I caught the scent of my own blood. Wolf kicked and writhed; the smell made her crazy. But if I didn't react, Meg would leave me alone.

She let go of my arm. Halfway through my not-very-well-suppressed sigh, she slapped me across the face—open-handed, claws extended. My cheek lit with pain, so much pain I couldn't feel the individual cuts. Three, I thought, based on how she'd been holding her hand. A quick swipe. Probably felt worse than it was. Blood gathered in a rivulet trickling down my jaw.

I didn't fight. But I also didn't cower.

Finally, she turned away.

My body was fire. My skin was burning away, my breath coming in quiet sobs.

The wolves surrounded us. The whole pack had joined us. Wolves nudged us, bumping our hips with their shoulders. Pale, cream, slate, silver, and black fur moved in a sea around us. My vision went white and helpless.

I let Wolf rip out of me with a howl.

Like shaking off dead fur, shedding out last year's coat, she convulses, then runs free.

She follows his scent. Him, the One. Running, she can reach him at the head of the pack. He is pale, coppery, wondrous in the moonlight. She runs into him, knocking him. She bows, playing; yips, trying to get him to chase her. She licks his face and cowers before him, tail low to show him he is stronger, he can do what he likes with her. In the other life she can't say these things to him, but here she can, here she knows the language.

That other part of her is too proud. But Wolf knows better.

The One's mate snaps at her—not playful but angry. Keeps her away from the One—and the One doesn't protect her. He growls, snarls, dives at her. Whining, she runs away, tail tight between her legs. Then he leaves her. Trots away like she is nothing. She is left alone. The others snap and tease her for this rejection, but she doesn't feel like playing anymore.

That other part of her knows the heartbreak for what it is.

By the time I shifted back to human the next morning, the wounds had healed. At least, the cuts Meg gave me had healed.

Nights passed.

I didn't know where to find Rick. He'd always come to me. I knew where I might start looking, and if he wasn't there I could probably find someone who did know where he was. Assuming I didn't get beaten up first.

The nightclub Psalm 23 was a favorite vampire hunting ground. Despite what a lot of the legends said, vampires didn't have to kill their prey when they fed. They usually didn't, because littering the surroundings with bodies attracted too much attention. They could seduce a young thing with nice fresh blood, drink enough to sustain them but not enough to kill, let the victim go, and the poor kid might not have any idea what had happened. Supernatural Rohypnol. The process didn't turn the victim into a vampire.

In the right subculture, a vampire could find willing-enough volunteers to play blue-plate special. Psalm 23 was dark, stylish, played edgy music, and Arturo was a silent partner.

I had to dress up; they'd have turned me away at the door if I'd shown up in jeans. I wore black slacks, a black vest, and a choker. Understated. I didn't want to draw attention to myself.

Outside, I could hear the music, something retro and easy to slink to. The doorman let me in without a problem, but I hadn't gotten three feet inside when an incredibly svelte woman with skin so pale her diamond pendant looked colorful fell into step behind me.

I stopped. So did she, close enough that her breath brushed my neck when she spoke.

"I know you," she said. "You're not welcome here."

"Then you should have stopped me at the door," I said without turning around. "I already paid my cover."

"You're here without invitation. You're trespassing."

I stopped myself before saying something stupid. Like fuck territory. Any territory marking that was done was done by Carl, and I was on the outs with him right now. I didn't want to go so far as to say that.

I turned. "Look, I'm not interested in facing off with anybody. I need to find Rick; is he here?"

Her gaze narrowed; her lips parted, showing the tips of fangs. "I might ask for an additional cover charge from you." She ran her tongue along her teeth, between the fangs.

"You won't get it." Werewolf blood was apparently some kind of delicacy among vampires. Like thirty-year-old scotch or something.

"You're in our territory now. If you want to stay, you will follow our rules."

I backed away, bracing to run. I didn't want to fight. Maybe it had been a mistake coming here. Maybe I thought I could handle it on my own, and maybe I was wrong. I kept testing those boundaries and I kept falling on my ass, didn't I?

I'd never meant to cause trouble with any of this.

Someone stepped beside me, interposing himself between me and the woman. It was Rick. "Stella, Ms. Norville is my guest this evening and is under my protection."

She stepped back from him, gaping like a fish. "When Arturo finds out she was here—"

"I'll tell him myself and take responsibility for the consequences. I'll also make sure she doesn't cause trouble. Like start a fight with an aggressive hostess." He touched my arm and gestured me to a quiet section of the bar. The woman, Stella, stalked off with a huff. I let out the breath I'd been holding.

"Thanks for the save," I said as we took seats.

"You're welcome. Drink?" he said as the bartender drifted over.

Tequila, straight up? "Club soda. Thanks."

"The question remains—what are you doing here? It's not exactly safe for you."

"I wanted to let you know, I got a tip that Elijah Smith is coming back to this area in a week or so, probably out toward Limon. I found that on the Web so take it with a grain of salt. But it's the best I've got right now."

"It's more than I have. Thanks."

"I'll tell you when I get more. Maybe you could leave me a phone number for next time?"

He had the gall to laugh.

"I take it you don't like phones," I said.

"Why don't I come see you at your office in a week instead?"

"Damned inconvenient," I muttered. It would have been nice to have someone agree with my suggestion for once.

He looked thoughtfully at me. "No one gets that put out over not getting a phone number."

A seething pit of frustrated intentions, that was me. I frowned. "Could you give me some advice?"

He blinked, surprised. "Well. I thought you had all the answers."

I ignored that, glancing back at where the monochrome Stella had gone to harass someone else. "You must be in pretty tight with Arturo, to toss around his name like that."

"Don't tell anyone, but I'm nearly as old as he is. Nearly as powerful. The only difference is I don't want to be Master of a Family. I don't want that kind of… responsibility. He knows this, knows I'm not a rival. We have an understanding about other things."

"Ah. Why are you even here at all? Why even follow him?" This was touching on what I wanted to talk to him about. He'd been around for a long time—he'd just admitted as much. He had answers I didn't.

He sat back, smiling like he knew what I was really asking and why I was asking. "Being part of a Family has its advantages. Finding sustenance is easier. There's protection. A guarded place to sleep out the days. These things are harder to find alone."

Dejected, I propped an elbow on the bar. Those were all the things I needed Carl for. What was I supposed to do if I couldn't stand him anymore?

Rick continued. "I spent about fifty years on my own, around the end of the nineteenth century. I… angered a few dangerous elements, so I set up a place in one of the Nevada boomtowns during the Comstock Lode silver rush. You wouldn't believe how well the mining operations in a place like Virginia City kept away a certain kind of riffraff."