"A difference of opinion," I said.

She laughed, not like it was funny. "A difference of opinion, well, hell."

"This is not Rodere business," Richard said, "it concerns the pack and the pard, not the rats."

Claudia's gaze went around the room again, took in the bleeding werewolf and the collapsed bed, my hand on Nathaniel's arm to keep him with me and away from Richard. She came back to Richard and smiled, again not like it made her happy. "This doesn't smell like pack or pard business, it smells personal."

"That's not your call," he said, and his voice was lower, not growling, but lower.

She smiled again, and this time it was just a baring of teeth. "It is when we we're being paid to guard the Circus and everyone in it. You've already bloodied one of the people in our care, Ulfric, we really can't let you harm anyone else."

"He defied me. No one gets to defy the king. Raphael would agree with that." He'd turned to face her, and I realized that he was one of the men in my life that didn't look frail next to Claudia.

"What our king would agree with and what he wouldn't is not in question." She sighed and lowered the gun to point at the floor. The two men followed her lead.

Richard turned back to stare at the bed and the rest of us. He even took a step toward the bed.

"No, Ulfric, you don't just go back to abusing them. We may not be able to shoot you without political problems, but we also will not stand by and let you abuse those we have contracted to protect."

He looked at her, and all that burning power seemed to draw away from the rest of the room, to concentrate like some great weapon. I wasn't close enough to feel it, but I was betting that all that power was now focused on Claudia.

She shook her head, like she'd been slapped. The two men with her moved back from Richard, as if they wanted more room to maneuver if things went wrong.

Claudia answered him, her voice warm with the beginnings of her own anger. "No one disputes your power, Ulfric, it is great. It is your self-control that I question."

Richard was mad, so mad, and he was looking for a fight. I'd rather it not be me, but I didn't think things would escalate as far with us as it would with the wererats. Someone could get seriously injured, or worse. Richard being in a pissy mood wasn't worth someone dying over. I know, I know, it probably wouldn't go that far, but the wererats were usually ex-mercenaries, or ex-military. They fought for keeps when they fought. Richard wasn't either of those things. He got mad, but he didn't really like going for the kill. It could all go so badly, so fast.

"Everybody ease down," I said. "It's not worth dying over."

Richard looked at me. "No one's talked about killing anyone, except you."

"Richard, all three of the guards that are looking at you wondered about killing you the moment they hit the door. Ask them, go ahead, ask them."

He glanced at the wererats, still with their guns pointed at the floor. "Is she right?"

The three of them exchanged glances, then Claudia answered, "Yes."

"You thought about killing me, just like that?"

"We didn't know it was you doing the damage, Ulfric. But we are allowed to use any means necessary to do our jobs. We cannot allow you to harm anyone under our care."

"You're not allowed to interfere with me disciplining one of my wolves, either."

She nodded. "You are right. It is not allowed for one animal to interfere in the internal disputes of another. If you can prove that this is pack business, and not personal, we can leave, and you can finish this, but you must prove it is business."

One of the other men, who was small and dark, and looked like he'd spent a little too much time in rat form, said, "Smells like jealousy to me."

"Roberto, you are not helping," Claudia said, her eyes still on Richard.

Jason rolled over and started to sit up. He moved like it hurt.

"He defied me," Richard said, pointing at Jason.

"How?" Claudia asked.

"He refused to get out of my way."

"What would you have done if I'd moved?" Jason said, and his voice held something thicker than normal, as if he was still bleeding inside his mouth. "If you didn't throw me around, who would it have been? Nathaniel, Anita? She doesn't heal like we do, Richard."

"I wouldn't..."

"When you hit the door, you were going to hurt someone," Jason said, and let blood trickle from his mouth, because he couldn't spit in wolfish form. "I thought it was better it was me."

Some of that burning power began to fade. Richard's shoulders slumped, and he screamed again. A full-throated, all-out scream, as long and as loud as he had breath for. He dropped to his knees and smashed his hands into the floor. Apparently, he liked doing it, because he kept smashing his hands into the carpeted floor, over and over. Only when the stone floor underneath began to buckle visibly, did he stop.

The sides of his hands were bloody where he'd scrapped them on the carpet, like really bad rug burns. He raised those bloody hands up and just knelt there staring at his hands. He didn't cry, didn't swear, didn't do anything.

We all froze, waiting for him to do or say something. At least a full minute passed, and he hadn't moved. Claudia looked across the room at me. I shrugged. I'd been engaged to him once, and I'd been his lover, but I had no clue what to do. That was one of the problems with Richard and me, we so often didn't know what to do with each other.

I started to walk around the bed, but Jason grabbed my wrist. "Close enough."

I didn't argue. I just stopped and looked down at him. He was still staring at his scraped-up hands. "Richard, Richard, are you in there?"

He laughed then, but it wasn't a good laugh. It was one of those laughs that held more bitterness than humor. Everyone in the room, except me, jumped when he laughed, as if they'd expected anything but that. I'd learned not to try to guess what he'd do.

"I want to lick the blood off my hands," he said in a strangled voice.

"Then do it," I said.

He looked up at me. "What?"

"It's your blood. It's your hands. If you want to lick your own wounds, then do it."

"Won't you be disgusted?"

I sighed. "Richard, it doesn't matter what I think. It matters what you think."

"You'd think it was disgusting," he said.

I sighed, again. "No, Richard, actually, no. The licking will make the scrapes feel better, and you'll enjoy the taste of blood."

He frowned up at me. "You wouldn't have said that a year ago." It was almost a whisper.

"I might not have said it six months ago, but I'm saying it now. Lick your wounds, Richard, just don't live in them."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, and his anger flared, like a small hot whip against my skin.

"Don't get pissy, Richard. I'm trying to live the life I've got, not some dream of a life that I'm never going to have."

"And you think I am."

"You're Ulfric of the Thronnos Rokke Clan, and you're afraid to lick your bloody hands because someone else might think it's not very human. So, yeah, I think you're still pretending that you're going to get another shot at a life. This is it, Richard. This is who and what we are. This is it. You need to embrace that."

He shook his head, and his eyes glittered in the lights, as if there might be tears in those perfectly brown eyes. His voice when it came was even, no hint of those glittering eyes. "I tried."

I was shielding as hard as I could. I didn't want any more peeks into his and Clair's love life, but I could guess. "With Clair?"