The pub was called the St. George, and was exactly what I imagined an English pub should be: a mock-Tudor building with a painted sign hanging over the door showing a mounted knight fighting a lizard-like dragon; gas lamps mounted over the windows and flower boxes housing ivy and pansies under them. I was pretty sure it was all built this way for the American tourists.

The English pub theme-park décor continued inside, with wood paneling, boxy booths, brass fixtures on the bar, and darkened paintings of hunting dogs and dead pheasants. I recognized people from the conference among the customers—doctors, scientists, journalists. A couple waved at me, and the place began to feel a little more friendly. Ben ordered lagers for us at the bar, and I found us a small, round table and chairs in the corner. We sat with our backs to the wall and looked out. The alcohol warmed me, and I began to relax.

I noticed the burly man who smelled like werewolf sitting at the bar, but didn’t worry about him until he stood and looked over at Ben and me—and I recognized him as the man I kept seeing in the back of conference rooms, watching me.

My hand closed on Ben’s leg, and I was on the verge of standing to face the wolf who was staring a challenge at us, but Ben said, “Wait.” So I waited.

After giving us a moment to look him over—as he looked us over—he approached and gestured at a third chair. “Mind if I join you?”

“Go ahead,” I said, guarded. He pulled over the chair and sat, sprawling, knees and elbows out, and regarded me like I was a problem.

He wasn’t a large man but he gave the impression of bulk—broad shoulders, stout through the middle, a jowly face. He must have been in his fifties. He had thick, working-class hands that looked like they could punch through walls. He wore comfortable trousers, a white shirt untucked, and a plain vest.

More gazes in the pub turned to us, watching. They seemed casual enough, sitting in pairs or small groups. No one else would have noticed them, but they carried themselves like sentries, like they were on watch for something. The way they seemed aware of each other and their surroundings made me think they were part of a pack. My gaze darkened, less friendly by the moment.

“I’m Caleb,” the stranger said in what might have been a permanently annoyed tone of voice. His brow was furrowed, his gaze hooded. “And you’re Kitty Norville.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, trying to figure out what was going on.

Caleb didn’t smile, didn’t move. His expression remained hard. The longer we sat looking at each other, the more Wolf wanted to tuck her tail and grovel. But I couldn’t look away—I stayed straight and kept my gaze steady. Next to me, Ben sat just as still, like a statue. I prompted, “And you’re here because…”

“I’m the alpha of Britain.” He just kept staring, like he expected me to do something.

I blinked. I didn’t doubt what he’d said, but I sure wasn’t expecting it. One man declaring himself the werewolf leader of the entire country? It seemed a little … much.

“You’re pretty unassuming about it,” I said.

“Don’t particularly see a need for posturing. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

I had a feeling that was what he was here to find out.

“I’ve been asking about you. Ned said he’d introduce us,” I said.

The werewolf snorted a chuckle, brief and full of commentary. “Of course he did. Are you that much under his thumb, then?”

“Is that what it looks like?”

“You’re in awfully tight with the Master of London.”

“You’ve been watching me. A lot.”

“There’s a whole lot of people watching you. The foreign vampires, their wolves, those protestors, a gaggle of scientists. You really put yourself out there.”

“Yeah.” I couldn’t tell if he was judging me or admiring me. We were circling, snapping at each other to no purpose. “So, alpha of Britain?” I said, to distract myself as much as to gather information. “I didn’t know there could be such a thing. All the packs I’ve known have been local, maybe regional. But you have a whole country?”

“Two,” he said. “Ireland reports to me as well. I’ve got all the bloody islands.”

My professional instincts overcame my wolfish ones, and I leaned forward. He didn’t even flinch at what most other wolves would have taken as an aggressive stance. “How does that even work?”

Caleb looked at my husband. “You’re Benjamin, correct? You ever think about putting a muzzle on her?”

“Nope,” Ben said. “Things wouldn’t be nearly as much fun if I did that.”

“Like you could,” I said to him.

He shrugged. “What can I say, I’m a sensitive New Age werewolf.”

Caleb didn’t even flicker a smile. Did he ever?

“To answer your question,” he said, leaning back and tucking his hands in his pockets. “It’s safer this way. We have a network, havens, rules. These islands have been through a lot of turmoil the last hundred years or so, and our forefathers decided we’d get a lot further working together than not. This way we don’t have to depend on the vampires for protection, the way the wolves in Europe do. London stays an open city, with no one scrabbling for territory around it.”

“Did you have to fight for the spot, or did you draw straws?” Ben asked.

He chuckled. “The way I see it, if you have to fight to be alpha, you’re doing it wrong. Better if you can scare the piss out of the buggers without layin’ a hand on ’em.”

It was all I could do not to roll over and show him my belly. An alpha after my own heart.

I glanced at Ben. “Can you imagine if we tried to do some kind of United Packs of America thing back home? We’d get laughed at.”

“At best,” he said.

“You lot don’t need it,” Caleb explained. “You have lots of wide-open spaces and no history of entrenched feudalism. You don’t like the locals you just go somewhere else. Am I right?”

I remembered my own flight from my first pack. I’d had the freedom to be a lone wolf with relative ease. “You don’t get too many lone wolves here, then?”

“Oh, occasionally. As long as they keep the peace, I leave ’em be.”

“If I’d known who to contact, I’d have asked permission to enter your territory, if that’s what you’re here to talk to me about.”