That was creepy. I had an urge to slouch, grovel, stick an imaginary tail between my legs. Please don’t hurt me…

“So you do have an unfair advantage?” Larson said.

“I use what I have,” he said. “I use my talents, like anyone else out there.”

“But it’s not a level playing field,” she said, pressing. “Tell me about the fight in Vegas. About taking the punch that would have killed a normal human being.”

“That fight doesn’t prove anything.”

“But a lot of people are asking questions, aren’t they?” Larson said.

“What exactly do you want from me?”

“Your participation.”

“You want to ruin me, and you want me to help?” This sounded like a growl.

The trouble was, I sympathized with them both. Jenna Larson and I were both women working in the media, journalists of a sort, ambitious in a tough profession. She constantly needed to hustle, needed that leg-up. That was why she was here. I could understand that. But I’d also been in Macy’s shoes, struggling to do my job while hiding my wolf nature. I’d been exposed in a situation like this one: forced to, against my will.

I didn’t know who to side with.

“Here’s a question,” I said, gathering my thoughts even as I talked. “Clearly you have a talent for boxing. But did you before the lycanthropy? Did you box before, and this gave you an edge? Or did you become a werewolf and decide a werewolf would make a good boxer? Are you here because you’re a boxer, or because you’re a werewolf?”

“Does it matter?”

Did it? The distinction, the value judgment I was applying here was subtle. Was Macy a boxer in spite of his lycanthropy-or because of it? Was I sure that the former was any better, more noble, than the latter?

“This isn’t any different than steroids,” Larson said before I could respond. “You’re using something to create an unfair advantage.”

“It’s different,” Macy said, frowning. “What I have isn’t voluntary.”

She continued, “But can’t you see it? Kids going out and trying to get themselves bitten by werewolves so they can get ahead in boxing, or football, or anything.”

“Nobody’s that stupid,” he said. The curl in his lips was almost a snarl.

Larson frowned. “If it’s not me who breaks the story, it’ll be someone else, and the next person may not let you know about it first. In exchange for an exclusive, I can guarantee you’ll get to tell your side of the story-”

I saw it coming, but I didn’t have time to warn her or stop him.

He sprang, a growl rumbling deep in his throat, arms outstretched and reaching for Larson. She dropped her recorder and screamed.

He was fast, planting his hands on her shoulders and shoving her to the wall. In response I shouldered him, pushing him off balance and away from the reporter. Normally, a five-six, skinny blond like me wouldn’t have been able to budge a heavyweight like Macy off his stride. But as a werewolf I had a little supernatural strength of my own, and he wasn’t expecting it. No one ever expected much out of me at first glance.

He didn’t stumble far, unfortunately. He shuffled sideways, while I kind of bounced off him. But at least he took his hands off Larson, and I ended up standing in between them. I glared, trying to look tough, but I was quivering inside. Macy could take me apart.

“You bastard, you’re trying to kill me!” Larson yelled. She was wide-eyed, breathing hard, panicked like a hunted rabbit.

Macy stepped back. His smile showed teeth. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.”

“I’ll charge you with assault,” she said, almost snarling herself.

“Both of you shut up,” I said, glaring, pulling out a bit of my own monster to quell them.

“You’re not as tough as you think you are,” he said, looking down at me, a growl in his voice, his fingers curling at his sides, like claws.

“Well, I don’t have to be, because we’re going to sit down and discuss this like human beings, got it?” I said.

Never taking his eyes off Larson, he stepped back to the table and returned to sitting. He was breathing calmly, though his scent was musky, animal. He was a werewolf, but he was in complete control of himself. I’d never seen anything like it.

He was in enough control that Larson would never talk him into an exclusive interview.

She’d retrieved her recorder and was pushing buttons and holding it to her ear. By the annoyed look on her face, I was guessing it was damaged. “I don’t need your permission,” she muttered. “I’ve got Kitty to back me up. The truth will come out.”

I frowned. “Jenna, I’m not sure this is the right way to go about this. This doesn’t feel right.”

“This isn’t about right, it’s about the truth.”

Macy looked at me, and I almost flinched. His gaze was intent-he was thinking fast. “Kitty. Why did you go public?”

“I was forced into it,” I said. “Kind of like this.”

“So-has going public helped you? Hurt you? If you could change it, would you?”

I’d worked hard to keep my lycanthropy secret, until I’d been forced into announcing what I was on the air. It hadn’t been my choice. I could have let it ruin me, but I made a decision to own that identity. To embrace it. It had made me notorious, and I had profited by it.

I had to admit it: “I don’t think I’d be nearly as successful as I am if I hadn’t gone public. I’d still be just another cult radio-show host and not the world’s first celebrity werewolf.”

He nodded, like I’d helped him make a decision.

“We’re not here to talk about Kitty,” Larson said. “Last chance, Macy. Are you in or out?” She was still treating this with aggression, like she was attacking. She was only offending him.

“Write your story,” he said. “Say what you need to. But do it without me. I won’t answer any questions. Now, get out.” He hopped off his table, went to the door, and opened it.

“You can’t do this. You’ll have to talk to someone. Sooner or later.”

I hooked my arm around hers and pulled her to the door, glancing at Macy over my shoulder one last time. I met his gaze. He seemed calm, determined, without an ounce of trepidation. Before I turned away, he smiled at me, gave a little nod. He was a wolf confident in his territory. I’d do best to slink away and avoid his wrath.

Larson and I left, and the door closed behind us.

Silent, we made our way back to the lobby of the arena. I said, “That went well.”

She’d gone a bit glassy-eyed and had lost the purposeful energy in her stride.

“Are you okay?” I said.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she murmured.

“You need to get to a bathroom? Go outside?” I started hurrying.

She shook her head, but leaned against the wall and covered her face. “This must be what the rabbit feels like after it gets away from a fox.”

Post-traumatic stress from a simple interview? Maybe. Most people considered themselves the top of the food chain. Few of them ever encountered something that trumped them.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m usually not on the rabbit side of things.”

She stared at me and didn’t have to say it: I wasn’t helping.

“Is he going to come after me? Was he really threatening me? If I run this story, am I in danger?”

I urged her off the wall and toward the doors, so we could get outside and into the air. The closed space and pervasive odor of sweat was starting to get to me.

“No. It’s intimidation.” It was what people like him-boxer or werewolf-were good at. “He can’t touch you without getting in trouble, even if he is a werewolf.”

A few more steps brought us outside, into the night. I turned my face to the sky and took in a deep breath of fresh air, or as fresh as city air ever got.

“What are we going to do?” she said. “The story’s going to look pretty half-assed without a statement from him.”

The lack of an exclusive interview wasn’t the end of the world. I’d dealt with worse. We could still break the story.