Directly across the room, Rick stood up from a brocade-upholstered chair. He was suave and polished as ever, but held himself tautly, like he was nervous. His hands clenched at his sides, but his face was neutral.

"Shit!" I glared at him, frozen.

"That's quite a greeting. I assume you two know each other?" Reclined on an antique sofa, Mercedes regarded me calmly.

I should have known, I should have expected. She couldn't be here without drawing the attention of the local vampires. I was so focused on her I forgot about the big picture. I even forgot about looking after my own ass. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath to try to collect myself. Then I studied Mercedes Cook. She wore a smoke-colored, slinky dress made of a lacy fabric that seemed modern and antique at the same time.

"Uh, yeah," was all I could manage. My secrecy was well and truly blown, it looked like. I wondered who else knew I was back in Denver?

Rick recovered from what I took to be shock—clearly he'd been as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Which meant that for some reason Mercedes hadn't told him I was coming. But what was he doing here?

Regaining his usual calm, he returned to his seat. "Back in Denver, I see." Flat statement.

I could argue, make excuses, play dumb. Or play it straight. Really, this was none of his damn business. "Looks like it," I said, smiling as amiably as I could manage.

"Interesting," was all he said. No why or how or when.

"How long have you two known each other?" I asked. They exchanged one of those glances that suggested a long association—the suppressed smiles and questioning looks in the eyes. Trying to decide how much to tell, whether to tell anything at all.

Mercedes took the initiative. "Oh, we've known each other quite some time, haven't we?"

"Come on, you're vampires," I said. "What does that mean? A decade, or a century or three?"

"You and Rick are friends," Mercedes said. "Do you know how old he is?"

I studied Rick, who remained impassive. Were we friends? I wasn't sure I'd go that far. I knew him without knowing anything about him. I felt like I'd stumbled into some kind of game, or long-running joke. "Two fifty," I said. Meaning two hundred fifty years.

Mercedes glanced at him, her smile widening. "Oh, my, we are keeping secrets here, aren't we?"

I blinked. "How old is he? How far off am I?"

"I told you, Kitty, it's not polite to talk about age." She smoothed out her already perfect skirt and changed the subject. "At some point I suppose I'll pay my respects to Arturo. Are you friends with him as well?"

I frowned. "I know him. I'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell him I'm back in Denver."

"Sounds like there's a story behind that," she said. No assurances that she'd keep my secret. I had to reassess my impression of her completely. I'd taken her at face value—she came across as a young, vibrant, successful performer. That was a persona, the one she wanted me to see—and to be fair, that was exactly what she was. An actress. And I'd fallen for it. Underneath was something else, manipulative and dark. Vampire. Ben was right—again. He stood close to me, our arms touching.

"It's really not that interesting. If I'm interrupting, I can leave."

"Oh, no, please," Mercedes said, looking genuinely put out. But I didn't trust the expression. I didn't trust her anymore—and she knew it. I could see it in her glittering eyes. She'd played me and been happy to do so.

I should have walked out of there right then.

"Come and sit with us. Rick was telling me about the situation here, among our kinds. I'd like to hear your opinion as well." She gestured at chairs near Rick.

I looked at Ben. He said, "It's your call."

They were vampires, but I didn't think they were going to hurt us. Not here, anyway. We went to sit, while I tried to calm my racing nerves. The coffee table held a bottle of wine already uncorked, and four glasses poured and waiting. I chose one and took a sip. By then I needed a drink.

Four glasses. But vampires didn't drink wine.

A knock sounded on the door.

"Ah, that should be my other guests." Mercedes leaned back and donned a smile.

Other guests. I looked at Rick, to see his reaction; he frowned and straightened to the edge of his seat. He hadn't expected anyone else either.

I set my glass of wine on the table and braced.

The handle turned. The door opened inward, as if in slow motion. I could smell them before I saw them, I could hear them breathe, and I recognized the beats of their hearts. All my senses were pushed to their limits, waiting. I knew it all, I knew everything, I knew before the door opened all the way and they walked into the room.

Carl and Meg. Arm-in-arm, looking sullen.

I stood and stumbled back, knocking over my chair. My body felt like fog, drifting, melting away. I wasn't here, I couldn't be here, I couldn't move. Every pore burned. I wanted to vomit, but was too shocked.

Carl saw me and turned animal. He didn't shift, but his wolf came to the fore. It was amazing to watch. Our gazes met, and he lunged. His back bowed, his arms bent, his fingers locked into claw shapes, all in preparation of charging me. His lips rippled back in a snarl as he bared his teeth. A growl burred deep in his throat. The sound pinged a memory in my hind brain, turning my limbs to ash.

Arturo, who'd entered behind the couple, caught Carl as he took his first step toward me. The alpha werewolf lunged, and Arturo—svelte, blasй Arturo, Denver's Master vampire—dropped him where he stood by grabbing his arm, putting a hand on his neck, and squeezing. Carl arced his neck, gasped a breath, and stepped back, arresting his lunge. Arturo didn't even appear strained.

"Margaret, you too! Stop!" Arturo's voice lashed, and Meg, Carl's mate, cowered, lurking on Carl's other side, kneading his arm like she might pull it off.

Arturo glared at us. Only ten feet separated us. I didn't remember moving, but Rick stood on one side of me, Ben on the other, and both had death grips on my arms, holding me back while I struggled against them. My throat was sore—from growling. Without being conscious of it, I'd matched Carl's lunge. I'd been ready to meet him head-on and fight, right here in the elegant suite.

Rick slipped in front of me, blocking my view. "Calm, Kitty. Stay calm," he whispered.

Fight him, fight him, get out of here, fight, run, escape—

Wolf swam at the front of my mind, pure instinct driving me.

I shut my eyes tight and gasped a breath that sounded like a sob. Took another, steadier breath, and stamped on the Wolf, tamped her down tight. Deep breath, keep it together. Focused on Ben's touch on my arm, his warm, safe scent in my nose.

Carl struggled briefly against Arturo's grip, and I wanted to scream.

"Ah," Mercedes said in her sugary, stage-diva voice. "That's why you left Denver."

Bitch. "You knew. You set this up." My voice still growled.

She shrugged, just a bit. "I wanted to see for myself."

"Let me go. Please let Ben and me go," I said softly, well aware that Carl and Meg stood between us and the door, that we'd have to get past them to escape.

Mercedes didn't speak, and the tableau didn't change. We stood like statues, waiting for someone to cough. For someone to break.

"You're playing games," I said, my panic rising.

"Oh, no, this isn't a game, this is politics. Rough politics," she said.

Arturo, bless his undead heart, sounded as irate as I felt. "Mercedes, she's right. You're playing games, and keeping leashes on a pack of werewolves is not how I'd planned on spending my evening. Meg!"

The alpha female—nemesis, rival, chief bitch of my nightmares—had crept around her mate. Carefully, she stood in front of Carl and held herself straight. She didn't attack, didn't make the least sign of aggression. She just studied me. Me and Ben both. Ben's shoulders tensed, like hackles rising.