I buried my face in his hair and took a deep breath. I squirmed out of his grip so that I could work my way down his whole body, tracing the whole scent of him, down his neck, along the collar of his shirt, down his torso and the hint of chest hair through the fabric, across his chest to his armpit, which burst with his smell. I lingered there, then nuzzled my way down to the waistband of his jeans, and oh, I couldn't wait to find out how he smelled down there…

Grabbing my shoulders, Cormac pushed me away and held me at arm's length.

"What are you doing?"

"You smell fresh." I strained toward him, my eyes half-closed, wanting to plunge back into the scent of him.

He stood, putting space between us. "You're not human." He marched away.

I knelt on the kitchen floor, my knees digging into the tile, my heart pounding, reaching for the body that wasn't there.

After a moment, I wandered to the other half of the apartment. He leaned against the opposite wall, his arms crossed, defensive, staring at the door like he couldn't understand why he didn't just leave.

"I'm sorry," I said. I wasn't sure what I was apologizing for. For being what I was, maybe. I couldn't help that, though, so I didn't want to apologize for it. So I was apologizing for this. For calling him. For kissing him. For not guessing how he would react.

He started to say one thing, then shook his head. He looked at the floor, then looked at me.

"How did you get like this? You're not the kind that goes asking for it."

I sat at the edge of the bed and hugged my knees. My arm was getting better by the minute. The punctures were closed, covered with red scabs, fading to pink. The pain was turning to an itch.

What had that government spook asked me? Who did I go to when I needed advice, when I needed to talk? What would I say if someone called the show and told me my story? Tough break, kid. Deal with it. But that didn't assuage the anger I still felt. The anger I still hadn't dealt with. I'd never told anyone the whole story, not even T.J. or anyone else in the pack.

I wasn't sure Cormac was the right person to tell, but I didn't know when I'd get another chance to talk.

"Wrong place at the wrong time," I said, and told him the story.

Bill was cute. I'd give him that much. Sandy brown hair, square jaw, winning smile. But he was only interested in one thing from me. He was a frat boy type, and I was… well, I was confused. He impressed me because he was cute and arrogant.

We were at a Fourth of July party in Estes Park, in the mountains, where they launched fireworks into the valley and the noise echoed back and forth between the hills. He'd spent the whole time talking smack with his friends, while gripping me around the waist like I was some kind of accessory. That was what I got for being blond and looking good in a miniskirt. My face hurt from forcing it to smile at everyone. I didn't have a good time, and I was ready for the night to be over.

He spent the car ride back to town crawling his hand up my leg, trying to get under my skirt.

"I just want to go home," I said for the fifth time, pushing his hand away.

"But it's still early."

"Please."

"Whatever."

So he drove, and I stared out the window. When he turned onto a side road, it was in the middle of nowhere and there wasn't much I could do about it.

"Where are we going?" Scrub oak and pine trees lined the narrow road. It led to a trailhead near a river. "Turn around."

The place was popular with hikers and mountain bikers during the day. But this was midnight. Bill shut off the headlights and pulled to a corner of the parking lot shaded by overhanging branches.

I grabbed the door handle, but he pushed the automatic lock as he stopped the engine.

He moved so fast, I bet he'd done this before.

He held my arms, pinning them, and clambered to my side of the car, pressing me to the bucket seat. Two hundred pounds of Bill weighed on me, and no matter how much I squirmed, I couldn't get away. I started hyperventilating.

"Relax, baby. Just relax."

I kept saying, No, stop, no, please , the whole time. I'd never been so scared and angry. When he brought his face close, I bit him. He slapped me and pounded into me that much harder.

I tasted blood. I'd bitten my cheek, and my nose was bleeding.

With a sigh, he rolled away finally. It still hurt.

I scrabbled at the lock until it clicked, then I opened the door and tumbled out.

Bill shouted after me. "Don't you want a ride back? Christ!" He started up his car and pulled away.

I ran. Legs weak, breath heaving, I ran away. I only wanted to get away.

A full moon shone that night. Weird shadows lit the grass and scrub. This was stupid; I had no idea where I was, no idea how I was going to get home. I slid into the grass and sobbed. Stupid, Kitty. This whole night was stupid and look where it got me.

A picnic area lay a little ways from the parking lot. Shelters covered some of the tables. I sat down at one, pulling my knees to my chin and hugging myself. My panties were still in Bill's car. I figured I'd sit here until some jogger found me in the morning and called the cops. I could do that. Hug myself to stop shivering, maybe go to sleep.

In the distance, a wolf howled. Far away. Nothing to do with me.

Maybe I dozed. Maybe I thought it was a nightmare at first when the shrubs nearby rustled. A shadow moved. Its fur was like shadow, silvery and brindled. It turned bronze eyes on me. Canine nostrils quivered.

It stepped closer, head low, sniffing, never turning from me. The wolf was as big as a Great Dane, with bulky shoulders and a thick ruff of fur. Even with me sitting on the table, it could reach me without trying.

Later, I learned that the wolf could smell the blood from my injuries, and instinct had told it a wounded animal was near. Easy prey.

I trembled like a rabbit, and like a rabbit, the minute I thought of running, it pounced.

I screamed as its claws raked my leg and I lurched away, falling off the table. I kept screaming when its jaw clamped on my hip. Using that as purchase, it climbed up my body, scratching the whole way. My flesh gave way like butter, pieces of it flaying with every touch.

Panic, panic, panic. I kicked its face. Startled, it backed off for a moment. In an adrenaline haze, I jumped and grabbed hold of the edge of the shelter's roof. Gasping, clutching, gritting my teeth, I swung one leg up. The wolf jumped, scraped claws down the other leg. I screamed, falling—but no, I clutched the edge, the wolf lost its grip, and I caught one leg over the edge, then the other. Lying there, spent, I dared to look down.