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feeling invaded his consciousness. He slowed and nearly knocked over a kid running in the other direction.
    “Jeez, dude,” the young man said. “Pardon me,” Julian muttered.
    “Pardon?” The boy laughed. “Man, where you from?”
    Julian didn’t bother to answer. He was both history and legend, from a time and place so far away there was no one left of it but him.
    And one other.
    The kid eyed Julian’s new clothes,, clean hands, and expensive shoes. A spark of avarice lit his eyes, and his grubby paw disappeared into his pocket.
    “You don’t want to do that,” Julian said.
    The young man glanced up, and Julian let him see what lay beneath his smooth human veneer. Next thing he knew, the boy was scurrying back in the direction he’d just come, leaving Julian alone to examine what had caused him to stop running in the first place.
    The sick sensation still lodged deep in his belly, and the breeze, which he knew to be hot, slid across his skin like an ice cube. He’d think he had a fever, the flu, except he didn’t get sick. Not since he’d become a werewolf.
    He’d learned to listen to his feelings. In wolf form they would be called instincts, and they were as reliable as the sun at dawn.
    Julian continued to walk in the direction he’d been headed. Immediately he began to shiver, and his stomach cramped.
    “Knull mce i Øret,” he muttered. The only time his native language came naturally anymore was when he cursed.
    Slowly he turned in the other direction and retraced his steps. As he did, the pain lessened. He was unable to move very quickly, but the closer he got to where he’d left Alexandra Trevalyn, the better he felt.
    Which made no damn sense at all.
    Julian sat on a crumbling cement stoop in front of a half-burned warehouse. He breathed in and out, ignoring the scent of soot as he calmed his roiling belly. He managed to get past the nausea, but he couldn’t make himself stand up and go. Eventually he faced the truth.
    He couldn’t leave her here. She was pack now.
    “Knull mce i Øret,” he said again, then he laughed.
    He’d made other wolves in his lifetime. But he’d never tried to leave any behind as soon as he’d made them.
    That would have been a recipe for disaster.
    New wolves were. . . a problem. Until they became accustomed to the changes, Julian always remained close. Because of that, it had never occurred to him that he would be physically unable to let Alexandra fend for herself.
    Julian sat on the stoop and tried to enjoy what he knew would probably be his last peaceful moments for a good long while. He was going to bring one of his most hated enemies into the heart of his existence.
    Whose vengeance was this anyway?
    Edward snapped his fingers, and a woman walked through the door.
    “What is this, Grand Central?” Alex asked.
    Edward, who’d always had a problem with sarcasm— probably because of his English-as-a-second-language issues—frowned. “This is Los Angeles. Grand Central is in New York, is it not?”
    Alex rolled her eyes and caught the ghost of a smile on the newcomer’s face.
    The woman was tiny, and that wasn’t just because Alex stood five-nine barefoot. She was petite, too, in a way Alex could never be, her youthful face framed by dark hair with a slash of white at the temple. Her eyes were clear blue, and held an honest, earnest expression Alex wanted very much to trust.
    “I’m Cassandra,” the woman said. “Your friendly New Orleans voodoo priestess.”
    Alex’s desire to trust evaporated. “Sure you are.”
    Cassandra’s only answer was a widening of her smile, which convinced Alex more than any bones in the nose would have.
    “Voodoo?” Alex glanced at Edward. “You finally lost that last marble, didn’t you?”
    Cassandra choked.
    The lines in Edward’s forehead deepened. “I do not understand why everyone is always discussing my marbles, or lack of them. I have not had any marbles since I was a boy.”
    “Got that right,” Alex