"Jerk," I muttered. "I need to use the ladies' room. I'll be back in a minute."

"Take your time, take your time," he said and pointedly turned to continue visually menacing the woman across the room. I marched away.

I didn't really have to use the bathroom. I leaned on the tile wall and pressed my hands to my cheeks, which were flushed and burning. I'd let him get to me, and I was more angry at myself than him for it. I liked to think I was better than that.

I waited until my heartbeat had slowed and I felt calm again. Checking myself in the mirror, I smoothed out my dress and nodded, satisfied. I'd just ignore him.

On the way out the door, I ran into a man exiting the men's room. I'd had my head down, not paying attention—not as calm and collected as I'd thought. I stumbled, and he grabbed my arm to steady me.

I started to pull away and apologize, but I caught his scent, and it was wild. Fur and wilderness, open country under a full moon—not quite human. My eyes widened and my back tightened, like hackles rising.

He stared back at me, eyes also wide, his nose flaring to take in my scent. He'd sensed me just as strongly as I'd sensed him. He was tall, with a strong face, brown eyes, and dark hair.

For a moment, I tensed, ready to run, to flee what might have been a challenge; our wary gazes locked on each other. I didn't want to fight. I took a step back, but then his lips grew into a wondering smile. The expression said welcome. He didn't want to fight either.

"I don't know you. Who are you?" He had an unidentifiable accent, though his English was crisp and clear.

"Kitty," I said. "I've been looking for you. I mean, not you specifically, but—" He was a lycanthrope, but not a wolf. I couldn't identify the odd edge to his scent. "You're not wolf. What are you?"

The smile turned playful. "Jaguar."

"Really?" Awe filled my voice. That was so cool. "I had no idea."

"That's clear. My name is Luis. I work at the Brazilian embassy. You—are you visiting Washington?"

"Yes." We were just around the corner from the party. From Leo. I glanced nervously in that direction, expecting the vampire to walk in on us at any moment. I pulled Luis closer to the wall, as if that would hide us. "Luis, I was given to understand that the lycanthrope situation here is sort of unstable. Dangerous for strangers just passing through."

His brow creased. "Who said this?"

My hands wanted to clench, I was so nervous. I had so many questions, and I didn't know him at all, didn't know how he'd react, didn't know what I was getting myself into. But I was desperate for another source of information.

"Alette," I told him.

He shook his head and chuckled, but the gesture was humorless. "Alette, yes. She thinks we are rabble. Why have you spoken with her?"

I winced. "It's a long story."

"You should meet others of your kind, hear their side. I will take you there. No matter what she has told you, you will be safe."

I'd just met him. I shouldn't have trusted him, but my curiosity quickly overcame any sense of caution. And I felt something else—a warm shiver that had nothing to do with our lycanthropy. I hadn't let go of his arm. His body was close to mine, and he was cute.

"There's a problem. Alette sent Leo along to look after me. I don't think he'd be happy about this."

He pursed his lips, serious for a moment, and glanced over his shoulder. "It isn't a problem. Come."

He held my hand—his was warm and dry—and guided me away from the exhibit, around another corner to the service door where the catering staff passed back and forth with their trays of food and drink.

Luis said, "Some vampires have lived like nobility for so long, they forget about the servants. He won't be watching this door."

Sure enough, we traveled down a plain concrete corridor to a fire door and emerged onto the nighttime street. No one followed us.

We walked along the Mall, which even at night hosted joggers, dog walkers, people strolling before or after a dinner out. After ten minutes or so I took off my heels and carried them. My feet tingled on the concrete sidewalk. Nighttime, and I felt like running. Full moon wasn't for another week, though. Luis glanced at me, gaze narrowed, lips in a wry smile, like he understood.

Next we rode the Metro for a few stops, ending up a mile or so north from where we started. Luis led me on for a couple more blocks before stopping.

"Here we are."

A subtle shopfront sign, silver lettering on a blue background, lit by a small exterior light, announced the Crescent. Tinted windows didn't offer much of a view of the interior.

"Upstairs is a Moroccan restaurant. Decent, a little pricey, but don't tell Ahmed I said that. We're going downstairs."

Sure enough, we bypassed the brick stairs leading up and took the set winding down to a garden-level door. "Ahmed?"

"He owns the place. You'll meet him if he's here tonight."

I heard the music before Luis opened the door. Once he did, the sound opened up with all its richness and rhythm. Live music, not a recording. A Middle Eastern drum, a string instrument of some kind, and a flute. They weren't playing an identifiable song, but rather jamming on a traditional-sounding riff. It was fast, joyous, danceable.

Once inside, I saw the trio of musicians seated on chairs near the bar: one was white, one black, the other Arabic-looking. The whole place had an international feel to it, and I heard conversations in a few different languages. Cloth hangings decorated the walls, and while the area inside the door looked like any other bar, farther inside there weren't any chairs, but large cushions and pillows surrounding low tables. Oil lamps and candles provided light. I smelled curry and wine in the air.

A guy who couldn't possibly have been old enough to serve drinks was behind the bar, drying glasses. A few patrons sat nearby on bar stools, tapping their feet or nodding along to the music. A woman in a full skirt and peasant blouse danced—I supposed it was belly dancing, but my image of belly dancing was totally different. She was all about grace and joy of movement, not the I Dream of Jeannie fantasy. Her dark hair trailed in a braid that swung as she turned, and she wore a distant smile.

Another dozen people sat at the tables, watching the dancer or the musicians, talking among themselves, reclining on cushions, eating, and drinking. It was a calm, leisurely party, a nightclub of sorts, drawing people for conversation and atmosphere.

All of them were lycanthropes.

I stopped, shocked into immobility. I hadn't sensed this many lycanthropes in one place since I was with the pack. I had never seen this many in one place without them glaring at each other, stalking, picking fights, jockeying for position within the pack hierarchy. At the very least, if they weren't fighting they were cowering before the leader who kept them in line, who made peace by force. There was no leader here, not that I could see.

"Is something wrong?" Luis said.

"No, it's just—I wasn't expecting this. All of them in one place. It's overwhelming."

"You have always been alone, then?"

"I used to have a pack. But it was nothing like this."

He said, "Can I get you a drink?"

I probably needed one. "Wine. White. I think."

Two filled wineglasses in hand, Luis led me to the back half of the club, where we could sit in relative quiet. His face lit when he came to a small group gathered in a corner.

"Ahmed! You are here."

"Luis!" A large man rose to his feet more gracefully than I would have given him credit for. He displaced his friends to one side, who amiably continued their conversation without him. He managed to clap Luis on the shoulders without making him spill a drop of wine. He had a faint accent, thoroughly Americanized. "Good to see you, I was beginning to think you'd abandoned us at last."