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“But the mind-to-mind thing being this easy and the zombie stuff is recent, Richard. What did you gain the first time?”

He frowned at the floor. “I don’t see . . .”

“What if you gained some of my anger?”

He looked up then. “Your anger can’t be worse than the rage of the beast.”

I laughed, and it was closer to humor than his earlier laugh had been, but not by much. “Oh, Richard, you haven’t spent enough time in my head if you believe that.”

He shook his head, stubbornly. “A human isn’t capable of the kind of mindless rage that the beast is.”

“You haven’t researched many human serial killers, have you?”

“You know I haven’t,” he said, and he sounded grumpy.

“Don’t go all grumpy on me, Richard, I’m trying to make a point here.”

“Then make it,” he said.

“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. That sounds more like me, than you. You’ve been quicker to anger for the last bit, and I’ve been less quick to anger, why? What if you got some of my anger, and I got some of your calmness?”

He shook his head again. “You’re saying that your human anger is worse than my beast’s rage. That’s not possible.”

It was my turn to shake my head. “Richard, you seem to think that human is better than lycanthrope. I don’t know where you get that idea.”

“Humans don’t eat each other.”

“Shit, Richard, yes, they do.”

“I don’t mean cultures that have ritual cannibalism.”

“Neither do I.”

“Comparing lycanthropes to serial killers isn’t going to make me feel better about being a lycanthrope.”

“My point is that humans can be just as rage filled, just as destructive. The difference is that a werewolf is better equipped for mayhem than a mere human. If human beings had the fangs and the claws that you guys do, then we’d, they’d, be just as destructive. It isn’t lack of wanting to do it, it’s lack of the right tools that make humans less scary.”

“If this is your rage, Anita, it’s awful. It’s worse than almost anything I’ve ever felt. It’s like being crazy. So angry, almost all the time. I can’t believe it’s something that was in you.”

“Not past tense, Richard, trust me. I had to embrace what I operate on a long time ago.”

“What you operate on, what does that mean?”

“It means that at the heart of me, is this deep, seething, bottomless, pit of pure rage. Maybe I came with it. I know my mother’s death helped fill it up. But as far back as I can remember, it’s been there.”

He shook his head. “You’re just saying this to make me feel better.”

“Why would I say something that wasn’t true just to make you feel better?”

Anger filled his eyes, like magic. One moment trustworthy brown, the next moment serial killer dark. “Thank you, thank you very much, for reminding me that I don’t mean shit to you anymore.”

I shook my head, and let my hands fall into my lap. “If you meant nothing to me, Richard, nothing at all, we wouldn’t be in this room alone.”

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry. I just get so angry, so angry.” He tried to rub his arms, but the bloody scrapes hurt.

“You said you wanted to lick the wounds, go ahead. It won’t bother me.”

“It will bother me,” he said.

“No, Richard, licking your wounds would make you feel better. You’d enjoy it, and that’s what bothers you. Not the wanting to do it, but how good it feels when you give in to it.”

He nodded, staring at his hands. “I tried to embrace my beast, Anita. I really tried.”

“I felt you feeding on a deer. I felt how happy you were in wolf form. It felt like you had embraced it.”

“When I’m in animal form, yes. But it’s being human on the outside, and not human on the inside that gets me confused.”

“Does it get you confused, or Clair?”

He gave me a look that wasn’t exactly angry. “I thought you didn’t hear the fight.”

“I got one word when she was screaming at you—animal. Am I wrong? Was she complaining about herself and her beast?”

“No, you got it exactly right.” He laid his hands in his own lap, and his eyes were back to being sad, like someone had hit a switch. Angry, sad, angry, sad. It was like