Right now, it was just Podrova and the brothers, setting up in Anchorage. Two others were off on business, establishing trade routes in the Lower 48. And, as Roman suspected, more had been left behind, waiting for the brothers to get established here. Part of those efforts, it seemed, was clearing out all other werewolves.

That explained why they'd killed Dennis, but not why he'd been tortured. And what about Joey? Considering how quick these mutts were to pounce on Reese and now on us, it seemed unlikely that they'd been here for over a month and didn't know they still had another werewolf in town.

But here Podrova retreated into silence. He didn't know Dennis. And those men murdered in the woods? He didn't know them either. Wolves got them, he'd heard. As for the girls? Well, yes, Tester did have a bad habit, but he didn't do that anymore, not after the trouble he caused back home.

So, Dennis had been killed by werewolves, three humans had been slaughtered by wolves and three girls were missing-all since this mini-pack had come into town. But they had nothing to do with any of it.

Clay took me aside.

"I need you to stand guard," he said.

"I know what you have to do, Clay."

"Yeah, but you don't need to see it."

"I think I do, if I'm going to be Alpha. Jeremy plays his part. He takes the lead and asks the questions."

"Maybe, but after all these years, I don't require supervision. I know what you want from him. I'll get it. If I have questions, I'll come out and ask."

"I need to see-"

"But I don't need you to see it."

I met his gaze and understood. It wasn't just about me. Alpha or not, I was still Clay's lover, and this wasn't a side of himself he cared to show me. As Beta and Alpha, Clay and I would never be like Clay and Jeremy. We shouldn't try. If we were going to make this work, I had to remember that.

So I stood guard. What Clay was doing took time-and right now it was time I didn't really want to spend by myself, lost in my thoughts, thinking about Travis Tesler and what he'd tried to do to me.

For twenty years I'd been the only female werewolf in a world of men who viewed women not as mothers and sisters and girlfriends and wives, but as receptacles for satisfying two basic drives: sex and reproduction. Some saw me and yearned for what they couldn't have-a partner, a mate, a woman who would understand and accept them and share their lives completely. Others felt a very different yearning-the drive to take revenge on Clay for enforcing Pack law or to step up on the hierarchy ladder by hurting the man one rung from the top.

After all those years, all those encounters, attempted rape should be par for the course. I should have dealt with it again and again, until I finally expunged the demons of my childhood and those old wounds scarred over, tough and impenetrable. But they hadn't.

There had been a few halfhearted attempts-mutts who weren't rapists, by nature, but thought it would be an easy way to hurt Clay. Property trespass more than sexual assault. It hadn't taken much of a fight to dissuade them, and I'd never felt seriously threatened.

For the rest, they'd dreamed of sex not rape, of sweaty hand-to-hand combat, bites turning to bruising kisses, punches to rough gropes and eager caresses. Mutual passionate sex-their egos would never accept anything less. They wanted to show me that they'd be a better mate than Clay-a better lover, a better partner, certainly a saner one. When seduction failed, most backed off, leaving the delusional few who were convinced it was only a matter of time before I came around.

For twenty years, I'd shattered illusions. Illusions of revenge. Illusions of love. Illusions of sex. But not illusions of rape. These men had never felt inferior to a woman-a mere human-so they'd never felt the need to prove their superiority. Now I'd met a mutt who did and he was still out there, thwarted and waiting for his chance to try again.

I had only to think about it and somewhere inside me, I was twelve years old again, shivering under the covers, praying he wouldn't come tonight and knowing if he did, there was nothing I could do.

WHEN THE WAREHOUSE door opened, I jumped. Clay closed it and paused, back to me, collecting himself before turning and fixing a neutral expression on his face. It was a struggle, and he soon gave up, lines deepening around his mouth and between his eyes, face pale and drawn. Blood flecked his shirt and neck. More speckled one cheek. I tried not to think about how it got there.

"Done?" I asked.

"Almost. He's out cold. I'm checking in before I finish."

"Did he give you anything?"

"A bit. Not enough."

Dan had admitted that Tesler killed Dennis in a territorial dispute. He said Dennis had found them and ordered them out of Alaska. He'd challenged Tesler, they'd fought, Dennis died and Tesler had tied his body up in the cabin to make it look like a break-and-enter gone bad.

Which was bullshit. Dennis might have gotten more "in touch with his inner werewolf," but that inner werewolf still would have taken one look at Tesler's hulking outer wolf and run the other way. What we'd seen on Dennis's body were the signs of torture, not a fair fight.

When asked about this, though, Podrova had laughed. Were we not torturing him for information? What, then, did we think Tesler wanted? As for what, Podrova got vague again, but he hazarded a few guesses-bank account details, keys to Dennis's truck… If Tesler was going to waste time killing the guy, he sure as hell was going to make sure he turned a profit. Sadly, given everything we'd seen and heard of Tesler, this made sense. Though it had been hard to gauge the extent of the torture, it had seemed the kind of thing thugs would do, tying up a homeowner and making him give PINs and passwords so they could empty his accounts.

Podrova also admitted they'd had contact with Joey. They left him alone because they had an agreement with him. As for what that agreement was, he had no idea-that was Eddie Tesler's area. Apparently, baby brother was the brains of the operation, which didn't surprise me-Roman said the gang was smart and Travis Tesler didn't strike me as a deep thinker. All Podrova knew was that for now, Joey was untouchable.

Podrova had also admitted that their pack was responsible for the wolf kills. Well, the first, at least. One of the other members had killed him, and that's why he'd been sent away on business-in punishment. Eddie didn't tolerate man-killing. Like the rapes, it wasn't conducive to a settled lifestyle.

As for the other two victims, Podrova knew nothing about them. Yes, the last one had been found close to where they Changed and ran, at a spot away from their cabin, which Eddie insisted on. But none of them knew why a human would be killed, apparently by large canines, in that same spot.

Clay suspected Podrova himself was responsible for the two unclaimed killings, that he'd acted on his own and covered his ass so he wouldn't be sent away like his comrade. Now he continued covering it, afraid that being outed as a man-eater would seal his fate with us. But of all the issues and questions, this was least important. We knew they were responsible.

There was a limit to how far Clay could push, and how much pain he could inflict while keeping the subject conscious and lucid, so he'd moved to what he knew was another important issue for me: the missing young women. And here is where, driven to his limit, Podrova no longer bothered being cagey. Yes, he was sure Tester had taken those girls. When their little pack moved to Alaska, Eddie insisted his older brother lose the habit. Law enforcement would be stricter and more advanced here, and if they were settling in for the long term, they had to be more careful.