I nodded, climbing to my feet, propping myself against the wall. Big, dangerous werewolf—yeah, that was me. I wanted a hot shower and a nap.

Cops were pounding down the hallway now, shouting something about weapons down and hands up. Cormac followed instructions, gun down and hands up, as if he'd done this before.

I had a thousand questions for him. How did someone get into the business of hunting werewolves and vampires? What kind of adventures had he had? Could I get him on the show as a guest? What did I do now? Introduce myself? Shake his hand?

"Norville, don't ever give me a reason to come after you," he said, before the police flooded the floor.

My smile was frozen and my knees were weak as the uniformed men arrived, surrounded him, and led him away.

The cop in charge, Detective Jessi Hardin, escorted me down the emergency stairway herself. She explained how I'd have to go to the police station, make a statement, sign the report, and so on. The long night was going to get even longer.

I wanted to say something. Like, I'm a werewolf. I wondered if it would change anything. No, not if. How it would change everything. I'd told the world. I felt like I had to keep saying it, to believe it had happened.

For once I kept my mouth shut.

"By the way, there's a guy downstairs looking for you. Name of Carl? I told him he can talk to you after you go to the station. This might take awhile, though."

Carl. Carl, that bastard. Took him long enough to figure out I was in trouble. And he called himself an alpha.

"That's fine. Take as long as you like. Carl can wait."

The cops kept me for two hours. They were nice. Very polite. Hardin put me in a bland holding room with off-white carpet and walls and plastic chairs, got me coffee, and patted me kindly on the shoulder. Most of the others gave me a wide berth, staring at me as I walked past. Rumor traveled quickly. The whispers started as soon as we arrived at the station. That's her. The werewolf. Yeah, right.

Hardin didn't seem to notice.

I gave her my rundown of what had happened. Just a formality—we recorded the whole show. It was all there on tape. But Hardin kept me around, trying to talk sense into me.

"You sure you don't want to press charges? We can pin felony stalking on this guy. Criminal mischief, attempted murder—"

I'd made a deal with Cormac. I'd stick by it, and despite everything I trusted him to stick by it, too. I'd been so used to running under the law's radar—we made our own rules, us and people like Cormac. But if I told Hardin, "We take care of our own," she probably wouldn't appreciate it.

Ouch. What was I thinking? Cormac probably belonged in jail.

"Don't tell me this really was just a publicity stunt," she said finally. If possible, her frown grew even more irate.

"No." It might turn out that way. I might have to thank Cormac. "I think I just want to go home, if that's okay." I tried to smile like a demure little victim.

"It'll be a lot easier to prosecute this guy with your cooperation. I can hold him overnight, but not any longer than that without pressing charges."

"No one got hurt. It's okay, really."

She put her hand on the table next to me and leaned close. "Attitudes like that get girls like you killed."

I blinked, cringing back. She straightened and marched out of the room. I got to leave ten minutes later.

Outside the door of the police station, Carl and T.J. were waiting for me. T.J. put his arm around me; Carl took firm hold of my elbow.

I thought I would have argued with them. I thought I would have gotten huffy and shrugged away, asserting my independence. Instead, I nearly collapsed.

I leaned against T.J., hugging him tight and speaking into his shoulder in a wavering voice, "I want to go home." Carl stayed close, his body like a shield at my back, and kept watch. He guided us to his truck, and they took me home.

They just held me, and that was enough. I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to be independent. I could say to Carl, "Take care of me," and he would. Part of me wanted nothing more than to curl up at his feet and feel protected. That was the Wolf talking.

I had a studio apartment, decent if small, with a kitchen on one side, a bathroom on the other, and everything else in the middle. I usually didn't bother turning the futon back into a sofa.

T.J. sat on the futon, his back to the wall, and I curled up on his lap like a puppy. Carl stalked back and forth between the apartment's window and door. He was convinced someone was going to come after me—Cormac wanting to finish the job; some other bozo who had it in for me on principle. I barely noticed—if T.J. was here, I didn't have to worry.

"What am I going to do?" I sighed. "They're going to can me. It's all going to blow up. God, it's going to be all over the Enquirer."

"You might make Newsweek with this one, babe," T.J. said, patting my shoulder.

I groaned.

The phone rang. Carl nearly hit the ceiling before springing for the bedside phone. I got to it first. "Hello?"

"Kitty. It's your mother. Are—are you okay?"

I had almost forgotten. How could I have forgotten? I was only beginning to deal with this.

I should have called her first.

"Hi, Mom."

"Cheryl called; she was listening to your show and she said… she said that you almost got killed and that you said… you said…"

Cheryl was my older sister. I barely registered how the rest of the call went Mom couldn't bring herself to say the word "werewolf." I said a lot of "Yes, Mom. It's true, Mom. I'm sorry… no, I'm not crazy. I don't think, anyway. No, I couldn't tell you… it's hard to explain. No, I'm not going to die, at least not right now. About three years now, I guess. Yes, that long." Mom started crying.

"Yeah, I'll talk to Dad. Yeah… Hi, Dad."

"Hi, Kitty. How are you?" And he sounded sensible, like he always had, like I might have just been calling from college to tell him I'd wrecked the car, and he was assuring me everything was going to be okay.

I wiped away tears. "Shell-shocked. But I'll recover."

"I know you will. You're a good kid. I know that, and so does Mom. She's just a little off-balance right now."

"Thanks—that means a lot. Is she going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I think so. I bet if you call back this evening she'll be better."

"Okay."

"Are you alone? Is there someone you can stay with? Do you want me to come up there?"

That was all I needed, for Dad to come and find me tangled up in bed with the pack. "I've got friends here. They're looking after me."

After demanding about three more times that I call back tonight, he hung up.

T.J. smiled. "I could hear him on the phone. He sounds great. You're real lucky."

He hadn't let go of me all morning. No matter what happened, he'd be right there. He was pack, and he cared.

"Yeah," I said to him. "I am."

Carl crossed his arms. "That's it," he said. "You'll quit the show now."

I pressed my face to T.J.'s leg. I didn't answer; I didn't argue. In the face of all the evidence, he was right. I should quit. I didn't know how to explain to him that I couldn't. So I didn't. T.J. tensed, like he knew what I was thinking.

"He's right, Kitty," he whispered.

I covered my ears. I didn't want to hear this. I sat up and scooted away from T.J. until I was in the middle of the bed, and hugged my knees.

"Aren't you even the least bit upset at Arturo for hiring that guy in the first place?" If it was even Arturo. I was going to have to find out. Maybe Rick knew something.

Carl bristled, his shoulders twitching, his mouth turning in a snarl. "This isn't about Arturo. This is about you putting yourself in danger."