"You know what this means?" I said. "She sold me down the river. She practically gave me to Arturo on a silver platter—"

And it suddenly occurred to me that maybe Carl told me it was Meg so that I'd get angry enough at her to challenge her. That he was manipulating both of us, so he could get her out of the way without getting his own paws dirty. This was assuming I'd actually win if I challenged her. I didn't want to think about that.

But Carl's brown eyes were so hurt, so lost, and I didn't think he could fake that. He'd never been able to disguise his anger or lust. He wasn't good at masking his feelings, or faking them. He was a brute-force kind of guy.

"What did you do when you found out?"

"We had a talk." That was a euphemism. So, had they had the usual kind of ass-kicking talk, or had they had the kind of talk that Carl and I had been having a minute ago?

"What did she say?"

"She said she was sorry. She'll back off."

"That's it? Just like that, she'll back off?" I didn't know who to be angry at. Was she really sorry or was Carl making excuses for her? Why didn't he do anything to her for this? "Maybe I should have a talk with her."

"Maybe you should," Carl said. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing my cheek, moving to my mouth.

I turned my face away. I shoved the photos back into the envelope and gave it to him, then left the room before he could throw a tantrum.

For a heartening moment, I thought I was going to reach the front door and escape without anyone stopping me. I touched the doorknob.

Meg put her hand on the door, in front of my face.

I didn't have to look. I felt her glare, the heat radiating off her body. Her breath feathered against my cheek. She knew I knew. Things would never be the same with us.

If I didn't react, she could stand there forever. She wanted me to react. She wanted to scare me. Where was T.J.? I didn't dare turn to look to see if he was still in the living room.

For a split second I thought that maybe T.J. was in on all this as well, though on which side I couldn't say. He wouldn't stand up for me in a fight. Suddenly, the whole world was against me.

Meg spoke, her voice low. "If he ever has to choose between me and you, don't think for a minute that he'll pick you." She meant Carl. She could have him.

"He won't fight for you," she continued. She grimaced, an expression of distaste. "He's spineless."

She may have been right. He was still in the bedroom, and if I screamed, I wasn't sure he'd come to help me.

Whispering, I said, "I don't want to fight you, Meg. I don't want anything."

"Nothing? Nothing at all?"

That wasn't true. Gritting my teeth, I braced for her to hit me. "I want to keep the show."

Her hand moved. I flinched, gasping. But she only touched my chin, then brushed her finger along my jaw before closing her fist and drawing away.

She opened the door for me and let me go.

T.J. was waiting at his bike, fiddling with some arcane bit of engineering.

"Can we go now?" I said, hugging myself.

"You okay? You're shaking." He wiped his hands on his jeans and mounted the bike. I crawled up behind him.

"Did you know Carl and Meg are fighting?"

"They're always fighting."

Not like this. I choked on the words. Closing my eyes, I hugged him tight.

I never watched the local TV news, so I didn't have to work too hard to avoid watching it tonight, to see if Angela Bryant had filmed my better side or not.

But at 6:15 p.m. exactly, Ozzie called.

"Kitty. Did you know you're on the news?"

Morbidly, I sort of hoped there'd be a plane crash or something that would bump a prostitute's murder off the news entirely.

"I had a feeling," I said tiredly.

"What's up with that?"

"Didn't the TV say anything?"

"They just said, and I quote, 'Well-known radio personality Kitty Norville is involved with the investigation.' That doesn't sound too great. You didn't—I mean, you're not really involved, are you?"

"Geez, Ozzie, you really think I could do something like that?"

"I know you wouldn't. But there's that whole werewolf thing…"

I sighed. I couldn't win. "I'm an unofficial consultant. That's it."

"So there are werewolves involved."

"I don't want to talk about it."

He grumbled like he wanted to keep arguing. Then he said, "You couldn't have worked in a little free publicity for the show?"

"Good-bye, Ozzie." I hung up.

The phone blinked at me that there was a message waiting. Someone had called while I was talking to Ozzie. I checked.

It was Mom. "Hi, Kitty, this is Mom. We just saw you on the news, and I wanted to make sure everything is okay. Do you need a lawyer? We have a friend who's a lawyer, so please call—"

Again, I hung up.

Yet again, full moon night. My thirty-seventh. How many more would there be? For the rest of my life, full moon nights were planned and predetermined. How much longer could I keep this up? Some nights, the light of it, the wind in the trees, the rash of my blood made me shout with joy, a howl lurking at the back of my throat.

Some nights, I thought surely this time my body would burst and break, my skin split apart and not be able to come back together again.

I waited outside the house until the pack spilled out the back door and into the scrub-filled backyard, and the trees and hills beyond. Like a hiking club going for a midnight stroll. Some of them started Changing as soon as their feet hit the dirt. They trotted, then ran to the trees, melting into their other forms. Where people had gone, wolves circled back, urging their friends to hurry.

I stayed at the corner of the house, hugging myself, hearing their call. T.J., naked, silvery in the moonlight, looked back, saw me, and smiled. I didn't smile back, but I pulled myself from the wall and moved forward, toward him. Like my Wolf was dragging me by her leash.

Someone grabbed me from behind.

Meg squeezed my arm and came close, speaking into my ear.

"You've gotten too big for your skin. You're arrogant. And you're in danger of splitting this pack apart. I won't let that happen. You think you're pretty hot right now, but I'll remind you where your place really is." Her hand pinched my arm. A growl was starting in my chest. I swallowed it back.

She didn't want to be the one to start the fight. She was alpha, and she wasn't going to stoop. She could chastise, dominate, threaten, but she wouldn't start the knockdown, drag-out stuff. I had to be stupid enough to challenge her. She talked like she thought I'd be stupid enough to challenge her. Like she wanted me to, so she'd have a chance to take me down.

I looked away, wondering how I could get away from her. Wolf was ready to fight to get away. Once, Meg's fingers digging into me would have had me cowering.

"I'm not trying to split up the pack. I just—I just need space." Like I was some kind of rebellious teenager.

"I know what you want. I know how this works, a young thing like you moving up in the world. And if you think you can have Carl, if you think you can have the pack, you have to talk to me about it. I'm still tougher than you."

I shook my head. "I don't want to fight you. I won't."

And I held it together. I didn't move. I kept still. Just let me run. I'd leave her alone if she'd let me. Almost unconsciously, I leaned away, toward the pack, the wolves, my family, where I could Change and be anonymous.

Her hands were shifting, claws growing. She didn't loosen her grip, so the claws broke my skin, blood trickling down my arm. I looked at her, but still I didn't move. Our gazes met again, I held my breath so I wouldn't growl.

A few of the others, wolves now, watched us, ears pricked forward, aware that something was happening. They trotted over, free-flowing animals burst loose from their prisons for this one night. We had an audience.