Jim walked into the kitchen. Some people had special talents. Some were charming. Others were clearly intelligent. Doolittle, the Pack’s medmage, could put patients at ease just by saying hello. Jim’s special talent was menace. Six feet two inches tall and built like he could punch through solid walls and dodge a bullet at the same time, Jim projected a concentrated promise to kick your ass. It emanated from him like heat from a sidewalk. He never actually threatened you, but when he entered a room full of hard cases, bigger men backed off, because when he looked at them, they heard their bones breaking.

And now I would have to be very careful about our morning conversation. Any mention of Eduardo could set off alarm bells in Jim’s head. The last thing we needed was him shutting down our investigation.

“Hail to the Beast Lord!” I waved my spatula for emphasis.

Jim spared me an ugly look and turned to Dali.

“You followed me!” Dali jumped out of her chair, her face furious.

“I didn’t. I came here to talk to him”—Jim pointed at Curran with his thumb—“about his money. We just happened to be going to the same place.”

“You knew I was here.” She squinted at him. “You have your goons following me, don’t you?”

“They’re not goons. They’re our security people. And yes, I have them following you. We’re in a dangerous position. We just took over the Pack and I don’t want any surprises.”

“You’re a paranoid control freak.”

That was putting it lightly. Before Jim became the Beast Lord, he served as the Pack’s chief of security. I thought I had a high level of paranoia, but Jim took it to stratospheric levels.

“My paranoia is keeping us safe.” Jim brushed his face. Suddenly he seemed tired. “Dali, I just spent eight hours arguing with the Pack Council. Do you think you could postpone yelling at me until later?”

“No!” She sighed. “Yes. Fine.”

I reached into the fridge. We would need more sausage.

•   •   •

NORMAL PEOPLE SPOKE while they ate. They socialized, carried on a polite conversation, and even told jokes, pausing their food consumption while doing all those things. Shapeshifters ate with single-minded focus, as if eating itself were a very important task and they had to concentrate on it completely. Talking while eating beyond the usual “pass that, please” was considered rude.

It took fully half an hour before they finally leaned back from the table. Jim sighed quietly. He looked haggard. It was unusual for him. Dali reached over and quietly stroked his hand. He took her fingers into his and squeezed.

“So what was the fight about?” Julie asked.