At her frustrated look, he elaborated. “It’s not something I can explain. I only know that lycans seem to recognize each other on a primal level.” He smiled wryly. “I’ve never experienced it myself. Maybe you can fill me in later. When you’re back to normal.”

Back to normal. After she encountered her first werewolf. After they killed the alpha. After this was all over and she returned to her old self. The mouse. While that didn’t exactly excite her, the prospect of staying alive did. Just hearing him say those words so calmly, so confidently, reassured her that she was going to come out on top.

Gideon stepped from her side, and she resisted grabbing his arm. Don’t be a coward. Just tap into all that newfound confidence. That bolstered her for the barest second. Until she realized these other lycans would be confident too, and aggressive, and experienced. Not to mention they had strength in numbers, since, according to Gideon, they traveled in packs.

She knew he did this sort of thing for a living, but how could Gideon contend with multiple creatures possessing unnatural strength?

He must have sensed her anxiety because he turned back to her, pale eyes glowing in the smoke-thick air. “Don’t worry about knowing who they are. They’ll know you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she muttered as he walked away and left her at the bar.

Once he took his seat at the designated table, he sent her a wink. A small comfort considering how suddenly, terribly alone she felt—like a dinghy cast adrift from its mother ship. She moved slowly to her table.

The bar attracted a young crowd, and she hoped she didn’t run into any students but knew it likely. Gideon had last seen Lenny here, after all. She’d heard students mention the place before. Apparently the management didn’t care too much if they allowed minors inside.

“Hey there.”

She looked up at a guy not a day over twenty, his face blotchy with acne. Claire scrutinized him intently, opening her senses for a sign, anything that would tell her one way or another.

He glanced over his shoulder to where a group of equally unappealing guys mouthed encouragement and sent him indiscreet thumbs-ups.

“Hello,” she returned, darting a glance at Gideon, sitting with a sudden alertness in his chair.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked abruptly, his manner that of a man unaccustomed to picking up women.

Clearly, the question was intended “to pave the way,” considering she held a three-fourths-full beer in her hand. She snuck another glance at Gideon and caught him shaking his head no. Apparently he had reached the same conclusion. This guy wasn’t a werewolf.

“Ah, no thanks.” She lifted her beer in the air. “Already got one.”

“Uh, like some company, then?”

“I’m waiting for someone.” Not exactly a lie.