Jean-Claude was in one of his very formal white shirts, with a real cravat held in place with a silver and sapphire stickpin on his chest. He'd even put on a black velvet jacket with matching silver buttons. It was very militaristic. The shirt I'd seen before, or one like it; the jacket was new—to me, at least. I hadn't seen it yet, but I was pretty sure somewhere in the underground there was a huge room full of nothing but Jean-Claude's clothes. The pants were actually cloth but fit tighter than any dress slacks I'd ever seen. The tight pants smoothed into thigh-high boots that were black and leather and had silver buckles up the side of them from ankle to midthigh. He was way too dressed up for just a family breakfast. When he drew me into his arms, the curls that brushed my face were still damp from the shower. If he took the time to bathe, he'd take the time to dry his hair.

"You seem tense, ma petite" he whispered into my own damp hair.

"You're way too well dressed for breakfast, and your hair is still damp, which means you dressed in a hurry. Why the rush?"

He kissed me gently, but I didn't close my eyes or relax into the kiss. He sighed. "You are too observant for comfort at times, ma petite. We were going to allow you to finish your breakfast before we discussed business."

"What business?" I asked.

Micah came up beside us. I went from Jean-Claude's arms to his, and found that Micah, too, was too dressed up. He was in charcoal-gray dress pants and a pale green silk shirt, tucked into the pants. He was even wearing shiny dress shoes that were a few shades darker than the pants. Someone had French-braided his still-damp hair, which gave the illusion that his hair was very short and close to his head. It left his face bare so that all I could see was how very pretty he was. The bones of his face were damn near feminine. Somehow with some of his curls to distract the eye you didn't notice it as much. The green shirt made his chartreuse eyes green, green like seawater with sunlight through it, swimmingly green with gold light caught in it.

I had to close my eyes to say, "What business?"

"Rafael has requested a breakfast meeting," Micah said.

That made me open my eyes. "Clay told me Rafael was wanting something other than money for the extra guards."

Micah nodded.

"Rafael is our ally and our friend, right? Why are you guys dressed up and all serious?" I looked around the room. When I caught sight of Claudia, she looked away. She looked uncomfortable, as if whatever Rafael wanted embarrassed her. What the hell could it be?

Nathaniel came to us, his ankle-length hair unbound and still heavy with water. He'd dried it, but it just took a while for that much hair to dry completely. This wet, the hair looked closer to a simple deep brown than the nearly copper auburn that it was. He was still carrying the couch cushion he'd been balancing his plate on, though the plate was on the table. He carried the cushion in front of his waist and groin. All I could see below the cushion was a pair of cream-colored leather boots that hit him midthigh.

"What aren't you wearing behind that cushion?"

He threw the cushion behind him with a flourish and a grin. He was wearing a G-string that matched the boots, and that was it. I'd seen the outfit before, but never this early in the morning. "Not that I don't appreciate the view, because I do, but isn't it a little early for fetish wear?"

"All my dress shirts here are silk. My hair's so wet it would stain them." He pressed himself into my arms, and my hands curved under all that heavy hair and found it was still very wet, so wet that the skin of his naked back was cool and slightly damp to the touch. He was right, silk would have been ruined. My hands curved lower until I found the round, tight bareness of his buttocks. He flexed under my hands and I had to close my eyes and take a breath before I could say, "Why are you wearing this for a meeting with Rafael?"

Micah answered, "We thought it might remind Rafael what exactly being close to us means. Rumor has it, he's vanilla."

I stepped back from Nathaniel, because I had trouble thinking when I was touching any of my men naked. "Say that again."

Richard's voice, so unhappy that I knew the news was bad. "Rafael wants you, too?"

"I'm lost," I said.

"Rafael has put himself forward as a candidate to be your new pomme de sang," Jean-Claude said, his voice as bland and emptily pleasant as he could make it.

I just gaped at him. I couldn't even think of anything to say.

Nathaniel touched my chin and closed my mouth, gently. He kissed my cheek, and said, "It's okay, Anita."

I swallowed and stared into that peaceful face. He smiled gently at me. I shook my head. "Why would he ask this? Rafael doesn't do anything without a reason."

Claudia cleared her throat sharply. We all turned to her. She looked as embarrassed as I'd ever seen her. "He's afraid that Asher's ties to the werehyenas will make them have closer ties to Jean-Claude and you than we do, the rats."

"He's my friend," Richard said. "I am not friends with the werehyenas' leader."

"But Rafael isn't friends with Jean-Claude, or Anita. It's just a business arrangement with them. Asher is their lover, and his animal to call is the hyena now, so that makes the hyenas more essential to your plans than us."

"The rats are our allies and friends," I said, "and nothing personal to the hyenas, but I trust the rats a heck of a lot more one-on-one as guards than most of the hyenas."

Claudia nodded. "With a few exceptions the hyenas are amateur muscle, and Rafael doesn't recruit amateurs."

"You guys are important to us, Claudia. Where the hell did Rafael get the idea that we'd dump him for Narcissus?" I asked.

She shrugged those wonderfully muscled shoulders as much as the muscles would allow. "He wants a closer tie to Jean-Claude, that's all I know."

I looked at Jean-Claude and Richard. "I don't have to do this, right?"

"No, ma petite, you do not, but we must hear his case for it. I agree with not doing it. I think the other wereanimals would take it badly if you made someone's king your new pomme de sang."

"The other wereanimals are already jealous of Anita's ties to the wereleopards and the wolves," Sampson said. He'd walked around us to help himself to food and to take one of the chairs by the fireplace. I'd sort of forgotten he was there. He had that ability to blend into the woodwork when he wanted to. Not magic, just tact.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Those are our animals to call. We're supposed to have a tighter bind to them."

"True, but you, Anita, carry the strain for lion and at least one other lycanthrope strain. There are those among the community who believe they know why the doctors can't identify that fourth strain in your body." He took a bite of croissant, and I was suddenly hungry. With all that was happening, my stomach rolled and let me know there were other hungers besides the ardeur.

"What's their theory?" I asked. I went to the table and started putting food on one of the white china plates. We had take-out food every morning, but by God we ate off real plates with real silverware. Though the silverware was actually gold-plated, so that there was no problem with everyone using the utensils. Real silver can burn the skin of a lycanthrope. Not burn as in blister, but burn as in itch and hurt.

"Chimera attacked you in lion form, which explains the lion lycanthropy, but he was also a panwere. You've discussed that you may be able to add new types of lycanthropy until you shapeshift for the first time, haven't you?" Sampson asked.

"Yeah, we've discussed it, as a theory," I said.

"Some in the shapeshifter community would like you to try to take on as many of their beasts as you can before you shift, so that they'll have a tighter alliance with Jean-Claude."