The houses the architect had designed were simple, nothing complex for Shifters. The basic house was a long rectangle, with a living room and kitchen taking up one end, and a hall leading to three bedrooms taking up the other. A bathroom nestled between bedrooms one and two. That was it.

“Simple is good,” Eric said. “We can do false walls in two of these closets that will open to steps down to the underground rooms.”

“Underground rooms? What underground rooms?”

Eric smiled up at her, his flash of teeth predatory. “That’s where the real Shifter houses are. Downstairs. We like burrows. Especially the bears. Sometimes, in deep winter, getting Shane and Brody to come out is a hell of a job.”

Iona didn’t laugh. “I’ve never heard of this.”

“It’s not something Shifters share. That’s why you tell no one.” He pinned her with a stare.

“Not tell my crew why they’re digging the foundation so deep? They’re not stupid or blind.”

“Shifters will do that work,” Eric said. “We’ll cover it up. We’ve done this before. Your job is to get an altered set of plans into the hands of your head builder and make him think there’s nothing wrong.”

He looked up at her, his eyes warming. Iona realized that she leaned over him, her bare arms and half-bare br**sts about an inch from his face. Eric didn’t bother pretending not to look, his gaze sinful.

Iona stood up and rubbed her arms, the itch returning. “That’s all? Give him altered plans and make him think there’s nothing wrong with them?”

“I have Shifters who can redraw them for you. They’ll look legit. And the original, real plans will stay with the human committee and be public record.”

“The guys we hire aren’t stupid,” Iona said. “They’ll know something’s wrong.”

“Be persuasive. And their bank accounts will have some nice bonuses in them, far more money than the humans will pay.”

Iona thought about her foreman, who’d worked in Las Vegas, a city once run by criminal families, his entire life. If people wanted hidden rooms in their houses or hotels, he probably wouldn’t blink, nor would he bother to tell anyone about the sudden influx of money to his checking account.

“Shifters are going to come up with this money?” Iona asked. “You all lived in poverty in the wild and aren’t allowed to have high-paying jobs, right?”

“You let me worry about that,” Eric said.

“You’re seriously trusting me.”

“I have to. I have no choice.” Eric stood up. “Sit here. I’ll show you exactly what we need.”

Iona’s body kept flushing hot, then cold, like she had a fever, and she was hungry again. The finger food from the reception wasn’t cutting it. A gallon of beer wouldn’t go down too badly either.

Eric leaned over the plans, his torso close enough for her to lick. She wanted to lean into him, fasten her teeth in his shirt, maybe tear it to little shreds with her panther teeth to get to the man inside.

His gaze flicked to hers. “You paying attention?”

“Sure.” Iona licked her lips. “Sure.”

The hunger, the itching, the heat—she knew what it was. Need for Eric. She didn’t want a big, juicy burger; she wanted to devour him. If she rubbed herself all over him, that might soothe her burning skin, her boiling blood.

She reached out and covered his big hand with hers. It was so warm, so strong. Iona raised his hand to her lips and kissed his palm.

“Eric,” she whispered.

“I know,” Eric said, voice low. “I know—”

The door of the office slammed open and a large man Iona had never seen before barreled in. His dark hair was buzzed ultra short, his eyes were gray and glittering, and flame tattoos wound around muscular arms bared by a short-sleeved T-shirt and biker vest. A Collar hugged his neck, but even if he hadn’t worn one, everything about him, including his rife scent, screamed Shifter.

Eric was up from the desk and in front of him before Iona could rise or ask what hell he was doing there. The Shifter met Eric face-to-face, not even glancing at Iona.

“What are you doing here, Warden?”

“Get out,” Eric said.

“Fuck you. My trackers say you’ve been coming here and talking to the women who own this company. You sleeping with one of them? All of them, maybe? To get them to do what you want—and to help you screw over me and my wolves?”

Eric tried to force the other Shifter back out the door, but the big man wasn’t budging. “Is she one of them? Not bad. I get why—”

McNeil stopped, his eyes fixing on Iona and becoming white gray. He inhaled once, sharply. “Son of a bitch. She’s Shifter.”

Eric’s snarl rumbled through the trailer. He blocked the other Shifter with his body, his teeth becoming Shifter, lips pulling back from fangs.

McNeil’s eyes lit with feral fire. “Fair game,” he said, triumph in his voice.

Eric swung to Iona. His eyes were shining green, his pupils black slits. “Iona Duncan, I claim you as mate under the Goddess and before a witness.” He spoke rapidly, drowning out the growls of Graham McNeil, who was trying to get around him.

“I Challenge,” McNeil said.

The two Shifters faced each other again, both bulking large, barely containing their shift. McNeil’s hands grew coarse black hair, claws like thick needles sprouting from spread fingers. Both Shifters’ eyes were glittering, primal.

They weren’t men anymore—they never had been. The beasts of their true selves shone through, uncaring of human rules and restrictions, of anything civilized. They were males confronting each other over a very basic conflict—wanting a female.

Graham spoke, his voice guttural. “Name the time and place, Warden.”

“Fight club. Tomorrow night.”

“Done.”

They remained in place, neither giving way. Graham’s Collar sparked once, but Eric’s stayed silent.

Though they didn’t move, tension crackled between them. At any second, one might strike, and then the fight would be on. To the death.

Iona didn’t know how she knew this, but every nerve hummed it. She came around the desk and shoved her way between the two Shifters.

It was a scary place to be, but Iona put her back to Eric and glared up at Graham. “Get out. You’re trespassing. Go before I call security.”