“Move,” Gideon growled next to her ear. She hadn’t even noticed when he dropped down beside her. “Don’t stop, damn it. Move.”

Tears blurred her vision as she finished loading the last two bullets. She forced herself to grip the gun in her throbbing hands. Lifting her chin, she glared at him defiantly, her chest lifting in pride. “I can do it.”

“Good,” he announced in a flat voice, his look frustratingly blank. “Just be ready to do it again tonight.” He turned and left. Her heart sank as she listened to his fading footsteps.

Claire sank onto the couch and set the gun beside her. Outside, the sun dipped behind the treetops. Another day gone. Tonight would be the night. It had to be. She flexed her sore hands open and shut. Already the pain was starting to ebb, the lycan ability to heal working its magic.

Only the pain in her heart lingered.

Woody’s catered to a wide spectrum of patrons: from high school adolescents eager to test their independence to hard-edged thirty-somethings. Music pulsed over the air, a heavy, discordant throb emitted from a band that appeared to be strung out.

It wasn’t long before Claire spotted Nina through the haze of smoke, in a skirt much shorter than any she ever wore to school.

Claire pointed across the dance floor to the girl. Gideon followed her finger, his gaze running over Nina in cool assessment.

“What’s her story?” He spoke over the bar’s din, his first words since he left her standing in his living room.

“She’s a good student.” Claire studied the crowd surrounding Nina. Some were recognizable from the hallways. “Transferred in last January. Can’t recall where she came from exactly.”

“Maybe a little of everywhere?” he asked grimly.

“Yeah,” Claire said in surprise. “Something like that. I think her dad is in the marines. How’d you guess?”

“Packs move around. It’s not their nature to feed in one area too long. Long-standing impulse—don’t deplete the food source.”

Claire swung her gaze from Gideon back to Nina. “You’re not suggesting—”

“Why not? She knew Lenny and could easily have infected him.” He shrugged. “I’m not getting a read on her either way, but the more experienced lycans are harder to detect. Especially the females. They’re more adept at blending in.”

“She’s just a girl.”

“For all we know, she could be five hundred years old. Lycans can live a very long time. The longest on record is twelve hundred years.”

She felt her eyes widen. “There’s a twelve-hundred-year-old werewolf out there?”

“We think he’s still out there. He’s either dead or been lying low for a couple centuries. If he’s dead, it’s through natural causes. Otherwise NODEAL would have a record.”