Dr. Carver had removed her cast two days before, and declared her to be in perfect health. He’d reminded her to refrain from Shifting until after the baby was born and to take the prenatal vitamins he prescribed.

And he’d promised to come back every month or so and check on her, if she promised to stay out of trouble, and not to leave the ranch. She’d been happy to accept the deal.

Everyone else had been pleased by it, too. Though some of the guys—namely Marc and Michael—were still wary of Manx, none of them would hear of her staying anywhere else until her trial. The company of a pregnant tabby was too special an opportunity to pass up.

“Shut up! This is my favorite part!” Vic cried, reaching for the remote as, on-screen, the camera zoomed in on the couple naked in front of the campfire. It wasn’t the sex he enjoyed. It was that first glimpse of Hol ywood’s idea of Shifting—which just happened to take place during the movie’s only sex scene. The guys laughed and chewed their brownies, eyes glued to the spectacle of rubber, prosthetics, and what could only be stop-motion photography.

Manx’s eyebrows rose as she watched the screen, snacking on a brownie from my dwindling stack. “What is this Howling?”

“It’s a movie,” I told her, proud of myself for not snatching my treat back from her. I was getting better at being nice to Manx; like everything else, it just took a little practice. And she wasn’t that bad once I got used to her. She was a bit of an attention hog, but I didn’t really mind, because she distracted a lot of notice from me, which left me free to live my life in relative privacy for the very first time. “They usually watch it with a drink in hand, taking shots every time one of the werewolves howls. If you’re not careful, you’ll be completely smashed by the end.”

“Hey, Manx, come sit!” Ethan called, twisting in his seat to smile at her.

“You don’t mind?” she asked, beaming her thousand-watt smile at them as she brushed a tumble of dark curls from one shoulder.

“Of course not.” Vic waved her over. “We’ll rewind it if you want to watch from the beginning.”

Shrugging, Manx walked around the couch into the center of the room. Several of the guys stood, stepping over one another to find a seat for her and make her comfortable. She wound up in the chair Ethan vacated, part of the crowd yet stil removed from the pile of warm bodies.

In the month she’d been with us, no one had touched Manx at all, other than Dr. Carver and my mother. With every day that passed in peace, she seemed a little more wil ing to believe that no one at the Lazy S wanted to hurt her. And every day she smiled a little more.

“Oooh, look out!” Manx cried, in her exotic accent, biting her lower lip as the werewolf on screen lunged for his victim.

“Faythe,” my father cal ed out from his office, just as I stuffed the last bite of brownie in my mouth. He hadn’t yelled, but the tone of his voice set me instantly on edge. Chewing furiously, I dropped my book in my seat and made my way down the hall to the office. Whatever he had to say would not be pleasant, and I wasn’t ready for more bad news.

“Sit down,” he ordered from his desk chair, as I padded silently into the room. Marc fol owed me, and we sat on opposite ends of the couch.

My father nodded at Marc, then stood, carrying a plain white business envelope, beneath a sheet of typing paper folded into thirds.

“What’s that?” My heart thumped and my palms began to sweat. I was pretty sure I knew what he held, but I refused to believe it until he said it out loud.

“They’ve made a decision.” He dropped the paper on the end table next to me, then sank wearily into his chair. “They’re charging you with infecting Andrew, then killing him to cover it up. Two capital crimes. The hearing begins in eight weeks.”

Eight weeks? My stomach constricted and I closed my eyes in dread.

Manx got four months, and I got eight weeks?

So what? Screw ’em. Eight weeks was more than enough time to prepare my defense. After all, I was innocent— mostly.

I took a deep breath, then opened my eyes and saw pure terror in Marc’s. Then I met my father’s gaze, and for the first time in my life, I couldn’t tell which of us looked more worried. Still watching me, he exhaled wearily, and I smiled.

Let the games begin….