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He fell against me with a sob, arms locked around my legs, pressed against me. There was a moment when Raina tried to flare to life as Nathaniel’s groin pressed against my bare legs.

I reached out to Richard, drawing on the mark between us. His power came to my call like a warm brush of fur. It helped chase away that awful, stinging presence.

I offered my hands to the other leopards. They pressed their faces to my skin, chin marking me like cats, licking me as if I were a kitten. I stood there with the three wereleopards pressed to me, borrowing Richard’s power to keep Raina at bay. But it was more than that. Richard’s power filled me, washed through me into the leopards.

I was like the wood in the center of a fire. Richard was the flame, and the wereleopards warmed themselves against that heat. They took it into themselves, bathed in it, wrapped it around themselves like a promise.

Standing there, caught between Richard’s power, the wereleopards’ needs, and that awful touch of Raina, like some foul perfume, I prayed: Dear God, don’t let me fail them.

24

THE GREETING CEREMONY that had been interrupted last night was back on for tonight. One thing about the monsters: You have to observe the rules. The rules said we needed a greeting ceremony, well, by golly, we’d have one. Vengeful vampires, or crooked cops, or hell freezing over, if there was a rite to be performed, or a ceremony to be had, you went ahead with it. The vampires were worse about being cultured while they tore your throat out, but the werewolves weren’t far behind.

Me, I’d have ordered takeout and said, “Hell with it; let’s try to solve the mystery.” But I wasn’t in charge. Even crispy-crittering over twenty vamps last night didn’t make me top dog or top anything else, though Verne’s invitation had been very, very polite. Colin wasn’t the only one who was scared of me now.

Executing almost all of Colin’s vamps meant that Verne’s pack was in charge now. They had the personnel to keep Colin from making more vamps. Apparently, if there was no tie between vampires and wereanimals in an area, then whoever had the strength could rule over the others. Until last night, Colin had kept the wolves in line; now the shoe was on the other foot, and from the look in Verne’s eyes, the shoe was going to pinch.

It was one of those hot August nights that is utterly still. The world sits in the close, hot darkness as if holding its breath, waiting for a cool breeze that never comes.

But there was movement under the trees. No wind, but movement. People crept among the trees. No, not people, werewolves. Everyone was still in human form, but you wouldn’t have mistaken them for human. They eased through the trees like gliding shadows, moving through the scattered underbrush almost soundlessly. If there had been even the smallest breeze to stir the trees, they would have been soundless. But a brush of twig, a crunch of leaf, a rustle of green leaves, and you heard them. On a night like tonight, even the small sounds carried.

A twig snapped off to my left, and I jumped. Jamil touched my arm, and I jumped again.

“Damn, babe, you’re jumpy tonight.”

“Don’t call me babe.”

His smile flashed in the darkness. “Sorry.”

I rubbed my hands along my arms.

“You can’t be cold,” he said.

“I’m not.” It wasn’t cold that was trailing up and down my skin like insects marching.

“What’s wrong?” Jason asked.

I stopped in the dark woods, knee-deep in some tall, leggy weed. I shook my head, searching the darkness. Yeah, there were several dozen werewolves slinking around, but it wasn’t the shapeshifters themselves that were freaking me out. It was . . . it was like hearing voices in a distant room. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I could hear them—hear them in my head. I knew what it was; it was the munin. The munin in the lupanar. The munin called to me, whispered across my skin. They were eager for me to come, waiting for me. Shit.

Zane stared out into the dark.