I looked at Clay. He was still lying facedown on the floor. His back was a quilt-work of purple, yellow, and black bruises with red welts and cuts sewing the pieces together. His left leg buckled awkwardly to the side, as if it was broken and he'd been forced to walk on it. His back rose and fell with shallow breaths. I looked at him and I knew what I had to do.

"We had a deal," I said, turning to Daniel. "I'm here. Let him go."

No one answered. Marsten and Daniel stared at me as if I'd lost my mind. An hour ago, this was exactly the reaction I'd anticipated. I'd planned to show up at the front door and turn myself over to Daniel. They'd be shocked, of course. Somewhere between the surprise and the eventual self-congratulations, the Pack would arrive. My version of the old Trojan horse trick. Only the warriors weren't coming. The gift was in the enemy camp and there was no taking it back now.

"Don't. You. Dare." Clay's whisper floated up from the floor.

He raised his head enough to glare at me. I looked away. Everyone else ignored him. For the first time in Clay's life, he was with a group of mutts and no one was paying the least attention to him. They'd stolen not only his strength, but his dignity. It was my fault. I was supposed to stay with him in Toronto, but I hadn't. What had distracted me so much that I'd gone to work and left Clay behind? A marriage proposal from another man. My stomach clenched at the memory.

I turned back to Daniel. "You wanted me, you have me. You wanted Clay on his knees. You have that. Now live up to your end of the bargain. Let him go and I'll go with you willingly. Right now." I twisted to look over my shoulder at Marsten. "Make sure he leaves Clay here and you'll get your territory. When Jeremy shows up, Clay will tell him that I made the deal. He'll honor it."

More silence. Marsten and Daniel were thinking. I was offering exactly what they wanted-territory for Marsten and my willing self for Daniel, sealing his revenge against Clay and the Pack. Was it enough? They didn't want a showdown. Time was already ticking past, each second increasing the likelihood that Jeremy, Antonio, and Nick would arrive. I'd fight before I let them take me out of here. They knew that. They'd have to subdue and restrain me, then haul both Clay and me into the car.

"No deal."

I jerked my head up. The answer had come from Daniel's direction, but it hadn't sounded like him. From behind Daniel, LeBlanc stepped forward, hands in his pockets.

"No deal," he repeated. His voice was soft, but it sliced through the silence.

Marsten gave a low chuckle. "Ah, the peasants revolt. I suppose-"

Before he could finish, LeBlanc's hand darted from his pocket. Silver winked in the lamplight. His hand shot in front of Daniel's throat and sliced sideways. For a millisecond, it appeared as if nothing had happened. Daniel stood there, looking slightly confused. Then his throat split open in a slash of crimson. Blood spurted. Daniel's hands flew to his neck. His eyes bugged disbelieving. The blood gushed over his fingers and streamed down his arms. His mouth opened. He blew a bubble of pink, like some macabre bubblegum, then slid to the floor.

I stared at Daniel, blinking, as unable to believe his death as he. Daniel was dying. The mutt who'd plagued the Pack for over a decade, who'd outwitted plots by both Clay and me to make him screw up enough to deserve execution. Dead. Not killed in some long, dangerous fight. Not killed by Clay. Not even killed by me. Killed by a new mutt with a knife. Killed in an instant. In a trick so cowardly and so completely human that all Marsten and I could do was gape.

As Daniel lay gasping and dying on the floor, LeBlanc stepped over him as if he were a fallen log. He held up the switchblade. It was almost clean, discolored only by specks of crimson.

"No deal," he said, advancing on Marsten.

Marsten snatched the gun from the table and pointed it at LeBlanc.

"Yes, I know. I said real werewolves don't use weapons. But you'll find I'm quite adaptable, particularly when it comes to saving my own hide." Marsten smiled, lips curving, eyes ice-cold. "Is this your 'showdown at the OK Corral'? Knife versus gun? Any bets on the outcome?"

LeBlanc jiggled the knife, as if contemplating throwing it. Then he stopped.

"Smart man," Marsten said. "What do you say we save ourselves some bloodshed and make a deal? An even split. I get Clayton. You get Elena. We go our separate ways from here."

When LeBlanc didn't respond, Marsten continued, "That's what you want, isn't it? That's why you killed Daniel, because Elena humiliated you and you want revenge."

From the look that flashed across LeBlanc's face, I knew he hadn't killed Daniel to get me. He hadn't killed him to get anything at all. LeBlanc had joined this battle because he liked to kill. Now as a cease-fire had been nearing, he'd turned on his comrades, not out of anger or greed, but simply because they were there, more lives to take before the fun came to an end. Now he was weighing his options. Should he take me and be satisfied? Or could he get Marsten and Clay in the bargain?

"You don't want her?" LeBlanc asked. "I thought all you guys wanted her."

"I've never been one for following the crowd," Marsten said. "While Elena certainly has her attractions, she wouldn't suit my lifestyle. I want territory. Clayton is the better bargaining chip. And I'm sure you'll have more fun with Elena."

"You son-of-a-bitch," I snarled.

I whipped around, yanking my arms free from Marsten's grasp. I aimed a fist at his stomach, but he twisted at the last moment and my knuckles only grazed his abs. His foot shot out and hooked mine, flipping me to the floor. My head struck the corner of an empty gun rack. I blacked out for a moment. When I came to, Marsten's gray eyes were boring into mine. I blinked and tried to get up, but he held me down. He pushed my chin forward so I faced the wall.

"She's unconscious," he said, getting to his knees. "All the better. We're getting low on sedatives."

Unconscious? I blinked again, slowly, feeling my eyes close, then reopen. I was staring at a line of mouse turds along the bottom of the wall. I was definitely awake. Hadn't Marsten seen me open my eyes? I began to lift my head, then thought better of it and lay still. Let them think I was unconscious. I needed all the advantages I could get.

Marsten stood. I heard him move a few feet away.

"What are you doing?" LeBlanc asked sharply.

"Taking my booty and getting the hell out of here, which is what I suggest you do as well. If Elena isn't enough of a reward, you're more than welcome to take any money you can find in Daniel's and Vic's belongings."

"Stop untying him," LeBlanc said.

Marsten sighed. "Don't tell me Daniel made you paranoid, too. Clayton is barely breathing. He wouldn't be a threat to a Chihuahua. I'm in a hurry. If he can walk, I want him walking."

"I haven't agreed to the deal yet."

Eyes closed, I inched my chin down, then peeked. Marsten was bent over Clay. He'd pulled him onto his knees. Clay swayed. Only a hint of blue showed from narrowed eyes. The gun lay ten feet away, abandoned. I doubted Marsten would know how to use it anyway.

"I said, stop untying him," LeBlanc said.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Marsten muttered. "Fine."

He straightened up. Then, before Marsten was even fully standing, he lunged at LeBlanc. Marsten and LeBlanc fell to the floor. While the two fought, I got to my hands and knees and crept toward Clay. As I took hold of his handcuffs, his head jolted up. He looked over his shoulder at me.

"Go," he rasped.

I grabbed the two cuffs and yanked hard on the chain. The links stretched, but didn't break.

"No time," he said, trying to twist toward me. "Go."

As I met his eyes, I knew how wrong I'd been. I didn't come here to get him back for Jeremy or the Pack. I came to get him back for me. Because I loved him, loved him so much I'd risk everything for the faintest hope of saving him. Even now, as I realized he was right, that there wasn't time to get him out, I knew I wouldn't leave him here. I'd rather die.