The men stood on the fringes like bodyguards. Rick was among them. When I caught his gaze, he flashed a smile, seeming terribly amused by it all.

They all remained still, staring at me with detached ennui. That didn't mean they weren't paying attention.

"What do you want?" I tried not to sound scared, but my heart was racing and my gaze kept shifting to the glass doors and the street beyond. I tensed my feet, wondering if I could make a run for it.

"To thank you."

I blinked. "Why?"

"For helping Estelle. And for helping me. At least, for trying to." He smiled thinly and tipped his head in a small bow.

His words brought it all back, and I felt drained all over again. I rubbed my face and looked away. "I'm sorry. I don't know what else I could have done. I didn't want it to turn out like that."

"I know," he said, his voice soft. Without the pompous edge, he sounded almost kind. He straightened, discarding that hint of another self, and smoothed the lapel of his coat. "You might also like to know that any grudges toward you I may have acted on in the past are no longer a consideration to me."

I had to think about that for a minute. "You're not going to try and have me killed? No more threats?"

"For the time being. I do reserve the right to change my mind should your behavior warrant it. Good evening, Katherine."

He started to turn. I took a hesitating step after him. He paused and regarded me with a questioning tilt to his head.

It couldn't hurt to ask. Especially when he was being so nice—for him. I plunged ahead. "Did Meg back you in hiring Cormac to come after me?"

He narrowed his gaze, studying me. I glanced away, not wanting to get caught in his stare.

"Yes," he said finally.

I hadn't expected a straight answer. My stomach knotted. Somehow, I still wanted to think there'd just been a misunderstanding. That I'd wake up tomorrow and we'd all be friends again. "Could—could you tell Carl that?"

He chuckled without sound, showing the tips of fangs. "My dear, he already knows. If he hasn't acted on that knowledge, there's nothing I can do about it."

He strolled out the front doors, trailing vampires behind him. Rick was the last to leave. Before passing through the doors, he looked over his shoulder at me and pressed his lips together in a sympathetic smile. Weakly, I waved a farewell.

"What the hell was that all about?" I muttered. I was just filling space, breaking the intense silence, by saying it. By leaving his lair and going through the trouble of coming to see me, risking a potential breach of territory, Arturo had paid me one hell of a compliment. It was unexpected, to say the least.

I was still staring at the door when a voice said, "Kitty, you okay?"

Pete was standing behind his desk, looking like he was getting ready to come over to me and take my temperature. He seemed fine, mildly concerned—and seemed to have no memory of the six vampires who had just occupied his lobby.

"I'm okay," I said, taking a breath to bring me back to earth. "How do you feel, Pete?"

He shrugged. "Fine."

"Good," I said, forcing a smile. "That's good. See you later."

I left the building. My arms were covered with goose bumps.

I'd walked home at midnight, and later, plenty of times. I'd never thought twice about it. Most mundane threats I was likely to meet couldn't hurt me. So I wasn't paying as much attention as I probably should have. The breeze was blowing toward my apartment building. I was walking downwind. I would have smelled the wolf, otherwise.

He ran around the corner of the building full-tilt, his legs pumping, his body streamlined. A flash of fur and bronze eyes streaked at me, and a second later he knocked me over. I sprawled flat on my back, my arms guarding my face.

I thought I'd found the rogue. Vaguely, I reminded myself to call Hardin about it as soon as I could. I would have thought a rogue wolf would recognize what I was and know better than to attack me. But as soon as he breathed on me, I knew him. He smelled like pack. Not the rogue.

I shouted, "Zan, get the fuck off me, you asshole!"

Zan straddled me, his jaw clamped on my forearm. He shook his head, ripping into flesh. When I shouted, he hesitated, but didn't let go of my arm. If I tried to pull away, he'd tear it off.

At least he couldn't infect me with lycanthropy again.

With my free hand, I grabbed his muzzle and squeezed, trying to pry his head away from me. I wasn't strong enough to do that. But I squeezed hard. Cartilage popped under my hand. I twisted my grip, pulling his lips away from his teeth. He coughed, choking, unable to breathe through his nose. He let go.

I shoved away. When I turned, I landed on the injured arm, which gave out. Somehow, I got to my feet. Zan was right there, though, claws out and jaw open. This time when he tackled me, I rolled with him.

I pushed him to the ground and landed on top of him. He was a squirming bundle of muscle. His gray and black fur was slippery. I kicked him under the ribs. He yelped and burst away, all that strength flinging me like I was a feather.

From within me, from a space inside my ribs and heart, my Wolf responded, her own strength surging to break free. She was in danger, and she was going to do something about it.

I clenched my teeth and fought it. I hated losing control. But my bones were melting, my skin was sliding. Right now, it would be a better use of my energy to run like hell than to shape-shift. But she wasn't having it.

I screamed, hunching over myself with the pain of it, angry at Zan for making me do this. The puncture wounds on my arm stretched and seared. While I was huddled and immobile with the Change, Zan attacked me again.

His paws landed on my shoulders; his jaw closed around my neck. I elbowed him, wriggling out of his grasp. His claws dug into me, but his teeth didn't catch. By this time, I had claws as well. I sat on my knees, raised my forelimbs, now stout and ending in thick, razor-tipped fingers, and raked them down his exposed belly.

They snagged and caught with a satisfying rip. I grunted as I put more effort behind it. Six lines of blood welled and matted with his fur. Elation, glee, and joy surged through me—through her. This was her. This power, this joy, this blood. My mouth watered. Her mouth. I had thick canines. Fangs. She wanted a piece of him.

She could have him. He backed off, meeting my gaze. My vision had gone soft and glaring. The lights were too bright and the shadows too clear, but I saw him. We growled, lips curled back from angry teeth. An official challenge between us. I was halfway there, to her, my Wolf. Just let it go. Like a cannonball, another wolf crashed into Zan. They tumbled, a mess of fur, claws, and furious snarls. I backed away, gagging, hugging myself, trying to hold on to myself.

Cold water. Ice. Clothing. Broccoli. Pull it in. I'd never been so far gone and pulled her back before. I had the list of words, things I thought of that made her go away, at least a little. Sprouts. Green. Daylight. Calm. Music. Bach, "Sheep May Safely Graze." Ha.

And she went away, but it hurt, like my guts were being dragged over razors, like teeth were chewing me from the inside. Bile rose in my throat, sank back, and my stomach churned.

The fight between Zan and the other wolf was over.

Where I had struggled for my life, fought for every inch of ground and barely held my own, the newcomer swatted him once and that was that. Zan whined, tail between his legs, crawling on his belly, smearing blood on the sidewalk as he went. His attacker snarled and bit his face. Zan rolled onto his back and stayed there. The dominant wolf stood over him, growling low.

The attacker was T.J.

As a wolf, he was slate gray, with silver hair like frosting on his muzzle, chest, and belly. His eyes were soft amber. He was big and scary as hell.