I never heard him leave, but I let out my held breath when Jenks relaxed. “He’s gone?” I whispered, and he made an exasperated face.

“Tink’s panties, Rache,” he said, sitting on the edge of the couch beside me and putting his elbow on his knee. “That was rash even for you.”

I brought my head back down to look at him. Surrounded by carpet and walls, I could smell the lake on me, and I ran a hand through my tangled damp curls, getting my fingers stuck. I thought about pushing his elbow off his knee, but didn’t since he was still bleeding. Instead I sat up and reached for the bandage pressed against his head.

“Don’t,” he said, sounding frantic as he drew back.

Lips pursed, I glared about the room at the unseen cameras. “Where’s my damn first-aid kit!” I shouted. “Someone better bring me my kit, or I’m going to get pissed!”

“Rache,” Jenks protested. “I don’t want to see the pit. It smelled awful.”

Seeing his worry, I tried to smile. “Believe me, I’m trying to stay out of it. But if we act like prey, they’ll treat us like a wounded antelope. You’ve watched Animal Planet, right?”

We both looked up when a small girl dressed in jeans and a sweater came in from the room’s only door. She had a tackle box in her hand, and she silently set it on the table before Jenks and me. Not meeting our eyes, she backed three steps away before turning around.

“Thank you,” I said. Never stopping, she looked over her shoulder, clearly surprised.

“You’re welcome,” she said, stumbling on the step up out of the sunken area. Her ears went red, and I guessed she was no more than thirteen. Life was good in a traditional Were pack if you were on top, crap if you were on the bottom, and I wondered where she fit in.

Jenks made a rude sound, and I opened it up to find the usual stuff—minus anything sharp and pointy. “So why were you nice to her?” he asked.

I dug until I found a good-sized bandage and a packet of antiseptic wipes. “Because she was nice to me.” Pushing the tackle box aside to make room on the table, I sat sideways. “Now, are you going to be nice to me, or am I going to have to get bitchy?”

He took a deep breath, astonishing me when he went solemn and worried. “Okay,” he said, slowly peeling the bandage away. Eyes fixed to the blood on it, he started to breathe fast. I almost smiled, seeing that it was little more than a scratch. Maybe if he was four inches tall and had a thimbleful of blood it might be a problem, but this was nothing. It was still bleeding, though, and I tore open the antiseptic wipes.