And no one could know. Graham had told Reid, but Reid could keep his mouth shut. If any hint got out among the Shifters that Graham might be Fae-touched, he’d be finished. His wilder Lupines might try to kill him and take over his power. Eric would try to stop them, and then there’d be a battle to the death, a bloodbath the Collars couldn’t slow. Eric would win in the end, but a lot of good Shifters could die, including cubs.

This was turning out to be one hell of a day.

“I’m going home,” Graham said. “Call me if you need help taking out the humans.”

“Thanks, Graham,” Paul said after him. “For helping her.”

Graham made an indifferent wave. “Whatever.” He and Dougal, who still didn’t want to move more than a step away from Graham, went home, wheeling Graham’s broken bike between them.

 • • •

Graham lived in the new section of Shiftertown, where houses were still under construction. Graham’s house and about six others were completely done, the others nearing completion.

Because Graham was a leader, he’d insisted on his house being bigger than the others. Eric might play I’m-the-same-as-you with his Shifters, but Graham decided to never let others forget his position. A Shifter played with fire if he did.

The newer houses were more modern looking than the ones on Eric’s street, with stucco and tile, and lots of windows. Graham’s house had a second floor. The older portion of Shiftertown had been built in the 1960s, when people kept out the heat with small windows set high under the eaves, thick outer walls, and flat, white roofs. Graham had insisted on more modern insulation and double-paned windows, and Iona, who owned the construction company that built the houses, had agreed.

All the new houses had air-conditioning that worked, so Graham walked into a cool haven. He shut the door behind him and Dougal and let out a sigh of relief.

Dougal was still stressed. Graham could scent it on the lad, sweat mixed with panic and exhaustion.

Graham turned to his nephew, who was starting to curl in on himself, straightened him up, and pulled him into another hard hug. Graham had been doing this for thirty years, he realized—holding Dougal while he grew up.

“You did good out there.” Graham patted Dougal’s back and tightened the hug. “You knew exactly what to do, and you brought help in time. We made it, and we’re home, and whole.”

Dougal nodded against Graham’s shoulder. He stayed dormant in Graham’s embrace for a time, then he took a deep breath, his strength returning. Shifter hugs were more than just comfort; they were healing.

“Better?” Graham asked, releasing him.

Dougal wiped his eyes as he turned away. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I have things to do, Shifters to see. Call me if you need me again.”

Dougal walked to the front door, the swagger returning to his step. Graham hid his chuckle until Dougal had breezed out of the house, slamming the door behind him. He’d be all right.

Graham’s laughter died as he made his way to the kitchen, thirst kicking him. He’d known the water was foul as soon as he’d smelled it, but his thirst had won over his common sense. And now he was thirsty again. He clenched his fists. If he gave in to a Fae curse, he might as well summon the Guardian and fall on the sword.

Misty hadn’t seemed affected by the spelled water. Graham had looked into her face and hadn’t seen anything but her clear, brown eyes, framed with thick, dark lashes. Lashes he’d love to feel fluttering over his skin.

Don’t call me again, she’d said.

She hadn’t meant that, right? So hard to tell with humans. Misty had gone through trauma today, been threatened, terrorized, and hurt, poor thing. When she felt better, she’d call Graham and ask if they could talk. Misty liked to talk. On the phone, in person, over e-mail. Graham had never talked much with his other females, but then, his previous relationships had been all sex and not much else.

Even with his mate, Rita, they’d spent most of the time in bed. They’d never really talked. Graham had never taken the opportunity to truly get to know Rita, and then she’d been gone, dead, the Guardian turning her to dust. Her death and his baby son’s had left him stunned, barely able to think beyond his grief.

Brooding about Rita and Misty wasn’t going to help Graham with his problems now. A Shifter had to push away grief and relationship worries and concentrate on immediate problems. That was the only way to survive. Right?

Graham walked into his kitchen, deep in thought . . . and stopped. Something was very wrong. He’d left the place trashed, yes, with his stupid fight with that Lupine, but not this trashed.

Someone had opened every single door of every single cabinet, and had yanked out every single drawer. Graham’s pots, pans, and dishes, and cans and boxes of food were all over the floor, porcelain smashed, glasses broken, boxes opened, powder and grains spewed everywhere. The refrigerator door was ajar, and bottles and cans had burst open on the floor outside it, rendering the tiles a mess of ketchup, mustard, pickles, and beer. The refrigerator was shaking now too, as though it had taken on a life of its own.

No Fae spell was doing this. Graham roared as he yanked open the door.

Two fuzzy faces turned toward him, two pairs of eyes widened under two pairs of ears that managed to be pricked and flopping at the same time. Two little muzzles opened in identical, high-pitched howls, and two tails started moving rapidly, dumping over a half gallon of milk between them.

“What the hell are you doing in there?” Graham bellowed.

Matt and Kyle, the three-year-old wolves, yipped with joy, and launched themselves out of the refrigerator. They had a frenzied fight over who would reach Graham first, Kyle winning by a whisker. Both cubs scrambled up Graham’s legs to his bare arms, wriggling with joy as though they hadn’t seen him in weeks instead of about twenty-four hours.

Graham’s back door opened, and a Shifter woman came in—Brenda Roberts, the cubs’ foster mother. She ducked her head, as all Graham’s wolves did when they faced their alpha, but her eyes held defiance.

“I can’t do it anymore, Graham,” she said. “I can’t take care of them. I have my own cubs to look after, and I. Just. Can’t. Do. It.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Graham asked, something like panic rising. “You’re taking care of them fine.”