Then there was the fact that we'd killed a Kin Alpha.

Yeah, none of us were too popular. Niko just happened to be a little less unpopular than Robin and me. So far we hadn't found a single wolf willing to work with us, no matter what the pay. And Goodfellow trying to include himself as a bonus wasn't helping. If he kept it up, he wouldn't have to worry about a mysterious assassin ending his life; Niko would handle that himself.

It was a good change of subject because the lingering image of eight lightly furred, seismically bouncing breasts was still making me mildly motion sick. "Anyone try to kill you in the past three days?"

Robin draped himself over a chair and rubbed a calf that I assumed was just bruised. No blood showed through the expensive slacks. "Only that new restaurant on Columbus. The chef there is far deadlier than any Hameh bird."

"I thought we agreed you'd stay close to home until we discovered who's behind this." Niko didn't move or change the tone of his voice, but the heavy weight of disapproval was evident nonetheless.

Goodfellow gave him a brilliant smile in return. "Your concern warms." He didn't say specifically what or where it warmed. "I also have a pair of leather pants. I can go change right—"

The door opened and Seraglio entered, saving either Goodfellow or Nik. I wasn't at all sure who would come out ahead in that contest. At the sight of us, she shook her head and, touching a small hand to the immaculate piled hair, sighed in resignation. "If I feed you, will you leave? I can't possibly work with your lazy bodies piled about." She passed Robin and ruthlessly shoved his leg off the arm of the chair. "And you all are skinny as they come. Whoring and drinking will keep you that way. A man—a real man—should have flesh on his bones."

Standing, Robin—who had never been a human man, real or otherwise—shook his head. "Thank you, but no. Bed is what I need, unless you care to join…" Already in the kitchen on a step stool, Seraglio, at his words, traced a contemplative finger over the handle of a knife embedded in a butcher's block. "Ah, that would be a no? Your inconsolable loss, then."

As he disappeared down the hall, his gait uneven, I asked politely, "Do you make pancakes, ma'am?"

An hour later, my stomach was pleasantly full of peach waffles, and my eye ached somewhat less. Seraglio had given me a plastic bag full of ice and another towel to wrap around it. It had lasted until we made it to the subway before becoming nothing but an empty bag and a damp towel. I'd shoved the cloth in my pocket, and now I was leaning my head back against the window of the subway car, ready to take what I'd known was coming.

"Ma'am? You called her ma'am?"

"Like I told her, you taught me good manners." I kept my eyes shut, on the verge of dozing to the rocking of the car. Then I flashed my left arm up to block the blow. There had been the faintest rustle of cloth to warn me, one that Niko wouldn't have given anyone else. The training never stopped, and it never would. It was what had kept me alive this long.

"I taught them, yes, but I had no idea you'd actually incorporated them into your daily life." I felt his arm drop away. "I've seen you interact with humans and nonhumans, and I've not seen you show anyone the respect you show Madame Seraglio."

"She scares me," I admitted frankly. "I've yet to see her more than three feet from a butcher's knife. And I show you respect, Cyrano. I respect the hell out of you."

"For the same reason?"

"Pretty much," I confirmed, this time protecting my ribs with a quickly sheltering forearm. Opening my eyes, I added, "A healthy dose of humiliation doesn't hurt. That you changed my diapers when I was a baby isn't something I'll ever get over."

"Trust me, it wasn't that memorable." He snorted as he penetrated my guard and slapped my abdomen with just enough stinging force to make the lesson stick. "I would bring up the size of the excessively large guns you carry, but that would be unnecessarily cruel."

"Ass," I grumbled.

After that, we rode in companionable silence until the train made a stop. When the doors closed again, I said, "I'm guessing it's the four of us and the boggle in the tunnels, then. Flea-free." Nobody liked the smell of wet dog anyway, and I personally thought the she-boggle was enough to worry about keeping track of.

"We're not there yet. We have one more avenue yet to try." Niko leaned his head back as well, but he didn't close his eyes. He didn't take chances, big, small, or in between.

"Yeah?" I asked. As far as I could tell, we were standing at the end of the road. It was time to cope with the lack of asphalt and grab the hiking boots. "What?"

"Wait and see, little brother. Wait and see."

The wait and see turned out to be Delilah, and we met her at a strip club in Chelsea conveniently located a few subway stops from Robin's condo. She was the bouncer. The dancers were all male, muscle-bound, and bored. I was relieved that Niko hadn't told Robin that's where we'd been heading. He was probably a regular, and it had been a long night. I wasn't ready for a longer morning of dollar bill waving and more discussion of leather pants or the removal thereof.

White-blond hair still in the high ponytail, Delilah was wearing leather herself. Pants and a scoop-necked top, both the amber of her eyes, clung to her lithe figure, but it was the type of snug fit meant for fighting, not for show. "Pretty boy," she said with lazy recognition. "Twenty dollars."

"We've no interest in the show, Delilah," Niko explained with a slight bow of his head. "We're here to speak with you."

"Ah." She nodded and held out an unrelenting palm. "Twenty dollars."

We paid the ten apiece and went in out of the morning light. Nine a.m. and some guy was already onstage. That early and normally I was still in bed, but this poor bastard was up there shaking…whatever you had to shake for ten bucks' admission. The place was dark and small with red spotlights and a few glassy-eyed patrons. We sat at a table close to the door, but with a good view of the room as well. Delilah could keep watch for customers and trouble simultaneously.

"Your chest? Doing well?" A finger with a natural, unpolished nail touched my shirt.

"No problems." Which was true. It wasn't much to look at, from a human point of view, but it was healed and mostly painless. There was the occasional pull of skin that was tighter than it should be, but it would loosen up eventually—stretch like the majority of scar tissue came to do. If I did have a problem, it was drifting awake in the middle of the night with the distinct sensation of a soothing tongue rasping at my chest and a warm weight pinning me firmly to the bed. And that—well, that wasn't really what I'd call a problem.

"Good." Satisfied, she propped a booted foot on the table. "You are healed. You are pretty. So why come here?"

"Yeah, well, about that." I shook my head at the shirtless waiter as did Nik. "We're not too popular with wolves, and we need to do some hiring."

"Not popular." She smiled with those perfect teeth. "Puck, Aupheling, human. Kin killer. Not wanted, not embraced. So misunderstood." Throwing back her head, she laughed. The bar was dark and only a fourth full, but everyone turned at the sound to look at her with faint expressions of surprise. She caught them staring, pinned them with oval eyes, and the men hastily looked away, concentrating on their drinks or the stage. Dominance, humans picked up on it as quickly as dogs, whether they wanted to admit it or not. "Human sheep," she said scornfully. "Barely prey."

Tilting her head, she leaned in and smelled Niko. She didn't get close enough to touch, but sampled the air around him. "But not you. You are as they say. Warrior." Then she was at his throat in a movement so fluid and quick that I doubted the identified sheep caught the shift in position. I know they didn't see the edge of Niko's knife between Delilah and him or her teeth click purposely against the metal.