After the talk with Ben, I emerged from the back of the lodge to the living room just in time to hear Tina yell.

“Oh, gross! What the hell?”

A half-dozen of the others were awake by then and ran to the picture window, where Tina was standing, mouth open, looking out with a horrified expression. The usual cameras were there to capture the fun.

A mauled carcass lay at the edge of the meadow. It wasn’t very clear, but blood was visible, along with a mound of meat—pink flesh that gleamed wetly in the morning sun. There might have been legs sticking out, maybe a scrap of tawny hide.

“Is that a deer?” Jeffrey said. “It looks like something shredded it.”

Conrad said, “Maybe a bear. Or a wolf. A real wolf, I mean.” He eyed me.

“They wouldn’t leave a kill like that this close to people,” Lee said.

I looked around. Tina, Jeffrey, Conrad, Lee, Ariel, me. I had an idea of what had happened.

“Has anyone seen Jerome?” I said wryly. So maybe I hadn’t been the first person up this morning.

“What?”

Lee raised a brow. “Seriously?”

Yeah, he knew what I was talking about. I stepped outside, went down the porch steps, and took a breath of air. The smell hit me: blood and guts, decay setting in. Crows would be here soon to start picking at it. Circle of life and so on. I also caught the scent of lycanthrope all over the place. I wondered if Macy was trying to be cute, dragging his kill back here.

At that moment, he emerged from around the side of the lodge. He’d probably retreated to the forest on this side of the valley to sleep his wolf off. And he hadn’t bothered to bring clothes with him: he was naked. I could see every inch of his sleek, muscular body. He was huge, solid as a brick wall. Well built, all the way around. A-hem.

He’d even managed to clean most of the blood off his face and hands, but I could still smell traces.

When he saw me, he stopped. I met his gaze and smiled. “I see you managed alone just fine.”

“You missed out,” he said. “The hunting here’s great.”

“Yeah, that’s why they call it a hunting lodge. You’re putting on quite a show.” I tilted my head toward the window and the audience standing there.

Macy grinned. “I thought I’d shake things up a little.”

“Uh, yeah.”

I went back inside, leaving the man to his lack of modesty. He followed me in, not caring a bit that the others suddenly looked everywhere else but at him. Except for Lee, who was smirking right along with me. Something about being a lycanthrope made being naked not all that big a deal.

“Convinced yet, Conrad?” I said.

He shook his head. “It’s a trick. Provost probably dumped that carcass out there.”

The bummer thing was, he wasn’t wrong. A scene like this would have been easy to stage.

Macy didn’t pause for conversation but went straight to the stairs, where Grant was descending. The two passed each other awkwardly.

Hands in his trouser pockets, Grant faced us. “I seem to have missed some excitement.”

Maybe Conrad was half right. Maybe this had been rigged—just not the way he thought. I glanced sidelong at one of the cameras. “I think Provost may have put Jerome up to a little fun,” I said. “But hey, we had to get started with the freaky shit sometime.”

“Er—language, Kitty,” Ariel said.

I shrugged. “That’s what editors are for.”

Conrad crossed his arms. “Odysseus—despite your name, I think you may be the most rational person here besides me. You really believe all this? You believe Jerome is a werewolf? That Kitty is? I mean, a werewolf named Kitty—how do you expect anyone to buy that?”

“Because I’ve seen her shape-shift,” he said.

Conrad opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again.

“My offer still stands,” I said, hitching my thumb toward the door. “I’ll go shape-shift right now and we can finish up this whole thing.”

Tina raised a hand. “I’d go for that—I haven’t seen you shift. And how did he see you shift? What’s the story with that?”

“Long,” I said. “Complicated.”

“I guess that means you’re not going to tell us.”

“What happens in Vegas, as they say,” Grant said, brow lifted.

Did he just crack a joke?

That, then, was going to be the tone for the entire two weeks: something freaky happening, maybe prompted by Provost, maybe not; then Conrad grumbling about how it was all a setup; Valenti, Cabe, and the PAs running around to capture it on film. I assumed the events would escalate—the incidents would get weirder, and Conrad’s denials would get lamer, until he had a moment of epiphany. And probably a spectacular nervous breakdown, to boot. Then we’d all reconcile and grow together as human beings. Reality shows liked to convince the TV-viewing public that they were all spontaneous and, you know, real. But a good editor would be able to turn the footage from this week into a retelling of War and Peace.

Midmorning, Provost dropped in to see how we were doing. The daily check-in. His producer face was as plastic and smiley as ever. I was sitting on the porch, feet propped on the railing, reading a book when he bounded up the steps, arms spread in greeting.

“Kitty! How’s it going? Enjoying yourself?”

“Yes. Quite,” I said noncommittally.

“You couldn’t find anything more, ah, photogenic to do than read a book?”

“You don’t think this is photogenic? Look at it this way, you include footage of me reading, you’ll appeal to your intellectual demographic.”

He stared blankly, and he was probably right: he didn’t have an intellectual demographic. I knew I was in trouble when he pulled over another of the chairs and settled in for a chat. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, acting chummy, but the gesture made me cringe and want to growl. Some people had no respect for personal space. He might have been a high school guidance counselor in a past life.

“I wondered if you could do me a favor,” he said.

“Another one?” I said. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t like whatever he was about to say.

“There’s obviously some kind of history between you and Grant.” He gave a certain weight to the word “history” that made me raise my brow. “Now, I don’t need any details, but I have to say, there’s a lot of potential there. And something’s definitely going on between Grant and Anastasia. The whole thing screams triangle. Really meaty stuff. I was hoping I could convince you to, you know, maybe play it up a little.”

I was under no illusions that reality TV actually depicted reality, so this shouldn’t have surprised me. Still, I stared at Provost, disbelieving, but he continued looking hopeful. If I got angry, it would only reinforce any notions he’d developed. Ignoring him probably wouldn’t work—he’d just keep bugging me until the two weeks were up. Maybe if I played nice it would throw him off guard.

I said, “You know, the ‘history’ between Grant and me involves a death-defying escape from a cult of crazies practicing human sacrifice in worship to an ancient Babylonian goddess. You sure you want me to play that up?”

That got him to at least hesitate. The permanent smile remained frozen. “You may be right. The network executives might have a problem with human sacrifice. If we didn’t handle it, you know, tastefully.”

The words “tasteful” and “human sacrifice” should never appear together in the same sentence. Why did I even bother arguing?

“Can I ask you something? Did you put Jerome up to dropping that mauled deer on the driveway?”

“No. That was all him. Great stuff, too. That guy has a good eye for entertainment.”

“Must be all the pro wrestling.”

“So when are you going to head out for a run yourself? The four-legged kind.”

“I try to be a little more civilized,” I said. “All joking aside, I wasn’t really planning on it at all.”

“Too bad you wouldn’t let us schedule this over the full moon.”