“Go get showered. Comb your hair and change your clothes,” I told him briskly, striking while he was still weak. “And don’t dawdle and leave me at the mercy of your people for very long. I’m taking you out tonight to watch some bad movies with Warren, Kyle, and me. Adam is out of town, so there’s a slot open.”

Warren was my best friend, a werewolf, and third in the Columbia Basin Pack. Kyle was a lawyer, human, and Warren’s lover. Bad Movie Night was our therapy night, but sometimes we invited people we thought needed it.

Stefan gave me an incredulous stare.

“You obviously need someone to hit you with a cattle prod to get you moving,” I informed him with a sweeping gesture that took in the disreputable state of his house and his people.

“But you got me instead, your friendly neighborhood coyote. You might as well give in because I’ll just annoy you until you do. Of course, I know a cowboy who probably has a cattle prod somewhere if it comes to that.” One side of his mouth turned up. “Warren is a werewolf. He doesn’t need a prod to get cows moving.” His voice sounded rough and unused.

He glanced down at Ford.

“He’s not going to hurt anyone soon,” I told the vampire. “But I can drive most people to violence given enough time, so you should get moving.” Abruptly, there was a popping noise, and Stefan was gone. I knew he could teleport though he seldom did it in front of me. Both of his people jerked reflexively, so I guessed they hadn’t seen him do it much, either. I dusted off my hands and turned to Rachel.

“Where is Naomi?” I asked. I couldn’t see her letting things get into this state.

“She died,” Rachel told me. “Marsilia broke her, and we couldn’t put her back together. I think that was the final straw for Stefan.” She glanced up the stairway. “How did you do that?”

“He doesn’t want me to get the cattle prod,” I told her.

Her arms were wrapped around herself, her mutilated hand clearly visible. She was bruised, bitten, battered—and she said, “We’ve been so worried about him. He won’t talk to any of us, not since Naomi died.”

Poor Stefan had tried to curl up and die because Marsilia had sold him out—and he’d done his best to take the remnants of his menagerie with him. And Rachel was worried about him.

About him.

“How many of you are left?” I asked. Naomi had been a tough lady. If she was gone, she wouldn’t have been the only one.

“Four.”

No wonder they looked bad. Four people couldn’t feed a vampire all by themselves.

“He’s been going out hunting?” I asked.