I blew out a fast breath. I know, but I already was one. Even if Vivian isn’t behind the murders, what she did to Ciara will seem like small potatoes compared to what she must want to do to me.

He rubbed his thumb down my cheek.

What do you think?

Seems like you’re doing a grand job of running this show. Why would I step in now?

“Awesome. I totally agree.” I turned to the room. “Anyone have a napkin?” I said sweetly. Either they were going to see the humor or they were going to think I was nuts.

Some of them got to their feet, holding out little white paper napkins. Most were giving me some serious side-eye. And a few looked seriously pissed.

On the whole, I guessed most of Donovan’s pack thought I was officially off my rocker.

Donovan and Ian started laughing, hard. It took a second before the rest of the pack caught up, but I was pretty sure they weren’t laughing for the same reason Donovan and Ian were.

I moved into the dining hall. Inside were long wooden banquet tables. They were old and beat to hell, but looked sturdy. They’d stood long years of pack wear and tear, and that meant something. Some of the tables had long benches, and others tall-backed wooden chairs. There was enough room for a few hundred or more werewolves, and it was packed. An empty seat here and there caught my eye, but it was mostly full.

I walked over to a girl whose eyes seemed like they held genuine amusement. Her curly, black hair was tied back in a long ponytail, but little ringlets had slipped free around her face. Her eyes were a deep brown, and she reminded me a bit of Tessa.

I took the napkin from her. “Thanks.”

“No worries. She’s had that coming to her for a long time.”

“Let me introduce my mate, Saoirse,” Ian said. “I think you’ll be fast friends.”

“Oh good!” I glanced at the empty seat in front of her. “This seat taken?”

“By all means.”

“Thanks.” The rest of the table was full, but as soon as I sat down, there was suddenly enough room for Donovan and Ian.

Saoirse’s necklace caught my eye as I waited for the guys to get settled in their chairs. It was a large silver rose about half the size of my fist. A worm wrapped around the flowering bloom and its head stuck out the center of the rose. Something about it gave me the heebie-jeebies, but who was I to judge someone else’s jewelry. Especially not the first woman in the pack to be nice to me.

“Interesting necklace.” There had to be a story behind it.

She grinned and caressed the rose. “Thank you. It’s an heirloom.”