Fifteen going on thirty, with glossy black hair and green eyes, Ascanio was beautiful. Not just pretty, not just attractive, beautiful. He had that whole fallen angel thing going—there was a devious, sly mind behind that innocent face and pretty eyes.

Like most male children of Clan Bouda, he was treasured and babied, more so because he was lost for most of his life and his mother had just found him a few months ago. In this short period he had gotten into every possible trouble imaginable, culminating with being arrested for having a threesome on the courthouse steps. The boy did not understand how the Pack worked, and finally Aunt B foisted him off on Kate. It was that or kill him. Kate’s solution was to make this raging ball of problems and hormones into our intern. How her mind worked, I would never understand. It was a mystery.

Ascanio snapped to attention and saluted me, holding the broom like a rifle.

I pointed at the broom. “No.”

“Why not?”

Because it would’ve made every ex-military instructor I ever had foam at the mouth. “You salute with your weapon as a sign of respect.”

He presented me with an expression of puzzled innocence. “I don’t have a rifle or a sword. The broom is my weapon.”

Smartass. “Kid, you make my head explode.”

“Ave, Andrea! Ianitori te salutant!”

Hail, Andrea, those who janitor salute you. Kate was forcing Ascanio and Julie, her ward, to learn Latin, because a lot of historical magical texts were written in it and apparently it was an essential part of their education. Since the lessons were conducted in the office during our copious spare time, I was learning the language along with them.

I pointed at Ascanio. “Not another word. Latin is a dead language, but that doesn’t mean you get to molest its corpse. Finish sweeping, ianitor.”

He spun the broom with the dexterity of a Marine on Silent Drill Platoon, planted the handle into the ground, jumped, spinning around it, his legs straight out, and landed on one knee, his head bowed, his right hand extended, holding the broom in his fist parallel to the floor.

“You had coffee this morning, didn’t you?”

He looked up at me and nodded, a big grin plastered on his face.

Teenage boudas. Enough said.

I sat down and tried my best to concentrate on going through my case. The survey of the evidence only confirmed what I had already realized last night: I didn’t find any smoking guns. Most of what I had picked up looked just like common trash, which didn’t necessarily mean it was trash. It was evidence, the significance of which wasn’t immediately apparent. I catalogued it anyway. Crimes were rarely cracked by the super-brilliant detectives in a blaze of intellectual glory. Most of them were solved by the patient and the meticulous grunts just like me.

The roar of a water engine–powered vehicle thundered outside of our door and died. Raphael. Had to be. Kate would have parked in the far corner of the parking lot on the side, because she had trouble backing out.

I pretended to be absorbed in my likely worthless evidence. I had spent the entire drive to the office trying to figure out what to say, how to say it. I wanted to explain why I had done things. I wanted to tell him I loved him. I had tried to prepare myself for the possibility that he would tell me off, but most of me hoped with a desperate naive hope that he would forgive me and we would go home together.

A knock sounded through our absurdly reinforced door.

“Periculo tuo ingredere!” Ascanio proclaimed.

What the hell did he just say? Ingredere…Enter…Enter at your own risk. “If it’s a client, I’ll shoot you,” I told him.

The door swung open. A new scent swirled around me, a heavy fragrance—rose, patchouli, and coriander—an expensive perfume. A tall woman stepped inside. She was close to six feet and her shimmering golden heels added another four inches to her height. Her hair, the color of luminous white gold, fell down over her shoulders past her butt. She wore a really short black dress or a long T-shirt, I couldn’t quite decide which. Whatever it was, it was cinched to her improbably narrow waist by a white belt with golden studs. Her face, pretty and painted with makeup to near perfection, had that slightly vapid expression sometimes seen on models: she was either sleepy, horny, or just badly needed to sneeze.

A dark figure stepped into the office behind her. Six foot three, lean, wearing a black leather jacket and faded jeans…He stepped into the light. Dark blue eyes looked at me and the world fell apart around us. His face, framed by soft black hair, wasn’t perfect in the way Ascanio’s was, but it was masculine and handsome, and his eyes communicated a kind of sexual intensity, a promise and a challenge, that made women lose all of their self-respect and try to proposition him in plain view of their dates. The familiar scent washed over me like a pain-filled perfume.

Raphael.

As if in a dream I saw him put his hand on the woman’s butt, gently pushing her toward the two chairs by my desk.

Oh sweet Jesus.

He replaced me.

He replaced me with a better version of me.

And he brought her to the office. To rub it in.

The planet snapped back into place with an agonizing crunch. I stood up, saw myself extend a hand, and heard myself say, “Good morning.”

“Rebecca.” The woman shook my hand.

I concentrated so I wouldn’t crush her finger bones into cartilage pancakes.

“I got your message,” Raphael said.

And I’ve got yours, loud and clear. Inside me, the other me, the one that grew claws and fangs, howled in helpless fury. She didn’t understand nuances. She understood only that the person who loved her and cared for her had betrayed her and now she hurt. He was mine. Mine! The other me screamed inside me, tearing at the walls to be let out.

I struggled to keep her in check, imposing logic over emotion. Moving on was one thing. Moving on I could understand. It would break my heart, but I would understand it. This was a giant “fuck you” spelled out in glowing letters.

I forced my mouth open. My voice sounded flat. “Please sit down.”

They sat. Behind them Ascanio stared at us, his jaw hanging down.

“Ascanio, would you mind getting our guests some coffee.”

“Black, please,” Raphael said, his voice pounding a sharp spike into me. “Cream and sugar separate.”

“I don’t drink coffee,” Rebecca informed us. “It stains your teeth.”

“Did you have any trouble with the cops?” I asked, my control so tight that if I let myself go a hair, I would snap.

He looked directly at me. “Just minor formalities. Did you have any trouble at the dig site?”

“None at all. Stefan helped me.”

“He’s a good man, Stefan.”

“Yes, he is. Who is your lovely associate?” I unleashed my best smile in Rebecca’s direction. Raphael leaned forward, sliding his left arm along the back of Rebecca’s chair, his body half turned to shield her. He recognized the smile—it was the kind that meant someone was about to get shot.

“I’m his fiancée,” Rebecca said.

Fiancée? Fiancée.

Raphael’s eyes widened a fraction. He hadn’t wanted me to know, but it was too late. She had let the cat out of the bag.

“How lovely,” I said, sweetness dripping from my voice. “I hadn’t heard the announcement.”

“We’re engaged to be engaged,” Rebecca said. “We’re waiting until the end of the physical year to officially announce.”

“You mean fiscal year?” Dear God, she was a moron.

“Yes, that’s what I meant.”

Raphael slid his hand over Rebecca’s fingers tipped with hot pink acrylic nails.

I closed my eyes for a long second. “Congratulations to the happy couple.”

“Thank you,” Rebecca said.

Raphael toyed with a lock of her hair.

That did it.

“I see you’ve upgraded to the deluxe model,” I said. “Must’ve set you back quite a bit.”

“Worth every penny,” he said.

“You always had expensive tastes.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged his muscular shoulders. “I’ve been known to slum on occasion.”

I will kill you. I will hurt you, you wretched bastard. “Be careful with that. Sometimes slumming can be dangerous for you.”

“I can take care of myself,” he said and winked at me.

“What are you talking about?” Rebecca asked.

“My car, doll.” Raphael picked up her hand.

No. No, he wouldn’t.

He kissed her fingers.

Every nerve in my body burst on fire.

“You seem like such a well-matched couple.” I smiled at them. “Physically and intellectually. Rebecca is so stunning.”

“Don’t forget loyal,” Raphael said. “And loving.”

So is a dog. “I’m sure your mother is simply delighted with you both.”

A muscle in Raphael’s face jerked. My goodness gracious, I’d hit a sore spot. Aunt B, his mother and the head of Clan Bouda, was a legend. Boudas were wild, and she ruled them with sweet smiles and razor-sharp claws. One look at Rebecca and Aunt B would have an instant apoplexy.

Raphael’s eyebrows furrowed. “My mother’s approval isn’t necessary.”

Aha. “Does she know that?”

Ascanio approached, carrying a coffee mug on a platter, with a small jar of sugar and a cup of cream.

“She is a terrible woman,” Rebecca said.

Ascanio froze.

I stared at Raphael. Are you going to let it slide? Honestly? Aunt B was his mother, but she was also his alpha, and Ascanio was a member of the clan.

Raphael leaned toward Rebecca, his voice intimate but firm like steel wrapped in velvet. “Sweetheart, never insult my mother in public.”

“She insults me. And you don’t do anything about it.”

Ascanio focused on Raphael, waiting for a cue. Aunt B ruled the clan, but Raphael was the male alpha.