

The shifter also suspected that the woman wrapping her arm around his neck was seconds away from fainting. Assuming, of course, that temporary bouts of unconsciousness were her usual reaction to trauma and not simply what she did at the sight of him.

And yet, despite knowing that Ixchel's touch was as phony as it was fleeting, it was all Finn could do to force himself to shift away from feline form. And when he was once again standing two-legged, this time with Ixchel's arm draped around his neck as if they were preparing to slow dance, it was all he could do to step back out of the deliciously scented woman's personal space rather than dipping his head down to steal a kiss.

Because he'd stolen enough from this woman already.

"I should go," Finn said, looking at the ground so he wouldn't be tempted to meet Ixchel's eyes. For the first time in his life, he was thoroughly ashamed of his actions. Because he'd now forced this woman out of her comfort zone and into real or perceived danger three times in quick succession, and he had a feeling the saying "three strikes and you're out" was quite literally true in this case. Plus--and this time he verbalized his thinking for Ixchel's benefit--"The police will be here soon."

Now that she was no longer in peril, Finn expected his companion to take to her heels and run away from the beast that he had recently hidden beneath his skin. But, instead, the vet simply cocked her head to one side, her brown cheeks paling slightly as the faraway sirens neared enough to be discernible with simple human hearing.

"We should go," Ixchel corrected. "There's no way I'm letting you walk out of my life without an explanation." She paused, then continued, "And Mirabelle's men will be back soon, so I'm safer with you anyway."

The final sentence almost seemed like an afterthought, and Finn allowed the tiniest smile to grace his lips. Perhaps he hadn't thoroughly blown it after all. Was it possible that Ixchel felt the same attraction to Finn as he did to her?

As enticing as it was to consider that possibility, the shifter knew the idea would have to be tabled for later if he didn't want to have to explain himself to local law enforcement. And, given his past proclivities, he really, really didn't want his fingerprints to end up in any database.

So the shifter conceded, telling himself that he was bringing along a civilian for her own protection. No, Finn wasn't allowing Ixchel to insinuate herself into his adventure because he wanted a chance to explain away his actions and to see whether the veterinarian could forgive him for his lapses in judgment. That wasn't the case at all.

"You're right," he said, rather than ducking down that mental rabbit hole. "I'll take you somewhere Dr. Mirabelle and his thugs can't find you. But we have to hurry...." The shifter reached out to grasp his companion's hand, but her feet appeared firmly planted in the earth as she abruptly frowned and shook her head.

"I forgot," Ixchel said, turning back toward the door of the practice. "I'll need my driver's license. And there's a cat I have to leave food out for. And...."

The sirens were getting closer by the second, but Finn took a moment to meet his companion's gaze head on at last. Ixchel's eyes were startlingly dark, the pupils nearly lost in the brown cornea despite the brightness of the day. And as the shifter peered more closely, he allowed himself to hope that the vet's fear truly had dissipated, that she was inserting herself into his quest through cat-like curiosity of her own.

Wishful thinking? Finn wasn't sure. But he did know that the wonder presently illuminating his companion's features was the most attractive expression he had ever seen.

So he spilled the rest of the beans.

"I was that tom cat," he said simply. Then, giving Ixchel's hand another tug, the shifter led her at a trot toward her car.

***

"...JUST THREE GUNS ON the ground and no blood, so the police left eventually," Betty Lou was saying, the words carrying through to the burner cell phone that Finn had handed Ixchel moments earlier. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Positive," the vet replied, even though the response was an out-and-out lie. She was having a hard time paying attention as her receptionist chattered on, actually. Instead, she watched Finn walk up to the car-rental counter, where he offered the clerk a smile so innocuous that it would soon be forgotten...but which Ixchel still found herself deeply resenting.

Now, if that was Finn's usual facial expression, the clerk would be melting into a little pool of jelly at his feet. But the simple expediency of slipping small pieces of foam in between his teeth and cheeks then donning a pair of sunglasses had made her companion's face somehow quite different and markedly less memorable. So the woman's return smile was polite rather than smitten.

Or maybe I'm the only one who has a problem keeping her heart rate at a normal pace when I look into Finn's eyes?

Added to the subtle yet effective disguise, Ixchel had also caught other troublesome glimpses into the fugitive's life as he gathered gear out of her car in the parking lot. There had been a driver's license that didn't mention the name "Finn" anywhere on it, for example, along with a rather large wad of cash.

Who uses paper money in this day and age, anyway? Well, except gangsters and drug dealers....

That, plus the sheer facileness of her chosen companion's transformation, should have put the brakes on her budding attraction. But the vet instead found herself intrigued by her companion's skills, and she had a hard time lowering her gaze now as she watched from the sidelines. No, Finn wasn't trustworthy. But he was as eye-catching and alluring as a cat.

Focus on the person you're talking to, Ixchel reminded herself.

"I'm sorry I worried you," the vet said the next time she could get a word in edgewise, doing her best to soothe her employee sufficiently so she could hang up the phone. The apology was meant as a way of explaining without explaining, something she was becoming quite familiar with since the jaguar-shifter had sidestepped all of her own questions as she drove--at his insistence--toward the nearest airport. Because it seemed Finn's arm was paining him too much to hold the wheel. Or, perhaps, he just wanted full freedom to watch his companion while Ixchel could only catch glimpses of her passenger's face out of the corner of her eye.

The vet had assumed that the two of them would hop onto the first departing plane in order to escape pursuit. But the fugitive had merely smiled at her naivety and explained that they'd be renting a car in his name and then ditching Ixchel's vehicle a few towns further down the highway. Finn seemed remarkably adept at throwing pursuers off his trail, another trait that Ixchel was trying not to imbue with too much meaning.

"Look," she continued, speaking into the phone. "I've been thinking about how you said I should get out more, take a vacation. So I've decided to close the practice for a couple of weeks. Do you mind calling in the cancellations, locking up the place, and changing our answering-machine message to send patients over to Dr. Jones if there's an emergency? It'll be a paid vacation for you too, of course...."

"I knew you'd met someone," Betty Lou exclaimed, ever the romantic. And, as usual, she was both remarkably on and off track at the same time. "That rose..."

"Yes," Ixchel said, abruptly cutting off her receptionist's gushing as Finn walked back toward her. "I've gotta go now, though. Thanks for holding down the fort."

And then, punching the end button, the vet extricated herself from the best parts of her past and walked over to join her future.

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# Chapter 13

An hour before Ixchel and Finn slipped away down the highway in an anonymous rental car, Tezcatlipoca decided he would rather have stayed restfully buried in the ground rather than dealing with the realities of the modern world. I'm gonna hurl, the jaguar god thought as his stomach protested the speed with which his prison was currently flying through the air.

Vomiting into his watery cell would be just plain disgusting, though. Plus, who knew how long the effluvia would float around before settling into the bottom of the sea? Based on how little Tezcatlipoca had been able to affect his physical surroundings in the past, the god just might be swimming in his own vomit for an eternity if he threw up now. So Tez would find a way to control the nausea and keep down his nonexistent dinner even if his prison's motion made him want to retch.

Of course current events were much more distressing than the state of the deity's stomach. What the heck was his sole not-quite-worshiper thinking to toss Tez away like three-day-old fish?

That were-jaguar deserves a punishing migraine...or maybe an ingrown toenail so infected he'll have to cut off the entire foot. Unfortunately, Tezcatlipoca's only current control over his so-called follower involved the latter's physical transformation, and messing with his shift might not even be possible now that the mortal was no longer touching Tez's figurine.

It sucks to be a god without power, Tezcatlipoca thought grumpily.

"Thank God in heaven," the new holder of the were-jaguar figurine murmured, and Tez's ears perked right up. Aha! Sure, the diminutive woman was probably praying to that other god, the one Tez was doing his best not to be jealous of for taking over half the world while Tezcatlipoca had been out of commission. (Not fair, J.C.!) But the woman hadn't specified who her words were referring to, so Tez opted to assume the prayer as being aimed at himself.

Okay, yes, Tez admitted that he was lowering his own standards by accepting a prayer that wasn't couched in more flattering terms and that didn't come served up on a bed of human sacrifice. But whatcha gonna do? A god's gotta do what a god's gotta do, times were apparently changing, yada, yada, yada.

Plus, accepting the prayer made Tezcatlipoca feel a little more powerful almost immediately. To test his newfound strength, the deity popped back into his prison for a moment and tried to push against the walls of his cell. Nope. One tiny prayer wasn't going to do it for him...although his stomach did feel much more settled than it had a moment earlier. Prayer--the new ginger ale. Someone could make a mint on that.

And, wait, was that a stone beneath his feet? Smirking, Tezcatlipoca pulled his physical body up out of the water for the first time in two thousand years and shook hard enough to shed every drop of water from his fur. Dry at last!

It won't take many more of those little prayer-a-rooskies to get me out of here, the jaguar god thought. Then he popped his spirit back into the real world to check out the praying woman more thoroughly.

On this second appraisal, Tez determined that Ixchel was far more intriguing than he'd initially thought. And not just because of her familiar name. A thin metal chain dipping down into the woman's lab coat drew the god's attention immediately, and Tez narrowed his eyes, discovering that, yep, the woman's single prayer had restored his familiar ability to see through fabric.

Nice knockers. Just the right size for grabbing onto....

The woman's breasts, though, weren't what Tez was most interested in at the moment. Instead, he peered as closely as he could at the little cat figurine strung onto the woman's necklace and saw that, despite the material being too young to have originated with one of Tez's original worshipers, the metal still reeked of Olmec intention.

Interesting.

Now, which deity had granted his or her blessing to be passed down from mother to daughter to granddaughter and finally to this namesake of Tezcatlipoca's sister god? And was the god in question one of Tez's so-called friends...or one of his far-more-numerous enemies?

Unfortunately, Tez's focus was drawn away from the ornament when he realized that the woman was considering tossing his prison into the bushes. Did humans have no respect for a god, albeit a trapped one?

The jaguar deity firmly pushed the woman's inappropriate intention aside and then smiled as Ixchel thrust his prison deep down into her own pocket. Finally. Now he could relax.

Blah, blah, blah, worry. Blah, blah, blah, physical attraction. Humans were so boring that Tez spent a few hours tuning back into his favorite radio station before being captured by the were-jaguar's thoughts once again.

Seriously? Couldn't these mortals focus on something important for a change? Like a god, maybe?

Time for a word from on high.

Unfortunately, his wishes would need to go through the mortal female conduit since Tez wasn't quite powerful enough yet to influence the male from a distance. But after channeling his intentions as carefully as possible--since speaking into a mortal's mind was draining under the best of circumstances and nearly impossible in his current weakened state--the god finally made his presence, and his wishes, known.

And the woman, rather than responding with awe and rapture to the divine voice within her noggin, instead jerked in her seat as if she'd been struck. "Now I'm schizophrenic?!" she exclaimed loudly, before popping a hand over her mouth and shooting a glance over at her companion.

This isn't going at all well, Tez thought resignedly. Not at all well.

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# Chapter 14

Tell him about the cat charm. The words that popped into Ixchel's head came from a voice that the vet could've sworn wasn't her own. Instead, it sounded deep and reverberant, like that of a swoon-worthy announcer you might hear on late-night radio.

But the experience didn't make Ixchel swoon. Not when the voice was inside her own head.

"Now I'm schizophrenic?!"

Oops. Had she said that aloud? Casting a glance at her companion out of the corner of her eye, the vet saw that she had, indeed, made the incriminating observation at a high enough volume to attract the shifter's attention.

"Hmm?" he asked, eyes still firmly focused on the road. The pair had been riding in silence for the last hour, Finn lost in (she suspected) plans for ridding himself of the woman whom he'd been saddled with, while Ixchel spent the same minutes trying to figure out how not to get dumped by the side of the road.

Because, after working with dozens of half-feral cats, Ixchel thoroughly recognized the glint in Finn's eyes that said he was regretting allowing his chivalry to overcome his good sense. Had her companion currently sported four feet and a tail, Ixchel would be preparing herself for the inevitable scratching claws and then for a quick dart away between her feet in search of safety somewhere as distant as possible from humankind.

The vet was thoroughly expecting Finn to utilize the biped equivalent of those evasive maneuvers at any moment, which was why she'd squashed down her need to know more about her companion's physical abilities and had restrained herself from pumping him for details. After all, Ixchel was kinda hoping the shifter would forget she was there and would maybe allow her to observe his transformation up close and personal one more time. Better to wait and collect her own data firsthand rather than scaring away this intriguing cat-shifter by showing too much interest too soon.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

Unlike Ixchel, Finn evidently wasn't as willing to wait out his companion's jitters. And, to be honest, Ixchel had to admit that she probably wouldn't have been able to resist such an intriguing conversational gambit either. Nothing like tossing mental-illness diagnoses around to capture people's attention.

But who wanted to admit to hearing voices in her head?

Will you get over yourself and move this quest along to its inevitable conclusion?

Ixchel closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. She really was going crazy. Once might be a fluke caused by unaccustomed stress. But to hear the voice in her head a second time suggested that the vet should make a quick trip to the emergency room.

"Hey, it's going to be okay." Ixchel wasn't sure how long she'd sat in silence, trying to squeeze the male voice back out of her mind, but she suspected it wasn't very long. If only because her uninvited visitor seemed to be the impatient sort who wouldn't take kindly to being ignored.

You got that right.

It was easier to accept the voice now that Ixchel felt the car slow and then stop, especially when Finn removed his hands from the steering wheel and replaced the vet's own fingertips, gently probing the skin atop her head. And as the shifter massaged her scalp, Ixchel allowed herself to relax into the sensation. It had been so long since she'd enjoyed a touch even this intimate, and it would be a shame to let the experience go to waste due to minor extenuating circumstances like schizophrenia and gunshot wounds.

"Whatever you heard, chances are pretty good you're not schizophrenic," the shifter whispered into her ear a few moments later. Ixchel shivered in response, trying not to imagine that her companion's words were pillow talk after a wild night of passion.

Okay, so simply imagining not imagining that was making Ixchel a little hot around the collar.

Only after her companion's fingers paused in their ministrations did Ixchel jolt back to reality. Over so soon? she thought regretfully, missing the sensation already. And, as if he sensed her qualms, Finn resumed his rubbing at the same time he asked: "You've still got the were-jaguar sculpture I threw you, right?"

When Ixchel nodded slightly, her eyes remaining closed to shut out the world, she felt one of Finn's hands leave her head and slip down into the pocket of her lab coat. He could easily have copped a feel and covered up the touch as an accidental gesture, but her companion instead seemed to be doing his level best not to brush up against any personal bits.

Although, actually, at the moment, Ixchel wasn't entirely sure that a caress of her breast would be unwelcome.

Do you humans ever think about anything except sex? Back in my day....

"You walked to school uphill both ways?"

The voice in her head was gone as abruptly as it had appeared, and Ixchel knew she shouldn't have felt so relieved to realize that Finn had heard the last couple of sentences as well. After all, despite proving her lack of mental illness, the words also clued her companion in to the embarrassingly salacious inner dialogue that had been peppering Ixchel's thoughts for the last twenty-four hours.

Time to face the music. She opened her eyes at last, expecting to find a smirk on the shifter's lips. But, instead, Finn was frowning as he shook the figurine angrily.

"What, you'll speak to her and not to me?" her companion grumbled. "Okay, then, let's try it this way."

Finn raised one eyebrow at Ixchel, then reached out toward her with the same hand that enclosed the figurine. And when the vet didn't pull away, Finn dropped the little statue into her open hand, then curled his fingers closed around her own.

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# Chapter 15

And now the humans are holding hands as they bow down in fear of the almighty god.

The voice sounded smug this time around, and Finn decided to go with the opening being presented. "Is that what you are? A god?"

Are you serious? Sure, I've been MIA for a while, but every were-jaguar should recognize the honor when his deity takes the time to pay a personal call. There should be chants and feasting. Sacrifice a goat at least, why don't ya?

Affronted dignity. That's what the self-proclaimed god was broadcasting now, and Finn spared a moment to see how Ixchel was handling this internal conversation.

He was glad to see that, despite being thrown headfirst into the paranormal world only a few hours earlier, the color was coming back into his companion's cheeks as Finn and the god bantered. The shifter was sure he wouldn't be doing nearly as well if he hadn't been studying and searching in hope of this very outcome for the last five years. So he had to admit that the vet rose yet another few notches in his estimation as she continued to maintain her cool.

Not that he'd ever thought Ixchel was anything less than amazing.

"What's your name, oh mighty god?" the vet said now, surprising Finn even more by not only engaging their brain worm, but also by playing to the deity's weakness. The shifter suspected that Ixchel could tell just as he had that stroking the god's ego warmed the deity's humors as he danced within both of their minds. Good job, Finn thought, then squashed the words, hoping that their listener hadn't caught the sentiment floating around within his noggin.

The shifter shouldn't have been concerned, though, because his internal parasite was far too excited by Ixchel's subservience to pay attention to anyone except himself. I am the Smoking Mirror, the Black Tezcatlipoca, the Enemy of Both Sides! the god proclaimed, and Finn could have sworn a sudden gust of wind picked up and buffeted the car. Or maybe that was simply a passing tractor trailer?

I am the epitome of change through conflict, the god of the night winds and of temptation. I am a jaguar who turned into a man and a man who turns into jaguar. Then, a pause as the god came down off his clearly long-cherished soapbox, followed by: But my friends call me Tez.

Finn could hardly believe that this stuck-up, egotistical deity was offering a pair of unworthy humans his nickname. But then he chanced a look over at Ixchel's glowing face. Yep, even a deity would crave Ixchel's regard.

The shifter was abruptly glad that he'd allowed his selfishness to overrule his good sense, preventing him from dropping Ixchel off at that secluded cabin as he'd originally planned. The vet was as skilled as she was enticing, and he enjoyed having her along for the ride. The fact that she could now write "adept god handler" on her resume was just an added bonus, although the skill might come in handy during their current adventure.

Yes, let's get back to the point, shall we? The god said, causing the shifter to jerk in surprise. I'm reading your mind, obviously. It's what gods do. So keep those thoughts clean, why don't we?

This time, Ixchel was the one to react, a blush coloring the skin of her cheeks. Well, wasn't that interesting? Finn thought, and found his own face flushing a little in sympathy.

You two can work on your understanding of the human mating ritual later--and, by the way, you both need a refresher course, if you don't mind me saying so.

Finn did mind, but he kept his complaints to himself. "So, what's on your mind, oh mighty Tezcatli...whatever."

Tezcatlipoca!

Ah, grumpy god was back. Good to know that Finn would be able to yank the deity's chain at will.

And that thought, the shifter was pretty sure, had flown beneath the wind god's radar. Thank goodness I'll be able to keep most of my musings to myself even while touching the figurine.

"You'll have to forgive us, Tez," Ixchel said, her husky voice making the car abruptly appear cramped. "We're not used to speaking with gods."

Yes, her voice made the vehicle feel smaller, but Finn didn't want to escape so much as to reach across the center console with his other hand and take Ixchel into his arms. Instead of giving in to his baser desires, though, the shifter merely allowed himself to rub his thumb across his companion's fisted fingers. And he was absurdly thrilled to be granted a shy smile in return.

"What can we do for you today?" Finn spoke up at last, continuing the vet's line of reasoning. Not that he particularly wanted to please the self-proclaimed god, but the shifter figured the best option was to move Tezcatli-whatever along as quickly as possible so he and Ixchel would be able to fully focus on each other.

You can focus on getting me out of this stupid figurine, the deity demanded. It's wet and it's cramped and I'm sick and tired of it!

Aha. And the real reason a mighty god was taking the time to chat with humans finally became clear. Plus, was that an incipient temper tantrum in the making?

"And how can we do that?" Ixchel asked, continuing to draw the god out.

You can use your necklace and my mirror to get in touch with my sister god, the deity elaborated. Then, seeming to realize that modern-day humans wouldn't jump simply because a god showed up in their heads and began to make demands, Tezcatlipoca sweetened the pot. And once I'm free and have my powers restored, I'll grant your deepest wishes.

"Wishes? Like a genie?"

Ixchel's innocent question had clearly been the wrong thing to ask because Finn's mind abruptly filled with spillover rage. For an instant, the shifter truly thought that he was so angry with the vet that he wanted to bash her head into the wall. He'd push her down onto the pavement and strangle the life out of her, toss her body into the weeds before continuing on his merry way....

The shifter's hand slid away from the figurine and his head cleared in an instant. Tez is more powerful than I thought, Finn realized as he struggled to slow his breathing. Shudders wracked the shifter's frame at the mere notion of what the god had nearly forced him to do.

The god. Who was currently messing with Ixchel while Finn was off licking his wounds.

As quickly as he could, Finn reached back out to the vet and slid his fingers once more atop her suddenly clammy hand.

...your family, Tezcatlipoca was saying. And, as for you, shifter-who-named-yourself-Finn, I'll resolve your deepest fear as well. I'll put you in touch with another were-jaguar so you'll know you're not entirely alone on this earth. Maybe you'll even end up with a non-homemade name.

***

IXCHEL HAD BEEN AROUND enough shysters to know when she was being played. First, there was that burst of manufactured rage that forced Finn to jerk his hand off the figurine at just the right moment so Tez could promise to reunite Ixchel with her family without the shifter listening in. And then the deity drew out his promise to the vet long enough to ensure the were-jaguar caught a tantalizing glimpse of the tail end of his vow.

Next, the god had reeled in his male prey with what seemed to be a similar arrow aimed straight at the shifter's soul. After that series of manipulations, Ixchel was pretty sure Finn was feeling exactly what she was at this moment--a deep-seated yearning to consume the god's proffered carrot, plus an abiding curiosity to know more about the hole in her companion's heart.

But the vet didn't trust Tez as far as she could throw him. Although, come to think of it, in his current form, she could throw him pretty far.

Don't you dare!

"Don't you dare what?" Finn asked, reminding Ixchel that the two humans needed to talk, and soon, without a god twisting their every word. But she wanted a bit more information before taking her hand off the figurine and removing Tezcatlipoca's interference from her mind.

"I was thinking about tossing him out the window," Ixchel answered with a false show of serenity. "And I'll do it too, Tezzie, if you mess around with us again. We may not be gods, but we've got the upper hand at the moment, and you'd best remember that."

Ooh, the dreaded run-on sentence. I'm shaking....

The god hadn't argued with Ixchel's use of a diminutive form of address, though, and the vet had to hide a smile. Really, handling this deity was no worse than babysitting her niece and nephew, which she used to do a lot back when she and her brothers were on speaking terms.

And Tez clearly didn't hear that, Ixchel thought as quietly as she could, or he would have been raging at being compared to a couple of seven-year-olds.

Not that her relatives were seven years old any longer. As much as the vet was trying to focus on the issue at hand, she couldn't resist wondering how her oldest brother Fernando's twins were faring in her absence. Did Rosie and Ricky remember their aunt at all? Were the duo growing into a fine young man and woman...or had the children been dragged down the dark criminal path that their family had blazed before them?

Not for the first time, Ixchel wondered if she'd made the right decision by leaving the familial seat without a backward glance. Were her brothers better off without the vet in their lives? Or was Ixchel just too much of a scaredy cat to face the repercussions of her own actions?

And is it too late now to make any difference even if I do change my mind?

With all of those bittersweet memories running through her head, Ixchel was actually glad when Tezcatlipoca broke into her thoughts. So, what d'ya wanna know? the god demanded, and the vet pulled her mind out of the past with an effort.

First order of business--refrain from falling into Tez's trap by asking how a Mexican god had accumulated a Jersey accent. As intriguing as the conundrum was, the issue was really beside the point. So Ixchel kept her voice even despite the way Ricky's and Rosie's fading memory always made her feel more than a little bit sad. "I want to know about this mirror you mentioned," she said. "Is it any old mirror, or...."

What is the world coming to? Tezcatlipoca groused. Of course it's not "any old mirror." His voice jerked up into a sarcastic falsetto as he mimicked the vet's words before continuing on. And, no, before you ask, it won't show you the fairest one of all.

Disney movies? Seriously? The god was quoting Snow White's wicked queen? Or maybe just Grimm's fairy tales. But either way, Tez had clearly found a way to keep his finger on the pulse of current world events despite his incarceration.

You have to find the mirror I used when I last walked the earth, Tez finished. The one at El Azuzul, near San Lorenzo Tenochtitlan. Then, when both Ixchel's and Finn's faces continued to display their complete lack of comprehension, the god elaborated. In Mexico, you dimwits. It's time to take yourselves to the Olmec heartland.

And if you want your reward, you'll both travel there together.

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# Chapter 16

"Are you sure he can't hear us now?" Ixchel asked.

No, Finn wasn't entirely sure that the argumentative god wouldn't be able to eavesdrop on their thoughts as the deity--and his figurine--rode in the luggage compartment of the plane. But it was the best the shifter could do to keep the irascible god out of their brains for a little while. And whether or not the wind god could currently tell what the shifter was thinking, at least he and Ixchel would both enjoy a breather from Tez's snarky remarks until they landed in Villahermosa.

"He's not all that powerful," Finn said instead of admitting his own ignorance. Then, figuring he might as well test the issue, the shifter continued: "Wind god or not, Tezcatlipoca can't do diddly squat while we're in an airplane."

Given past events, the shifter was pretty confident that the god in question wouldn't let that dig ride. So he gripped the armrest in preparation for the serious gust of air he halfway expected to buffet the plane during the next few seconds.

"Testing him, huh?" Ixchel asked when the shifter's muscles finally relaxed a little later. "Maybe next time you could tease Tezzie in a way that isn't likely to lead to us all plummeting to our watery deaths?" But the smile on the vet's lips took away the sting of her words, and Finn leaned closer, tempted by his companion's proximity.

The red-eye was nearly empty, and the pair had left their reading lights off in deference to nearby sleepers, which added to the illusion of privacy. Finn had wanted to get in the air sooner, but it had taken all day for him to track down someone able to create a false passport apiece on a moment's notice. After all, money could only grease the wheels so far and no further when he was in a strange place with no contacts.

Then the shifter had needed to withdraw funds from one of his offshore accounts so they could travel without leaving a paper trail, which required yet another stop before reaching the airport. In the end, all of that busywork meant that they hadn't become airborne until nearly midnight, with a few hours in a connecting airport slowing them down yet further.

Now, as they winged over the Gulf of Mexico, Finn's view out the window consisted of complete blackness, and the interior of the plane was nearly equally dim. This quarter light made Finn comfortable enough that he risked pushing up the armrest dividing his seat from his neighbor's, and the shifter was absurdly gratified when Ixchel nudged herself a little closer so she could lean her head on his arm.

"We should probably do some planning while Tezzie isn't around to hear us," Ixchel said softly, but her voice sounded so wiped out that Finn couldn't resist trying to cheer her up. Plus, if he were being entirely honest, the shifter had been itching to know what sort of promise Tezcatlipoca had made about the vet's family ever since he'd managed to miss that integral part of their three-way chat.

But, mostly, Finn said what he did in hopes of making his companion laugh. "Tezzie, eh? Let me guess--you were a pesky little sister, the kind who would never leave her older brother alone and who enjoyed getting him into trouble with the parents on a daily basis."

"Brothers, plural," Ixchel corrected, but not without a lilt of humor in her voice. "And I wasn't that much of a pest. I just figured it was my job to keep all five of them in line."

"Five?" Finn could barely imagine what it would be like growing up with one human sibling, so five brothers seemed like a surfeit of riches. "I had a sister," he admitted. "But she never shifted to human form. After I found my humanity, I followed her and my mother around for years, hoping they'd transform into were-jaguars like me. But they were just animals and my presence confused them. Eventually, my own mother drove me away."

The words sounded so simple, but the actual events had been a nightmare. To have a huge jaguar turn on him, intent on driving this dangerous two-legger out of her territory...all while Finn vividly recalled nursing at the same feline's teats not so many seasons before. At the time, he hadn't yet learned to control his shifts, so the young were-jaguar had been forced to flee two-footed, lacking the concentration to don feline form and protect himself with tooth and claw. Finn had barely made it back into the human world alive.

But the worst part hadn't been the danger. It was how he'd looked into his mother's eyes and seen only animal cunning. After that ill-fated visit, Finn had never returned to the forest where his family roamed.

"I'm sorry." The tips of Ixchel's fingers traced a feather-light path down the curve of Finn's jaw, but the aftermath of her touch migrated all the way down to his toes. "It must be hard to be so alone."

Her words were basic, but Finn could sense true understanding in the vet's tone. It was the first time he'd ever laid out his history aloud, and having his companion grasp the feelings behind his words without the need for further explanation was profound. In fact, the shifter's emotions now gave lie to her words--for the first time in the preceding fifteen years, Finn didn't feel entirely alone.

Wanting to share that acceptance with his companion, the shifter gathered every last ounce of his daring and requested: "Tell me about your family." His words required courage because he fully expected to be shot down by this woman who clearly cherished privacy in relation to both her current and past experiences.

But the night's darkness--more dark for a human than for a cat--must have lulled Ixchel into an unaccustomed sense of security. Or maybe the vet was just too tired to resist his interest.

"Only if you promise to shift into jaguar form once we reach Mexico and are away from prying eyes," she whispered into his ear, her breath warming his skin. "I want to touch your fur."

Finn craved a stroke rather than a simple touch, but he'd take what he could get. So he nodded and hummed his assent. And while his companion's mouth was so close to his skin, he couldn't quite resist turning his head so that her lips skimmed across his cheek before landing squarely on his own.

"May I?" Finn whispered, feeling his breath bounce off Ixchel's face before returning to warm his own skin. Without waiting for a reply, he reached up with one hand to cup the back of Ixchel's neck, seeking the slightest hint of non-verbal resistance. The shifter would back off if he had to--he wouldn't risk scaring this strong but sensitive woman any more than she'd already been terrified by his entrance into her life. And he couldn't quite believe that she'd allow him--an animal, a thief, a semi-mythical monster--to kiss her.

But, instead of pulling away, Ixchel mirrored Finn's movements and used one hand to draw him closer. Her lips were soft but dry, completely unlike the slimy touch of the lipstick-coated appendages Finn had locked lips with during his previous forays into what Tez had so glibly called human mating rituals.

Because the god was right. Finn had much less practice with kissing than the women around him usually assumed when they propositioned him in restaurants, on busy streets...well, just about anywhere. Due to his deep, dark secret, the shifter had started learning about manhood in strip clubs, then worked his way up to picking up girls in bars for one-night stands. Sex was fun, he'd decided, but not sensational enough to go out of your way to hunt the experience down.

As such, nothing in Finn's past had prepared him for the explosion of feelings when he kissed a woman who meant more to him than an easy lay. Gently, oh so gently, Ixchel eased the shifter's mouth open with her own lips until their bodies were fused, the action sending tremors down the length of Finn's spine.

Unable to restrain himself, he pulled his partner closer until she was pressed up against his length, one leg straddling his growing erection while she knelt with the other knee on the edge of her seat. He moaned as her thigh pressed up against his throbbing organ, and one of the shifter's hands dropped down to tease the erect nipple pushing against the fabric of Ixchel's shirt. Then...

"Ahem." The throat being cleared in the aisle brought both Ixchel and Finn back to reality as they turned to face the stewardess. I guess it isn't quite as dark in here as I'd assumed, the shifter thought regretfully. Then he felt even more chagrined as he saw how quickly Ixchel scooted back into her own seat, cheeks flaming.

"While I understand the appeal of the mile-high club," the flight attendant was saying with a smooth smile that barely covered up her annoyance, "There are children present on this flight. Here...."

The stewardess shook out a thin blanket and draped it over Finn's lap to hide the evidence of his arousal, a gesture that embarrassed the shifter nearly as much as being caught in the act had done. Glancing up at their stern taskmaster, he suspected that had been the entire point of the blanket--to douse him with proverbial cold water.

"Let's try to stay in our own seats for the rest of the flight, why don't we?" the older woman added, giving each participant a piercing stare before turning on her heel to walk away down the length of the plane.

"Just what my parents would say during long car rides," Ixchel whispered, her voice filled once again with humor rather than embarrassment. "But they weren't dealing with the same problem at all."

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# Chapter 17

Down in the baggage compartment, Tezcatlipoca smirked as he watched the two lovebirds bond over their separate but similar woes. It hadn't been at all difficult to ignore the little were-jaguar's attempt to tweak Tez's tail, especially once the deity noticed his powers expanding dramatically as his pet humans began conversing both with and about him. In fact, every time the worshipers either said or thought his name, Tezcatlipoca felt his chest swell a little bit larger.

All it takes is a modicum of mortal belief and I'm nearly good to go.

Well, not quite good to go. Unfortunately, the god wasn't ready to break all the way free of Yo Pe's annoying little statue just yet. But he could feel himself getting closer to that long-sought-after objective with every god-centered thought from the mortal plane.

And when Tez was finally free of his watery prison, he'd start his second wind with a healthy helping of revenge. Although--darned short-lived mortals!--Yo Pe himself was no longer around to torment. Still, humans bred like rabbits, so Tezcatlipoca would be able to keep himself busy for years on end tearing apart the backstabber's offspring.

Vengeance was a juicy thought topic, but the god had to keep his priorities straight. First--find his way back into the real world. Second--wreak havoc on that world once he was able to walk on his own two feet.

So it was probably time to look in on his worshipers once again.

Gee, were they still kissing? Bored with the view, Tezcatlipoca expanded out his awareness and was thrilled to realize that he could slip into the minds of each person riding in the airplane. It was almost like old times--focus on the spark then slide right in beside the mortal's consciousness to bend the weak human mind to his will.

And he found subtlety becoming easier again as his strength returned as well. The wind god prompted one little boy to pick his nose and eat the booger just to try his hand at something a little more complicated. That was fun! Especially when the mother noticed and slapped the kid's wrist.

Although, given the current state of humanity, who knew whether the boy would have consumed the snot even without godly tampering.

I might as well take a minute to start setting up the resolution of these so-called wishes, Tez decided next. Because, as much as the deity would like to think that he wasn't bound by any earthly rules, breaking promises to worshipers tended to sap his strength like nobody's business.

Which isn't to say I have to give them exactly what they expect. As long as I stick to the letter of my vow, I can instead present these humans with what they truly deserve....

Never one to mess around with difficult tasks when he could lazily get by with something simple, Tez turned his attention to the male worshiper first. Finn's yearning for were-jaguar companionship would be easy to relieve since Tezcatlipoca had a pretty good idea where one feline shifter was located at the moment. Plus, the story Tez had just overheard hinted about the identity of another.

With no worshiper touching his prison, the god wasn't able to set his spirit entirely free to roam in search of other shifters as he would have liked. But his suspicions were enough to arrow Tez's attention in on two regions of the world. And, sure enough, the brighter-than-mere-mortal spark of potential worshipers showed up on the god's internal radar in short order.

Finn would give his eye teeth to meet this first one, Tezcatlipoca thought as he slipped inside a were-jaguar's mind. So we'll ignore it for the moment and move on to the other.

There were few things more enjoyable than playing cat and mouse with human prey. Reel them in with promises of glorious dreams, then slap them in the face with the wet fish of reality. And this second were-jaguar was definitely the wet fish of the shifter world.

So I'll just ease into this particular brain a wee bit and discover what kind of compulsion I can implant from a distance....

Ah, message received. Tez smiled and allowed his tether to drag him back into the watery prison. His cell wasn't so bad now that he had the energy to create a deep plush couch and a drink cabinet atop the ever-expanding rock that had risen up out of the sea. Now, how about a big screen TV...?

Still, the deity's mood wasn't good enough to allow his worshipers too much leeway. I think those pet humans have been making out long enough. Slipping into the flight attendant's mind, the deity laughed aloud as he tweaked the woman's thoughts to create a little simple mayhem.

Gotta keep my lackeys guessing....

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# Chapter 18

"I won't be able to sleep until we land," Ixchel said once the school-marm-like stewardess was out of sight. "So I guess I might as well live up to my promise and tell you about my family. Unless you want to take a nap instead?"

Strange how much easier it was to kiss a complete stranger in a public place than to spill this story that had gone unspoken for the last decade. Not that Finn feels like a stranger, Ixchel thought, one hand unconsciously rising to brush against her lips. The organs in question felt swollen and appeared to be full of twice as many nerve endings as usual, so the vet couldn't resist letting those same lips curl up into a self-satisfied smile. I feel like the cat who drank the cream....

"I'd far rather listen to you talk than sleep," Finn murmured, his voice barely reaching her ears. In response, the vet shivered with some strange combination of desperate desire...and fear of what the man beside her would think when he knew her darkest secret.

The shifter in question responded by removing the stewardess's blanket from his own body and draping it around Ixchel's form instead. She was sure the gesture had been meant to ease physical cold, but it succeeded just as well at warming the cockles of her heart and giving her the courage to spill her secrets.

"Well, I guess I should start at the beginning," the vet said into the silence and darkness when Finn didn't offer another topic of conversation to let her off the hook. It was easy to fall into a story-telling rhythm when she could barely make out the shape of her listener, allowing Ixchel to imagine that she was merely soothing her niece and nephew to sleep with a fairytale about some other Latina lass. Divorcing the action from herself, at least in her own mind, made the act of sharing a little more palatable.

"My parents both emigrated from Mexico when they were in their late teens," she started, beginning the story years before she was born. "But they wanted us kids to be completely American. So we didn't speak Spanish at home, even though Mama's English was never very good.

"But I spent a lot of time at my father's sister Maria's house, and she didn't know any English at all. Which is how I came to grow up learning not only English, but Spanish as well. And also the indio tongue that Maria and her husband spoke at home."

Ixchel paused, waiting for some acknowledgement from her seat mate. But he remained motionless, and the expectant silence somehow made it easier for her to go on.

"I guess that's not really relevant," the vet continued. "Except that Maria adhered to the old ways. She's the one who first told me that my brothers were going down a dark path, only she ascribed their actions to being tempted by the devil. I was a freshman in high school then, and my oldest brother Fernando had already married and become a father of twins. But once my aunt clued me in, I couldn't help noticing how Fernando and my other brothers went out together most nights and then came home with bloody noses and also with possessions that they shouldn't have been able to afford. Things like fancy tennis shoes and mp3 players, which I later realized they were stealing from other kids or straight from the stores.

"As you guessed, I was a pesky little sister. But I loved my brothers. My mother was a nurse, and I'd always helped her doctor up everyone's boo-boos as a child. So when Jose came to me with a bullet wound one night, I did my best to clean him up. But I also lit into him like a rooster chasing a fox out of the henhouse.

"Of course, Jose didn't listen to me. None of them did. Years passed and they kept getting deeper and deeper into trouble. There were more bullet wounds and knife wounds and fist wounds than I care to remember, and the loot they brought home turned into drugs and cold, hard cash. And still each of my five brothers blew me off every time I begged him to find a different way to make a living.

"So I turned sneaky. I started keeping a notebook to record my brothers' comings and goings, what they brought home, which events in the newspaper the next day seemed to be relevant to their secret lives. I threatened to turn my brothers in to the cops, figuring self-preservation would do what pleas had not.

"But they laughed at me. All five of my brothers knew that it would break Mama's and Papa's hearts if they knew that this American life they'd built for their children wasn't as perfect as it appeared. And I could never make myself do something that would hurt our parents, even when I knew the choice was the only solution to my brothers' dangerous behavior.

"So I bided my time for years, until I was getting ready to graduate from high school. In retrospect, I should've talked to someone much sooner, to some adult. But Maria had moved back to Mexico after her husband died--she didn't have any children. And my parents were always working so hard to keep food on the table that I didn't want to bother them with my worries. Plus, I didn't trust my teachers, who looked at me funny because my skin was a different color than their own. Really, I can't think of anyone now who I might have confided in, even if I hadn't been a stupid teenager."

A tiny sound from beside her reminded Ixchel that she had an audience, and she suddenly felt unable to go on. The pain in her stomach that seemed to rise up every time she thought about her family was worse than ever now, and the vet pressed one hand against her cloth-clad skin even though she knew it would do nothing to ease the psychosomatic ache.

Still without speaking, Finn reached over to surreptitiously slide his fingers beneath the blanket and Ixchel's blouse before coming to a stop over her belly. The vet expected her companion's touch to feel sexual, to return her to the heightened emotions of their kiss. But, instead, the gesture merely reminded her of a cat lying down on a troubled human's lap, settling her nerves without the need for words.

"Anyway, it all came to a head on the evening of my eighteenth birthday," she continued, her voice little more than a whisper. "We had a party--my parents and me and my brothers. And, afterwards, Fernando begged me to come home with him and babysit his twins so he and his wife could go out to a nightclub. Childcare was a pretty regular task for me, and since my birthday didn't land on a school night, Mama said I should just sleep over at my brother's place and come home in the morning.

"But when I woke up, Fernando wasn't there and his wife looked grim. Before Rita could stop me, I rushed down the two blocks to the apartment that my brothers (minus Fernando) and I all shared with my parents...and that's when I found Mama dead on the floor of the living room. Papa was lying in a pool of his own blood halfway to the kitchen, where he'd probably been trying to reach a phone to call the police. Neither of them were breathing when I tiptoed through the gore to their sides.

"When I was able to stand up, I saw that the windows were shattered from a drive-by shooting and my parents' blood splatter was drying on the walls. I was in shock, but I was still able to realize that my parents' death had been retaliation by my brothers' enemies in response to their crimes. And the absence of my siblings from the scene of this current bloodbath proved that my siblings planned to revenge our parents' murder in their own violent way. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

"So I did what I'd been scheming about for the last four years. I called the cops. And when the first cruiser arrived, I handed over the notebook that spelled out my brothers' criminal activities in painstaking detail. The police hunted all five of my siblings down and arrested them that very day.

"I left town before my brothers got out of jail," she finished. "I haven't seen them since."

Ixchel realized at last that Finn's hand was making soothing circles across the skin of her stomach as she spoke. And, miraculously, her bellyache wasn't as profound as it had been the few other times the vet had allowed herself to recall the events of her eighteenth birthday in such vivid detail.

Still, she waited on tenterhooks to see what her companion would make of her betrayal. Because betrayal it had been. Ixchel had turned her back on her own brothers, had run her parents' good name through the mud even as the elder Morenos were being laid in their graves. She'd never forgiven herself for her own lack of honor, so she couldn't see how anyone else could forgive her either.

But the shifter didn't offer any harsh words. Instead, he simply said: "You miss them."

The rumble of Finn's voice felt like the gentle hum of a fan lulling Ixchel to sleep, and she felt the final pang in her stomach ease just a little bit more.

"I do," she admitted. "But my brothers wouldn't want to talk to me now. So Tezzie's going to have to work a miracle if he thinks he can reunite me with my family once we break him free."

"That's what our slippery little god promised while I had my hand off the statue?"

"Yeah," Ixchel admitted.

"Then that's what he'll do," Finn concluded, a hint of steel underlying his soothing voice. "I'll make sure of it."

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# Chapter 19

She'd fallen asleep on his shoulder, and it was all Finn could do not to shift into jaguar form and curl his body protectively around hers. And that would certainly get the stewardess's panties in a twist, the shifter thought with wry amusement.

Instead of causing an international incident, Finn settled for gently stroking his companion's hair and replaying the preceding conversation over and over again in his mind. The inevitable conclusion was as simple as it was profound--he and Ixchel were friends.

It shouldn't have come as a startling realization, but the vet was the first human around whom Finn had allowed himself to let down his guard in...well...ever. And Ixchel had responded by sharing the details of her own checkered past, even though she clearly expected to be judged lacking in the process.

Although why I'd think less of her when she didn't do anything wrong is beyond me.

But Finn would be the first one to admit that families were confusing. So it was no surprise that Ixchel's troubled brothers and murdered parents had left the vet feeling regretful even though the teenaged version of Ixchel had done the best she could with the few tools she'd had on hand.

The next time she faces her brothers, I'll be by her side, Finn resolved. And if those bastards didn't man up and apologize to their sister for being arrogant assholes, then the shifter would make their lives a living hell until they did the right thing.

It was simple, really.

What was less simple was the elements of Finn's own history that he'd glossed over in his own version of sharing. The manipulations, the sneaking around, the outright thievery that made up such a large portion of his past...and present. Based on Ixchel's reaction to her brothers' behavior, the shifter could guess that she wouldn't be thrilled to know that the cash paying their way to Mexico originated in ancient Egyptian funerary goods. That the clothes he planned to buy in order to replace that adorable but eye-catching lab coat would be funded by a Monet recently snagged out of a major museum.

I should've just told her. The shifter had started to spill his guts when Ixchel had finished her own tale of woe. The vet probably would've understood how a newly made man dropped into the human world with no family or means of making a living would turn to crime to pay the bills.

And it was a point in his favor that Finn had never been violent. He didn't even carry a gun, and the bullet hole that throbbed whenever he turned his arm the wrong way was the only wound he'd ever received in the pursuit of ill-gotten gain.

After all, as a were-jaguar, it was simple to slip in through upper-story windows, to slink around laser-based alarms, to leap over ten-foot fences. He was a darned good cat burglar and didn't need firepower to snag what he was after.

But Ixchel likely wouldn't see that as a selling point in a potential mate. And Finn wanted to get closer to the vet too much to risk losing her over his profession. Surely he could keep the two avenues of his current life separate until Ixchel trusted him a little more...and until he thought through an alternative way to make a living.

Keep telling yourself that, you schmuck. Omitting this rather important element of his own life story had been a bad choice and Finn knew it. But a cat would almost always choose present pleasure over the nebulous "right thing to do."

And, at heart, Finn was very much a cat. So he continued stroking Ixchel's hair in silence until he, like his companion, drifted off into a doze.

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# Chapter 20

"Did you ever think it might not have been the brightest idea to pry Tezzie's statue out of the ground?" Ixchel asked as they snagged new, international burner phones and a Mexican rental car to replace the items they'd left behind on the other side of the Gulf.

"Every hour on the hour," Finn replied. The trouble was, their parasitic deity seemed to have grown more powerful during the flight rather than less so. By the time they'd picked up the statue at baggage claim, their pet god was able to insinuate his demands into both Finn's and Ixchel's minds without the need for any sort of physical contact at all. I should have tossed the dratted statue when I had the chance, the shifter mused.

I can hear that, you know, the god griped. And I don't see why it's such an imposition to request that you drive me closer to El Azuzul before you book a hotel for the night. It's not like I can walk there on my own.

"The problem," Ixchel said, using her most soothing tone of voice, "is that we're both tired out from the trip. Are you sure it'll make a difference if we arrive tonight rather than tomorrow afternoon?"

Finn hid a grin at his companion's patience, knowing that Ixchel was much better at handling the petulant deity than he was. Good thing she was willing to take the lead with their brain worm, despite apparently being daunted by the human beings they'd spoken with during their shared journey. And here I thought that I was the only one who found human society exhausting.

Yes, the lost time will make a difference, Tezcatlipoca countered, then continued to rail about the need to find his precious mirror immediately so he could stop feeling so cramped.

The vet was doing an admirable job of calming Tez down, so Finn tuned the deity out in favor of checking the alerts auto-forwarded to his phone-friendly email address. He'd hired a hacker years ago to wend his way into various government databases, allowing the shifter to set up alarms that would go off if anyone searched for his various handles. More recently, while he and Ixchel had waited in the Atlanta airport, the shifter had taken the time to add a few additional notifications to his alarm list as well.

Which turned out to be a good thing, even though the results were surprising. Finn was still flying well under the radar...but apparently Ixchel was not.

"Did you know you're wanted by the CIA?" he asked as he looked up from his phone.

I am? How delightful!

Ixchel usually would have rolled her eyes at the god's self-centered exclamation, but instead she frowned and reached for Finn's cell to see for herself. Not that there was much to take in. The alert was remarkably vague, making no request for apprehension. Whoever had set it up could have been trying to pinpoint a criminal, to protect a potential mark, or merely to track down a teenaged daughter who'd run off to Cancun to party during her spring break.

Still, the notification didn't bode well for the fugitives' future. Not if someone was already hot on their trail.

"I don't understand," Ixchel said after a long pause. "The CIA is looking for me?"

"No skeletons in your closet, I assume?" Finn asked, trying to make his companion smile. "No history of international espionage?"

Ooh, that's a good idea! Tez interjected. I'd make a top-notch spy. Then, deepening his voice even further: My name is Bond, James Bond.

"Well, Bond," Finn said. "I'm guessing this means you'll get your way after all. Looks like we're heading out into the countryside tonight."

***

THE TROUBLE WITH HITTING the road immediately was that Finn was adamant in his belief that he required a new suit of clothes. Sure, the shifter's current jacket was bloodstained and boasted a gaping hole in the upper arm, but Ixchel thought the were-jaguar really should have been complaining about the cavity that lay underneath.

Strangely, Tezzie and Finn were entirely in accord over the issue. Too true, the wind god chimed in when Finn suggested making a pit stop to pick up fresh clothing before leaving Villahermosa. I hope to speak with my sister god first thing tomorrow, and it would never do to let her catch sight of my followers in such a state of disarray.

"It'll have to be off the rack, then," Finn said in reply. The shifter's tone suggested that he was being forced to contemplate consumption of a slice of moldy bread, but he nonetheless pulled into the Walmart parking lot without further complaint. And even though Ixchel wanted to remark on the byplay, Tez seemed to find nothing strange about the were-jaguar's reluctance to don cheap attire. So Ixchel chose to hold her tongue.

Instead, she busied herself by peering up at the big-box store's facade, which appeared identical to the Walmarts back home. Only the subtitle supermercado beneath the store's main sign suggested that Ixchel hadn't just dreamed about her flight to escape Mirabelle.

Somehow, the vet thought, I'd assumed coming to my parents' home country would be very different. That it would feel as if I was filling a hole that had been left empty for far too long. Instead, she felt even more out of place here in Mexico than she had in the United States.

"How about we split up and meet back at the car in half an hour?" Finn suggested, breaking into the vet's thoughts as he handed over a rather large sheaf of pesos. Then, taking a closer look at Ixchel's lab coat--which the vet was suddenly ashamed of wearing into a foreign country rather than taking the time to don street clothes--the shifter added, "Tez? Would you mind going along with Ixchel to help her pick an outfit?"

She certainly needs a fashion consultant, the god agreed, before proceeding to run through a list of colors he believed would match up with Ixchel's skin tone. Cats, Ixchel thought, rolling her eyes.

Despite the vet's disinterest in shopping, though, she found it surprisingly entertaining to whisper questions to her pet deity as she tried on outfit after outfit at the god's urging. Yes, Tezzie was almost certainly perusing Ixchel's body while she was wearing nothing except underwear. But the bra and panties didn't show any more skin than a bikini would have, and her companion's speech remained remarkably gentlemanly. Just like having a gay best friend.

Um, no, nothing like that, Tezzie rebutted. But I can tell when a girl's heart is taken. I'm stuck in this statue, so I can't compete with your piece of eye candy. At least not at the moment. But when I get out....

"Speaking of Finn," the vet began, pretending not to understand the god's meaning. Just what she didn't need--to be the object of an immature god's unrequited lust. "I'm worried about his arm," she continued. "Did you see the way Finn winced when we got out of the car?"

Ixchel had initially spoken to distract Tezzie from his current train of thought, but the truth was that she'd been meaning to broach this topic for a while. Finn had been stoic about the whole thing. But every time the shifter moved the wrong way or was forced to pick up a heavy object, he cringed. And she cringed right along with him.

Tezzie was the obvious solution. After all, what was a god good for if not healing the sick? Unfortunately, the deity had seemed too unapproachable previously to ask for a boon of this magnitude. Now, though, Tezzie appeared relaxed for the first time since he'd shown up inside her head. Maybe the moment was right to ask for a bit of help?

Mmmhmmm, the god hummed noncommittally at Ixchel's leading question. It was almost cute the way Tezzie pouted every time the conversation turned to someone other than himself, but at least he was listening rather than snarking.

"Well, I was thinking," Ixchel pressed on. "You need us to act as your arms and legs while you're out of commission. And Finn won't be able to help with that if his wound gets infected..."

So, what, you want me to wave my magic wand and heal him right up? Tez's tone was as snide as ever, but Ixchel had a feeling she was starting to get through to the self-centered deity. Do you realize how much energy it takes to regenerate muscle and skin?

Ixchel was pretty sure she did know. After all, she'd been a veterinarian long enough to monitor the recoveries of dozens, if not hundreds, of pets.

And she'd also seen the way Finn's steps dragged as he carried all of his own luggage at the airport. In a typical show of masculine pride, her companion had refused to allow Ixchel to help load the backpack and rolling suitcase into the car even though she had no gear of her own to manhandle. The effort had clearly cost him dearly.

Yes, Ixchel could have pointed out either or both of those observations. But sometimes it was better to let a reluctant humanitarian-to-be reel himself in. So the vet merely mimicked the god's noncommittal hum and waited.

Well, all right, Tezzie groused after a moment. But don't say I never gave you anything.

Then the fabric that currently housed the were-jaguar statue warmed so much Ixchel could feel the heat against her skin. And when the god spoke again, he sounded tired for the first time since she'd known him. As if Tezzie had used up all of his own energy as well as his godly powers curing the shifter who was trying on clothes of his own on the other side of the changing room.

"Thanks, Tezzie," Ixchel said quietly. And, since she knew that actions spoke louder than words, she also allowed the god to dress her in an obscenely garish outfit that the deity seemed to think "made her eyes pop."

After all, why not wear lemon yellow when no one Ixchel knew was around to see?

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# Chapter 21

Wake up sleepyheads. It's time to focus on me!

Well, Tezzie's kinder, gentler side didn't last long, Ixchel thought groggily. She and Finn had fallen into their bed fully dressed the night before, exhausted from being chivvied by their personal god all the way from the airport to Acayucan. And now the deity was acting as a highly effective alarm clock, one that you could neither put into snooze mode nor throw across the room...no matter how much you wanted to.

I guess I'd better give in to the inevitable, Ixchel thought, stretching. Then she opened her eyes far more quickly than she'd planned when her fingers rubbed up against soft fur rather than fabric or human flesh.

The previous night, Ixchel had been delighted when Finn fell asleep with one arm slung around her shoulders. A memory which she now recalled with a decided emphasis on the word arm. Because the vet was shocked to see that a tremendous black jaguar currently lay stretched out on the other side of the king-sized bed, one paw inches from her nose.

The feline was magnificent, his hair shiny with good health and his tail flicking rhythmically as he either dreamed of the hunt or attempted to fight off Tez's internal wake-up call. And despite the fact that her companion was a predator who could likely bite her in half, the warmth of the shifter's sleeping form drew Ixchel in until she couldn't resist running one hand gently over Finn's shoulder and down his spine.

He's magnificent.

And terrifying, of course. Or, at least, the jaguar should have been terrifying since his tail alone extended for nearly three feet past his haunches. Ixchel remembered reading that jaguars enjoyed killing their prey by biting directly through the skull, and on that note she told herself to slide out of the bed as quietly as possible in order to put some space between herself and the apex predator. If Finn had changed forms in his sleep without meaning too, who knew what other unconscious behaviors he'd exhibit while coming awake at an annoying god's prompting?

I'm not annoying, Tez groused. But you're right. You should definitely back away. Don't want you getting your arm bitten off. At least, not until I'm done using that arm....

Ixchel narrowed her eyes. If the trickster god wanted her to put some space between herself and a sleeping Finn...then she felt duty bound to do the exact opposite.

So, the vet squelched her fear and slid closer to her companion so her body pressed up against his feline form. Then she placed her hand on his fur more firmly this time, pretended the jaguar was a much-enlarged pussycat, and she stroked the feline's head.

***

FINN CAME AWAKE SLOWLY, imagining that his mother was licking him clean the way she'd done so many years before. Pushing his skull closer to her ministrations, the shifter next realized that he was indeed in feline form...and that it was Ixchel's smooth hand, not his mother's sandpaper tongue, running across his fur.

She must be terrified, he thought, and shifted without waiting for his brain to come fully awake. No way was the were-jaguar going to scare his companion away by placing a tremendous feline beside her sleepy body. (Although how scared could the vet possibly be if she reacted by petting his head?)

Ixchel's lack of terror was no excuse for his own poor behavior, though. What had Finn been thinking, falling into bed with a woman and waking up as a cat? A similar event had never happened to him before...but Finn had also never spent the entire night with a lover, preferring to slip back into his clothes and sneak away while his bed partner was still asleep.

And she's not a lover, Finn reminded himself. Although I'd certainly like her to be.

Catlike, the thought slid seamlessly into motion. Before either of the bed's occupants had time to think or speak, Ixchel was trapped beneath Finn's human body, her clothes pressing against his bare skin as he reached for her lips with his own.

Bare skin? Well, that had never happened before either. Now Finn would have to go shopping again. Not that he minded in the least, since he'd actually prefer there to be less fabric between him and his mate....

"Um, Finn? What happened to your clothes?" Ixchel mumbled into his mouth. But she didn't sound frightened, so the shifter simply allowed his kiss to swallow up her words, his squirming body pushing up the bottom edge of her shirt so their bare skin could finally touch.

As much as I'd love to stay and watch the show, kiddies, we've got a busy agenda today. So....

The god's words barely impinged on Finn's consciousness since Ixchel's hands continued running across his skin the same way they had while he was in feline form. The shifter had never felt so accepted for who he really was, and he'd also never been so profoundly attracted to a woman as to this quiet bombshell who was arching her soft body against his as they sank together into the plush bed.

I said, it's time to go.

When Ixchel's hands left his skin, Finn sighed in disappointment. Then he moaned with pleasure as those same feminine hands slipped down between their bodies to unbutton her blouse and slide the fabric out of their way.

"May I?" he almost purred, reaching behind her back to finish the job by flipping open the clasp of her bra one-handed.

NOW!

Then, abruptly, Finn had returned to feline form and Ixchel was curled in on herself, hands cupping a head that must have been pounding as hard as his own. I guess even a trapped god has a way to ensure we do his bidding.

Perhaps you didn't hear me the first time, Tezcatlipoca broadcast grimly. So let me clarify. What you do on your own time is your own affair. But while I'm stuck inside this stupid statue, you're on my time. So MOVE!

And then Finn found himself standing on two human feet, fully clothed and with the morning's glorious erection a thing of the past. Apparently, the aftereffects of being manhandled by a god were more efficient than a cold shower. And much, much worse.

"Okay, Tezzie," Ixchel replied, seeming less shaken than Finn was by the unwelcome intrusion into her brain. Or perhaps his partner simply hadn't been as affected by the events that had preceded Tezcatlipoca's temper tantrum? Finn hoped, for his own sake, that the vet was simply more able than he was to deal with godly distemper.

"You're a jealous bully," the vet continued. "But you win. We're going."

As she spoke, Ixchel stood and reached around to refasten her bra, breasts thrust forward by the action. Finn tried to tell himself to look away, but then his companion's smoldering eyes met his and the joining nearly lit him on fire.

"Once we ditch the third wheel, I owe you a real date," Finn promised, more to himself than to Ixchel, whom he'd thought wouldn't be able to hear him from the other side of the room.

But his mate must have possessed the ears of a cat because her smile matched his own. "You got that right," she said.

And the words felt like a promise.

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# Chapter 22

This is it?

They stood in front of a tree-covered mound that might, in its better days, have been an Olmec pyramid. The sun was hot and the ground was dry, and even Ixchel's wonder at traveling within her parents' home country and exploring ancient ruins paled beneath the dream of finding an ice-cold glass of water and something solid to eat.

No, Tezzie hadn't let them stop for breakfast and it was now nearly time for lunch. The deity clearly resented the bond growing between Ixchel and Finn, and he obviously expected more consideration after taking the time and energy to heal the shifter's bullet wound. But what did Tezzie expect? For the duo to be at his beck and call 24-7?

Yes, clearly that was what the god expected. Too bad she wasn't willing to roll that way.

Which might be why Ixchel's voice was tart when she responded to their invisible companion. "If you'd allowed me to read the guidebook before we got into the car, I would have told you that El Azuzul's sculptures have been relocated to a museum in Xalapa." Then, opening the text and tilting it so the shifter could peruse the photographs, she told Finn: "I can see why Tezzie is so interested, though. There were some fascinating jaguar sculptures here, although they don't say anything about a mirror."

But the city? My worshipers?

For the first time since they'd met him, Tezcatlipoca's voice didn't sound angry or petulant. Instead, the god appeared to be truly shocked by the effects of two thousand years of time wearing down the seat of his power. There was nothing left now but swamp and farmland, along with this hill and its so-weathered-as-to-be-unreadable interpretive sign.

It's all gone, the god finished, as if speaking to himself.

"Well, it's been awhile, Tezzie," Ixchel said more gently. "I'm guessing your worshipers didn't have a reason to stick around once you went missing. But your mirror could still be here. The book says there are likely to be other unexcavated ruins scattered throughout the area. So where did you see the mirror last?"

She felt like a parent helping her inconsolable child track down his favorite toy, but the trick worked. It wouldn't have been in the pyramid, Tezcatlipoca remembered. Turn to your right. No, your other right. A bit more, a bit more.... Now stop!

Ixchel felt like she was being spun around in preparation for a game of blind man's bluff, but she played along as the god guided her across the road and into a little stand of trees.

Now dig here! he demanded.

"Dig?" Ixchel hadn't quite thought through what she was helping Tezzie do, but now she realized that they were already trespassing and would soon be stealing a priceless archaeological artifact in a country where she was entirely unfamiliar with the legal system. "I don't know, Tezzie," she backpedaled. "We didn't think to bring a shovel."

"Well, actually." Then Finn was by her side, unfolding a little camping spade that he'd pulled out of his voluminous backpack. What else did the shifter have in there? And who set off for foreign climes after taking care to pack their shovel?

Yes, ask your darling shifter that question...later when you're on your own time, the god broadcast absently, his attention clearly focused on what was to be found beneath their feet. Finn was already engrossed in digging, and Ixchel sank down to sit cross-legged when her companion waved away her help.

I might as well flip through the guidebook a bit more as I wait, she thought. Now seems like as good an opportunity as any to read up on our personal god and on Olmec culture in general.

And the vet turned out to have plenty of time to kill. Because Tezcatlipoca's memory had been dimmed by two thousand years trapped inside his little stone prison. Or maybe the world had shifted a bit in the interim. Whatever the reason, the god guided Finn toward five test holes before the spade finally clunked against stone. After that, it took another hour to clear away the soil so the two humans could leverage the rectangular rock up out of the ground.

At which point Ixchel forgot her parched throat and growling stomach. Because a little cavity of air was protected by four additional stones beneath the first one. And, in the center of the cavity lay a handful of jade beads, a pile of rotten cloth, and a little stone bowl that the vet's research suggested had once been an Olmec mirror.

***

"YOU CALL that a mirror?" Finn asked. Just his luck. He'd nearly broken his back digging up the pesky god's mirror, but all he ended up with was some jewelry and yet another rock.

The shifter was heartily sick of rocks.

It's all rusted. Tezcatlipoca's words sounded so much like a pouty child that Finn couldn't resist exchanging a glance with his human companion. Based on the amused sparkle in Ixchel's eyes, he supposed she felt as he did--that their personal deity had regressed while trapped inside his two-thousand-year-old tomb. Or maybe Tez had always acted like a five-year-old?

Finn had little patience for petulance, but Ixchel continued to excel at god-wrangling. "I figured it would rust," she said, tapping the now-closed guidebook with one finger. "My book says that all of the iron-ore mirrors from the Preclassic period don't look very mirror-like by the time they're dug up. Now, if you'd built your mirror out of obsidian...."

An obsidian mirror! Splendid idea. Tezcatlipoca didn't seem to realize he was being teased. Are there any? Obsidian mirrors created in my name, that is?

Finn and Ixchel exchanged another glance, but this time an exhausted one. If he'd been able to pull his jaguar senses away from the hunt that afternoon, the shifter would have given Ixchel a turn with the shovel and taken a break in the shade as she worked. Instead, Finn's single-minded focus resulted in limbs that were now so bone tired he could hardly imagine walking back to their rental car, let alone driving all over Mexico in search of a mirror devoted to just the right deity.

"That's not the kind of thing they mention in guidebooks, Tezzie," Ixchel said gently. "I mean, yes, there are obsidian mirrors around. But they were carved after your time, and who knows who they were meant for. Plus, we'd have to break into a museum to get our hands on one...."

And that was the other reason Finn had clung so tenaciously to his spade. He'd caught Tezcatlipoca's trouble-making tip when the shifter pulled out his tool in the first place. And he knew that, given a bit of time and space, Ixchel would begin to wonder why her companion had packed such an unusual item in the first place. The calculation in the vet's eyes had been enough to prompt Finn to whip off his shirt when he began digging, hoping to distract the woman whom he hoped to turn into his mate with the sight of muscular abs.

A technique that had proven almost too effective. When Ixchel's pupils expanded despite the strong May sunlight, Finn nearly dropped the problematic shovel, ditched Tezcatlipoca's wild-goose chase, and took the vet into his arms.

And now the shifter wanted to hug Ixchel even more as she came through where his weary brain couldn't in order to save the day.

"But, Tezzie," Ixchel said as Finn once again focused on the god's dilemma, "you don't really need an official mirror. The book says that bowls of water were often used for scrying. That's what you want to do, right? To talk to one of the other gods?"

Of course. But there'd been a strangely evasive--though subtle--pause before the deity's response that had Finn narrowing his eyes. Something here wasn't quite as it seemed. Still, without more data, there was nothing the shifter could do other than let Tezcatlipoca's game play out to its conclusion. The were-jaguar would just have to stay alert and be ready to pounce when the tables turned....

"As long as the water doesn't have to be potable, that's not too hard to manage," Finn said, finally joining in the conversation. "There's a swamp just over there, so we can fill the bowl up, let Tez commune with the heavens, and then be on our way. You and I could even buy one of those fruit ices on the way home, Ixchel. I'll bet the ones at that stand we saw would have been a delicious snack if someone had let us stop the car."

Because the god had resolutely refused to allow his humans to do anything that even slightly resembled sightseeing in the last twenty-four hours. Yes, Finn and Ixchel had been allowed to purchase new outfits and the latter had snuck the guidebook and a pair of large straw hats into their cart at the same time. Finn was particularly glad of the hats since the Mexican sun would have long since burned even his dark skin to a crisp without a head covering. But he wouldn't have minded a little time to romance the enticing veterinarian while they were away from her job and in an exotic locale....

Swamp water? You want me to call up my sister god with swamp water?

Finn didn't have the strength to argue, and Ixchel didn't bother. She'd already returned with a bowl of slightly murky liquid by the time Finn settled himself into the shade with his back to the trunk of a gnarled old tree. And as the god directed, Ixchel gathered up the jade beads and dropped them one by one into the liquid, then she followed up by slipping off her necklace and letting it sink into the mirror-bowl as well. Finally, the vet gently removed the ancient figurine from her pants pocket and, repeating a jumble of syllables that Tezcatlipoca was broadcasting into both of their minds, she dropped that final object into the bowl of water with a distinct plop.

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# Chapter 23

Even though Ixchel had watched Finn shift between two physical forms multiple times now, she wouldn't have said that she believed in magic. So a jolt ran through her skin as two faces floated up to the surface of the tea-colored liquid.

One visage was immediately recognizable as their pesky god, even though Tezcatlipoca appeared far too young to have been trapped in a statue for two thousand years. Instead, the god looked like a teenager not yet old enough to drive, and a slash of black cut through the yellow color infusing his face. Despite the strange coloration and his relative age, though, Tezcatlipoca was nearly unbearably handsome, and his arrogant knowledge of that fact was evident in the twist of his lips.

The other face was neither beautiful nor arrogant. Tez's sister god was an old woman, her face so wrinkled that the lines nearly hid her original bone structure. But, to Ixchel's eye, this second god seemed vastly preferable to the one she and Finn had been carting around for the last two days. Because the old woman's face boasted crow's feet promising frequent laughter, centered around eyes that seemed much deeper than the bowl should have allowed. The goddess also appeared to be staring right at her, and Ixchel found herself falling into the depths of the deity's gaze and relaxing as she fell.

And then Tez, as he was wont to do, ruined the moment. I say, Ixxie, the male god broadcast with a snooty English accent, You're definitely looking your age.

And you, my dear boy, are still not acting yours, the goddess replied with a chuckle in her voice.

But Ixchel had a hard time focusing on the witty repartee. So this is who I'm named after, she thought as she reached up to finger the necklace that was no longer around her neck. I hope it was okay to take off the charm....

It's certainly alright, dear, Ixxie answered, looking directly at her namesake once again. Ixchel gasped as a tingle ran through her entire body and a spark arced from her finger into the bowl of water. You haven't sworn to me yet, the goddess continued. And I'm not the kind of jealous god Tezzie here is anyway.

The vet smiled weakly, amused to think that the nickname she'd come up with for the wind god was already in use by his compatriot. "I think I was supposed to swear to you on my eighteenth birthday," she said hesitantly. "But my mother didn't know the words...."

And I'm afraid I can't tell them to you either, Ixxie finished. It's against the rules. The goddess eyed the wind god, and Ixchel figured she and Finn both understood the unspoken subtext--Ixxie, unlike her brother god, preferred to go by the book.

Speaking of rules, Tez said, pushing himself to the forefront of the mirror. I, Black Tezcatlipoca, god of divination, sorcery, beauty, and war....

The deity seemed to be rushing his speech, even though it appeared to be no more than another round of chest-thumping, and Ixchel suddenly had a bad feeling about this entire endeavor. Did Tezzie really want to chat with his sister god...or to do something more nefarious to her?

The vet tried to reach out and grab her necklace back out of the bowl, but she was suddenly unable to move. So all she could do was listen as Tezcatlipoca continued to intone his lineage, the words seeming to reverberate with deeper power and meaning as time progressed.

...Slayer of Cipactli, foe of Quetzalcoatl...

Above them, the sky began to cloud up, and thunder rumbled in the distance. The vet could barely see her human companion out of the corner of her eye, but that glimpse was sufficient to prove that Finn wanted to stop Tezcatlipoca as much as she did. And that the shifter was equally unable to move, held just like she was in the iron grip of a vengeful god.

As a result, Ixchel could do nothing to prevent herself from being drenched as the clouds opened up above them. And as the jaguar god continued to chant, his words dropped directly into her mind unfiltered by the raging wind. I, Tezcatlipoca, do bind you, Ixchel, jaguar grandmother and nocturnal physician, into this statue to be released only when...another...takes...your...PLACE.

Electricity charged the air, making the hairs on Ixchel's arms stand on end. Then, with a tremendous crash, a bolt of lightning struck the top of the pyramid-hill and Ixchel's hands were finally freed from their invisible restraints.

"Ixxie, I'm sorry!" the vet exclaimed, expecting to see Tezcatlipoca materialize out of the air in front of her at any moment. She should've realized that Tezzie would seek the easy way out, even if it meant locking his friend away in the same eternal solitude he'd been forced to endure.

And what did that mean for the future of the humans who had done their best to aid the god yet hadn't been entirely respectful in the process?

But Ixchel had a hard time focusing on self-preservation when, just a moment earlier, she had been communing with a goddess. A goddess who meant so much to her own maternal lineage that each woman had passed down the concept of a cat charm from mother to daughter for what she now suspected was hundreds of years.

The vet's ancestors had lost the words that made the figurine more than a trinket, and yet they'd continued to name their daughters Ixchel after this deity that Tezcatlipoca nicknamed Ixxie. And if the current Ixchel trusted her similarly named mother and grandmother and great-grandmother, then Ixxie must be worth the effort to serve and protect.

There has to be some relative left who knows the words I was supposed to use to swear myself to her, Ixchel thought, possibilities humming through her mind nearly the same way the wind god's speech had once done. The vet was on the right track for salvaging this situation, she knew it. Maybe if I swear Ixxie's oath, then I'll be able to break Tezzie's curse....

But then Ixchel realized that Tezcatlipoca had not appeared before her in the flesh. Instead, the wind god was still trapped within the mirror, facing his sister deity and cursing loudly. Then, abruptly, the sound cut off and she and Finn were left watching the deities' faces contort as the pair spoke in privacy, the mirror having turned into the godly version of a silent film.

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# Chapter 24

You tricked me! Tezcatlipoca howled. Because, after all of his hard work, he still wasn't free of this dratted prison. Instead, the god's physical body was stuck inside the figurine as tightly as ever, and Ixxie wasn't even incarcerated along with him.

That latter option would have been an acceptable resolution, in the short term at least. Because while his sister god might currently choose to represent herself as a crone, Ixxie possessed a lovely face in her maiden persona. And Tez was quite certain he'd be able to talk her into the maiden...and out of her skirt...in short order if the two shared the same physical plane. It had been a long time since he'd lain with a woman, and his hand just wasn't cutting the mustard the way it used to....

Tezzie, dear, do try to focus, Ixxie admonished gently. Yes, I tricked you. But you tried to trick me first. And as these modern humans say, turnabout is fair play.

But it should've worked! Tez howled. Just his luck that using the exact same ritual and words that Yo Pe had utilized to trap him two millennia earlier now gave a very different result. Had everything changed?

Or maybe the ritual wasn't the issue at all. I thought I'd recharged enough, but maybe I shouldn't have let those mortals call me by anything except my full name, Tezcatlipoca mused aloud.

Oh, yes, as if having a woman think of you as Tezzie is really going to deplete your godly powers, Ixxie said.

In her grandmother persona, Ixxie was so smug, so all-knowing. And drat the goddess (yes, he'd call her a goddess if he felt like it!) for being right, because Tez could now feel Ixchel's thoughts turning in his direction. And it did appear that the mortal's intention alone was helping refill his godhood despite the pet name the woman persisted in using.

What then? I said the words exactly right!

And now he decided he might like Ixxie's grandmother phase after all, because the god could almost feel his companion's soothing hand stroking his cheek. It's all in the intention, Tezzie, she explained. You intended to lock me away in a prison...

...Which is exactly what Yo Pe did to me!

Not quite, Ixxie rebutted. Yo Pe went into his incantation planning to imprison a god who had become a danger to his people. Your worshiper wanted to protect other innocents from your depredations.

Depredations! Not likely. Tezcatlipoca had ruled his followers with an iron fist, of course. But he'd given back too. Otherwise, why didn't they all just jump ship and run begging along after Q or Ixxie instead?

Don't you remember moving the course of their river? Ixxie asked softly. Lack of water is bad for crops. Your people were starving.

Well, they forgot my birthday first, Tez replied sullenly. Okay, so, sure, he might have changed the course of the Coatzacoalcos River (which, by the way, they should never have named after his archrival!). But if Tezcatlipoca's worshipers had groveled just a little bit more, sacrificed a few maidens, begged for his mercy, then Tez would have brought the water back.

Still, the wind god was getting nowhere with this line of reasoning. And, after all, Tez was a deity. He should have been able to swap places with Ixxie even if his intentions hadn't been entirely pure.

Yes, that's right, dear, his sister god said, not bothering to wait for her companion to speak. (Talk about rude!) But you also got another thing wrong. Ixchel's cat charm isn't a strong enough link to my person to pull my physical self into your mirror, not when the girl has yet to swear herself into her role as my chief priestess. And, despite all that, Ixchel is still mine. You know very well that no worshiper of mine can unintentionally do me harm.

Contradict yourself, why don't you? Tez countered. If the mortal hasn't sworn to you, then she isn't yours, now is she?

Well, suit yourself, Tezzie, the goddess answered before fading away. But I've broken the tie you built to my dear Ixchel's mind, so you'll just have to wait and see what exactly she does choose to do. Now won't you?

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# Chapter 25

Finn and Ixchel lunged toward the mirror-bowl at the same moment, the former intent on spilling the water while the latter was doing her level best to fish out her necklace. As a result, both humans ended up getting even more soaked, the small vessel seeming to hold five gallons' worth of liquid when its contents splattered across their faces and clothes.

Another little trick from our favorite god, Finn thought sardonically. But he was getting used to Tezcatlipoca's shows of temper and didn't even wince.

"Is Tezzie free?" Ixchel asked breathlessly, clutching her cat necklace as if the charm were a precious item rather than a ten-cent trinket, the like of which could be purchased at any dollar store stateside. The vet didn't even seem to notice the disarray their clothes were in due to her worry over the goddess's safety. But then, Ixchel also wasn't a cat who enjoyed swimming...but only on his own terms. No, the wet clothes had been a slap in the face meant for Finn alone and the shifter knew it.

No, I'm not free...no thanks to you! Tezcatlipoca was grumpier than ever, but the shifter was surprised to see that Ixchel's face remained full of blank concern rather than reacting to the deity's diatribe. His companion clearly hadn't heard the god speak even though Tez had been able to broadcast his thoughts from a much greater distance just that morning. Surely Tezcatlipoca should have had no problem impacting the veterinarian from his current location at their feet.

Interesting.

"He says he's still trapped, and isn't very happy about it," Finn translated, picking up the statue and mirror and pocketing both despite his overwhelming inclination to let the god rot in hell. The headache that had been building behind the shifter's eyes eased at the gesture, and Finn knew he'd been manipulated once again. Still, he had to choose his battles with Tezcatlipoca, so this instance of godly maneuvering might as well be let slide.

Beside him, Ixchel raised her eyebrows, coming to the same conclusion that the shifter had--in the preceding altercation, the goddess must have found a way to wiggle the vet's consciousness out of Tez's grubby little fingers. Too bad Ixxie hadn't managed to do the same for Finn. Because, without Tez barking orders, Finn would have been quite happy to bury this little statue in the sandy soil of El Azuzul and set off on a much-deserved Mexican holiday with the lovely veterinarian.

You can stop with the headaches, Tez, Finn thought as pain once again began slicing through his skull. I'm not going to do it. I'd just like a holiday, that's all. And then the shifter worked harder than ever at shielding his thoughts from the nosy god's ever-increasing power.

"What about Ixxie?" her namesake said at last, reaching back to clasp the necklace once more around her neck. Despite his best intentions to give the veterinarian her space, Finn found himself lifting the woman's hair out of the way and then letting his hand trail across her smooth skin in a gentle caress before stepping away.

Focus, he told himself. Because his pet god was obviously not pleased with either him or with Ixchel. So Finn needed to keep his attention trained on the potential danger for both of their sakes.

What do I care? Tez groused, proving the shifter's suspicion about his mood as the deity answered Ixchel's question. If Ixxie won't help me, then it's no skin off my teeth whether you just spilled your precious goddess out onto the ground and killed her entirely.

Finn didn't repeat this utterance since he was relatively sure that the wind god was just attempting to spread his lack of joy to the people around him. "I think she outwitted him," he said instead, glancing at the trinket nestled between Ixchel's collarbones and raising one eyebrow quickly. Hopefully his companion could read between the lines in a way the self-centered god couldn't, allowing Ixchel to realize that her goddess could be trapped within the cat necklace just as Tezcatlipoca was caged within his own statue.

"I might know a way to talk to Ixxie," Ixchel began, but Finn cut her off with a shake of his head. Sure enough, his least-favorite deity pounced on the vet's words.

Oh no you don't. No running off on a tangent to help out Ixxie, not while I'm stuck within this cursed statue. Don't you want to be reunited with your family?

Finn didn't even need to translate this time around, because Ixchel could clearly read Tez's half-assed promise in the way the shifter clenched his jaw.

"No, Tezzie, this isn't all about you," Ixchel rebutted. "Ixxie seemed like a nice lady, and I'll bet she'd help you out if we just put a little time into scratching her back first. We'll go visit my..."

"Don't tell him!" Finn ground out at the same time Tezcatlipoca demanded:

Don't interrupt her!

But Ixchel had listened to Finn--had, in fact, not even heard the grumpy god--and she clamped her mouth shut over the information that she'd been about to impart. And that, apparently, was the last straw, because the headache Finn had been battling for the last few minutes erupted into a roar just as he was pulled into jaguar form against his will.

Let's see how you like being trapped, Tezcatlipoca broadcast grimly.

The shifter snarled and swiped at the air, irate at the god and then even more angry at himself when Ixchel cringed away from his razor-sharp claws. He'd better get his act together...and fast if...he wanted to hold onto what was really important in this situation. Namely--Ixchel.

Good point, Tezcatlipoca broadcast smoothly. So you'll talk the girl into coming along with us and we'll get back to work. Once she bonds to her precious goddess, then I can start over and exchange places with the bitch. And then you and your darling veterinarian can finally enjoy your just rewards.

Finn badly wanted to be a better person, but he found himself tempted by the god's promise. The shifter had been hunting and hoping for a sign of another were-jaguar for the last decade, and who but a jaguar god would be likely to know if there were other shifters of his ilk kicking around in the world? It would be a simple matter for Tezcatlipoca to introduce Finn to his relatives--truly no skin off his teeth. The shifter was pretty sure that his personal god wouldn't go very far out of his way to fulfill his promises. But if Finn's prize was easy to grant, surely the deity would have no reason not to come through?

On the other hand, Finn knew that allowing Tez to get his way in this matter would be a bad choice. Even though the shifter had picked up his (very small) dose of ethics only after reaching adulthood and joining the human race, he still knew that Tezcatlipoca's plan was morally repugnant. Of the two gods, Ixxie seemed the much better choice to set loose on the unsuspecting human population.

And yet.... Was Ixxie's well-being really more important than Finn's own? Couldn't a goddess take care of herself?

As he pondered, the shifter peered at Ixchel out of slitted cat eyes. His human companion had settled down from her initial fright as soon as Finn stopped clawing at the air and was now watching him with her head cocked to one side consideringly. The vet was smart, so Finn was pretty sure she knew that he and Tezcatlipoca were negotiating everyone's future in the silence she had not yet tried to break. And she likely also knew that she'd heartily disapprove of Tezcatlipoca's plan.

But despite all that, Ixchel seemed willing to wait and accept that Finn would make the right decision.

No one had ever expected him to make the right decision before. As a result, the shifter couldn't quite figure out whether Ixchel's expectations made him feel uplifted...or hemmed in.

And even though his mind seemed to be squeezing itself in a vise as he worked his way through the implications of any potential actions, the shifter was certain of one thing at least. He wanted the leisure to find out how he really felt about having won Ixchel's trust before he lost her favor entirely.

That, more than any ethical need to protect the weaker members of the human race, decided the issue for Finn. Not happening, he thought as loudly as he could, hoping the god would catch this broadcast but not the musings that came before it. Ixchel needs time to bond with her goddess without worrying that you're going to lock Ixxie away for the next two thousand years. So we're going to give her that time.

Then the jaguar tried to transform back into human shape so he could warn his companion about Tezcatlipoca's wishes...but Finn found himself unable to shift. It was similar to the night when the god had turned him into a pussycat, but even worse since Finn had then been able to at least change his shape at will.

Tezzie! he growled silently, using the diminutive form of address for the first time.

Oh, are you realizing you need something from me after all? Tezcatlipoca bit out. The words were bitter, and Finn knew that the wind god must be feeling his lack of traditional worshipers most keenly at this moment.

Based on what Ixchel had read out of her guidebook during their drive to El Azuzul, the shifter now knew that Tezcatlipoca's Olmec followers wouldn't have dared talk back to their god the way he was doing. And for good reason, too, since Tezzie was both immature and prone to lash out at those who didn't do his bidding in a timely manner.

Well? Tezcatlipoca demanded. Are you willing to obey my simple request yet, or would you rather remain in jaguar form until further notice? I'll bet your lady love wouldn't like that very much, now would she?

Actually, Ixchel seemed a bit taken by Finn's streamlined feline body, and he couldn't resist preening a bit beneath her admiring gaze. But Tezzie was right--Finn wasn't going to make any progress with the veterinarian sans the ability to talk.

Still, sometimes one had to make short-term sacrifices for the sake of long-term gain. And, in this case, the only way to protect Ixchel's interests was to walk away.

He would definitely miss his smart and sassy companion, but Finn knew that the vet would fare quite well by herself in the near future. The keys to the rental car were still in the ignition of the vehicle, and the shifter had been sure to purchase an international driver's license in the veterinarian's name while putting together the paperwork to make it easy for the duo to leave the country. Plus, Ixchel had Finn's cell number programmed into her own phone, so she'd be able to contact him once the shifter finished dealing with Tezcatlipoca and was able to change back into human form.

The question was, would she want to contact him if he left now without an explanation, just walked away into the trees without a backwards glance? That thought alone set up a piercing pain in his chest that was just as powerful as the god-imbued headache Finn had fought off earlier.

So that's what they mean by a broken heart, Finn thought, peering into Ixchel's eyes and willing her to understand.

Then, without another attempt to parry words with the god, the shifter shut both eyes slowly in the universal cat sign of reassurance and contentment. And turning on his heel, he slunk away from the woman he was beginning to love.

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# Chapter 26

Finn had abandoned her. He'd met her eyes then turned without a word and slunk away into the woods.

Okay, so it wasn't like the shifter could actually speak while in feline form in order to explain his intentions. And he'd clearly been arguing with Tezzie about the future just before shifting. So it was possible the wind god had found a way to lock Finn inside his jaguar skin for the foreseeable future and had then ordered the shifter to leave Ixchel behind.

And yet, those explanations still didn't make the veterinarian feel any better. Finn's just like my brothers, she found herself thinking instead.

But was that really true? After all, Fernando and company hadn't abandoned Ixchel. She'd been the one to squeal on her siblings so they were all tossed in jail, after which she'd left without a forwarding address. So how could the vet say that they'd abandoned her when she was the one who had walked away?

Still, Ixchel had felt emotionally divorced from her siblings each time she begged a brother to stay home rather than falling deeper and deeper into his life of crime. She'd felt dismissed and ignored when each brother walked out of the family home nightly while refusing to meet her eyes. And she'd no longer felt like their sister when the young adults made up dumb lies to excuse their absences.

But it wasn't until her favorite brother, Miguel, had blown her off that Ixchel really began to consider herself an only child.

Of course, saying that he'd blown her off wasn't entirely fair either. Miguel was a typical middle sibling, with a nice word for everyone and always willing to make peace among his cadre of troublesome brothers. So, of course, Miguel hadn't really blown off Ixchel's concerns. Still, when she'd pinned her favorite brother down one last time only weeks before her ill-fated birthday, the peacemaker had been unwilling to give an inch.

"You want me to stay home, right?" he'd asked. Then, when his kid sister nodded excitedly, Miguel had explained the reasoning behind his refusal. "I don't like going out with the boys either, Ixxie." (He'd called her Ixxie, the vet remembered now, using the same pet name Tez had used for his sister god.)

"Then why go?" the younger sister interjected. "Why not stay home with me? Are you afraid you'll lose your machismo if you don't follow Fernando's lead?" Referring to the boys' pride was usually bound to get a rise out of them, and Ixchel couldn't resist the chance to tease.

"Of course not, goosie," her middle brother answered, roughing up hair that she'd spent an awfully long time taming just an hour before, but otherwise ignoring her verbal jab. Ixchel didn't even pretend to resent the manhandling, either. It had been far too long since she'd enjoyed such easy familiarity with one of her brothers, and she craved Miguel's affection.

Plus, she wanted to hear what the peacemaker had to say for himself. "So...?" she prompted.

"So, I go out with 'the boys', as you call them, to make sure nobody does anything stupid. You know you can't trust Antonio not to drown in..." He paused, clearly cleaning up his language for Ixchel's benefit, then finished: "...the shallow end of a swimming pool."

This analysis was, unfortunately, true. Antonio was the second oldest sibling and had been a handful from day one. Or so their parents said--Ixchel hadn't come along until six years later.

Actually, given the kind of trouble Ixchel knew her brothers had been getting up to lately, she was surprised Antonio hadn't managed to get himself killed...or to kill someone...while he was out joining gangs and holding up convenience stores at gunpoint. So maybe Miguel had a point.

"But I miss you," she'd said in a quiet voice, meaning But I need you too. And Miguel had understood the unspoken words as well as the spoken ones.

"It won't be forever, Ixxie," he'd promised her. "Just a little longer. I have a plan to make it all better. You'll see."

But she hadn't seen. All that had passed in front of her eyes despite their talk was the continued parade of brothers coming home at all hours of the night with bruises on their cheeks, loot in their hands, and even more machismo than ever in their bearings.

Then, soon afterwards, Ixchel had found her parents' blood splattered across the living-room wall. Which had made the scales fall from her eyes and had forced the teenager to realize that she couldn't remain part of the family travesty any longer.

Which, in turn, was why Ixchel thought her brothers had abandoned her. The young men had promised to protect her with their lives but had instead forced their kid sister to grow up at eighteen and then find her own way in the world. The five of them hadn't forgiven Ixchel for her backstabbing despite their long history, and not a single brother had followed after to hunt her down. Not even Miguel.

As a result, for years, the veterinarian-in-training had looked over her shoulders. She'd been afraid to see one of her brothers standing behind her ready to take his revenge...but she'd also been afraid of what she wouldn't see. In the end, Ixchel was most hurt by the fact that she'd been forgotten by the family who had played such a pivotal role in her life for nearly two decades.

So, yes, in every way that counted, Ixchel's brothers had abandoned her nine years ago. Just as the next man she'd come to trust--Finn--had abandoned her now.

***

"WELL, THAT DOES IT," Ixchel said to nobody. "It's time to find a bottle of water and, hopefully, some air conditioning."

But she couldn't quite make herself move. The vet was ashamed to admit that she'd sat in the dubious shade of that single forlorn tree for most of the afternoon, hoping that her companion would eventually return. Surely, if she just gave him a little more time, Finn would pad out of the forest on cat feet and explain away his long absence. Surely he hadn't meant to abandon her without a backwards glance.

But the sun was dropping lower now and Ixchel's throat was turning hoarse from lack of moisture. Plus, she was pretty sure that if Finn had meant to return, he would have found a way to ask her to stay put earlier in the afternoon, even if Tez was controlling the were-jaguar's ability to shift.

On the contrary, Finn's body language as he strode into the trees might as well have been flipping her off. His lashing tail and slinking posture had suggested the jaguar was glad to see the back of El Azuzul...and, presumably, of the woman he was walking away from as well.

Still, if the shifter had really meant to leave Ixchel for good, would he have allowed his backpack to remain lying on the ground beside their haphazard archaeological excavation?

The parcel in question had been drawing Ixchel's eyes for the last hour, ever since she'd pulled herself out of not-so-fond reminiscences of her brothers' escapades. Yes, ask your darling shifter that question, Tezcatlipoca had suggested when the vet had pondered how her partner was able to pull a camping shovel out of his voluminous pack right when it was needed. And, even though the wind god had merely been trying to stir up trouble--Ixchel knew Tezzie well enough by then to tell when he was yanking someone's chain--she couldn't help wondering what Tez knew about her human companion that Ixchel didn't.

And she also couldn't help wondering whether the contents of Finn's backpack would clear up the mystery.

Of course, any woman knew that you don't go through someone else's purse--or backpack, as the case may be--without permission. It wasn't as if she and Finn were a couple, with behavioral hints indicating that he might be cheating on her. Even if that had been the case, in fact, Ixchel would have hesitated before invading her lover's privacy.

"But, maybe the contents of Finn's backpack will help me guess whether I should leave his things here in case he comes back. Or whether I should take them with me."

It was a self-serving argument and the vet knew it. But her hands were already unzipping the flap even as Ixchel promised herself that she was just sneaking a quick peek. After all, if there were electronics or other items inside that might be damaged by water, Ixchel should at least find a way to stash the items somewhere dry in case it rained during Finn's absence.

Not that Mexico was currently experiencing its rainy season. Not if the parched state of the soil before the day's deity-induced deluge was any indication.

On the other hand, if the pack was merely full of non-perishables, emergency blankets and other camping gear, then Ixchel should probably leave it where it was. The shifter might need equipment when Tezcatlipoca finally let him out of his grip. Plus, it would be good to know whether Finn had his cell phone on him, just in case he wanted to give her a call....

The shifter's cell phone wasn't present in the pack, but Finn seemed to have tucked away everything else except the kitchen sink. No wonder he'd been forced to check his luggage before getting on the airplane, despite clearly not wanting to allow the bag's contents to leave his sight. Because the satchel was full of several objects that Ixchel couldn't quite identify...along with other items that she, damningly, could.

There was a laptop, which Ixchel refused to allow herself to boot up. And little devices that she was pretty sure were spy cameras. The vet found something that resembled a toy helicopter but that she thought might instead be a surveillance drone. And there were also wads of cash in both American dollars and Mexican pesos, in addition to several other currencies that she didn't immediately recognize.

Added to that evidence was a map of Ixchel's West Virginia county. A map with Mirabelle's dig circled and with various potential escape routes marked thereon. When the vet peered closer she also saw that yes, there on the corner of the page was her veterinary practice, marked "emergency medical care" and "woman lives above shop; alone from 6 pm to 8:30 am."

He'd scoped her out. Finn had sat at the edge of the trees and watched until he'd sussed out his prey's daily routine. Maybe he'd even set up one of these clever little spy cameras to record her actions while he was busy checking out other locations marked on the map. Ixchel shivered, remembering how she'd considered her practice's remote location a reason not to buy curtains, and she wondered what Finn had seen that he shouldn't have.

The conclusion, unfortunately, was clear. The shifter whom she had so trustingly snuggled into bed with last night had considered Ixchel easy pickings. And she had proven him right.

But I knew that, the vet reminded herself. How could she forget meeting Finn at knife point? The shifter had needed his bullet wound stitched up and he hadn't hesitated to take what he wanted. Surely that type of introduction wasn't grounds for a lasting relationship....

And then I hared off to Mexico with this criminal? Without telling anyone where I was going?

It had made so much sense at the time. Mirabelle was presumably hot on their trail, so Finn had talked his companion into using the passport listing her own first name with a last name she didn't recognize. That right there was probably a felony.

Then Ixchel had told her receptionist to close the veterinary practice, but hadn't mentioned where she was going or when she planned to come home. Probably because she didn't possess either piece of information herself. But the oversight also meant that her traveling partner had nothing to stop him from stealing everything she owned and leaving her stranded somewhere in Mexico.

Not that Finn had done any of those horrible things. Well, except for the leaving her part, which felt horrible enough.

"You sure know how to pick 'em," she berated herself aloud, pushing each incriminating piece of evidence back into Finn's pack. "You'd think with brothers like mine, I wouldn't be attracted to the bad boys."

Then, reaching up to grasp her necklace, Ixchel shivered as her mind abruptly cleared. Yes, Finn's past must have involved facets she definitely wouldn't approve of. But the shifter had never been less than a gentleman--knife aside--and he'd never lied to her. Instead, Finn had admitted to stealing the were-jaguar figurine, and Ixchel herself had seen that his antagonist--Mirabelle--was bad news.

Plus, now that the necklace's calming power was easing her angst a little, the vet remembered how Finn had closed both his eyes in the cat sign for reassurance right before turning his back on her and walking away into the forest. The jaguar had tried to communicate after all. Surely that counted for something?

"But I really can't sit here overnight on the off chance he'll decide to come back to find me," Ixchel said to the decayed pyramid, the swamp, and the gnarled old tree. "So I might as well do what I can for Ixxie in the meantime and not focus my energy on something I can't change."

The vet would simply have to trust that Finn was doing what he could to get the wind god off his figurative back. She'd have to trust that if Finn was meant to be part of her life, that he'd find some way to meet up with her in the near future.

And, when the shifter did materialize in her life once again, chances were good that he'd need his backpack of super-secret spy paraphernalia.

So, with a sigh, the vet picked up the offending parcel, slung it into the back seat of the car, and programmed the GPS for her next location.

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# Chapter 27

So that's how you want it to be. Tezcatlipoca had begun with threats, had progressed to complaints, and was now moving on to his third line of defense--the simple refusal to shut up. Well then, I guess it's time to bring out your reward a little early and prove how much I appreciate your past and future assistance.

Despite the twitching in his whiskers that suggested giving in to Tez's taunts was a bad idea, Finn found himself answering the god as he continued to place one pad in front of the other, stalking in a straight line toward he knew not what. My reward, huh? the shifter thought loudly, having perfected the ability to communicate with his pet deity nonverbally over the last couple of hours spent running in feline form. Call it what you like, but somehow I don't think I'm going to enjoy what you have to show me.

Au contraire, Tezcatlipoca responded in his rather terrible facsimile of a French accent. You wanted to meet another were-jaguar, and your wish is my command. Turn more toward the east and you'll find your precious shifter before nightfall.

It was a trap, of course. Tezcatlipoca did nothing out of the kindness of his heart, as evidenced by the fact that Finn had been within a few hours' run of another were-jaguar all afternoon without Tez making any effort to alert him to that fact. Probably this other shifter--if he even existed--was territorial or otherwise likely to give Finn the middle finger on sight. And from the tone of the wind god's voice, the deity was probably looking forward to the expression of despair on Finn's face when he was blown off by the only other member of his race that he'd met in his not-so-long life.

But...but...wouldn't it be worth fending off an attack if his opponent turned out to be another were-jaguar, even an unpleasant one? Finn had grown into his abilities since being forced to flee the claws of his mother and sister, and he was pretty sure that he could take care of himself against another feline now. And perhaps Tez wasn't well-informed about the unknown shifter. Maybe this other were-jaguar would eventually become Finn's friend....

Added to which--what else did Finn have to do with his time? The shifter's goal all afternoon had been to put as much distance between himself and Ixchel as possible in order to prevent any godly manipulation of the veterinarian. Along the way, he'd stopped for a quick snack consisting of a rather large iguana and had then sucked up a good long drink from a forest pool. And now, since he'd (hopefully) managed to achieve his goal of protecting the veterinarian by putting so much distance between them, there wasn't much else to fill Finn's hours while he held his ground against Tezcatlipoca.

So the were-jaguar sighed and gave his pesky god exactly what he wanted. Turning away from the setting sun, Finn continued to move deeper into the forest.

***

THE SHIFTER WAS SO intent upon the smell of young-male-jaguar that he almost ran smack dab into the human who was stalking the same prey. The bulky man entered the clearing from the other direction, walking nearly as silently as Finn's own paws had on the dry leaves beneath both of their feet. And if the newcomer hadn't been humming a jaunty tune, Finn might have stumbled right into the path of his semi-automatic rifle.

The same rifle that had torn a hole in Finn's arm two days prior. A rifle wielded by a human that Finn thought he'd seen the back of.

Mirabelle.

The shifter stopped in his tracks, counting on his dark fur to blend into the shadows that were beginning to fill the forest. He'd been circling this same clearing for the last hour, trying to get a line of sight on the jaguar--were-jaguar?--that he'd smelled from a distance. But no matter how hard Finn peered between tree trunks, he'd been unable to find anything alive to match the scent. And--at a time when the shifter could finally use some godly advice--his elusive deity had gone strangely silent.

Unwilling to enter a dicey situation blind, Finn had continued to circle the clearing...until this blast from his past showed up to move the drama along.

"Anybody home in there?" Mirabelle called out as he reached the center of the clearing. The man halted, then peered intently at the ground a few inches ahead of his feet.

From Finn's angle behind his foe, the archaeologist appeared to be staring at nothing. So the shifter cautiously eased a bit closer to the gap in the trees, trying to determine what the man was fixating on. A cave?

At which point Tezcatlipoca finally decided to chime back in. Not a cave, you absurdly innocent jaguar, the god said. Try that limb over there. It'll give you a better view of act three.

Without conscious volition, Finn found his head moving to pinpoint a horizontal branch wide enough to support a jaguar while still arching over the edge of the clearing. True, the shifter would likely be able to take in what Mirabelle was looking at from that vantage point...but he'd also be much closer to the business end of the archaeologist's rifle. And Finn had learned the hard way that bullet wounds were nothing to play around with.

You're such a chicken shit, the wind god broadcast so loudly that Finn checked to make sure the clearing's other inhabitant couldn't hear him. Are you really going to make me miss the best part of the show?

Despite the god's prodding, Finn continued to hesitate, feeling at war with himself. On the one hand, all of his feline intuition told the shifter to turn tail and run. The fur on his ruff was standing on end, and Finn had a feeling he'd rather not know what Mirabelle was up to.

But, on the other hand, the scent of jaguar was even stronger now than it had been previously. And the shifter couldn't help wondering what was so interesting at Mirabelle's feet.

Curiosity killed the cat, he reminded himself. But the were-jaguar was already planning his ascent, picking out a limb-to-limb path that would allow him to reach Tezcatlipoca's designated perching spot without being seen from below.

Hurry up, scaredy cat. Or we'll miss out on all the fun.

Finn's pads moved faster over the bark of the tree at Tezcatlipoca's urging. Or perhaps the shifter had simply sped up because he'd caught the sound of a third inhabitant in the clearing, one who was beginning to mewl with pain.

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# Chapter 28

Finn had never liked the rifle-toting archaeologist. But when the shifter finally caught sight of what lay within the pit at the human's feet, he recategorized the man as sadistic, possibly even psychopathic.

The hole had clearly been dug as a trap, and one designed to not only catch, but also to hold, a jaguar. The opening must have begun as a natural gash in the earth, but it had since been widened and deepened with what Finn strongly suspected was hired labor. Because Mirabelle didn't seem like the type to get his hands dirty with back-breaking work, not when he'd foisted off the less strenuous archaeological excavation to underlings back in West Virginia.

And where did all the dirt go? Finn didn't have time to focus on the whys and hows of trap construction, however. Not once he caught sight of the jaguar at the bottom of the pit, one hind and one front paw clamped firmly in two different bear traps. Dozens of similar devices lined the earth around the feline, proving that Mirabelle wasn't taking any chances about letting his prey escape.

Finn had killed and eaten a lot of animals in his lifetime, but he still considered the other jaguar's suffering inhumane. The pain must have been excruciating, even though the whines emerging from the cat's muzzle were cautiously muted. And when the were-jaguar shimmered and then reformed as a spread-eagle human before Finn's very eyes, the latter felt his gorge rise up in his throat. Mirabelle's prey was another were-jaguar like himself.

"¡Socorro! Por favor...." the young man called out.

The teenager pinned to the bottom of the pit was about the same age Finn had been at his first shift, and the boy was also little more than skin and bones. Now that there was no fur to shield his wounds from sight, it became evident that the prisoner had been trapped for hours, or perhaps for days. Dried blood caked the boy's wrist and ankle, and the shift from jaguar to human form must have opened up those same wounds because fresh liquid was now beginning to seep out between the jaws of each trap once again.

"Ah, still alive I see," Mirabelle called down. The archaeologist didn't bother to raise his voice and his tone suggested that he was merely discussing the weather with a friendly neighbor. "I saw the video when you fell into the pit," he continued. "But I'm afraid I was tied up with some other urgent business at the time. So sorry to leave you dangling."

Finn shivered, knowing exactly what Mirabelle's urgent business had been. The shifter hadn't yet figured out how this young man had been sucked into Mirabelle's trap, but he now suspected that the archaeological dig in West Virginia was simply an elaborate ruse to achieve the same ends...only with Finn as the prey. That eye-catching article in the newspaper had likely been meant to lure in lonely shifters like himself, and Mirabelle must have been spying upon Finn at the dig at the same time that Finn thought he was the only one with hidden cameras in place.

So Mirabelle knows about were-jaguars. And he's hunting us down. But why?

Watch and learn, grasshopper, Tezcatlipoca responded.

Finn had been talking more to himself than to his parasitic deity, but, come to think of it, perhaps Tez's manipulative skills would come in handy at last. Can you make Mirabelle drop his gun? Finn broadcast loudly. Without a weapon, the archaeologist would be easy prey for jaguar claws. And once Mirabelle was incapacitated, Finn would find a way to free the other shifter before the kid bled to death in the bottom of the pit.

Can I save the boy? Tezcatlipoca repeated. Of course. I am a god after all, in case you hadn't noticed. Finn started to relax, but then the deity reminded the shifter why he wasn't to be trusted. But will I? I don't think so, puny mortal. It's time you learned to fear the wrath of the gods.

"...sister?" Mirabelle was saying. When the boy at his feet continued to look upwards in monolingual confusion, the archaeologist sighed and trotted out some broken Spanish. "¿Tienes hermana?"

Shaking his head, the boy forced out more words through parched lips, denying knowledge of any family before begging once again for help. He's just like I am--alone in this world, Finn couldn't help thinking. And the shifter could almost hear the wind god roll his eyes in reply.

"Then I'm afraid you're not any use to me," Mirabelle said calmly. And, before Finn had time to react, the archaeologist had raised the rifle to his eye, flipped off the safety, and shot the boy right through his forehead.

Blood arced out to stain the bare soil behind him, and Finn nearly fell from his limb in shock and horror. He knew he'd gasped, but the sound of the shot had shielded his cry. Now if he could just manage not to fall into the clearing, Finn might still make it out of here with hide intact....

"At least, you're no use to me alive," the archaeologist continued while the shifter's ears were still ringing. Mirabelle didn't bother to raise his voice, but the smirk on his face proved that he had entered the clearing with this end in mind.

Above his foe's head, Finn stretched out his claws to cling to the bark of the tree while struggling to regain his balance. To discover another were-jaguar, one who reminded him so much of his younger self...and then to have that shifter gunned down before his very eyes...was almost more than the feline could bear.

But Finn's foggy brain knew that it was time to retreat before Mirabelle looked up and noticed another were-jaguar waiting in the wings. Unfortunately, Tezcatlipoca had other ideas.

Not yet, pussy cat, the god cooed. Then the deity locked Finn's muscles into place so the shifter was unable to move from the branch. Let's not miss the grand finale.

Finn wanted to close his eyes, to at least refuse the deity this next move in his game of cat and mouse. But, the jaguar's eyelids had apparently been glued open at the same time Finn lost the rest of his voluntary muscle control.

So he had a perfect view of the strange events that followed. The boy had twitched for a moment after the bullet pierced his skull, but now the teenager's muscles relaxed into death. And as they did so, the ghostly image of a were-jaguar rose up out of the pit, wafted through the air, and was caught by Mirabelle's grasping hands.

As Finn watched, those same hands transformed into paws, the older man shifting into a massive spotted jaguar at the edge of the pit.

Slaying a were-jaguar turns you into a were-jaguar? Finn asked, and it was good that he was stuck in feline form or the words would have emerged as a shout.

Oh, no, nothing like that, Tezcatlipoca replied. But if a were-jaguar kills another were-jaguar, then the winner receives all of the loser's power. Look at how big and strong Mirabelle has become.

And it was true. Before Finn's very eyes, the other shifter's body seemed to swell, his muscles bulking up beneath his skin and fur. This isn't the first shifter he's killed, is it? Finn wondered.

Far from it, Tez purred. Far from it. In fact, he's almost a demi-god now.

Then Finn's muscles finally tensed as the god released his control. And as Finn turned to flee, Tezcatlipoca continued:

You'd better run fast now because Mirabelle can smell you in feline form. And you'd make a perfect addition to his collection....

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# Chapter 29

"¡Ay, pobrecita!"

There was nothing quite like being greeted by a long-lost relative with the Spanish equivalent of "Oh, you poor little thing!" Had Aunt Maria grown up in West Virginia instead of in Mexico, Ixchel figured the sentence would have ended with "well, bless your heart!"

But the so-called poor thing didn't mind. To be recognized as family without even opening her mouth was a miracle, especially since the vet had neither seen nor heard from Aunt Maria in over a decade. So she allowed the older woman to enfold her into the first hug she'd enjoyed in the same number of years, and she tried in vain to prevent tears from streaming down her cheeks.

"I hope I'm not imposing," Ixchel offered in rusty Spanish once her aunt finally released her grip. From the expression on Maria's face, though, the vet might just as well have slapped her relative with the mere suggestion. Never mind that Ixchel hadn't possessed a phone number that would have allowed her to call ahead and announce her visit, and never mind that the current hour was closer to the middle than to the beginning of the night. No, Aunt Maria was so excited by her visitor's presence that the older woman raced about her tiny kitchen for a full half hour, offering various types of food and drink in quick succession before her niece could finally convince Maria to sit down.

"I'm sorry I've been out of touch," Ixchel said at last, when she figured her aunt was calm enough to listen. "You probably heard about my parents. And about what I did to my brothers...." The vet turned her face away as she spoke, afraid of finding either anger or pity in her aunt's eyes. But, instead, Maria simply patted her niece's hand.

"A family should be together." The words might have included a faint sting of rebuke. But if so, the judgment passed quickly. "And here you are in Mexico! My favorite niece, come home to see her ancient auntie."

Ixchel had to laugh at that, her gaze locking with sparkling eyes that looked so much like her own. "Ancient, are you, Aunt Maria? I don't think so."

Although, truthfully, Maria appeared much smaller than Ixchel remembered, and more frail as well. This is how my parents would look if they were still alive, the vet thought, and was surprised when the usual veil of agony didn't drop across her thoughts at the inevitable memories.

She couldn't resist taking a second to probe her feelings as if they were a loose tooth. And, in the process, Ixchel realized that even though she still missed her mother and father sorely, she was no longer devastated by their loss. Instead, seeing Maria evoked the recognition that she'd outgrown her need for parental protection years ago.

Actually, Ixchel had worked hard to build her own life and business over the last decade...and she might not have followed that path had her parents survived past their daughter's eighteenth birthday. If you'd lived, Mama, would I have gathered the gumption to veer off on my own? Or would Papa have walked me down the aisle as soon as humanly possible, leaving me to care for half a dozen rug rats by now while wondering what else I could have done with my life?

It was the shock of her parents' deaths, more than anything, that had given Ixchel the courage to attend college and build a better life for herself. Similarly, the cosseted youngest child she'd been back then would never have dreamed of traveling to Mexico to track down her roots, and she definitely wouldn't have been able to fund such an adventure. Plus, that version of Ixchel would never have pursued her acquaintance with Finn....

"So, there's a young man for me to meet?"

For a moment, Ixchel wondered if she'd voiced her thoughts aloud. But, no. Maria was simply showing off her usual ability to read emotions as they flitted across her niece's face, and Ixchel couldn't resist a smile.

"There might be a young man, auntie. But that's not why I'm here." Then, pulling out the cat necklace from where it had been dangling between her breasts, she pushed the trinket toward her relative as far as the chain would allow. "I'm here to ask you about this."

***

"IT'S A PRETTY CHARM, child," Aunt Maria began, her brow wrinkled in confusion. But then, as her leathery fingers brushed lightly across the trinket, her face cleared. "Ah, yes, of course. You've come about the goddess."

"The goddess, yes!" Ixchel was so excited she jumped to her feet and walked to the room's sole window, even though no streetlights brightened the night. Turning away from the dark orifice and returning just as quickly to her aunt's seated form, she continued: "Mama gave this to me on my eighteenth birthday, but she didn't remember the words that I should use to swear to Ixxie...I mean, to the goddess. And now--it's a long story, auntie, and I'm not sure if I can tell you all of it, but--I need those words. Do you know them?"

Unfortunately, Aunt Maria merely shook her head. "No, chiquita. I loved your mother, but I was never truly a part of her family."

The vet sighed, reminding herself of the one fact she'd blissfully forgotten in her rush south from El Azuzul. Maria was Ixchel's father's sister, of course, not a member of the line that had passed down their tie to Ixxie from mother to daughter for who-knew-how-many years.

The vet sagged back into her hard wooden chair in dismay, the exhaustion she'd been masking with excitement finally overcoming her senses. Ixchel had been so sure that Maria--this aunt who was still so attached to the old ways--would possess at least a few clues to help the vet in her search. But it seemed she had finally reached the last potential trail through the jungle and found it to be a dead end.

"Of course, the granny of the wood has to know," Maria continued tentatively after taking in her niece's slumped shoulders.

Was it possible one last path had opened up before her? "The granny of the wood?" Ixchel repeated, trying without much success to keep the renewed hope out of her voice. This so-called grandmother couldn't actually be a blood relative since her mother's own mother had both died years ago. So why would a random old woman know secrets that had been kept from Ixchel's own tia Maria?

"Claro que si. Yes, she will know," Maria assured her niece. "But abuelita lives half a day's journey away through the forest. And I'm too old to lead you there."

The whiplash of constantly changing emotions was nearly too much for Ixchel to handle, and she took a deep breath before speaking again. If she couldn't meet this granny after all, she might as well make the best of a bad situation and at least spend some time with her estranged relative before deciding what to do next.

And where do I want to go now?

The vet had fully expected the office to be at the forefront of her mind after a day and a half's absence. After all, the community's pets had been the focus of her life for the last six months. But Ixchel was surprised to realize that the idea of returning to her cozy little practice and to the animals whom she greeted by name no longer drew her as they once had. Now, when she thought of home, a vision of a tremendous black jaguar lanced across her inner vision instead.

Not that meeting back up with Finn was a possibility for the immediate future. Not when he'd been the one to leave without a forwarding address.

It's way too late at night to be making important decisions, Ixchel told herself firmly, forcing back another round of tears. When had she become so weepy? Everything will look brighter in the morning.

"Yes, I can't walk that far. But your cousin's boy knows the path and can take you there tomorrow," Aunt Maria continued, seemingly oblivious to Ixchel's inner struggle. "Now remember, sobrina, the granny of the wood doesn't speak Spanish."

It went without saying that the old woman wouldn't speak English either, and the vet silently blessed her aunt for teaching her the old language back when she'd been a pesky child. Perhaps Aunt Maria had somehow known her niece would need those skills one day?

"That's okay, tia," Ixchel reassured her. "I haven't forgotten what you taught me."

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# Chapter 30

Aunt Maria refused to allow Ixchel to leave in search of a hotel...which was a good thing since the little village where the older woman resided didn't boast so much as a gas station. But the vet did try to fight her aunt when the latter settled her visitor for the night within Maria's own bedroom.

"No, tia," Ixchel countered. "I'll sleep on the couch. There's no way I'm putting you out of your bed."

"Then I'll sleep on the floor," her aunt rebutted and Ixchel rolled her eyes. As strong-willed as her aunt was, Maria probably would live up to her threat, leaving them both without a good night's sleep.

And I wondered where I got my stubbornness from.

Unfortunately, her aunt's house was little more than a shack by norteamericano standards, so there was only one real bed to choose from. I can't say "by American standards," Ixchel reminded herself. No, the phrase wasn't right to distinguish citizens of the United States when South and Central Americans could both lay claim to the same title. Funny how quickly those distinctions came back to the vet when she was in the presence of family once again. And how much of a norteamericana have I become in an effort to escape my brothers' eyes?

But, even though her relative's house was small and drab in Ixchel's perceptions, Maria was obviously proud of her abode. And she was also proud of being able to offer a comfortable bed to her visiting niece. So Ixchel acquiesced, although she did take the time to grab a handful of pesos out of Finn's pack, tucking them away under her aunt's pillow to be found after she departed. Maria would be far too proud to accept money from her niece, but Ixchel would feel better knowing that she'd at least paid her own way. And Finn, clearly, could spare the cash.

The financial matter taken care of to her satisfaction, the vet fell into the deepest slumber she'd enjoyed in years. Part of her intense sleep was due to exhaustion, but there was also something about knowing that a blood relative was right outside her bedroom door for the first time in nearly a decade that returned Ixchel to the tranquility of childhood. She'd been prone to insomnia and nightmares ever since leaving home a decade earlier, but now she slept without dreaming and didn't wake until unfamiliar bird songs pulled her eyes lazily open.

Even though the melodies outside the window were unfamiliar to her, Ixchel allowed herself to drift into half-waking memories of huevos rancheros, rowdy brothers, and doting parents. The vet was just awake enough to keep her thoughts safely set in the distant past, when all of those brothers were still attending school and when none of them had fallen into troublesome ways. Instead, Jose would be jumping on his bed, already wired at the crack of dawn, and there would be cartoons on the television to keep the other kids amused. Miguel would be attempting to shush Antonio before he woke the neighbors....

"I have to see her now, auntie."

The voice of her second-oldest brother--the troublemaker--had deepened with age, but Antonio's intonations were unmistakable. Instantly, Ixchel's eyes popped open and she began peering around the room for a place to hide.

"And that's why I called you, Antonio. So your family can be together," Maria said soothingly. "But Ixchel arrived late last night, the poor thing, and she needs her rest. Here, eat your eggs and she'll surely be up soon."

Maria was right--Ixchel was on her feet and fully dressed in the time it took for her aunt to placate the vet's scariest brother. And before Antonio could get sick of waiting around for his kid sister to emerge, Ixchel had slithered out the one window in the wall of Maria's bedroom and made her escape.

Sorry not to say goodbye, tia, Ixchel thought grimly. But it looks like I'd better find my own way to the granny of the wood.

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# Chapter 31

Tezcatlipoca had forgotten how much fun it was to play around with the lives of mortals. First on his agenda had been dear, sweet, little Ixchel. It had been so simple to slip into the veterinarian's mind, to emphasize the woman's own weakness, prompting her to root through Finn's bag. Then Tez had tweaked here and tucked there until the vet turned against her beloved were-jaguar. And all beneath Ixxie's wrinkly old nose too.

Which wasn't strictly constructive, of course. After all, Tez's long-term goal was to hook his worshipers back up with each other so the humans could tempt Ixxie to take his place within the stone prison. But humans were endlessly malleable, so the wind god had no qualms that he might be unable to bend Ixchel to his will again any time he wished.

Plus, the opportunity had been prime for checking whether Ixchel's continued belief in a secondary deity gave Tezcatlipoca a foothold within her mind. True, Tez's sister god possessed the ability to cut off his direct line of communication with the girl. But who needed to speak to mortals when you could twist their own thoughts in any manner you wished? Luckily, Tez's hypothesis had proven correct and Ixchel had been a breeze to manipulate.

Take that, Ixxie!

Teasing Ixchel had been a lark, but Finn was prey more worthy of the god of war. Any were-jaguar, no matter how far removed from his deity, was an opponent worth parrying with, and Finn was no exception. In the end, the shifter had held out against his god's wishes much longer than Tezcatlipoca thought he would. But Finn's agonizing regret and guilt after the younger shifter was gunned down beneath his nose were now echoing through the rather small confines of the were-jaguar's brain. Meaning that he would soon be easy prey.

First you build them up, then you tear them down. Well, that course of action might work for certain people, but Tez found that he much preferred a more streamlined approach--first you tear them down...then you grind their faces into the muck.

To that end, Tez figured that his primary worshiper had wallowed in self-imposed despair long enough. Time to give the lad something more solid to cry about.

Yoo-hoo, cat boy. It was nearly pitch dark as Tez peered out of Finn's eyes, but both jaguar and god were able to make out trunks of trees well enough to avoid a head-on collision. Which was a relevant fact since it appeared that Finn was still running scared despite having fled from the now-bloody clearing hours before.

Tezcatlipoca took a moment to drop into Mirabelle's mind, ensuring that the older, more powerful, but also more lazy shifter had given up on following Finn's trail long ago. The information was useful to have, but the god saw no reason to pass along that little tidbit to his prime worshiper. Not when it was so handy to catch Finn with his mind wide open from grief and fear.

What do you want now? the shifter demanded. Maybe I should have thrown your little statue at Mirabelle and seen how well he liked having a parasite take up residence within his brain. I think the two of you would have gotten along much better than we do.

Tez was surprised to find himself slightly hurt by Finn's analysis. Sure, the wind god knew better than to attempt friendship with his worshipers. But still....

It had been a long time since the deity had bothered to spend more than a few minutes within any single mortal's mind. In contrast, as a result of his current predicament, Tez had seen a larger portion of Finn's soul than he ever had of anyone else's. And in the process, the god had grown a bit attached to his pet's misguided struggles to maintain his honor.

Although it was about time to shoot down the shifter's moralizing tendencies so that everyone could focus on what was really important here--Tez's needs. So the god told himself that he was just being expedient rather than resentful when he replied curtly: Maybe you need to get a little more oxygen to your brain so you realize the implications of what Mirabelle showed you.

Finn's headlong flight slowed to a more gentle trot as the shifter struggled to obey his god's request. Not that Tez had any inkling that his wayward worshiper was actually being obedient on purpose. No, behind the mental wall that Finn built (and how had a shifter with no training discovered a way to block out Tez's feelers so efficiently?), the were-jaguar was probably second guessing each of Tez's words.

What a doubting Thomas! And wasn't that just exactly what Tez would have done in the shifter's shoes? Perhaps this were-jaguar was worthy of the wind god's regard after all.

There are so many implications, Finn thought carefully and Tezcatlipoca felt like a proud papa. Who knew the innocent shifter could learn so quickly to bargain with the gods? Then the were-jaguar continued: Perhaps you can give me a clue about which implication you're referring to?

It's simple, really, Tezcatlipoca replied. Mirabelle asked his prey if he had family, a sister. Ring any bells?

This time, the shifter stopped dead in his tracks and the wind god smiled more broadly. His fish had been hooked and it was nearly time to reel him in.

The stolen power, you might have realized, was only an afterthought, Tez elaborated. Mirabelle is looking for a female were-jaguar. To be a concubine, mate, sex slave--who knows what he'd do with her. But your foe is still searching for his preferred prey, so maybe he hasn't decided his end game yet either. Maybe he'll wind up killing her just like he did that boy....

A heinous situation, I admit, Finn thought clearly. But nothing to do with me, right?

The wind god could tell that his pet shifter didn't really feel so divorced from the situation. Instead, Tez was confident that Finn would go out of his way to save both male and female were-jaguars alike from Mirabelle's nonexistent mercies.

But the shifter's altruistic tendencies weren't going to be enough to force Finn's hand in the direction Tezcatlipoca wanted it to fall. So the god finally played his trump card.

What does it have to do with you? Well, I don't know, named-yourself-Finn-after-an-Irish-hero-who-spent-seven-years-hunting-the-fish-of-knowledge. Perhaps ignorance is bliss. Are you really sure you want to know the truth?

His pet shifter was silent for so long that Tezcatlipoca began to think that perhaps he'd cast too soon and was going to lose his catch after all. But then Finn's resentful voice entered his mind.

Okay, Tezzie, you win. Why is Mirabelle's nefarious plot relevant to me?

Because of your sister, of course, Tez replied, and his heart filled with glee at the pit of despair he was sure was growing within Finn's stomach. After all, your twin is the only female were-jaguar currently in existence.

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# Chapter 32

The boy whom Ixchel had added to her retinue while rushing out of the village presumably understood both Spanish and English. After all, he'd nodded enthusiastically when she asked, "¿Sabes como encontrar la abuelita de los bosques?"

"¡Si! ¡Si!" the boy answered, his eyes trained on the bills clutched in Ixchel's left fist. Then, in imperfect English: "I take you there. Go now?"

The kid couldn't have been more than ten years old, and Ixchel didn't really want to worry his family with an extended absence. But she also didn't want Antonio to catch up with her while she chatted in the street. So she shrugged off her mother-hen tendencies, gave the boy a single bill with the promise of more to come, and followed him down a path that wound between small houses and large gardens before dipping into the trees at last.

Since then, they'd walked in silence for what felt like hours. Her guide had stopped only once, the pause necessitated by his urge to pluck bananas no longer than her hand from a tree that was certainly located within some farmer's private field. Despite being averse to theft, Ixchel had accepted her fruit gladly and had been blown away by the intensity of the sweet flavor that tasted nothing like the bananas she passed over as bland at the supermarket.

"What's your name?" she'd asked once, shortly after the banana incident. When the boy simply kept walking without any sign that he'd heard her speak, she raised her voice and tried again in Spanish. "¿Como te llamas?" This time the kid deigned to shrug but gave no other response, so the vet rolled her eyes and continued following in his footsteps.

Soon enough, they began to climb, and Ixchel decided to save her breath for more important matters--like keeping herself upright. The lowland forests eventually gave way to tall but sparse stands of pine. And when the vet thought her feet would carry her no further, the boy led them over the crest of a ridge and began picking his way down the hill along an unmarked path.

Her knees were nearly at their limit when the sound of running water rose up to meet them. And when the boulder-lined banks of a river came into view, her guide finally opted to speak. "You go," he said at last, his face much more solemn than a ten-year-old's should be, leading Ixchel to assume that he was afraid of la abuelita. Or maybe he was just sick and tired of ferrying a tourist around through the woods.

Whatever the reason, the boy's feet now seemed to be firmly planted on the ground, and Ixchel realized that her guide wasn't going to travel a step further. Instead, he pointed downstream, from which direction the vet could just barely catch a hint of wood smoke wafting up the valley.

"You'll wait here for me?" she asked, yanking out more bills to wave in front of the boy's nose. This was worse than riding a taxi into a bad neighborhood and hoping the vehicle would still be there when you came back out of a shop....

"¡Si! ¡Si!" the nameless boy responded, and Ixchel shrugged off her uneasiness. Either he'd wait for her or he wouldn't. The vet wasn't going to abandon her quest just because she might have trouble finding her way home afterwards, so she might as well stop worrying and start walking...again.

After giving the kid one last glance, Ixchel turned to follow the river downhill. Soon, a little trail emerged before her, and then a squat adobe house thatched with pine needles became visible between the trees. In front of the house, a wizened woman sat on the bare dirt, tending a cooking fire in the residence's swept-earth yard.

The woman couldn't possibly see many visitors since she was located so far away from any village, but she didn't seem surprised by Ixchel's presence. Instead, the granny of the wood simply greeted her guest in the old tongue, the rusty words creaking out across the clearing. "Oy ko minte."

"Tac meep," Ixchel replied, wishing she knew a more formal greeting. This ancient denizen of the forest obviously deserved more respect than this phrase, which someone might use when meeting up with another member of her own family. But the vet's vocabulary was limited by her foggy memories of childhood, so she simply shrugged and launched into an outline of her request.

At first, the old woman seemed dubious. But as soon as the vet spoke the name Ixchel, la abuelita's features and voice both underwent a subtle but obvious transformation. And this time when she replied, it was with Ixxie looking out of the eyes of the granny of the wood.

"Ixxie, you're safe!" the vet exclaimed, and found herself springing forward to give the goddess a hug every bit as heartfelt as the one Aunt Maria had provided her wayward niece the night before. Then Ixchel stepped back, ashamed of herself for daring to embrace a god. Good job, she berated herself. Way to show some respect.

"I am indeed safe, and it's good to see you are as well, my child," Ixxie answered in English, breaking down the language barrier that had made Ixchel's previous conversation so stilted. "And now that you're technically speaking to one of my followers instead of to me, I can finally tell you the words you'd use to become my priestess."

Priestess. The word sent a shiver down Ixchel's spine. But this was why she'd followed a strange boy into an unknown Mexican forest, wasn't it? Her only goal for the last twenty-four hours had been to protect Ixxie from Tezcatlipoca's trap, while also giving the kind goddess whatever she needed to reenter the human world. With the bigger picture in mind, the implications of the oath on Ixchel's own life weren't relevant.

Right?

The time for cold feet is long past, Ixchel reminded herself. Then she nodded at the goddess and said, "Yes, I need the words my mother couldn't remember well enough to tell me."

"Well, the words are simple." Ixxie sounded as gentle as always, and her priestess-to-be reminded herself that the goddess would make a good boss. It wouldn't be like having Tezzie hanging over her shoulder at every turn. No, Ixxie didn't tease or pry. She didn't manipulate or manage. Instead, the so-called jaguar grandmother lived up to her name--she was protective and considerate and being her priestess would come as an honor.

"The exact words don't even matter, actually," Ixxie continued. "You could've even made them up. It's not what you say so much as your intention while saying it that counts. So, if you simply hold your charm in one hand and tell the world that you vow to become my priestess--and really mean it--then you will be mine from now until the day you die.

"The question," the goddess continued, "is: do you really want to commit to such a life-long task?"

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# Chapter 33

I don't believe you, Finn broadcast toward the pesky deity twelve hours after they'd last spoken.

The shifter had given his god the silent treatment all night and for most of the morning, but not because he didn't believe Tezcatlipoca's startling pronouncement. The trouble was that Finn wanted too much to believe, so he didn't trust himself not to be twisted around the god's little finger through pure wishful thinking.

In fact, last night when Tezcatlipoca had dropped his verbal bomb, Finn's heart had leapt with such joy that he knew he'd give almost anything to have his sister by his side once again. Because prior to shifting into human form for the first time, the were-jaguar's mother and twin had been at the center of Finn's life. Leaving his family behind to enter the human world had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done. As a result, it would be a gift from the gods to discover that Finn's sister was a shifter, even if his sibling's first transformation must have been somehow delayed.

But Tez didn't give gifts. And if something seems too good to be true...chances are it's neither good nor true.

The were-jaguar had learned that truism the hard way at the same time he was teaching himself to speak and act like a human being. Now, he reminded himself that if his twin possessed the ability to change into human form, then she would have found a way to contact her only sibling much sooner. No, his sister wasn't a were-jaguar. Tezcatlipoca was merely preying on his follower's weakness in an effort to get his way.

Believing me or disbelieving me doesn't change the facts, the god rebutted. Then Finn found himself standing two-legged for the first time in nearly a day, the god's rusty old mirror cupped in both hands. Fill this with water and I'll show you.

"I'm not putting your statue in the bowl," Finn warned, even though he had a feeling that Tezcatlipoca could literally force his hand if it came right down to it. Still, the shifter hadn't run this far from the scene of his first mistake only to repeat the same errors. Instead, he resolved to either kick over the bowl or to toss the statue away into the trees before he once again granted Tezcatlipoca access to this mirror portal.

But: I'm not asking you to, Tez countered, sounding offended at the very suggestion.

Well, maybe it'll be worth giving the troublemaker what he wants...as long as I take some precautions first. Suiting actions to words, Finn took a moment to place the statue well outside arm's reach before looking around for a source of water.

The liquid was easy to locate since it turned out he'd stopped nearly on the bank of a small stream. By chance or by the god's design? The shifter wasn't certain, but figured that he could handle Tez's manipulations either way. So he simply shot one last warning look at the statue before walking over to fill up Tezcatlipoca's bowl.

Finally, the wind god grumbled. You almost missed the boat due to all your foot-dragging.

Finn rolled his eyes, knowing he was being played but also unwilling to look away from the mirror created by the caught water. A light breeze brushed the contained liquid, and when the ripples cleared, an image rose up to the surface.

This vision was blurrier than when the gods had dueled within the mirror-bowl earlier, but Finn could immediately discern the outline of a black jaguar that resembled his own feline form. Then he gasped in astonishment as he realized that this cat was smaller and sleeker than his own animal half. The feline pictured was lithe instead of bulky and the conclusion was clear--Tez had indeed tracked down a female jaguar.

"Okay, so you found a she-jaguar somewhere." Finn forced disbelief into his voice even as his eyes remained riveted on the scene in the bowl. "That's not surprising. I hear there are about fifteen thousand jaguars left in the wild, so you've got over seven thousand females to choose from. But just because she's got four feet doesn't make her a shifter."

Someday you'll learn not to doubt me, the god griped. But Finn wasn't paying attention. Because the jaguar whose image was cast upon the surface of his bowl was transforming into a woman before his very eyes.

Finn had been too shocked by the gruesomeness of the scene the day before to fully take in either shift he'd been privy to at that time. And watching his own transformation in front of the mirror wasn't very satisfying since his eyes tended to blur at the crucial moment. Now, the shifter's heart was wrenched by the beauty unfolding in front of him, the jaguaress's perfect shape twisting into an equally perfect human form in the time it would have taken to blink once.

The woman's face was cut off by the side of the bowl. But Finn could see enough to know that the shifter he watched was beautiful...

...and entirely naked.

"Tezzie!" Finn exclaimed, turning away before he could take in more than a hint of the woman's body. Because it felt wrong to be voyeuristically watching this unclothed beauty from a distance. Yes, Finn was willing to steal physical objects from the wealthy, but he drew the line at stealing innocence from a woman, even one who would never be aware of his theft.

Plus, how much more reprehensible was Finn's spying if the woman really turned out to be his sister?

What a prude.

The god was laughing at him, and Finn couldn't resist glaring at the statue where the deity's physical body resided. Would Tez at least get a headache if I smashed the thing with a rock? he wondered, not bothering to shield his thoughts from the parasitic deity.

Now, now, Tezcatlipoca broadcast, the humor still present in his voice, albeit a little less obvious than before. I've made the terrible thing that is a woman's bare breasts disappear. Although, really, you and I need to have a talk about the pursuit of pleasure....

"Tezzie, focus!" Finn demanded. Despite himself, though, he snuck a peek at the bowl and saw that the water had indeed returned to its mundane state, the female were-jaguar gone.

And did that absence make Finn feel relieved...or disappointed?

He wasn't sure, but he did know that his head was spinning in the aftermath, and not because of bare breasts. So there is a were-jaguaress left in the world. Regardless of the woman's identity, Finn knew he had to protect her from Mirabelle's plotting...and that meant either finding a way to get Tezcatlipoca off his back or enlisting the god's help. While the former option seemed most enticing, the latter was more realistic.

Which meant that it was time to reach a compromise.

So, are you finally ready to talk terms? Tezzie asked, sensing the shift in his follower's mood and getting down to business. Because while I have all the time in the world, you--mere mortal--do not.

"Okay," Finn gave in. "Let's talk."

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# Chapter 34

Ixchel's immediate urge was to reassure the goddess, to tell her that of course the descendant of a long line of priestesses wanted to become a priestess as well. But somehow the vet couldn't quite force the words through her lips. Instead, Ixchel found herself asking: "What would that entail? Being your priestess, I mean."

Her question was apparently the right one. Because the goddess smiled and patted Ixchel fondly on the hand. "I do love these modern women, ready to fight for what's right...but only after they possess all the details and make up their own minds." Then, the grandmotherly god eased herself back down onto the patch of earth where her human body had been resting before Ixchel showed up. Patting the ground beside her, she added, "You might as well sit. This might take a while."

The granny of the wood had been fixing corn tortillas when her visitor arrived, and the goddess took up the task where her follower had left off. While patting out the damp dough and carefully roasting cakes over the fire, the deity filled Ixchel in on her potential duties.

The assignments were many and varied, but the point standing out most clearly in the vet's mind once she heard everything was the magnitude of her future commitment. If Ixchel swore to the goddess before her, she would be excising every other component of her life. Ixxie would surely do her best to limit requests to a minimum, but a single priestess serving every human being who worshiped the goddess would be run ragged nonetheless.

There would be no time to be a veterinarian. No time to renew her ties with Maria. No time to determine whether the bond she felt growing between herself and Finn was real or just a figment of her fevered imagination.

"And if I decide not to become your priestess?" Ixchel ventured at last. She was almost afraid to ask. Afraid to see the disappointment in the goddess's eyes. And, despite Ixxie's apparent kindness, the vet had to admit that she was also afraid of being punished the way Tezzie would surely retaliate against a worshiper who refused to do his bidding.

"Well, in that case, you have two choices," Ixxie began, but the vet rushed to sidetrack her.

"No, Ixxie. I'm not asking what would happen to me. If I don't swear, what about you? Will you be trapped in this necklace like Tezzie's trapped in his statue? Will you fade away? What will happen?"

The old woman's face crinkled up into a smile and Ixxie proved herself to be a prime handpatter, repeating the gesture she'd used to reassure her human companion earlier in their conversation. "My dear, this isn't a choice you should make for my sake. Despite Tezzie's protestations, gods don't dwindle away into nothingness and disappear. I'm not trapped in any necklace--I only came to you because your blood attracted my attention.

"So the choice is entirely up to you," the goddess continued, still handpatting with a vengeance. "If you decide not to swear to me, all I ask is that you leave your cat charm in the possession of the granny of the wood. She'll find another priestess for me."

Although the vet wanted to know more about how Ixxie would attract another woman to this remote location, the goddess didn't seem worried about the issue. So Ixchel decided not to be either.

Instead, she looked down at the trinket that her mother had presented to her only daughter on the last day of the older woman's life. The cat charm--and the career it implied--was the vet's only remaining link to Mama, especially now that her brothers had been forcibly removed from her life. In some ways, Ixchel would be repudiating her past yet again by giving away her birthday present, and she could barely imagine a life without the cat charm dangling between her breasts.

But it had never been Mama's way to live in the past. Although her parents had plenty of reasons to speak of their pastoral upbringing in Mexico, they'd barely mentioned the mother country to their children. Instead, Ixchel's parents had chosen to immerse themselves entirely in their current family. They'd worked long hours in a foreign country where the color of their skin separated them from their neighbors and limited them to menial jobs, all for the sake of holding that family together.

And, in the end, despite being underdogs in their new nation, Mama and Papa had never complained or spoken about returning to Mexico. Instead, they'd figured out what was truly important in their lives, then had moved heaven and earth to achieve those dreams.

That was the advice Mama and Papa had always given their children as well. "Just follow your heart," Mama had told her daughter a few years before her death, when Ixchel had asked for advice on which boy's invitation to accept to a dance. The vet had a feeling that if her mother was alive today, her parent would offer the same words to their adult daughter now.

So which option would help Ixchel achieve the goals that she cared about most? Being Ixxie's priestess would be a worthy life, a way to help hundreds or thousands of women. The goddess had also made it clear that she took care of her own and that Ixchel wouldn't have to worry about paying her bills or finding a place to live once she swore to the goddess. So the benefits of being a priestess were personal as well as of worldly importance.

In a way, the life Ixxie was offering would be much like what Ixchel had been looking for when she fled her family home and worked so hard to become a veterinarian nine years before. As a priestess, Ixchel would be able to ease pain and suffering, all while keeping herself insulated from the dangerous outside world. There was no way her brothers could break through a goddess's wards to harm a hair on the priestess's head, so Ixchel could stop looking over her shoulder and could know that she'd finally become entirely safe.

But was safety what the vet was really looking for? A week ago, she would have answered with a resounding affirmative. And yet, now that the possibility of lifelong security was being offered up on a silver platter, Ixchel wasn't so sure that she wished to wrap herself in cotton padding and tuck herself away from the world.

Instead, Finn's visage once again swam in front of her eyes. His human face...and then his jaguar features. Ixchel had never enjoyed the opportunity to truly explore the were-jaguar's shift. She'd never gotten a chance to see where that one explosive kiss on the airplane might lead them.

She'd never allowed herself the chance to fall in love.

So, this time, the vet was the one to pat the older woman's hand. Yes, she'd be losing her last physical link to Mama by rejecting Ixxie's offer, and she'd be stepping off the easy path in order to walk blindfolded into the future.

But sometimes safety was overrated. Sometimes, you had to take a leap of faith if you wanted to live life to its fullest.

Her decision made, the vet took a deep breath and offered her goddess a tremulous smile. "Okay," she said at last. "Now I'm ready to hear about my other two options."

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# Chapter 35

Tez had Finn over a barrel and both of them knew it. The shifter only hoped that the troublesome god might not realize how very tremendously huge that barrel was.

Because Finn was pretty sure he'd recognized the female were-jaguar during his one-second glimpse. How could he not when his feelings in the matter ran so strong and deep?

Best not to think about that, not if I don't want to tip Tezzie off to the fact that he can ask the moon of me, Finn warned himself. So, instead of speaking further about the other shifter, he instead donned his best poker face and started prodding at the wind god.

"You want out of the statue, but I put my foot down at stealing Ixxie's freedom," Finn began. "So we're at a bit of an impasse...unless we're each willing to bend a little."

Me? Why should I be the one to bend? Don't you want to protect your sister?

Finn refused to be goaded. "Yes, we both know what you're holding over my head. But I think you need to be a bit clearer on the fact that I enjoy the higher ground at the moment. Your precious statue sat in the earth for two thousand years before Mirabelle dug you up and before I was stupid enough to place my hand on your prison. So if I made a hole right here, in the middle of a forest where people might drop by once or twice a year if you're lucky, then your statue would probably remain hidden for another two thousand years."

Finn was surprised he hadn't been interrupted already, but in the absence of godly chatter, he kept on talking. "And while I'm quite sure that you could make my life annoying for a while even from a distance, I'm equally certain that your powers would eventually fade away again if I blocked you out of my mind. Don't think I haven't noticed how your strength has grown since Ixchel and I stumbled across your statue, and don't think I haven't realized why. Do you really want to become weaker and weaker until you're barely able to touch the mind of a human being who is physically holding onto your prison? "

Yeah, you try not thinking about a white elephant and see how well it works out for you.

But other than his quip, Tezzie continued to wait through his follower's monologue. Which Finn took to mean he was on the right track. Either that, or the god was trying to decide the best way to smite his impudent worshiper. Whatever.

"In other words," the shifter concluded, "You need me. And I'm willing to help you break free if you in turn give me veto power over your schemes." Then, without waiting for the god to either argue or agree, Finn continued: "If we want to function as a team, I need to know a little bit more about how this process works. Other than switching places with Ixxie, how else can you escape from your prison with a little mortal aid?"

I could jump into your body right now, Tez replied, his very voice a pout. Well, I could once you picked up my statue, which I can make you do any time I want....

"So why haven't you made the switch already if it's that easy?" Finn asked, maintaining the same calm tone he'd used before. He didn't entirely believe Tezcatlipoca's assertion, but it did make sense that a god who could affect a were-jaguar's shift could also switch places with said were-jaguar at will.

And yet, Tezzie had clearly decided not to steal Finn's body in the past. So he likely would continue feeling the same way in the future. Or at least the were-jaguar hoped that was the case.

Because I don't want to become a mere mortal! And I don't want to share a body with you! You're too weak to make it into the statue even with a push from me, and mortal souls require a physical body.

The god's tone added a silent "duh!" to the end of his last sentence, and Finn forced down a smile. Of course Tezzie would prefer to remain in prison indefinitely rather than accepting a second-best host, especially if the option would require sharing. Tezcatlipoca didn't seem the type who'd ever learned to divvy up a pie without taking the lion's share.

"So, if you dropped into my body right now, you'd die when I do and then disappear?" the shifter asked, trying to understand the rules that governed his pesky deity.

No, of course not! Now it was Tez's turn to be shocked. Gods don't die, you silly mortal. Well, we do eventually grow weaker and weaker if no one thinks about us for a while. He paused, as if trying to decide if he'd given too much away. But Finn had concluded the exact same thing aloud mere moments earlier, so Tezcatlipoca clearly felt he hadn't spilled the beans. But I'd be limited to your powers--which, let me tell you, are so puny as to be basically nonexistent--until you perished. And after that, I'd have to hop from host to host until I found someone strong enough to boost me back to godhood. The process could take centuries!

"Okay," Finn said after mulling Tezzie's words over for a moment. "So you'd really prefer to swap places with a deity. But surely there are gods other than Ixxie in the world. What about Quetzalcoatl? You said he was your foe." And I wouldn't be burning bridges with the woman I love by entrapping him. Not that Finn wanted to shut anyone away inside the were-jaguar figurine, but it seemed like giving Tezzie at least part of what he craved was the only way out of this mess.

Oh, his name rolls right off your tongue days later while it took several attempts to learn mine, Tez said, even more irritable than usual. Well, if you must know, Q is almost certainly more powerful than I am at the moment. I'd have to be extremely tricky if I wanted to trade places with the feathered serpent god.

"But won't that be the case with any deity?" Finn demanded. "If you give me the facts, I'll help you. Hopefully we can find someone much stronger than a mere mortal--but who we can both agree on--to take your place in prison, and then I'll do what it takes to reel him in. After which, once you've broken free of your prison and have your own body again, you'll protect the female were-jaguar you showed me from Mirabelle. Are we agreed?"

Yeah, sure, whatever.

"No, Tezzie, no vague promises," Finn pushed. "Tell me what you're promising."

Okay, Tezcatlipoca growled. If you manage to help me escape this prison and return to my godly power, then I'll save that precious she-jaguar so you can mate with her. I'll even give you a few pointers on courting.

"Um, that last part won't really be necessary," Finn muttered under his breath. But, taunts aside, the deal was struck, so he finally felt comfortable picking up Tezcatlipoca's statue and slipping it back into his pocket.

It looks like I'm now officially partners with a god. The only question was--how much would Finn end up regretting joining forces with a deity who had no moral compass other than looking out for himself?

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# Chapter 36

The boy was gone. He'd taken the time to build an arrow out of sticks to point Ixchel back onto the nonexistent trail, then he'd likely taken to his heels as soon as his employer walked out of sight.

Well, I shouldn't really be surprised, the vet thought, peering up the hillside in the direction the sticks indicated. No, she wasn't startled by the boy's absence, but she also wasn't prepared for how alone she felt now that both Ixxie and Finn were absent from her life. Her guide's desertion was just the icing on the cake.

Reaching up to finger her necklace, the vet remembered too late that even her family memento was now absent as well. She knew it had been the right decision to present the cat charm to her patron goddess, and Ixchel hadn't hesitated to make the gift once Ixxie explained that the necklace would help build a tie to her next potential priestess.

No, she hadn't hesitated at the time. But now the necklace's absence made Ixchel feel even more bereft. Too bad doing the right thing always left her isolated and lonely.

Or, apparently, not entirely isolated. The vet jumped as the chime of an alarm rang out above the river's gurgle, and it took her a moment to realize that the sound actually emanated from her cell phone. The device had been riding in her pocket all day despite the fact that she had no one to call, and despite assuming that there would be no reception in a Mexican wilderness area.

"Seriously? I can pick up a call here but we barely get reception at my practice back in West Virginia?"

Even as she muttered to herself, Ixchel was fumbling out her phone and looking at the screen. Unknown caller.

It couldn't really be Finn, could it? Twenty-four hours both felt like too much and too little time between contacts with the were-jaguar who had turned her life upside down. Too much time because, if Finn had wanted to remain in touch, surely he wouldn't have left her stranded for an entire day without any explanation. And too little time because how could anyone, even a were-jaguar, manage to deal with Tezzie in a span that could be easily measured in hours?

Well, Ixchel wouldn't know which of the dozens of scenarios running through her head were right until she answered the phone. So she closed her eyes and punched the talk button, not quite sure what kind of explanation she was hoping to hear.

"Hello?" Ixchel said cautiously. Then she was glad of her vague greeting because the voice that met her ear wasn't Finn's at all. It belonged to her brother.

"Fernando here." Her caller sounded like a soldier reporting for duty, and Ixchel grinned despite herself. Trust her oldest brother to start strong and continue forging ahead until he achieved his mission. "Don't hang up."

"I'm listening." Those two words were all Ixchel could commit to, because the sound of Fernando's voice made her throat tighten and prompted tears to well up behind her eyes. Yes, she was smiling, but she was crying too. Which was a pretty good indication of what the vet's moods were like at the moment.

"Antonio told me you ran away from him," Fernando said gruffly. "Ixxie, you can stop running."

"Ixchel," the vet replied tersely. On this one point, at least, she resolved to stand firm. After all, she'd left her childhood nickname behind a decade ago. Plus, it was confusing to be referred to by the title that she'd so recently used for a god.

"Ixchel," her brother repeated carefully. "Okay, I probably don't deserve to call you Ixxie anyway. Not after...well, everything that happened back then." The line went silent for several seconds as Ixchel and her brother both remembered parents who could no longer mediate between warring siblings. For their sake, Ixchel decided she ought to listen to what her brother had to say.

"So why don't I have to run away?" the vet asked at last. And as she spoke, she finally admitted that--despite her best intentions to be on her guard if her brothers ever caught up to her--it still meant a lot that Fernando had taken the time to call.

And how had her brother discovered the number of a burner cell that Finn had picked up in the Villahermosa airport? Ixchel resolved to deal with that issue later.

For now, the vet decided it was time to be entirely honest with herself. And if she were being honest, she'd concede that it had hurt when her brothers never bothered to track her down after they were released from prison.

Perhaps, if she was no longer telling herself lies, Ixchel would also accept the fact that she hadn't really been running scared for the entire last decade. Yes, for the first year or two, she had fallen prey to nightmares about Antonio finding her and punishing her for turning him in. But after that, she'd stopped herself from reaching out to her brothers mostly because she'd been flattened by the notion that her siblings didn't even care enough to bother finding their sister to exact revenge.

"It would make more sense if I told you a little bit about what we're doing now," Fernando answered slowly as the vet felt her way through her own convoluted emotions. "But I don't want you to hang up on me while I'm talking. You won't, will you, Ixxi...Ixchel?"

Geez. Now Fernando suddenly wanted to turn sweet and caring? Ixchel was going to be crying too hard to speak any minute now, but she was able to force out a few words first. "I won't hang up, Nando."

The vet could almost hear her brother's smile coming through the ether and into her cell phone. Fernando had always possessed the most engaging grin, probably why he'd been married with two children by the time his kid sister graduated from high school. Back then, to stand in front of Nando's smile was like basking in the sun after a long winter night, and Ixchel let her eyelids drift shut now so her brother's words could bring back fond memories.

"Okay, so I was able to get your phone number because I'm with the CIA now," he started. "I pulled some strings."

"CIA!" Despite herself, the vet's eyelids flew up. "Then you probably could have found me anytime you wanted."

"Yeah, I did find you. Years ago. But, Ixxie, you didn't want to be found. It was obvious from the way you traveled clear across the country to go to school. The way you never even contacted Maria or gave anyone a forwarding address. We'd done so much to you...." He paused again, then went on: "I thought you deserved your privacy. So I told the boys to leave you alone."

All this time, Ixchel had assumed that her brothers hadn't cared enough to hunt her down, and now she found that their absence was instead due to a decree by the new patriarch of the clan. Even when their father had been alive, her oldest brother had been a natural leader. Now, with Papa gone, Ixchel suspected that all of her siblings listened when Fernando spoke.

"So why was Antonio at Maria's then?" she asked after digesting this realignment of the past.

"Well, you know he always was a maverick."

Despite his words, Fernando's voice was still warm, and Ixchel suddenly wondered if she'd read the situation all wrong. Had Antonio been ready to break down the door of her bedroom that morning because he wanted to get back at her for past betrayals...or did her sibling simply want to see his baby sister as much as she craved seeing him? "Yeah, I guess so," she murmured. "Let me guess. He's a spy now too."

"I'm not a spy, baby sister," Fernando grumbled. "And, no, Antonio isn't with the CIA. He's a CFO--chief financial officer--at a big-name bank."

"Are you serious? People actually trust him with their money?"

"And they fight over him too," her oldest brother confirmed. Then his tone went grim. "Ixchel, what you don't realize is that you did us a huge favor when you turned us in. We got lucky and ended up with misdemeanors, and now I realize that the experience was the only thing that could have shocked us straight. Sure, your decision was a risk, but it worked. Jose coaches Olympic-level athletes now and Santiago is a Marine. We all owe you our lives."

The news was far better than Ixchel could have hoped for. As a result, she should have been ecstatic, chomping at the bit to hunt down her successful brothers and see what kind of men they'd become.

The trouble was, the vet was still quite capable of counting. Ixchel had five brothers, and Fernando had only listed four careers. Surely Miguel, her most level-headed sibling, would have done something equally fabulous with himself. Maybe it wouldn't have been flashy like her other brothers' choices. Yes, likely Miguel would have been drawn to a helping profession, would have turned into a therapist or a mediator.

But Fernando knew how close she and Miguel had always been. So leaving his name out of the litany of success had meaning. Their middle brother's absence from the list signaled that something bad had happened in prison.

Incarcerated prisoners get hooked on drugs all the time even if they go in clean, she couldn't help thinking. They also learn skills that change their lives for the worse instead of the better.

And the gang culture in prison made violence a fact of life. There was rape, assault, and even murder to deal with.

Ixchel didn't want to ask, but not knowing was even worse. "What about Miguel?" she said, hearing her own voice return to the pitch of childhood. She'd give anything to have Fernando present this news in person so he could enfold her in his strong male arms and protect her as she cried.

But, instead, the phone went silent and the vet heard the rasp of a masculine sob. Then a rustle as the device changed hands, followed by Antonio's husky tones. "Miguel didn't make it, sweetie," her second-oldest brother managed before his own voice broke. "Prison was tough, and he always had our backs. But, when push came to shove, we didn't have his. Miguel didn't come out alive."

***

I KILLED MY BROTHER. She might as well have pulled the trigger when she put kind, caring Miguel in prison where he'd be trampled beneath criminal feet. Her favorite brother, and she'd murdered him.

Ixchel only realized she'd said the words aloud when Antonio replied. "No, you didn't kill him, Ixxie. If anyone did, it was me." His words were angry, but the vet knew her brother well enough even after all these years to realize that he was angry with himself, not with her.

There was a pause as muffled words Ixchel couldn't quite make out drifted from the phone's speaker. And when Antonio spoke again, his voice was more controlled. "Look, Ixxie, Fernando wants to talk to you again. But I need to see you. We're on top of the ridge--can we come down?"

Despite herself, Ixchel's mood rose as she imagined Antonio bushwhacking through the Mexican forest in search of his errant sister. He was always the tough guy at school, but at home he was scared of spiders and hated getting his clothes dirty. Perhaps he really did care.

Okay, so the vet would deal with her feelings about Miguel later. For now, seeing two living brothers would have to be enough. "Okay," she said quietly, and listened as the phone was once again passed from hand to hand.

In the ensuing pause, the vet realized that there were more than two voices bickering on the other end of the line, and she was suddenly positive that all four of her remaining brothers had hotfooted it to Mexico the minute their aunt made that call. Ixchel could just imagine them fighting over Fernando's cell phone the way they'd bickered over the last tamale or the best seat on the sofa, and she suddenly couldn't remember why she'd worked so hard to stay away from this passel of brothers. In fact, Ixchel knew now that she loved them so deeply that her heart was trying to push its way out of her chest.

"This is Fernando," her oldest brother said, having laid claim once again to the phone. His words made Ixchel grin--who but Nando would feel the need to announce himself a second time after such a short pause? As if she might have forgotten who he was....

"Uh huh," she said simply.

"Look, I know this is a lot to take in all at once, but I also need to warn you. I tracked down your known associates when Maria called, and that Mirabelle guy is bad news. Really, Ixxie. He's wanted in four states, and he was nosing around your veterinary practice asking questions after you left."

Tell me something I don't know, Ixchel thought, rolling her eyes. Good thing Fernando hadn't been able to utilize the resources of the CIA when she'd first explored the world of dating, although the third degree he'd given each potential suitor at that time was bad enough. Papa had merely sat back with a smile during those endless family dinners. No need for her father to grill boyfriends when Fernando would do the job for him.

And now the vet was seeing the adult version of that protective older brother. Unfortunately, she was no more willing to clue Nando in to her current reality of gods and shifters now than she had been to spill her guts about cute boys then.

"Yeah, I'm trying to stay away from Mirabelle," the vet said at last when her oldest brother seemed to be waiting for a response.

"Well, you're not doing a very good job of it," Fernando answered. "He followed you out of the country, and as best I can tell he's homing in on your current location as we speak."

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# Chapter 37

Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to be merely along for the ride while you have all the fun?

Despite his grumbling, Tezcatlipoca had actually been enthralled to see his home country unfold before them as Finn ran, then drove, then flew north toward the seat of Quetzalcoatl's power. The process had taken most of the day, but Tez wasn't in any hurry. Not when he saw the thousands...no, millions...of potential worshipers who had spread out across the landscape in his absence.

Now, if the deity could just keep his wayward worshiper on track long enough to reclaim that heritage....

Are you listening to me?

"I'm a little busy here, Tezzie." The words were merely a breath of sound, whispering out of Finn's human mouth and around a tiny pen light that the shifter was pointing toward his nimble fingers. "Breaking into a world-famous archaeological site with no equipment isn't as easy as you obviously seem to think."

Well, I don't know. It seems like this would be simpler than a museum heist. So how can two as-yet unidentified thieves steal three-hundred-million-dollars worth of art from a Boston museum by simply wearing fake mustaches and pretending to be cops, while you're struggling to get through a single padlock? I'll bet those guys didn't stand out in the dark all night long twiddling their thumbs and worrying about getting caught.

"Times have changed, Tezzie," Finn rebutted, removing the flashlight from his mouth so he could speak more clearly. "That was twenty-five years ago, and there are all kinds of high-class alarms to get around now. Plus, we'd already be inside if you hadn't made me run off and leave my backpack behind...."

As I recall, you were the one who lit out of El Azuzul without a backwards glance, Tez countered. But the god didn't argue any longer because he could see the way his worshiper's shoulders slumped at the memory. The poor wee mortal was clearly regretting burning that bridge, and Tez couldn't blame him--Ixchel was one hot mama. Tezcatlipoca missed her witty banter too.

Luckily for both of them, the padlock clicked open before the wind god could tease his worshiper again. And then Finn was slinking through the gate in feline form before padding deeper into the heart of Quetzalcoatl's stronghold.

Is it just me, or did you humans keep up his stuff a lot more carefully than you maintained mine?

Tez continued to bitch and moan just the way his worshiper expected. But, in reality, the god was shocked to take in the lack of dwellings and the depredations of time evident even here in this center of godly power. The land had become an archaeological site, for crying out loud! No longer were human sacrifices made at the tops of the pyramids. No longer were the names of gods spoken in reverent tones.

Times sure have changed.

A week ago, the words would have sent Tezzie into a tantrum. But now, he simply felt hollow inside, as if the wind had been taken out of his sails.

Well, I'm a wind god, aren't I? I guess I'd better create my own gust to move this ship forward.

Not the big pyramid, Tez instructed more loudly when his feline companion turned instinctively toward the massive Pyramid of the Sun. It seemed that his worshiper wasn't the only one who needed to keep his eye on the prize. Q's private pyramid is over that way.

Although smaller than the Pyramid of the Sun, the Temple of the Feathered Serpent was still plenty massive enough. Especially if you compared it to what was left of Tezzie's own pyramid at El Azuzul. Q did always get the better toys.

The moon hadn't yet risen, but feline eyes allowed Finn to pick his way easily toward the seat of Quetzalcoatl's power. Then he shifted to two legs in order to scale the steep steps--steps that had once been painted blue and polished to perfection, while they were now crumbling and tricky to traverse.

I didn't think a god could be mortal, Tezcatlipoca mused, taking in the state of the pyramid. But Quetzalcoatl hasn't been trapped in a stone prison for the last two thousand years. He's been free to round up followers and to accumulate power. So why, despite his freedom, is this all Q has to show for himself?

Perhaps his brother god had moved to another part of the country, or even of the world. Tez's time tuning into radio and television broadcasts had suggested that Mexico was no longer considered the center of the universe, so he could see why Q might choose to move elsewhere.

However, that hypothesis was negated when Tezzie noticed Q's powers silently sparking beneath the were-jaguar's feet and resisting the other god's approach. No, Quetzalcoatl was still very much present here in Teotihuacan. And yet, the feathered serpent god allowed the seat of his power to fall into disarray. Why?

"Is this a good spot?" Finn asked, pulling Tezzie out of his thoughts at last. The were-jaguar had reached the apex of the pyramid as his god pondered, a spot where stairs had given way to a massive pile of rubble. Below them, moonlit pyramids and temples stretched out in every direction, an inspiring sight despite their decay. "And you promise you're not trying to switch places with this other god tonight?" his worshiper continued. "Because we made a deal, Tezzie. No body swapping without discussing it in advance."

I just want to talk to him. Actually, Tezzie felt strangely guilty that he'd even considered the notion of imprisoning Quetzalcoatl in his stead. But no matter how he felt about the issue, that option wasn't on the table at the moment. The replica of a wind jewel--a sliver from the top of a conch shell--that Finn had picked up in a tourist shop a few hours earlier would be sufficient to capture his brother god's attention, but they'd need a much more powerful artifact if Tez had intended to imprison Q's soul. You don't even have to drop me in the mirror, the deity reassured his external conscience.

In fact, Tez would prefer not to be submerged again. The statue's previous dunking had raised the water levels within his prison dramatically, until Tez had been reduced to treading water once again in order to stay afloat. It had taken him hours and far too much mental energy to drain his living space back out, and the formerly waterlogged couch now appeared to be growing mildew.

So Tez merely watched without complaining as his follower pulled out the mirror bowl along with a container of bottled water, then added the wind jewel to the mix. Nearly immediately, the other god's power, which had been nipping at their heels ever since Finn entered the compound, concentrated on the bowl.

"Yikes!"

Okay, so maybe Finn's reaction to the streak of lightning that emerged out of the clear night sky and struck the ground at the base of the pyramid was a bit more R-rated than 'Yikes.' But, despite the mortal's hair standing on end and a string of curses emerging from his lips, the shifter merely stood poised and waiting for Quetzalcoatl's approach.

Now that's a warrior worthy of the wind god, Tezcatlipoca found himself thinking. In an earlier lifetime, the deity might have considered having a were-jaguar like Finn at his beck and call was merely his due. But now, he felt honored by the other's continued presence.

Although pride would make more sense if my pet shifter chose to follow me because of my own worth rather than because I found his weak spot and squeezed. For a moment, Tezzie wondered what that might be like--to have Finn at his back because the were-jaguar wanted to be there rather than because the god had manipulated him into place.

But before Tez's mind could wander any further down that particular dark alley, Quetzalcoatl stepped out onto the top of the pyramid from the far side. His brother god was now present in the flesh.

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# Chapter 38

You're a woman!

It wasn't the way Tezzie had planned to greet his brother (sister?) god. Instead, he'd initially meant to remind Q how much the latter owed him for letting Tez rot in a stone prison for two millennia. He'd meant to mention the battles the two had fought side by side, the times when Tezzie had protected Q's back.

And, all the while, he'd be striving not to let Q bring up the ways Tez had tricked his brother god and gotten them both into trouble in the past.

But the sight of a female body encompassing the spark of life that Tezcatlipoca knew to be his brother god was too much for the deity to take in all at once. So he exclaimed and would probably have rambled on indefinitely if the woman hadn't stopped him.

"Yep, a woman," Q said, twirling around so Tez could take in her feminine curves. "I thought I'd give it a try. After all, body-hopping seems to be in vogue this millennium, and it gets boring after a while to follow the same path time after time. Plus, there are definite benefits to the female form."

For the first time in his life, Tez didn't know quite what to say. This wasn't at all what he'd expected from the great feathered serpent, and it shook up his entire game plan. It had suddenly become mandatory that he figure out why Q had made the decision s/he had and how those choices would impact his own future.

Yet, at the same time, Tezzie found himself afraid of angering his brother god...and not because he thought Q might smite him down. No, Ixchel's subtle influence had helped Tezzie realize that Quetzalcoatl was the closest thing he had to a friend, and the wind god found he didn't want to drive the other deity away just yet.

And that's just plain strange thinking.

"Ixxie warned me you might be coming up this way," Q continued. "She said you hadn't grown up much, but I think she might have been wrong. No boob jokes? No 'how the mighty have fallen'?"

No, Tez said finally. If it works for you.... But isn't it strange sharing space with a mortal? Then, peering more closely at his brother god, Tezcatlipoca mused. Only you're not sharing space, are you? I don't see another spark of life in there. Did you kill it?

The concept was something Tez had considered when his pet shifter first placed his hand on the stone statue. The easiest option for escape would be to jump into Finn's mind and then squash the mortal's will, completely taking over his human body. Finn's flesh wouldn't have lasted very long that way, but the technique definitely would have been more expedient than begging and pleading for two mortals to take him wherever he needed to go.

Only uncertainty about how far Finn's body could travel on its own, and whether or not Tez would be flung back into the figurine when the shifter died, had stayed the god's hand at that time. A thought that now made Tez feel strangely queasy.

"Naw, humans are dying all the time," Q answered, seeming not to notice Tez's abstraction. Or, more likely, Q was merely giving his/her friend time to get his shit together.

And that was an odd thought. To realize that Quetzalcoatl cared how Tezzie felt.

"I slipped into this body when the baby was in the womb," Q elaborated. "The soul hadn't stuck and the mother was going to miscarry, so I figured I'd give it a whirl. Interesting experience to start life as an infant. You should try it sometime."

In the past, Tezzie would never have put his weaknesses on display so openly. But now, he found himself being truthful, rather than evasive, with his brother god. I don't have the power right now to do that, he answered slowly. As best I can tell, I could swap places with a less-powerful god if I used a place of power and an item strongly linked to that deity. Or I could slip into the skin of a were-jaguar...but only if one came right up to me so he could hold my statue in his hand. And what are the chances of that?

As Tez spoke, Q turned to glance at the shifter who was standing silently a few feet away, watching and listening to the godly exchange. Finn had likely understood the subtext of the gods' conversation, had probably realized that Tezzie could squash the life right out of him and steal his body whenever he felt like it. Yes, the were-jaguar's muscles were tensed as if to flee...and yet, Finn waited for the wind god's will.

No, that's not right, Tezzie admitted to himself. Finn had never shown the slightest inclination to bow down before a god. So why was he still present? Why hadn't he opted to save his own skin?

Perhaps the draw was as simple as the female were-jaguar that Finn had been so fascinated by during that morning's session of peering through Tez's mirror.

Or maybe not. Despite setting up the vision specifically to mold his pet shifter to his will, Tez now dared to hope that Finn's recent frequent use of Ixchel's pet name for him had something to do with why the were-jaguar was still standing his ground. Perhaps the shifter felt that "Tezzie" was worth helping, even if the god could snap the tether between the mortal's soul and body with a single thought.

"So, what's your plan?" Q asked.

And, making sure that his voice was being broadcast to human as well as to brother god, Tezzie began to fill his companions in.

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# Chapter 39

Her brothers were overbearing, bossy, maddening...and Ixchel couldn't imagine ever spending another day without them in her life. They'd set up tents--tents! perhaps Finn wasn't the only one who traveled with camping gear--in Maria's backyard, had assessed the hazards of the situation, then had settled in for the duration.

"It looks like Mirabelle tapped into the GPS in your rental car," Antonio said, glancing up from his laptop as Maria finished clearing what had been a laden dinner table half an hour earlier. Ixchel could barely move after stuffing herself with her aunt's offerings, but she'd still pushed herself to her feet in order to help with the dishes. To her surprise, three brothers who'd refused to be caught dead in the kitchen during their shared childhood had immediately whisked the job out from under their sister, and Santiago was even now forcing their hummingbird of an aunt into her easy chair while he took over her task of ferrying items into the kitchen.

"Well, I guess it's good you relocated the car before coming after me then," Ixchel answered Antonio absently. She couldn't decide whether it was stranger to see her brothers doing housework or to have them all so focused on disentangling her from her current predicament.

Or maybe what surprised Ixchel the most was the way her older siblings had accepted her omissions when she refused to reveal some of the more complicated aspects of her current life. Details like were-jaguars and gods seemed like a lot to spring on brothers whom she hadn't set eyes upon in a decade, and they'd clearly noticed the omission in her story. Noticed...and moved on.

"Yeah," Antonio agreed. "There's still a chance he'll find a way to hack into the stored data and track you back to this location, but we'll take turns keeping an eye out overnight. And tomorrow, Fernando has a safe place in mind for you to hole up while we deal with your stalker."

"Now, wait a minute," Ixchel started. She wasn't going to allow herself to be sent away like an unruly child while her brothers took care of her problems....

But a ringing cell phone interrupted her thoughts for the second time that day. And for the second time, the vet's heart leapt into her throat.

She didn't pick up the phone immediately, though. Instead, she waited while Fernando hurried out of the kitchen alcove and popped open the lid on his laptop before joining his siblings on the couch. "Wait for it, wait for it," Fernando murmured. Then: "Gotcha!"

Because her phone line was no longer her own. Not when her siblings were positive that Mirabelle would follow Nando's lead and track down Ixchel's number, then put through a call in an effort to lure her into his clutches. To that end, her CIA agent brother had prepared to pinpoint the location of her next caller, and he'd also set it up so he could listen in and guide Ixchel through the conversation to come.

But the vet hoped that wouldn't be necessary. Yes, Mirabelle would need to be dealt with...eventually. And yet, she still hoped that her favorite were-jaguar would contact her before she was forced to handle their opponent on her own.

"Ixchel?"

This time, her guess about the identity of the caller was accurate. Finn's voice settled onto her skin like a warm blanket, and the vet felt her shoulders relaxing for the first time all day. "Yes," she breathed. Then: "Wait a minute."

Taking a precious second to glare at her oldest brother, she ordered, "Get off the line, Nando." Then she waited...and waited...and glared harder until her sibling typed a few lines and then pulled the headphones out of his ears.

"It's not Mirabelle?" Fernando asked, and the vet simply shook her head as she got to her feet and slipped out into the Mexican night.

"Sorry about that," she said at last, sinking down onto the stoop and pulling her legs up against her chest so she could pretend it was Finn hugging her skin. "And thanks for calling."

"Thank you for answering."

Ixchel could tell that Finn felt as awkward as she did to be speaking on the phone when they'd only known each other for a few days. But he'd put in the effort to dial her number, and that was all that really mattered. So she offered up a bone to get the conversation flowing.

"I have so much to tell you," she started, only to be interrupted by a were-jaguar on a mission.

"No, don't say anything important," he interjected quickly. "Tezzie's still listening in. And even though I think he and I have finally come to terms we can both live with, it's probably better that you don't mention details he shouldn't know."

Ixchel paused and let Finn's words percolate down through her consciousness. Reading between the lines, she figured Finn meant that he'd talked the wind god out of locking Ixxie away in his personal prison...but that Finn didn't really have confidence that Tezzie would adhere to his word when push came to shove.

Unfortunately, as much as the vet liked to see the best in people, she didn't really trust the wind god either. So she was glad of the warning.

And she owed Finn a similar indication of his own need for caution. "Tell Tezzie hi for me," she started, hoping to appease the god while she and her favorite were-jaguar talked over his head. Then, without waiting for an answer, she added, "And you should know that I'm with my brothers right now."

"Your brothers? The SOBs who've been chasing you for your entire adult life?" Ixchel liked to think that she was an independent, modern woman, but the protectiveness in Finn's voice still made her grin. "Are you okay?" he continued, making her smile wider. "Where are you? I'll come get you."

It was exactly what Ixchel wanted to hear...but not what she wanted Finn to do. "I'm fine," she reassured him. "They've grown up since I last saw them. My brothers aren't anything like they were a decade ago...."

"And they're listening in right now, aren't they?" The vet could hear the were-jaguar's predatory nature coming through in his voice. "Okay, what do you bastards want in exchange for letting Ixchel walk out of your lives? Money? I've got plenty of money..."

Well, actually, he didn't. Not if the tremendous wads of cash Ixchel had found in his backpack were what the shifter was counting on to bribe her brothers' complicity. But before she could interrupt Finn's attempt to ransom her out from under her siblings' noses, Fernando proved that he hadn't cut the connection after all. Never trust a spy to resist listening at keyholes...or tapping into your phone line.

"Possessive, aren't you?" Fernando answered. "Not that you have the right to ask, since as best I can tell you've only been in our little sister's life for less than a week and somehow managed to sink her neck deep in trouble during that short time period. But, no, Ixchel isn't with us under duress. My brothers and I are helping her deal with a little problem that I understand you're responsible for."

There was a pause, and Ixchel could almost see Finn trying to decide which scent trail to follow. So she made it easy for him. "I trust Fernando," the vet said simply, willing Finn to believe her words.

And that was the wonderful thing about felines. Even the common house cat was usually able to read emotions without needing to understand the words, and Finn's were-cat senses likely made empathy doubly easy for him. So he accepted that Ixchel didn't require a knight in shining armor to ride to her rescue, although his sigh suggested that he'd vastly prefer to be her hero rather than leaving Ixchel to the tender mercies of her brothers.

And I'd prefer that too, the vet thought. But Finn had enough on his plate without piling a stalking archaeologist on top of the heap. She definitely didn't want to be the fatal distraction that knocked him off his game at a critical moment. Just believe me, she willed.

"Okay," Finn said simply. "But I assume your problem is Mirabelle, and that's actually why I called."

And just like that, her mood shifted. Ixchel tried to tell her stomach not to drop at his words, to be glad that Finn had initiated the conversation with honest concern about her well-being. She told herself that she needed to accept the fact that the were-jaguar had more on his mind than her personal safety. It didn't matter if the purpose of his call had really been business rather than passion.

Okay, so it did matter. The little "oh" that drifted from her lips was (she hoped) too quiet for her brother to hear. But Finn clearly picked up on both the sound and the subtext.

"No, Ixchel. I didn't mean it like that." The were-jaguar's voice dropped into a purr. "You are my first priority, but I assume you don't want to talk about that with big brother on the line."

Fernando huffed out a laugh, then interjected. "No, please, go ahead and murmur sweet nothings into her ear. It'll give us something to tease our little sis about for the next twenty years."

"Yeah, I changed my mind," Ixchel said, their banter giving her time to remove the emotion from her voice. Now, if I can only remove it from my mind. "Let's talk business. You called about Mirabelle?"

"Right," Finn agreed, following her lead but picking his words with care. "It turns out he's...um...like me. Which means that Tezzie can use him."

"Really." For a split second, Ixchel saw red. "Does that mean our uninvited companion had considered choosing you instead of Ixxie to stab in the back? Because, if so, it's probably a good thing I can't talk to Tezzie right now or I'd give him a piece of my mind...."

Finn's chuckle was richer than her brother's and so much more enticing. "He's actually been pretty thoughtful lately, so save your wrath for someone who deserves it. Like Mirabelle. He's out hunting...um...jaguars."

"Jaguars." Ixchel knew exactly what Finn was trying to tell her without cluing in her older brother to facts that might blow his mind. "Any particular type of jaguar?"

"Yeah, female jaguars. Listen, he deserves what's coming to him."

"You've got that right," Fernando interjected. "I know you two are talking in code and I have no clue what you're telling each other. But my research suggests that this Mirabelle you somehow turned onto my sister's tail is a serial killer. Of human beings. He's been murdering people right and left, although nobody's been able to gather enough evidence to nail his...um...conviction."

"I'm not surprised," Finn replied. "Anyway, I know it's a long shot, Ixchel, but I'm hoping you picked up my backpack before you left El Azuzul. And I'm also hoping you won't mind me walking you through using the laptop inside to pinpoint Mirabelle's current location. I think that if we..."

"Way ahead of you, bro," Fernando answered. "We know exactly where the target is located, and we can lead you directly to his door. Or him to yours. Just say the word and my brothers and I will meet you there."

Ixchel could almost hear the wheels turning in Finn's head. He wanted to keep Ixchel safe, but at the same time, he could definitely use some help. And the shifter likely realized--unlike Fernando--that Ixchel would never allow herself to be left behind. So it was also a good thing that Nando's presence on the line had prevented the vet from spilling her secrets. Because if Finn knew everything that had happened after they parted, then he'd never allow her to join this party.

And it wasn't a party that Ixchel was willing to miss.

"No, here's what we're going to do," Ixchel said, breaking into the guys' conversation at last. "If I'm guessing right, Tezzie needs this to happen at a specific location. Am I right?"

"Yeah." Finn's voice was guarded, then he clearly decided that it was better to share what he knew rather than continuing to handle a psychopathic were-jaguar and a grumpy god all on his own. "Tezzie's hoping to get some help from his friends. And that means the best spot is this big water-filled sinkhole--Tez calls it a cenote--up in the Yucatan. I'll text you the exact location."

"So we'll lead our mark there," Ixchel said. "And Mirabelle won't know what hit him."

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# Chapter 40

Finn waited until he heard the click signifying that Ixchel had hung up, he waited another second for safety, and then he spoke. "Still there, Nando?"

The voice that came through from the other end of the line was a growl as territorial as any he'd heard emerging from a jaguar's mouth. "The name is Fernando," Ixchel's brother answered. But he'd clearly waited to speak to Finn alone, so the shifter had to assume Fernando would listen to reason. "Talk fast," the brother added. "Because Ixchel will come looking for me any minute now."

"Okay," Finn agreed, trying to keep his tone pleasant. The huge feline inside his human body wanted to rip its way free and hunt down this other male who thought he had a say over the were-jaguar's mate. But it was time to protect Ixchel in a more human fashion, so Finn tamped down his inner predatory nature and kept his voice calm. "I'll cut to the chase," the shifter said simply. "Ixchel can't show up at that sinkhole tomorrow. She won't want to be left behind, so you'll need to find a way to head her off at the last minute while still sending Mirabelle on to be neutralized."

"Have you even met my sister?" Fernando countered. "Maybe if you'd give me a few more details, I'd be able to talk her into staying somewhere safe. But I doubt it. Are you saying that there's a particular reason why Ixchel would be in more danger around Mirabelle than if she were, say, some other woman?"

"Yes." Maybe. If Finn's guess was correct, then Ixchel would be both the perfect bait...and in the most peril of anyone else involved in the operation to vanquish Mirabelle. Even if his guess was wrong, there was no way Finn wanted his mate to end up in the middle of a struggle with a psychopathic demigod. Too bad Fernando would think Finn was crazy if he even hinted at his reasoning.

"That's it? 'Yes'?" The barely contained rage beneath the other man's voice made it unlikely that Finn would ever find himself invited over for a friendly family barbecue. But Ixchel's safety was far more important than kissing up to potential in-laws.

In-laws? Was that really what Finn planned with regards to Ixchel?

He guessed it really was.

So he did his best to at least simulate congeniality. "I'm sorry," Finn said simply. "There are things I can't tell you."

"I figured that out," Fernando replied coldly. Then: "Ixchel is about to come in, so I've gotta go. Are there any other vague threats you'd like to toss in my general direction?"

"No." Finn sighed. "Just keep Ixchel away from the cenote tomorrow. Please."

"I'll do my best," the other man responded. "And if she slips through my net, you'd better keep my little sister from getting hurt. Or else, so help me God, I'll hunt you down...."

Then, before Finn could come up with a reply, the line went dead.

***

I GUESS GROWING UP with five older brothers really does prepare one for a life of crime, Ixchel thought.

She'd kept her phone on, of course. Faked the click, then lingered until Nando and Finn had finished their male posturing and their equally masculine scheming. Because the vet needed to know the full details of what both had planned if she wanted to be able to include herself in the next day's events.

Sorry, not going to be left out of the end game this time around, she'd thought as she waited for her older brother and Finn to hang up their phones in reality. Then she'd begged use of Antonio's laptop under the guise of checking her email, which allowed her to map out routes to two different cenotes. One was the actual meeting place that Finn had texted her. The other was located along the way and was the perfect spot to ditch her brothers.

Because none of the four was ready to see human beings turning into jaguars in front of their very eyes. And Ixchel didn't want to risk their human skins to Mirabelle's dubious mercies anyway.

So now, after tossing and turning all night long, the Moreno siblings were ready to rumble. Aunt Maria had been left behind with thank yous and promises to come again soon, then the siblings set off in separate vehicles. Fernando's role was to drop Ixchel off at her car and pretend that he was turning her loose for a few days of solitary sightseeing. Meanwhile, her other brothers would circle around and keep an eye out for Mirabelle, whom they hoped was still focused on Ixchel's vehicle.

"Remember," Fernando said as he enfolded his little sister in a purposefully ostentatious hug on the pavement beside her rental car. "You don't want to make it too hard for him to follow. So don't run any red lights or make any sudden turns."

Ixchel sighed at the loss of contact as her brother pulled away then looked sternly into her eyes. It was almost as if the older sibling suspected his kid sister was planning something she hadn't owned up to yet. Well, Nando was right...but the whole purpose of being underhanded was to pull the wool over the other person's eyes. So the vet just gave her brother what she hoped was a convincing smile in return.

"Don't stop anywhere except the designated safe spots," Fernando continued, seemingly satisfied by her nonverbal reassurance. "And when you get to the access road, be prepared for us to cut in behind you and sandwich Mirabelle between our cars. Then get the heck out of there and wait for Antonio to call with the all clear."

The plan made perfect sense. Too bad Ixchel didn't intend to follow her brother's orders.

To assuage her guilt at being so duplicitous, Ixchel reminded herself of all the times these same brothers had sneaked out of their family home after looking her straight in the eye and saying they were attending parties, not holding up convenience stores. They'd lied to her for years and, in the end, she'd forgiven all of her brothers anyway. So, surely, Fernando and company would similarly forgive and forget Ixchel's own deception.

Because look how well skullduggery worked out for my brothers....

Ignoring her own better sense, Ixchel continued to mimic evasive behavior she had learned from the experts during their shared childhood. "Don't worry, Nando," the vet said. "I know the drill." Then, to add a bit of verisimilitude to the lie, she touched his cheek and admonished: "Be careful out there."

"Always am," Fernando answered. And he seemed satisfied enough to finally let her slip alone into the driver's seat and steer the vehicle out of the parking lot. The lot where Mirabelle had been sighted several times since Antonio had secreted the car there the day before. Hopefully the trigger-happy archaeologist was still laying in wait, ready to follow Ixchel's trail.

He was. The flashy red rental car showed up in the rear-view mirror before Ixchel had made her way out of Veracruz, and it continued to follow for the long day's drive east and north to Quintana Roo.

Her brothers, on the other hand, stayed well outside visual range. Fernando had been quick to reassure Ixchel that they'd be following along by tracking the GPS of her car, explaining that various brothers would veer ahead as needed to scope out the safety of pit stops and to set up the final roadblock.

Still, even though Ixchel knew she could count on her siblings to watch her back, she felt alone as she embarked on the long drive. Alone, and exhilarated by her solitude. Almost as if she were winging her way toward her greatest adventure yet. And toward a new life.

Not at all how I felt the first time I stabbed my brothers in the back, Ixchel recalled. So hopefully this current evasion would end better than her previous one.

The last approved bathroom break was located along the main highway mere minutes from her designated turn, and Ixchel brought her mind out of the past as she sighted the gas station's sign coming up ahead. Her brothers had made sure to be just barely visible at each stop to calm Ixchel's nerves, and this time around she caught a glimpse of Antonio almost hidden beneath a huge red ball cap before he ducked out of sight behind the building.

Mirabelle pulled in seconds later, but he stayed on the other side of the lot, his face averted to shield his features. True to his were-jaguar nature, the archaeologist seemed willing to stalk his prey and wait until she was far enough off the beaten path to be easy pickings for a strong man armed with claws as well as guns. That was lucky for the current stage of the plan...but might come back to bite Ixchel in the butt once she threw her protectors off the trail.

I hope this wasn't a stupid idea, the vet thought as she settled back into her car for the final leg of the journey. She'd barely missed making eye contact with her stalker, her gaze lingering just a little too long as she scanned the lot after leaving the bathroom. But Mirabelle hadn't been spooked, and he continued to follow when she turned off the highway and onto a smaller country lane.

Then, utilizing just the type of evasive maneuvers her brothers had warned her against, Ixchel turned abruptly onto a side road, watching Mirabelle screech after in hot pursuit. Fernando and company would be waiting not far ahead, their roadblock poised to reel the archaeologist in. But neither Ixchel nor Mirabelle would be breezing into that trap. Not today.

"Here goes nothing." Since she lacked the skills to disable the GPS in the car and in her phone, Ixchel simply ripped the former instrument out of its socket, turned off the latter, and tossed both devices out her open window. She hoped the evasion would prove sufficient to keep her brothers off her trail for long enough to get the job done.

"I'll see you shortly, Finn," the vet murmured under her breath as Mirabelle's car grew larger in her rear-view mirror. "Ready or not, here we come."

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# Chapter 41

Finn was used to hunting alone. So it irked him to wait and assume Ixchel and her brothers were being successful at channeling Mirabelle toward the planned snare. It annoyed him to be counting on Fernando to rein in his mate's enthusiasm and keep her safe. And it just plain pissed him off to sit twiddling his thumbs while others were exposed to danger on his behalf.

And yet, despite wishing that he'd been able to manage this entire operation without calling in outside help, Finn had a hard time forcing himself to put their plan into motion by throwing his current companion into the pool.

Head still up your butt about your precious mate? Tezzie asked abrasively.

Okay, so, maybe a little peace and quiet within his own brain might actually be nice. Still, Finn stayed his hand and didn't initiate the first phase of the trap--dropping the troublesome figurine into a sinkhole that led straight down into oceanic caves.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Tezzie?" he asked instead. "Ixchel was reading about cenotes in her guidebook, and she says this one is likely to be a couple of hundred feet deep. It would take some doing to drag you back to the surface if Mirabelle doesn't show."

The were-jaguar was currently standing on a rickety wooden platform that extended out over the middle of what appeared at the surface to simply be a medium-sized pool. However, gazing down into the greenish water proved that the cenote walls were steep and that the body of water was far from shallow.

Meanwhile, the historical description that Ixchel had read over the phone that morning was still quite vivid in the shifter's mind. Apparently, Mexicans had once dropped all sorts of offerings down cenotes in an attempt to appease their gods. Offerings up to and including human sacrifices. The ancient people of the Yucatan had believed that these sinkholes were portals to the underworld, and Tezzie confirmed that his followers' supposition had a basis in reality.

Which was a key part of their plan, in fact. Finn was to plunge the were-jaguar figurine into a sinkhole that had been devoted to Ixxie since ancient times, then the goddess would open the portal to the underworld as soon as Tezzie was submerged. Meanwhile, Quetzalcoatl had vowed to use his own energy to suspend his brother god's prison just above the dividing line between human and godly realms. The trap would be baited and set.

Finn's job was simple--to ensure that Mirabelle came in contact with the figurine, allowing Tezzie to swap their corporeal forms. After that, the god in the body of a were-jaguar would swim back up to the surface and enjoy his new skin, while the incarcerated demigod would drop through the portal and away from any possibility of release back into the human sphere.

Of course, that depends on everything going exactly as planned. Having spent the better part of a week tied to the wind god's whims, Finn wasn't entirely sure that either of the two deities playing supporting roles would adhere to their word. After all, sometimes even he thought the world would be better off without Tezcatlipoca in it, so why not let the grumpy god drop through to the underworld where he'd be out of their hair forever?

Okay, so I don't really feel that way. I'd miss the argumentative bastard if he were gone...which is why I'm giving Tezzie the chance to back out now.

"So, what do you think?" Finn asked, trying to get a feel for his companion's emotions. If Tezzie was afraid, then they'd find some other way to trap Mirabelle and to give the god a new body.

But, apparently, the wind god's machismo exceeded Finn's own. Hurry up and throw me in the effing water, the god demanded. Mirabelle's getting strong enough that he might be able to feel my presence if I'm above the surface when he arrives, and I don't want to risk tipping him off.

Whether the deity's words were simply an example of prideful bravery or were actually annoyance that Finn was holding up the works, Tezzie had clearly made his decision. "Well, here goes nothing," the shifter said. And he tossed the ancient Olmec figurine into the pool.

***

THE STATUE FELL INTO the water with a plop and immediately drifted down out of sight. Would I even know if Tezzie was gone for good? Finn wondered, shifting immediately into feline form. Sometimes he could sense the wind god's presence more clearly as a jaguar than as a man, but his mental feelers went unanswered that afternoon. Either Tezcatlipoca had fallen through the portal into the underworld, or Quetzalcoatl was holding his brother god in limbo halfway between the two domains as promised. Either way, Mirabelle would be walking onto the scene shortly, and Finn needed to prepare for his opponent's arrival.

The road wasn't very far away from the wooden platform on which he was standing, so Finn's feline ears caught the rumble of approaching tires as soon as he came out of his shift. He was glad to realize that he felt calmer now that the game was in play, the shifter's predatory nature taking over as he leapt straight up and settled into the shadows atop a rock ledge twenty feet above the pool. As a jaguar, Finn was used to launching himself onto prey from above, and he was counting on the element of surprise to give him that critical edge over his opponent today.

But Finn was the one shocked into immobility when two new visitors to the cenote came into view. Because, of course Fernando had failed in his task and Ixchel appeared first, traveling away from her car at a loping sprint. She was trying to escape from a demigod powerful enough that even Tezcatlipoca was sufficiently afraid to enlist the help of two friendly deities.

But the vet wasn't running in human form.

Which wasn't entirely a surprise. Finn had known as soon as he saw the woman's naked body in Tezcatlipoca's mirror that Ixchel had discovered a way to transform into a jaguar. Not my sister but my mate. The words had hummed through his mind even as the wind god did his best to reel Finn in with his subterfuge.

And Finn had also harbored a sneaking suspicion that Ixchel would be able to outwit her brothers and lead Mirabelle directly to the showdown site on her own. His mate wasn't the type who let herself be left out of events, and she also probably didn't trust her brothers to be privy to her tremendous new secret.

A secret that Finn had stopped her from revealing over the phone, but which he dared hope his mate had wanted to share with her fellow shifter.

So, no, Finn shouldn't have been surprised to see the lithe female jaguar bound toward the cenote, sunlight gleaming across her midnight fur. And he wasn't surprised. Instead, the male were-jaguar was astounded by his mate's beauty, by the realization that the pull he'd felt toward the woman from day one was magnified one hundred percent when he saw her running in his direction on four paws.

So he stared too long...and almost allowed Mirabelle to take down his prey.

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# Chapter 42

For five of the longest seconds of her life, Ixchel thought she was entirely alone at the cenote with a tremendous were-jaguar on her heels and intent upon her blood.

Of course, I'm a jaguar now too. The pep talk failed miserably. Yes, Ixchel had been given the gift of transforming into a jaguar...but she was still learning to walk straight on four paws. The newly fledged shifter had figured she was doing pretty well by not tripping over her feet during the run to the cenote, and she'd only made it that far by promising herself that Finn would be present to take the next part of the struggle out of her hands.

So arriving to find the elusive were-jaguar missing was a shock to her system.

And if Finn has decided to absent himself from my life entirely, did I or did I not make the right decision yesterday? Was this an example of the typical female pitfall of changing her life over a man, only to discover that today's love interest was gone tomorrow?

Just yesterday, the goddess had given the vet a similar warning in kind, gentle Ixxie fashion. "Now you have a choice," the old woman had told her failed priestess when she accepted the cat charm out of Ixchel's reluctant hand. "I'm sure Tezcatlipoca made it seem like he was the almighty god overseeing all were-jaguars, but the truth is that he and I decided to split that responsibility right down the middle centuries ago. My brother god took on the male shifters, and in true Tezzie fashion he gave his followers no choice in their future. So if you'd been born a man, you would have transformed willy-nilly as soon as you came of age. Your friend Finn is proof of how difficult Tezzie's gift can be."

Ixchel had nodded, her mind running ahead and guessing at the conclusion of the goddess's story. Was she really about to be offered an opportunity that she'd thought would never come her way? To be true equals with the man who had inspired her trust and fascination over the last few days? But the vet held her tongue and waited for Ixxie to finish her tale.

"I, on the other hand, felt that perhaps my followers might not want to be saddled with a dual nature," the goddess continued. "To have to sheathe their claws and pretend to be part of the human world, or to fall prey to the endless treadmill of a busy human brain when one might prefer the supreme simplicity of mindlessly stalking prey in a tropical forest. So I gave each of my followers a choice. Feline, woman, or both--each were-jaguaress could choose her future when the appropriate time came.

"Unfortunately, I made a fatal mistake." Ixxie, unlike her brother god, handled self-chastisement very well. "I assumed we gods would always be strong enough to check in on our followers whenever we wished and to take a hand in each mortal's first shift. But once Europeans came to the continent and drove out the old ways, I was separated from my followers. So I've been unable to offer that decision to new female shifters for the last three hundred years. And as a result, no female were-jaguars currently exist."

The old woman had upgraded her actions at this point from handpatting to actively clutching five of Ixchel's fingers within ten of her own. "But you journeyed all the way to Mexico to find me, so you are the first jaguaress in centuries to be given the option of transformation. Now is the time to decide whether you want to return to your current human life or to take on the latent jaguar form hidden beneath your skin."

"I..." Ixchel began, but the old woman reached up to lightly brush one finger across her follower's lips.

"Not so fast, my child. I know you've fallen in love over the last few days. It's a wondrous feeling to dip into the human mind and experience the instant when a crush turns into an infatuation. Someday I'd like to experience those emotions for myself." The old woman's eyes crinkled up as she smiled.

"And maybe you've read the signs correctly," the goddess continued. "Maybe you're lucky enough to have found true love. Maybe you and your were-jaguar tom will live happily ever after. I'm a goddess, yet even I can't tell you what lies in your future."

But now the goddess's face turned stern, and Ixchel had the sudden impression that she was standing before her mother and being chided for allowing her boyfriend's hands to wander on their first date. "You can't know what will happen between you and Finn," Ixxie said after a moment. "But you can reach into your own heart and discover which world you'd like to spend the rest of your life as a part of. Do you want the peaceful safety of a human existence, or do you want the adventurous wonder of a were-jaguar's life? Do you want to be ordinary and protected or extraordinary and hunted? Because Mirabelle isn't the only danger facing were-jaguars in this modern era."

This time around, Ixchel made herself pause before opening her mouth. The goddess was right, of course. She'd known Finn for all of three days, and twenty-four of those hours had been spent wondering where her companion had run off to without explanation or promises for the future. No, the vet couldn't make this decision based on whether or not Finn would remain a part of her life.

But the truth was, Ixchel had fallen in love with the idea of a were-jaguar from the first moment she'd seen Finn shift into feline form in her veterinary practice's backyard. She'd been awed by his transformation...and she'd also been insanely jealous.

All of her life, Ixchel had struggled to make sense of interactions with other people, while at the same time being drawn to restful and loving animal companions. She'd carved out a niche for herself in which she could deal with cats and dogs and hamsters every day, but a career as a veterinarian was by far second best to experiencing that animal world for herself.

So, when the goddess sat patiently and waited with her head cocked to one side, Ixchel had nodded vigorously and known she was making the right choice for the right reasons. "Yes, I want you to wake up the jaguar inside me," she'd said.

And when Ixchel first shifted onto four paws, it was all she could do not to race off into the forest and explore what dew felt like on cat whiskers and how a tail could be used to balance her leaps. The new skin was rapturous.

"Let yourself grow into it," Ixxie had warned with a smile. "Start with short shifts somewhere safe. Every adventure benefits from a little practice and planning."

Little did Ixxie know that, the very next day, her follower would be facing down a tremendous male were-jaguar who had enjoyed years of growing into his own skin. And who wanted nothing more than to overpower the only were-jaguaress currently in existence.

Which is why Ixchel's heart was racing and her throat felt tight as she whirled around and prepared to defend herself. But, despite Finn's absence, she still didn't think she'd made the wrong move in accepting her feline nature the day before.

No, even if she went down fighting this very afternoon, at least the vet would know that, for once in her life, she'd truly lived.

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# Chapter 43

Without another thought, Finn leapt from the ledge, aiming for the older male's shoulder. He didn't want to damage the body that Tezzie would shortly be inhabiting, but he also didn't want to give Mirabelle time to rush any closer to his mate. Instead, Finn hoped to knock his foe into the sinkhole immediately, using his momentum to push Mirabelle down toward the submerged figurine that acted as a trap.

Unfortunately, the archaeologist seemed to have developed a sixth sense that had him turning to face his attacker even as Finn was struggling to change direction midair. So the younger were-jaguar landed on needle-sharp claws that swiped through his fur and dug into the skin atop his neck, while Mirabelle didn't budge an inch from his position.

Maybe a few karate classes would have been a good investment after all.

Despite enjoying a life of crime, Finn had always opted for stealth over brute force and he didn't have the first idea how to fight such a tremendous feline. But what he lacked in experience he made up for in sheer desperation.

And the younger shifter soon realized that if he drifted into his jaguar nature, the automatic reactions of the animal would take over. Spinning even more lightly on his feet than usual, Finn hoped that although the element of surprise had been lost, he might be able to vanquish his opponent the old-fashioned way.

The younger shifter batted and bounded, but he never allowed Mirabelle to reverse their positions and block Ixchel from his sight. The afternoon's goal was to quell the archaeologist and free the god, but his mate's safety was an even higher priority. So when Finn glimpsed the jaguaress leaping to safety on the other side of the pool, he sighed with relief. At least his mate could escape the archaeologist's wicked claws...as long as Finn was able to wrestle Mirabelle into the cenote before being torn apart, that was.

An outcome that was still in serious question. Because the older shifter continued to hold his own, and Finn was already tiring from his increasingly frantic exertions. I'll just have to make it work, the younger shifter thought. He knew that Mirabelle could easily leap after Ixchel if Finn failed, and the bristling fur on the other jaguar's ruff suggested that the older shifter was itching to punish both parties involved in his entrapment.

The narrowing of his opponent's eyes gave Finn just enough warning to allow him to whirl out of the way before Mirabelle rose up and attempted to pounce on his smaller form. But the archaeologist-turned-cat merely hissed in annoyance at missing, then growled in pleasure as one massive paw reached out and whacked Finn upside the head.

And then the younger shifter was treading water, having been knocked into the exact same spot where he'd hoped to toss Mirabelle. Here's hoping Tezzie doesn't figure any body is a good body in a pinch....

But Finn didn't pause in his cat-paddling, making his way as quickly as he could toward the shore where he knew his foe would soon touch down. This was exactly why he'd begged Fernando to keep Ixchel away from the cenote this afternoon. The shifter thief had hoped he'd be able to overpower the larger were-jaguar, but he hadn't been certain enough of his own skills to risk his mate's life in the process.

And, apparently, Finn's instincts had been correct. Because he was now too waterlogged to fight, Ixchel had transformed back into her defenseless human body...and Mirabelle was crouching down in preparation for leaping after the female were-jaguar.

***

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE looking for a mate," Ixchel called across the pool of brackish water. She had no grand plan. No way of tricking Mirabelle into the cenote or ending their current farce of a battle. The vet was merely hoping that if she tempted the archaeologist to shift into human form in order to speak with her, she might buy a few more moments of survival, while perhaps giving Finn time to get away. Because, unfortunately, her favorite were-jaguar appeared to be severely outclassed by the opposition.

However, Mirabelle didn't pause before springing halfway across the cenote to land inches away from her nose. Her foe's feline form was tremendous, weighing perhaps half again as much as Finn's did. And the archaeologist's fangs, when he opened his mouth, seemed to be as long as her hand.

Having now seen two were-jaguars (not counting her own, which she'd sighted merely as a pair of paws beneath her nose), Ixchel continued to find the breed magnificent. Unfortunately, while Finn's feline half appeared strangely lovable in addition to being mildly frightening, Mirabelle's cat was ten times as terrifying.

Do not back away. No, Ixchel needed to stand her ground and keep talking if she wanted to get out of this mess alive. Remember your superior human intellect, she chided herself, stilling feet that wanted so badly to flee. Time to open your mouth and make stuff up.

And, to her surprise, words flowed freely despite the terror-fog in her brain. "I thought I'd already found a mate," the vet babbled, staring into Mirabelle's eyes as if he were a fascinating companion at a dinner party...not a massive feline poised to eat her up. "But Finn doesn't appear to have what it takes to keep me in the manner to which I've grown accustomed. I'm the only female were-jaguar left in the world--did you know that?--so I figured I deserved the best. Which appears to be you."

Mirabelle's tail rose just a fraction, proof positive that he was listening. Surely he couldn't be stupid enough to think that I'd change my loyalties at the drop of a hat? But who knew, really, how the male jaguar's mind worked.

"I'm looking for someone powerful," the vet continued. "Someone who will protect and cherish me." She ran her hands over a body that was--thankfully--clothed this time around. So perhaps Tezzie was responsible for that moment of naked surprise in Ixxie's clearing? Not allowing herself to wander too far down that particular thought trail, Ixchel donned her best femme fatale posture and pursed her lips into what she hoped came across as a seductive pout.

Am I actually relying on sex appeal in a life-or-death situation? the vet wondered. I guess I am.... Well, if I'm going for it, I might as well put everything I've got into the effort.

So she straightened her shoulders to push her breasts out to their maximum extension, then bent down to bring her face--and boobs--closer to Mirabelle's fanged jaws. "Don't you want me?" she asked at last.

And, to her delight, Mirabelle fell for the oldest trick in the book. His body shimmered as he shifted into human form...and in that instant of distraction Ixchel jerked the stick she'd been hiding out from behind her back. And whacked the psychotic archaeologist right into the water.

***

FINN HAD REACHED THE edge of the pool and just started pulling himself out of the water while Ixchel seduced Mirabelle, an allurement that was laughable in its falsehood while still managing to leave the younger shifter panting with desire. Unfortunately, his mate then assaulted Mirabelle with a little too much enthusiasm, so the older man not only fell into the cenote, he immediately began drifting unconscious toward the bottom of the deep pool.

If the younger shifter had taken the time to think about it, he might have made another decision at that point. But his immediate reaction was that he didn't want Ixchel to be responsible for murdering another human being, even if her opponent was a cold-blooded serial killer. His second thought was that Tezzie needed that body. So Finn clambered to his feet on the bank of the cenote, shifted into human form, and dove after the archaeologist without sparing Ixchel a single word.

Only after the tepid water closed over Finn's head and his eyes were struggling to acclimate to the murky liquid did he realize his mistake. If Mirabelle drowned, then Tezzie would have no other option than to take over Finn's own were-jaguar body. And that was assuming Ixchel's blow hadn't done enough damage to the archaeologist's head to make the wind god resistant to taking over in the aftermath anyway. Given those factors, plus Tezzie's supreme disregard for anyone's feelings other than his own, Finn didn't have high hopes for making it out of the water still attached to his skin.

But that's okay. Finn found his thoughts strangely peaceful as he used powerful strokes to push himself closer to Mirabelle's human body. Ixchel's safety is all that really matters.

Which is why the second splash above his head surprised Finn into cursing aloud, taking in a mouthful of water in the process. No, despite her words to Mirabelle, Ixchel wasn't willing to stand by and passively allow herself to be rescued by some overprotective male. She'd literally dived right in behind him.

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# Chapter 44

Tezzie drifted within the cenote, falling back into the meditative slumber he'd enjoyed for most of his years of imprisonment. With no radio or television waves to sidetrack him, he simply peered dreamily up at the surface of the pool while Q's strong arm kept him from falling into the abyss leading into the great beyond.

I wonder what's down there? the wind god pondered. But all he could see or feel beneath his prison was black emptiness. So he shivered and turned his attention back toward the sunlight streaming into the top of the cenote from the human world above.

And then, abruptly, his pet were-jaguar was treading water above Tez's head, the feline's body seeming to end halfway up, cut off by the reflection of the sky above. And this bozo is the one I selected as my head worshiper? Tezzie thought, rolling his eyes. Finn wasn't supposed to be swimming in the water; Mirabelle was.

But before Tezzie had time to fully embrace his exasperation, the waves of terror rolling off his follower's form struck the god like a tsunami. And, for once, Tez wasn't annoyed by a mortal's emoting. Instead, the wind god watched through Finn's eyes and felt agony very much like the shifter's own as Mirabelle pounced nearly upon Ixchel's slight human form.

Not Ixchel! he roared silently.

Finn appeared to be worse than useless, allowing his jaguaress to trot directly into danger. And Ixchel was barely a kitten in shifter terms. She couldn't be expected to take care of herself.

Good thing Ixxie's follower had a second god looking out for her wellbeing.

The wind god struggled as he never had before to break free of his prison. In the past, Tez had merely been irked at his enforced captivity, but now he had a real reason to burst through the figurine's stone walls. So the deity gave the endeavor everything he had.

But despite battering himself against the statue's walls, the stone encircling Tezzie's prison remained as strong as ever. And even though his incorporeal form shouldn't have been able to feel pain, Tez had the distinct sensation of bruises rising up through his skin after pounding himself repeatedly against the unyielding rock.

Someone needs to do something! the god broadcast to all and sundry.

Unfortunately, Finn was too busy swimming to notice Tez's admonition, and no one else was able to hear him. So this is what it feels like to be a human, the god thought as he reluctantly stayed his hands. To be mortal was to rail against unknowable forces that played games with humans' fate.

For the first time in his long life, the wind god finally understood the full frustrations inherent in the human condition. And he didn't like it one bit.

All I can do is be ready to leap onto whatever opportunity presents itself, Tezzie murmured, attempting to soothe himself. Ixchel, bless her scheming little heart, had managed to halt the large jaguar's approach with her prattling, and Finn was doing his best to sneak up on their opponent from behind. So, with a little luck, perhaps this afternoon would have a happy ending after all.

Luck. Wasn't that exactly what mortals believed in, despite Tezcatlipoca knowing that each human's fate was instead decided nearly entirely by decisions and skill? The deity recalled berating his followers time and again after they prayed to the gods for a boon despite having the ability to grant their own wishes. Why be lazy and beg, he'd wondered, when you can do something about it?

Now, watching the human female who had reluctantly befriended a bereft and cantankerous god, Tezzie finally understood what had driven his followers to such stupidity. Sometimes mortals really aren't able to change their own futures, he realized.

And am I actually going through all of this craziness to become what is little more than a glorified mortal?

Then the wind god cheered as Ixchel brought forth her stick and aimed one glorious blow up against the side of Mirabelle's head. Home run! Take that, you loser! Tezzie crowed. He couldn't believe how much his heart lifted when he realized that Ixchel would now be safe.

***

OF COURSE, EVEN IF Ixchel were to survive this confrontation, there appeared to be a good chance that Tezzie might not.

Mirabelle must have exercised until his body was made up of pure muscle because the archaeologist's human form hit the water and sank like a stone. One minute the were-jaguar was falling onto the cenote's surface; the next, the god's quarry had already drifted past Tezzie and out of reach.

No, no, no, NO! the god howled, and this time Tez was pretty sure he was broadcasting directly into Finn's mind. Because why else would the were-jaguar grab Tezzie's prison in one strong hand as he arrowed down through the depths after Mirabelle? Why else would his follower work so hard to secure his deity's future?

A future that Tezcatlipoca was no longer sure he wanted. The further they sank into the cenote, the harder it would be to push himself back out into the human realm rather than allowing the underworld's seductive allure to yank him all the way through the portal. Plus, Mirabelle's spark of life was weakening by the moment, and Tez wasn't at all sure the archaeologist's flesh would hold up to the switch if the god made the planned leap into Mirabelle's form.

Finn, on the other hand, was a pretty good second-best host. The younger shifter was less powerful than Mirabelle, but that was a problem easily remedied with a little selective hunting. And Finn's younger body was also far more appealing to Tez's aesthetic nature.

Plus, most importantly, Finn's human form was strong enough to swim back to the surface once the switch was made. The god could sense that his carrier's lungs were beginning to strain against their current lack of oxygen. But if Finn turned back now, he could easily break the surface before passing out.

Or, rather, Tez could after jumping into the younger were-jaguar's body. Mirabelle would perish in the process, of course, but what was one additional mortal body rotting into bones at the bottom of a cenote that had seen dozens of like offerings?

And maybe Finn wouldn't mind too much about extending his human life with a good, long stay in the safety of the entrapping figurine. Because down here where Tez was embraced by Ixxie's power, he was pretty sure he could push a mere mortal into the statue to take his place.

Ixchel wouldn't approve, you know. It must have been a strain for Ixxie to broadcast her words into his head while still keeping an ever-deepening cenote tethered to the human plane. But the goddess's words seemed as serene and calm as ever. No one can stop you from taking over Finn's body, Ixxie continued. But if you do, you should know by now that my own follower will never speak to you again.

It shouldn't have mattered. The druthers of one mortal woman, whom Tezzie had known for only a few days? And whose heart was already promised to another? What could Ixchel do in reprisal--give Tezzie the silent treatment for the rest of their lives?

The very idea sent a shiver of sadness down the deity's spine for reasons he refused to examine. Okay, okay, he thought grumpily. And then, pouring every bit of his own godly strength into his follower's body--while keeping his soul safely tucked away within the figurine--Tezzie watched as Finn's turbo-charged limbs made short work of the remaining distance separating them from the sinking archaeologist.

There was no time to waste on pretty speeches and incantations. So when the younger shifter pressed the little stone statue up against Mirabelle's skin, Tezzie simply thrust his soul outward as hard as he was able.

The wind god nearly wasn't strong enough to make the switch, not after sharing his power with Finn moments earlier. But, at last, Tezzie was able to thrust his way through the archaeologist's skin and flesh before entering Mirabelle's bloodstream and dispersing like a quickly multiplying virus through his host's body.

Immediately, the archaeologist's spark of life winked out at the same time that the stone statue began to glow. Finn released the figurine as if his fingers were on fire, and Tezzie felt rather than saw the little hunk of carved rock slip past Ixxie's carefully held boundary line and out of the human world entirely.

But still Tezzie was unable to force his new body to move. The mortal was close to death, water having filled his lungs while the brain expanded into a concussion within his skull. No way would the ex-god be able to push his way back to the surface, not in Mirabelle's used-up body.

I made the wrong decision! Tezzie thought mournfully as he continued to drift toward the bottom of the underground pool.

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# Chapter 45

Oh no she didn't! Antonio thought as the taillights of Mirabelle's car veered off onto a small dirt track to his right. But, yes, his sister really had managed to shake her brothers off her tail...despite one of those brothers being a fully-trained CIA agent and despite all four of the siblings currently focusing their entire attention solely on her safety and wellbeing.

Well, she'd gotten rid of three of her siblings. But Antonio hadn't quite trusted the serenity of his sister's expression that morning. Ixchel had never looked so calm before something so minor as a spelling test, let alone preceding a life-or-death confrontation that threatened the safety of her beloved family members.

In contrast, Antonio vividly recalled watching his baby sister spill the contents of her stomach all over the hospital tiles while Santiago was having his leg stitched up following a childhood bicycling accident. No, Ixchel hadn't been involved in the wreck. She'd vomited from pure empathetic agony.

More recently, she'd sprouted waterworks at Fernando's wedding--which was probably wise, Antonio would now admit, considering how marriage did turn out to be a fate worse than death. (Good thing Nando liked the life-altering condition.)

And his baby sister had cried her eyes out multiple evenings running during her high-school career while begging Antonio not to lead his siblings off on another night of carousing.

Of course, it was possible their youngest sibling still hadn't forgiven her brothers for their youthful indiscretions, especially since Antonio's stupidity had led directly to the deaths of Miguel and their parents. If Ixchel cursed her brothers' names, why bother fretting over leading her family members into a perilous situation?

At first, Antonio had simply assumed that was the case. After all, he'd never forgiven himself for those three deaths either.

But Santiago had been hardly more than a baby when he'd willingly taken the fall for a subset of Antonio's crimes. The long-ago scheme--dreamed up by Miguel--had managed to get all five brothers jailed, but for a relatively short term that didn't brand any as felons. In actuality, Antonio knew he'd deserved a far worse fate...and the judge would likely have locked the ringleader up and thrown away the key had his siblings not stepped up to take the fall for the majority of his crimes. Which was all a long way of saying--given Santiago's selflessness, who could blame their sainted youngest brother for the sins of his elders?

Once Antonio began to think more logically, he'd also recalled the icy tranquility on Ixchel's face when she'd testified against her brothers at their hearing. No, he decided, Ixchel was only this cool and collected when she had something up her sleeve. And Antonio fully intended to find out what that something was.

So he'd tweaked the brothers' schedules so he was the one keeping watch at the final gas station. Then he'd sped up as they neared their final destination so Mirabelle's car remained just barely in view. Being sighted was against Fernando's policies and Antonio didn't want to tip off their mark either...but he also didn't want to miss the moment when Ixchel made her move.

And he hadn't. Antonio pulled into the parking area behind his sister's car while her voice was still ringing out through the muggy air. And he made it down the pathway just in time for his eyes to capture a sight that set his mind reeling. A massive black jaguar was standing on the shore of the cenote one moment...and the next moment a man was in the same position preparing to dive into the water.

Whoa.

It had been nearly a decade since Antonio had partaken of a mind-altering substance even as strong as coffee. Miguel's death had forced the former rabble-rouser to rebuild his entire being to make up for his younger brother's sacrifice, so his previous dabbles in drugs and alcohol were now a distant memory.

So maybe my mind is playing tricks on me...or maybe this is the secret our baby sister is working so hard to keep.

Of course, Antonio was too slow to catch that same sister before she jumped into the murky water after the were-jaguar. So Antonio was instead forced to stare down into the dark depths of the cenote and wait for what felt like centuries while human bodies stubbornly refused to reappear.

***

WHEN SHE THOUGHT SHE'd be forced to open her mouth and fill it with water in order to ease the burning in her lungs, Ixchel and Finn burst out of the cenote at last. It had been touch and go there at the end, but the pair had been successful. Mirabelle's heavy body was now sandwiched between them and Ixchel's new feline senses could pick up the archaeologist's heartbeat, sluggish but present beneath his skin.

Her first impulse was to find out whose soul inhabited the form they'd worked so hard to save, but Finn beat her to it by embarking on a tirade the likes of which she'd never heard emerge from his lips during their short, but deep, acquaintance. "What were you thinking?" Ixchel's favorite were-jaguar demanded. "To lead Mirabelle here by yourself was bad enough. But to dive in after him! You could've been killed! I was handling it. How could you be so stupid as to risk your life that way? Don't you know that you're not expendable?"

Ixchel refrained from giving her companion a point-by-point analysis of the inanity of his argument. If she could have been killed diving into the cenote, couldn't Finn as well? And if Finn was handling the situation so capably, how come the vet--who had promised herself to never cause a living creature harm--had been forced to nail the archaeologist with a tree branch? She'd be hearing the sickening crack of wood on skull in her nightmares for months to come.

But, instead of arguing, Ixchel used her strength to continue paddling to shore. And once Mirabelle had been hefted up onto solid ground--where he proceeded to vomit out the entire contents of his stomach--the vet took matters into her own hands.

She and Finn had so much to talk about. Was her favorite shifter angry that Ixchel had accepted the goddess's offer to transform her into a were-jaguar? Was she dreaming to think that he might finally take her into his confidence and allow her into his life now that they both shared whiskers? Or, since the immediate danger had passed, would Finn walk out as easily as he'd walked in?

These were questions that sorely needed answers, but Ixchel had another itch that was even more in need of scratching. Yes, Tezzie was (hopefully) lying waterlogged at their feet, but a groggy external audience wasn't quite the same deterrent as when that same god had eavesdropped in her mind at critical moments. And Ixchel had waited so very long to fulfill her physical longings without a brain worm to nudge her in another direction....

So the vet took the initiative. She stood up on tiptoes, grabbed the hair on the back of Finn's neck, and pulled his face down until the were-jaguar's lips were within easy reach. Then she kissed him long and hard, an act that had the side benefit of completely derailing her companion's tirade.

Yum. If she'd allowed herself to remember how good Finn's lips felt on her own, Ixchel would have ignored their pesky godly companion and taken the were-jaguar to bed days ago.

When their kiss began, Finn's body had been vibrating against the vet's skin in proof that his anger was merely a manifestation of terror at the idea of losing her. So, when she was finally able to think about anything other than the wonder of their shared kiss, Ixchel allowed her arms to drift down to encircle her companion in a hug. Then she simply held the shaking shifter against her smaller form until his muscles strengthened and his shoulders firmed back up into the manly posture she'd come to know and love.

Ixchel finally stepped back and watched as the shifter closed his eyes for a moment, drew in a deep breath, and then apologized prettily. "Please ignore everything I just said," he rumbled. "I was..."

"...worried about me," Ixchel finished for him. "It's extremely sweet. But we should probably take care of Tezzie--that is you, right, Tezzie?--before my brothers show up with handcuffs."

"Yes, I am Tezcatlipoca. In the flesh, alive and reporting for duty." Mirabelle/Tezzie had managed to stand while Finn and Ixchel were lost in their own private world, and the vet was relieved to find that the deity seemed much less damaged than she'd expected from her memory of how loudly that stick had struck flesh. But, after all, Tezzie was a god. Surely that should count for something, even if the deity was currently inhabiting a mortal form.

Mixed in with all the other issues she had to worry about, Ixchel had been dreading this moment when she'd be forced to gaze into Mirabelle's face and smile. But when she looked up, the vet was relieved to find that all she saw now was Tezzie. The former archaeologist's bone structure was the same as ever, but the entire manner with which the god carried his body was different from the menacing shifter whom Ixchel had come to know far too well. What a relief. Because Ixchel didn't intend to allow this orphaned god to make his way alone in the world, and she didn't want to have to fake her reactions every time she had him over for dinner either.

Equally surprising was Tezzie's apparent lack of arrogance. After bantering with the wind god inside her mind for days on end, the vet had expected imperious commands combined with lots of whining after he got a feel for the limitations of his human body. Instead, while Tezzie didn't quite offer up a thank you, something about the way he stood with one shoulder lower than the other hinted at both apology and gratitude.

And the wind god's words, when he spoke, were draped in humor. "I'd love to hang around and watch you crazy kids seal the deal, but I'm afraid it's time for me to take my leave."

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# Chapter 46

So Tezzie's not our only audience, Ixchel realized as she caught the sound of a cleared throat at the edge of the trees.

Both the vet and her companion whirled around, discovering the source of the noise at the same moment. But their reactions to the newcomer were entirely different. Finn--who had never met any of her siblings in person--seemed to be preparing to don his jaguar fur and claws, while Ixchel smiled faintly in welcome. The uninvited but not entirely unwelcome intruder was Antonio.

"Just you, Tony?" Ixchel asked, narrowing her eyes as she wondered how long her second oldest brother had been watching. Surely he couldn't have followed all the way from the gas station? No, Antonio wouldn't look so calm and collected if he'd been privy to humans turning into jaguars and jaguars turning into humans with wild abandon. Nor would he appear so serene if he'd watched his kid sister dive into the deep waters of the cenote.

Antonio might, however, hesitate to let a serial killer loose on the world. Luckily, Tezzie was already taking command of his new body and would, hopefully, be ready to flee shortly. Despite injuries that would have laid out a human for days or weeks, the god seemed to be healing before their very eyes, the gash in his head no longer leaking blood and a spring coming into his step. In a pinch, Ixchel suspected she could distract Antonio long enough to allow the deity to bolt.

But it appeared evasions might not be necessary. "Is that what you want, Ixxie?" Antonio asked quietly. "To let Mirabelle go?" Her brother's hand was tucked under his shirt, likely atop one of the pistols that she'd caught Fernando passing out that morning, and his shoulders were tense. But her brother had yet to put the weapon to use, for which the vet was profoundly grateful.

Just what I don't need today--to be responsible for stitching up more gunshot wounds. Ixchel found herself subtly shifting her stance so her body shielded the larger form of the newly-turned god. Talking Tezzie out of this predicament was still her first priority, but in a pinch she was willing to act as a human shield. Antonio would never risk pointing a gun anywhere near his sister, and one wound was plenty for the god to heal up as he grew into his new body.

Not that Tezzie obeyed her unspoken request to look small and insignificant. "Ixxie, huh?" the god said with a chortle that made even Finn's lips turns up in response. Despite the fact that Ixchel had hoped the troublesome god would allow himself to fade into the woodwork, she had to admit that his joyful laughter helped make their harrowing journey to reach this point worthwhile.

Well, Ixchel thought, tucking her hand in amidst Finn's larger fingers, Tezzie's joy isn't the only thing that's made this journey worthwhile.

"I really can't explain why right now, Antonio," Ixchel said slowly, trying to think of an explanation her brother would understand and drawing a complete blank. "But I'd really prefer it if you let go of the gun and allowed Te..I mean, Mirabelle...to walk out of here unharmed. He's had a change of heart and is a different man than he was when he fell into the cenote. Surely that's something you can understand?"

"He's had a change of heart that negates the fact he's a serial killer?" Antonio sounded dubious, but her brother still allowed Ixchel to stare him down, slowly removing his hand from the butt of the pistol.

The vet's throat tightened, knowing that she and her brother were both remembering other nights when their younger selves had bantered over similar decisions. At that time, Antonio always brushed off Ixchel's requests...and the little sister had responded by forcing a prison sentence that ended up getting their middle brother killed.

A decade later, each sibling had a reason to resent the other. And yet both entered their current disagreement with a willingness to listen to reason...even when explanations couldn't really be made. It was a testament to how much Antonio had changed that he didn't simply overpower Ixchel's objections in order to do what he thought was best for his little sister. That fact, alone, gave Ixchel hope that her family unit might someday grow back together despite the rift she and Antonio had created between them nine years before.

But, for now, Tezzie was the vet's top priority. So she was relieved the moment she saw resignation flicker across her brother's face despite her lack of explanation. Then Antonio's features opened up into a rare smile so much like Fernando's that it made Ixchel's breath catch. She'd almost forgotten how much she'd loved her second oldest brother before he turned to a life of crime.

Still, Antonio seemed to feel the need to at least pretend fierceness. "I can't believe I'm doing this, but go on, get out of here!" he growled, jerking his head from Tezzie to the parking lot. And the god took full advantage of his reprieve.

"I'll be in touch," Tezzie promised. Then, with a jaunty wave, the Olmec god of change through conflict walked over to Mirabelle's car and drove out of their lives.

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# Epilogue

What was I thinking to stay away for so long?

Finn could smell Tezzie's recent presence as he skulked through the bushes that lined the veterinary practice's perimeter. With a month to make good on the crush he harbored, their favorite god evidently hadn't dredged up any compunction against moving into Finn's territory while the latter was off finding himself in Costa Rica. No, Finn didn't doubt Tezzie's actions one bit...just like he hadn't doubted Ixchel's fidelity until he returned and smelled the other male were-jaguar's scent so strong around her office and home. But now Finn had to wonder--how could he expect Ixchel to wait for his return when nothing had been settled between the two of them when he left?

At the time, the delay had seemed worthwhile. Ixchel professed to understand Finn's need to track down his family one last time; in fact, she was the one who suggested that the shifter make the trip in the first place. And Finn had been only too glad to agree since his mate's abrupt transformation from two to four feet forced him to wonder whether his sister was the flip side of the coin--a human consciousness trapped inside an animal's body.

Meanwhile, the shifter had gained closure from his recent experience, if nothing else. He'd started off with a visit to Ixxie, who had lent him Ixchel's cat necklace, promising that the newly blessed charm would give any female relatives the option to shift into human form if they so desired. With necklace in hand, Finn had then traveled to the cloud forests that lined a familiar mountain's peak, where he soon tracked down his sister, although his mother was nowhere to be found.

This time, Finn was more secure in his ability to shift quickly. So he'd gotten much closer to his twin in both human and jaguar form, building up as much of a rapport as he was capable of in a short period of time. Finally, the shifter had transformed back and forth several times right in front of his sister's nose. See, he was trying to tell her without words, you can be a human if you want to.

She'd spat and hissed at first, of course, but had finally tilted her head to the side consideringly. Did the jaguaress actually understand the opportunity he was presenting? Finn wasn't sure, but he'd been separated from his mate for so long at that point that his heart was pulling him away and he knew there was no more time to spend in Costa Rica.

Whenever he'd visited with his sister in human form over the last month, Finn had spoken softly to soothe them both. But, as his twin became more relaxed in his presence and he became more accustomed to sitting in human skin beside a gigantic cat, the shifter found himself expanding his repertoire from "There, there, it's okay" to a recitation of everything that had happened since he'd left his twin's side a decade before.

In the process, he'd also given her a name--Maya. Tez's jibe about Finn's self-appropriated moniker still stung weeks later, so the shifter wanted to be sure that his twin, at least, was blessed with a name provided by someone who truly cared.

Not that it appeared she'd need the handle since the jaguar remained resolutely in feline form even after she finally allowed her brother to drape Ixchel's charm across her spotted back.

"This necklace gives you the option to be like me," Finn had explained one last time, knowing that he barely had enough hours to return the trinket to Ixchel's favorite goddess before catching his flight back to the States. But this final attempt to help Maya transform couldn't be rushed.

"I've missed you, Maya," he continued. "The world is big and scary and strange, but there are benefits to walking through it on two feet. If you join me, I'll do my best to make sure you don't fall into any of the traps I've stumbled into. And I know Ixchel's family will take you in the same way they did me."

Strangely, even this last sentence was true. Fernando had been furious when he arrived at the cenote only to find Mirabelle gone and both Antonio and Ixchel adamant that their oldest brother not use his CIA connections to track the killer down. In fact, Nando had nearly decked Finn when he saw Ixchel's pale cheeks and sodden clothes. But the shifter had merely stood his ground and decided to take his lumps. After letting Ixchel stray into harm's way, Finn knew he deserved whatever his mate's older brother wanted to dish out.

And then, in some human turnaround Finn didn't yet fully understand, Fernando had changed his mind in an instant. Glancing back and forth between the shifter and his sister, Nando had ended up shaking his head fondly, and when he punched Finn it was merely a brotherly tap on the shoulder. "Look me up if you need any help with my sister," he'd said at last. "She's a hellcat." And it was almost as if the other male was passing the mantle of protection from his own shoulders into Finn's keeping.

Now, the shifter shook his head and gently stroked the soft fur between his sister's ears. Fate was a strange beast. When Finn had embarked on this expedition, he had done so out of a yearning for family. And he'd found a clan to be part of...but not in the place where Finn had thought family would be located.

Maya still wasn't entirely comfortable with a human touch, and she shook off his hand before Finn was ready to let her go. But he'd done his best. His twin had been offered the goddess's choice, which Finn had explained as best he could using both actions and words. And it seemed that Maya had chosen to stay here in the cloud forest where they'd both grown up.

It was a bittersweet parting when he walked down the damp trail and left his sister behind for the last time. As he went, Finn found himself glad that he wasn't a real human, since he might have then felt compelled to hold back the tears that streamed down his cheeks. The shifter glanced over his shoulder only once, catching a final glimpse of Maya's tail tip disappearing into the forest. Cat-like, his sister had already chosen to forget their shared past and move on into her future.

Luckily, Finn was more than half jaguar himself. So by the time his plane took to the air, he was looking forward to holding Ixchel in his arms once again. Yes, he may have lost the dream that Tezzie had planted of sharing this half-human existence with his twin sister. But Finn had gained much more in the process--notably, a mate who was patiently waiting and ready to slip Finn into the life and family she'd created for herself.

***

ONLY NOW, FINN WASN't so sure that was the case. Tezzie could be charming when he wanted to be, and Finn had been gone for a rather long time. Would Ixchel even want a semi-socialized shifter back under her roof?

It was evening again, just like the first time the two had met, and Finn found himself wavering on the vet's doorstep until the last car drove out of the practice's lot. And despite being worried about his reception, the shifter couldn't resist sneaking up behind his mate and greeting her with one hand boldly thrust across her eyes. "Guess who."

"Finn?" Ixchel spun in his arms and the were-jaguar almost thought he heard his mate purr as her sparkling eyes took in his face. "Finn!" she repeated, flinging her arms around his neck and locking her lips with his own. Well, his mate's enthusiasm--and the lack of flavor of another male on her mouth--answered that question. For the first time in a month, the shifter felt his muscles unclench and his jaw relax.

"You're back," Ixchel said after a long moment lost in each other's bodies. Then, less certainly: "For good?"

"Is that an invitation?" Finn asked. He hated to admit it, but Tezzie had been right. He didn't know the first thing about where to put his feet in this human mating dance. If he wasn't careful, they always seemed to end up in his mouth....

But Ixchel made it seem easy when she grabbed his hand and pulled him around to the back of the practice and up the stairs to her apartment. His mate fed them both a quickly-constructed meal of tuna salad and broccoli while Finn poured out all the events of the last four weeks into her studious ears.

They'd talked on the phone occasionally, of course, but the walk to a spot where he could get cell reception had taken hours that Finn didn't often want to waste. And it had also been hard to know what to say with Ixchel so distant and with their future so tenuous, especially without being able to sense his mate's mood through subtle shifts in her posture. Plus, both were-jaguars were in limbo, not sure where they stood while Maya's fate had yet to be decided. So they had hesitated to talk about their prospects.

But now Finn had no responsibilities left except bringing that smile back onto his mate's face. So as he told Ixchel about his adventures, he stuck to the stories guaranteed to make her laugh. Like the time Maya had made Finn scream like a little girl in front of a busload of tourists when his twin had stuck her cold, wet nose abruptly against the bare skin between his shirt and pants. He hadn't even known his sister had followed so far into the human-inhabited zone, and, at the time, Finn had been both terrified and angry. Now, though, he was glad of an experience that brought color to Ixchel's cheeks and joy to her guarded eyes.

"What aren't you telling me?" Finn said at last, realizing later than he should have that, although his mate seemed glad to see him, she was still holding something back. Perhaps Tezzie was an issue after all, even though Ixchel had assured him they'd simply had dinner together a few times as friends. The god was having trouble integrating into the human world, and Finn's favorite vet was never one to let a stray go unaided.

"It's more what you aren't telling me," Ixchel said, her eyebrows pinched together and her voice less cheerful than before. "I love hearing about your exploits, and I hope I can meet Maya someday even though she chose to stay in jaguar form." The vet paused and rubbed her brow as if unsure whether to go on, and Finn did his best to relax his face into the human version of open expectation.

"But..." he prompted.

"But I don't know where the two of us stand. You've never even told me why your backpack was full of spy paraphernalia, and I don't have the foggiest clue what your routine consists of when you're not running around Central America after gods and jaguars." Ixchel smiled then, but it was a pinched, pained expression that made Finn cringe. "I don't know what your regular life is like, and I don't know if it's a life I can be a part of."

Ah, the elephant in the room at last. And perhaps the sticking point for a woman who had lost a brother and two parents to criminal elements, then had devoted all of her energy afterwards to turning herself into a fine, upstanding citizen whom Finn could barely begin to emulate.

But he was willing to try. In fact, the shifter had already made movements in that direction, knowing that a career of antiquities theft wasn't going to mesh with Ixchel's honest nature. Luckily, the were-jaguar had plenty of funds socked away to carry him through until the two of them figured out what they wanted to do with their lives.

Assuming Ixchel was willing to become part of the team he envisioned, that was.

Well, there's only one way to find out.

So Finn opened his mouth and told her everything. "I was an art thief," he began....

And when Finn's story was over, he and Ixchel were both crying. But her hand was still firmly holding his and Finn knew that Tezzie had been true to his word. The god, or fate, or some other element beyond Finn's control had created this astonishing were-jaguaress who was beautiful both inside and out. And that same responsible party had put this glorious creature right into his lap--quite literally since Ixchel now seemed willing to fuse her body with his own.

When they were able to breathe easily and to speak once again, Finn finished what he'd started. "You once took in a stray cat who had nowhere else to call home," he said tentatively. "And I'm hoping you'll be willing to accept that stray again, even if I'm slightly larger than the house cat you initially envisioned. So what do you say--am I back for good?"

"I think we can work something out," Ixchel promised, stroking his hair just the way he liked it. "And, this time, I won't even threaten to have you neutered."

***

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED Jaguar at the Portal! If so, I'd be eternally grateful if you'd consider writing a review (even of just a sentence or two) on the retailer of your choice. Your kind words help strangers decide to take a chance on a new author, and they urge me to keep on writing.

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Thank you so much for reading and for spreading the word! You are why I write.

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# Historical note

Before any historians start throwing rotten eggs at me, I hope you'll accept my apologies for playing fast and loose with the mythology of pre-Columbian Mexico. I'm well aware that Tezcatlipoca was an Aztec god and thus would have been worshiped around 1000 AD, fifteen hundred years after the last Olmecs had perished. On the other hand, the earlier Olmec civilization that thrived from about 1200 BC to 400 BC along the southern Gulf coast of Mexico shared many common features with the later Aztecs, so I don't see why Tezzie couldn't have started with the Olmecs and come along for the ride into Aztec times as well. After all, jaguars were an important cultural feature of both civilizations and Tezcatlipoca was sometimes portrayed with a jaguar as his animal nature. Plus, who wouldn't want to write fiction about a deity who is said to embody change through conflict and whose name is sometimes translated into English as the enemy of both sides?

And, no, there isn't any evidence to suggest that the Olmecs traveled north to hang out with the Native Americans in what is now Ohio and West Virginia. However, Adena moundbuilders were roughly contemporaneous with the Olmecs, so it's possible that a very adventurous Olmec might have made the journey north from Mexico in order to be involved in the construction of one of the Adena mounds. Once again, I'm playing very fast and loose with history here. But around the time Aztecs ruled over Central America, maize (corn) made the same journey to transform the lifestyle of people in eastern North America. And archaeologists have found art buried in Adena mounds that suggests people of that time had beliefs revolving around the transformation of humans into birds, wolves, bears, and deer.

Moving on to more modern flights of fancy, Ixchel (or more commonly Itzel) is a common girl's name in Mexico today. On the other hand, I'm playing fast and loose with history once again by supposing that Ixchel was Tezcatlipoca's sister god since the jaguar goddess was worshiped by the Mayans rather than the Aztecs. However, if you accept that an Olmec jaguar god might have given rise to the Aztec Tezcatlipoca, it's not that much of a stretch to think that Ixchel may have been around during Olmec times as well.

As for cenotes, these sinkholes are very real and are a tourist attraction in modern-day Mexico. The Yucatan peninsula overlays a tremendous cave system, with the result that most streams quickly sink down into the ground to join seawater-filled cavities tapping into the nearby ocean. When cave roofs collapsed and created holes between the earthen world above and the watery world below, these cenotes gave native people access to fresh rainwater, which just happens to float atop the salty liquid further beneath their feet. No wonder cenotes were sacred to native people, with Mayans believing that the holes were doorways to the underworld. As Ixchel read in her guidebook, sacrificial pottery, animals, and even humans were tossed into the watery depths as offerings, and skeletons have been found at the bottom of many cenotes in the Yucatan.

I hope my mixing and matching of pre-Columbian history and mythology has intrigued you rather than annoyed you. Thanks for bearing with me as I combined Olmec, Adena, Aztec, and Mayan cultures into one.
