“Some asshole swung a two-by-four from around a corner while Vic and I were trying to corral him. You were at school.”

I’d been at school for five years and had rarely called home. And even when I had, I hadn’t asked about Marc, because I hadn’t wanted to encourage him. I’d thought I was done with the Pride—that I would graduate, then get a job in the human world and live a normal life.

Turns out there are several different definitions of normal, and now I couldn’t imagine living in a world in which the daily grind included little pummeling and almost no face smashing.

“You hit him back?” I asked, and Marc grinned.

“With my other fist. Broke his jaw.”

“Damn right.” I smiled, and his hand found my elbow again, helping me lower myself to the ground. I lay on my right side and stared at the bathroom door as Marc backed away, giving me space.

I hadn’t Shifted since the night Kevin Mitchell had broken my arm nearly two weeks earlier, so I felt more than a bit overdue. Fortunately, I hadn’t yet hit the point at which not Shifting would damage my health.

I closed my eyes and let my head rest on the floor, then inhaled through my nose—and immediately regretted it. I hated Shifting indoors, and especially hated Shifting in motels. Instead of the scents of pine needles, ferns, and fresh creek water—which long-term habit had taught my body to use as signals to begin the process—I got chemical cleaning products, and all the disgusting odors they hadn’t been able to kill. Cigarette smoke, stale takeout, and bodily fluids I didn’t even want to imagine.

Springs creaked as Marc sank onto one of the beds, and I resisted the urge to look at him. For the first time since I could remember, I didn’t want to Shift, because I knew it would hurt. And that I’d have to do it over and over again.

I’d never considered how necessary the actual desire to Shift is to the process itself, until I finally found myself faced with the lack of it. I sighed, frustrated.

“What’s wrong?” Marc asked, and I answered without looking at him, trying to keep the distractions at a minimum.

“I’m truly dreading the pain. Does that make me sound like a total wimp?”

He laughed. “It makes you sound like an enforcer. No one else would even consider Shifting with a broken wrist and thirty-seven stitches in a massive gash on her other arm.”

“I wish I weren’t considering it, either.”

“Okay, think about it like this…” Marc slid off the bed and sat beside me on the floor. He started rubbing my back, and I began to relax almost instantly. He always had that affect on me—when we weren’t yelling at each other. “If you don’t Shift, we can’t get to Lance, and Kaci’s going to die.”

I stared at him in horror, waiting for the punch line that never came. He wasn’t joking. “Yeah. No pressure.”