Before I knew it, T.J. was sitting beside me, an arm around my shoulder, pressing his body close to me and breathing into my hair. It wasn't sexual; there wasn't anything sexual about it—that was so hard to explain to people who didn't know.

"This is our pack," Meg said, holding me from the other side. "You're safe here."

I believed her.

By now, Cormac was sitting on the floor. He seemed more relaxed. He didn't have that look on his face that he'd had when he left me, like he'd eaten something sour.

"That's shitty luck," he said finally.

I shook my head, smiling wryly. I'd made my peace with it. Telling the story, I realized who I'd been most angry at all this time.

I said, "Now ask me which one I think is the real monster. Zan—he was following instinct. He couldn't control it. But Bill—he knew exactly what he was doing. And he wasn't sorry." After a pause I added, "That's Zan, out in the street."

When I leaned back, I could see out the window. From the second floor, I could see the street, but not the spot where Zan was. I said, "You think anyone's called the cops yet?"

"Depends," he said. "How much noise did you all make?"

I couldn't remember. To the casual listener, it might have sounded like stray dogs fighting. I'd have to call Carl, to find out what I should do about Zan. I couldn't just leave him out there.

"You should get some rest. You may heal quick, but you still lost a lot of blood. You going to be okay on your own?"

I thought about it a minute, and thought I would be okay. Maybe I'd go to T.J.'s and see if he'd made it home yet.

"Yeah, I think so." I smiled crookedly. "I'm glad you're not the type to shoot all werewolves on principle."

He may have actually smiled at that, but it was thin-lipped and fleeting. "Just give me an excuse, Norville." He made a haphazard salute and left the apartment.

Man, that guy scared me. He also made my knees weak, and I wasn't sure if the two were related.

He was right, I was tired, but before I could sleep I had to call Carl. I was reaching for the phone when the door opened and Cormac returned.

Following him were Detective Hardin and three uniformed cops.

Chapter 10

Cormac, arms crossed and expression a mask, took his spot holding up the wall. One of the cops stayed with him. The officer didn't have his gun out, but he kept his hand at his belt. The other two began a search of the apartment, looking in closets, drawers, and behind doors.

Hardin came straight to me.

I'd expected lights, sirens, mayhem. Plenty of warning to maybe duck out the back. But Hardin probably wasn't going to advertise her presence when she was looking for a killer.

I should have had Carl come pick up the body before the cops showed up. Then again, that would have been just what we needed, someone watching us loading a body into his truck, writing down the license plate number, then calling the police. Werewolf battles usually happened in the wilderness, where bodies could just disappear.

This way, at least only I got bagged.

God, what was I thinking . This whole tiling was a mess. Zan was dead .

She said, "You want to tell me about the ripped-up body we found downstairs?"

I glanced at Cormac, who didn't move a muscle, damn him.

"No," I said, which was probably stupider than not saying anything at all.

"Did you do it?"

I'd already been through this once tonight. "No."

"Ms. Norville, I think I'd like to take you down to the station and ask you a few questions."

Hardly surprising, but my stomach still did a flip-flop. I may have been a werewolf, but I'd never even gotten a parking ticket, much less been arrested for anything. Then again, I'd never owned a car.

But I wasn't being arrested. This was just questioning.

"Let me get a jacket," I said, my voice a whisper. When I stood, my injured side turned toward her. Hardin tilted her head, glancing at the red slashes and puckered skin on my arm.

"When did that happen?"

"Tonight."

"Impossible. Those have been healing for weeks."

"You need to do more reading. Did you get those articles I sent you?"

"Yeah." She stared, like she was trying to read my mind. "Who did this to you?" She said it like she actually cared about me or something.

I glared. "The ripped-up body downstairs."

She waited a beat, then, "Are you telling me that guy was a werewolf?"

I finished shrugging on the jacket and grabbed the key to the apartment. "Should I call a lawyer or something?"

Outside, there must have been a half-dozen cop cars, along with the coroner's van. They had the whole street blocked off. Yellow tape fluttered everywhere. A swarm of people wearing plastic gloves huddled around Zan, swabbing things and sticking them into baggies. Evidence. All the evidence they needed.

Too much exposure. Carl had always warned me this might happen. He really was going to kill me this time.

Cormac and I got a ride in the nice police car. He'd already called his lawyer, who he thought would represent me as well, if I asked him.

I shuddered to think of the kind of experience a lawyer got working for Cormac. But hey, the bounty hunter wasn't in jail.

They put Cormac and me in separate rooms. Mine was similar to the interview room I'd been in before, the size of a small bedroom, institutional and without character. I didn't get coffee this time.

It must have been four in the morning. I hadn't slept, and I was feeling light-headed. I wanted to ask someone for a glass of water. The door wasn't locked. I opened it, looked in the hall outside, and didn't see anyone. I had a feeling that if I tried to sneak out, a swarm of cops would suddenly appear. I went back inside.

I laid my head on the table, thinking about how much this week had sucked, and dozed. When the door opened, I jerked awake, startled, and shivered inside my coat. I felt worse for the few moments' worth of napping.

The man who entered was in his early thirties. He was rumpled, with swept-back, mousy blond hair that needed trimming, a stubbled jaw, a gray suit jacket that fit but still managed to seem too big, and an uninspiring brown tie. He slouched and carried his briefcase under one arm.

He strode to the desk, switching the briefcase out from under his arm so he could extend his hand for me to shake.