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“What do I have to do to apply?”

“It differs from county to county. Check with your local police. They’ll know who you have to see.”

He nodded again. “I’ll do that.” He looked at me, gray eyes so serious. “Thank you, Anita.”

I shrugged. “Just doing my job.”

He shook his head. “This isn’t your job. You’re no one’s alpha here. You could have just refused to help us.”

“And what good would that have done?” I asked.

“Most of the wereanimals won’t help each other.”

“You know of all the furry—and feathered—politics, that’s the one I understand the least. Just like now, what happens to one group can affect the others. If you guys had been talking to each other, then you’d have known that Henry MacNair went missing, violently missing. It might have put all of you on guard.”

“You think it would have prevented the other disappearances?”

“I don’t know, but it might have helped. People would have been more cautious, maybe not gone out alone. We might have at least had witnesses.”

“It was after my girls—people—got taken and you helped us that Christine came to me. She knew about the bears’ Ursa having gone missing. It was Ethan MacNair, not his mother, that told us about his father.”

“I bet he paid for going outside his mother’s orders,” I said.

“Probably,” Donovan said, “but you’re right, if we’d just bloody talk to each other, we could help each other more.”

“Not just in emergencies either,” I said.

His eyes narrowed. “You mean a coalition of wereanimals?”

I shrugged. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but why not? Something where we share information. We’ve got a lion working with a bunch of snakes. Why should the bad guys get along better than we do?”

“Every time one of the animals talks about joining forces they always mean that they’ll be top . . . dog. You want to be everybody’s Nimir-Ra, Anita?”

“I’m not talking sharing authority. That’ll never work without a war. I’m just saying share information, help each other more. When one of the leopards or wolves gets hurt, he, or she, has a place to stay until they’re well. That kind of thing.”

“Someone would need to be in charge of it.”

I felt like grabbing him by the front of the shirt and shaking him. “Why, Donovan, why does anyone have to be in charge? Something happens to one of your swans, you pick up the phone and call me, or Ethan, or Christine. We call someone else. We try to help each other. We don’t need a hierarchy, just a willingness to cooperate.”

He looked unhappy, almost suspicious. “You don’t want to be in charge.”

I shook my head. “Donovan, I don’t even want to be in charge of what I’m in charge of now. I sure as hell don’t want to add to it.”

It was Micah, who had been leaning against the wall, so still, so calm that you forgot he was there, who said, “She’s offering you friendship, Donovan.”

“Friendship?” He made it sound like a foreign concept.

Micah nodded, pushing away from the wall to stand beside me. “If something goes wrong and you need help, you call your friends.”

Donovan frowned hard enough that he formed lines in that flawless skin. “Wereanimals aren’t even friends with each other, let alone across species lines.”

“That’s not true,” I said. “Richard,” I paused after I’d said his name, as if it hurt, or I was waiting for it to hurt. Micah touched my shoulder, and I put my hand over his, held on. I tried again. “Richard’s best friend is one of Rafael’s rats. My leopard Vivian is living with, and in love with, Stephen, one of Richard’s wolves.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because the wolves and rats have a treaty, and through you the leopards and the wolves are joined.”

I shook my head. “You’re quibbling, Donovan, or deliberately missing the point. Let’s just agree to try and help each other, that’s all. I don’t have any ulterior motives. I’m just trying to keep the damage to a minimum.”

“It’s true you didn’t have to save my girls. It nearly cost you your life.”

“And you didn’t have to go to the lupanar with me. But