Ben dropped the bag and aimed at her, arms and gaze steady. Meg stopped and looked startled for a moment, like she was about to turn and flee, like she thought he might shoot. She wore jeans, a tank top, and sandals, and her long black hair draped over her shoulders. Her skin was tanned brown, her features were fine, exotic. I'd always thought she was beautiful.

Ben didn't shoot her outright. He was a lawyer, he was rational. He knew what this would look like when the cops arrived. Once she realized that, Meg relaxed a little and crossed her arms.

She kept talking. "He said, 'Don't confront her. Don't let her see you. Her bad-ass alpha male's got a gun. Don't push them,' he said. I think he's afraid of you."

"That warms my heart," I said flatly. "What about you?"

She didn't come any closer, which was sort of an answer. "You were smarter than me, picking somebody to turn," she said. "But how did you convince a sane man to let you bite him?" She talked like he wasn't even here. Ben didn't flinch.

A year or so ago, she'd made a bid for Carl's place by picking an alpha male to replace him. By making an alpha male to replace him. The plan had backfired horribly. The guy had been psychotic and couldn't handle the lycanthropy. A lot of people died.

"I didn't bite him. I didn't turn him. I just happened to be there to pick up the pieces. That's why we're together." And I liked him. I'd picked up the pieces because I liked him. Couldn't lose sight of that detail. I ought to tell him. I let my hand brush his leg. His whole body was tense. I wasn't sure he even felt me.

"Whatever you say," she said with a smirk, like she didn't believe me. Like she didn't respect me. We weren't equals in her eyes, but her body language spoke differently. She kept her distance. She looked Ben up and down like he was a piece of meat.

"What do you want, Meg?" I sounded exhausted.

"I don't suppose you'd tell me where Rick is?"

"You were never very good at subtlety and intrigue, were you?"

"You give us Rick, we'll let you leave Denver again. You and your mate both."

"Don't you get it? I don't want to leave. I can't leave. Everything I have is here, and if you won't leave me alone, then I'll fight."

Then she looked at Cheryl. She had to guess who she was to me—the same blond hair, short and tucked behind her ears. Same face. Even a little of the same smell—our human family.

"You have a lot to lose," Meg said. She took a step toward my sister, reaching out like she wanted to touch her. I almost grabbed the gun from Ben's hand and shot her myself. No one was going to touch my family. Cheryl had the sense to step back.

Get away from her, Ben said, holding her in the gun's sights.

I kept myself from rushing at Meg, claws outstretched. Calmly, I said, "All the more reason to fight."

That raised her hackles. "You think just because you're famous that protects you? That you can waltz in here and take over? That we'll just bow down to you? It takes more than that to be an alpha. You don't know anything. You may have fooled the people who listen to your show, but you don't know anything!" She started to march off.

"Meg?" She halted, apparently willing to listen.

We were just posturing. This was the growling stage. She wouldn't start a fight without backup. I began to relax. The old fears started to fade. She was all bluster. More than that, though, she was just wrong.

"Have you ever been pregnant?" I asked it on an impulse, out of curiosity. I just wanted to know.

She almost chuckled. "Werewolves don't get pregnant. We can't get pregnant." She said this with an air of triumph, as if I had just demonstrated my lack of knowledge, and she was happy to rub my face in it.

I smiled sadly. I remembered Dr. Shumacher's words, that most women lycanthropes simply might never realize if they got pregnant. Maybe Meg just didn't know.

"You're wrong. We can get pregnant. The pregnancy doesn't survive shape-shifting. You might never even know it."

She gaped at me, astonished, like I'd slapped her. How many woozy, crampy mornings was she looking back on? How many times had she just written it off to an odd cycle? I didn't want to know.

"Meg, you're ignorant, you're a blockhead, and me waltzing in here and taking over has got nothing to do with me being famous and everything to do with you being completely useless. You and Carl both." I managed to say that whole thing without raising my voice.

Snarling, she resumed her retreat.

Only after we heard her car door slam, the engine start, and the tires peel out of the parking lot, did Ben blow out a breath and lower his gun. I sat down right there on the sidewalk because my legs had turned to goo. Sheer willpower had been keeping me on my feet, but blood loss and nerves finally got the better of me.

Ben knelt and put his hand on my shoulder. "You okay?"

I leaned into him. "That thing I said, about picking up the pieces and that's why we're together—that's not just it. I mean, there's more than that, right?"

"We should have this conversation later," he said, glancing at my sister, who was standing over us, looking down with bugged-out eyes.

"What was that all about?" Cheryl said, even more hysterically, though it didn't seem possible.

"I said it was a long story," I sighed as Ben hauled me to my feet.

"No, not the mess. Not just the mess. I mean about the pregnant part."

I figured Mom had told her, but apparently not. I couldn't even look at her. Ben pulled me close and put a kiss on my hair, over my ear.

"Are you pregnant?" she said.

I smiled thinly. "Not anymore."

"Oh, geez. I'm sorry." She said it to both of us, and she looked sad.

I took her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back, and our argument disappeared. "Cheryl, there's kind of a war going on. I need you to go home, stay inside. Keep everyone inside. Don't let anyone in unless you know them really well. If you see anyone outside the house, if you see anything odd—if anything even feels odd—call 911 and tell them you have an intruder in the house. Don't even hesitate."

"What—"

I held up my hand to stop her. She was going to ask, again, what was going on. "That woman and some other people would happily kill me if they got the chance. We're not going to let that happen."

"Kitty—"

"Where's Dad? Is he at the house?"

"No, he's staying with us while Mom's in the hospital."

"Good. It's going to be okay. I'll call you later. I'll see Mom as soon as I can."

"Okay," she said, and sounded young. Then she hugged me, bloodstains and all. "Be careful."

"You, too."

We watched her return to her car and drive away. Ben kept hold of the gun the whole time, in case something else lurked in the shadows. Without a word, we made it inside. I made it into the shower. My upper chest had a puckered spot of skin where the bullet hole had been. That was it. I kept picking at it; it was healing, almost smoothing out under my touch.

I didn't want to leave the stream of water. I didn't want to go back to the war. But I did.

I asked Ben, who was making food, "Any word?"

"Nope."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Evening came, and we didn't get any calls. No one had spotted Carl after the KNOB attack. Hardin said she'd put a stakeout at his and Meg's house, but the place seemed to be empty. That meant Carl and Meg had run for the hills. They could be anywhere now. Arturo and Rick would be waking soon. Arturo would do something—he wouldn't sit back while Rick challenged him. The trouble was, I couldn't guess what he'd do, where he'd send his people, who he'd attack first. I had to wait for a call.

I was becoming a control freak. It was part of leading a pack.

Ben made chicken and pasta for supper. He was a decent cook—yet another reason to keep him around. But I couldn't eat. I stood by the door to the balcony, staring out. From the table, where two sets of plates and utensils were set out with a ceramic bowl of food in the middle, he pestered. "You need to eat."