Where am I? The last thing I remembered was dancing… and a man forcing me to shift. Oh my God, the memories were rushing back. When the crowd laid eyes on my panther, it was pandemonium. Thankfully, the shackle around her paw had given the customers enough time to escape. She’d fled the stage, panicked by the movement and shouting. I’d struggled to regain control but had lost the battle.

I wiped my mouth and quickly sat up, my hands trembling. The first thing I noticed was the smell. Fresh varnish mixed with pine. The floors and walls were all wood, and there were no windows. A giant flat-screen television hung on the wall ahead of me, behind me was a brown sofa. Beyond the sofa was a bed in what looked like an extension of the room.

“Hello?”

My legs felt like bags of cement as I struggled to stand. I smacked my lips when a specific food craving suddenly ripped through me, creating a gnawing hunger in the pit of my stomach.

“Clothes would be nice,” I murmured, glancing around in search for something to cover up with. I snatched the green chenille throw from the back of the couch and wrapped it around me.

In the left-hand corner of the room were two doors. The right door led to a tiny bathroom with a standing shower, toilet, and a vintage pedestal sink. Someone had locked the other door from the outside.

I gave the room another glance. To the right of the television was a kitchenette. Scenic paintings decorated the room with images of grassy meadows, a winding river that stretched toward a mountain, and two wolves standing in front of white birch trees. The landscapes of nature compensated for the absence of windows. No overhead light or fan, just a couple of brown lamps with dingy shades.

“Someone answer me!” I pounded my fist against the door, dizzy with fear and anger. The latter emotion had won the battle. “Open the motherfucking—”

I gasped when the door suddenly swung inward.

“That’s quite a mouth you’ve got on you,” Wheeler said, leaning on the doorjamb.

I didn’t know whether to slap or kiss him. Maybe both. “Where am I?”

“The heat house.”

“The what house?”

Then it clicked. He meant the small house Lexi had mentioned—the one that gave the girls a private place to let their hormones fly, or at the very least, a room separate from the house for the couples to unleash their passion.

“You’re staying here the night,” he said matter-of-factly.

“But Misha—”

“That’s not an offer, Naya. Packmaster’s orders.”

I jutted my hip out. “Well, he’s not my Packmaster. What happened? Did I hurt anyone?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Did you catch the man who attacked me?”

Wheeler stepped forward. “Someone attacked you?”

“Where were you!” I screamed. Accused. Blamed. My lip quivered, not afraid of what could have happened to me, but what could have happened to others because of me.

He gripped my shoulders. “Chill and get some sleep. You’re just wired up because of the shift.”