He’d been trying to prove that it was possible to live without killing. From the looks of Rachel, he wasn’t trying very hard anymore.

“You can’t come in,” she said. “You need to leave. We’re not to disturb him, and Ford ...” The floor of the entryway was filthy, and my nose detected sweaty bodies, mold, and the sour scent of old fear. The whole house smelled like a garbage heap to my coyote-sensitive nose. It would probably have smelled like a garbage heap to a normal human, too.

“I’m going to disturb him, all right,” I told her grimly. Someone obviously needed to. “Where is he?”

When it became obvious that she couldn’t or wouldn’t answer, I walked farther into the house and bellowed his name, tilting my head so my voice would carry up the stairs. “Stefan! You get your butt down here. I have a bone or two to pick with you. Stefan! You’ve had enough time to writhe in self-pity. Either kill Marsilia—and I’ll help with that one—or get over it.”

Rachel had resorted to patting my shoulder and tugging at my clothes to try to get me back outside the house. “He can’t go outside,” she said with frantic urgency. “Stefan makes him stay in.

Mercy, you have to get outside.”

I’m tough and strong, and she was shaking with weariness and, likely, iron deficiency. I had no trouble staying right where I was.

“Stefan,” I bellowed again.

A lot of things happened in a very short period of time, so that I had to think of them later to put them together in the proper order.

Rachel sucked in a breath of air and froze, her hand on my arm abruptly holding on to me rather than pushing me away. But she lost her grip when someone grabbed me from behind and threw me onto the upright piano that sat against the wall between the entryway and the living room. It made such a huge noise that I mixed up the sound of my impact with the pain of my back hitting the top of the piano. Reaction to countless karate drills kept me from stiffening, and I rolled down the face of the piano. Not a fun thing. My face hit the flagstone floor. Something crashed into a limp pile beside me, and suddenly I was face-to-face with Ford, the big scary guy who inexplicably seemed to have thrown himself down beside me, blood dripping out of the corner of his mouth.

He looked different than he had last time, leaner and filthier. His clothing was stained with sweat, old blood, and sex. But his eyes, staring momentarily at me, were wide and startled like a child’s.

Then a faded purple T-shirt spilling over ragged dirty jeans, and long, tangled dark hair blocked my view of Ford.