The bearded older gentleman manning the grill caught my eye and set down his tongs. “Daisy Johanssen?”

“Yes.”

Approaching me, he held out his hand. “Elijah Fairfax, clan patriarch.” His tone was reserved. “Thank you for coming.”

I shook his hand. “Of course.”

There was a glint in Uncle Elijah’s eyes that suggested he knew it wasn’t that simple. Well, he should know, since he’d called for this mixer to set Cody on the path toward finding a suitable mate. But he didn’t say anything, just released my hand, stuck two fingers in his mouth, and uttered a short, shrill whistle.

And . . . it was at that point that it ceased to resemble an ordinary, mundane gathering.

All across the backyard, heads turned attentively, phosphorescent green flashing behind myriad eyes. Conversations were put on hold, games of tag and volleyball were abandoned. The out-of-town visitors converged on me with careless athletic grace, forming a greeting line of sorts, nudging and elbowing, snarling and snapping their strong white teeth playfully at one another in a bid to gain position.

In the woods on the far verge of the yard, a pair of young wolves broke cover, racing to join us. One wolf planted a stiff foreleg and shoulder-checked the other, sending it tumbling.

From the cloud of snow and fur that ensued, a naked young woman arose. Shaking out her hair, she laughed and called, “No fair!” before trotting over to one of the picnic tables to retrieve her clothing.

Yep, definitely not a mundane keg party.

One by one, the dozen visiting werewolves introduced themselves to me by first name, clan name, and city. They’d come in groups or pairs—four from Seattle, two from Denver, four from Montreal, and two from New York. Although I hadn’t actually met all the members of the Fairfax clan, especially the younger ones, they hung back. Apparently this formality was for the benefit of the visitors, each of whom shook my hand with a solemn politeness that was somewhat undermined by the way each one leaned in to get a good whiff of my scent. Werewolf etiquette—go figure.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Cody in the background, his hands shoved into the pockets of a heavy, shearling-lined suede jacket that hung open to the cold, a studiedly neutral expression on his face.

I recognized Stephanie from Seattle—Clan Hawthorne, by the way—in the greeting line. She looked just like she did in the profile picture I’d seen on Cody’s laptop, only prettier—tall and sporty-slim, blue-gray eyes sparkling in the cold air, a healthy pink flush on her cheeks. I bet she was a great volleyball player.

“Thank you for inviting us to visit,” Stephanie said cheerfully after leaning over to sniff my hair.

“You’re very welcome,” I said as though I’d had any choice in the matter, suppressing a violent surge of jealousy. After all, it wasn’t her fault that my relationship with Cody was a nonstarter. “I hope you enjoy it here.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, it’s wonderful!” She made an expansive gesture. “So much territory to roam! Just to see it is worth the hours spent confined in mundane airspace.”

“Isn’t Seattle, like, the hiking capital of the United States?” I asked.

“Outside of the Yama King’s territory, it is,” Stephanie said, looking wistful. “Oh, there are miles and miles of wilderness! But we can’t shift there. Only in the city, above the underworld.”

“That must be frustrating,” I said.

Stephanie’s upper lip curled in an unself-conscious half snarl. Oddly enough, she still looked wholesome doing it. “It is.”

Once I’d met the whole visiting contingent, it appeared that my official duties were done. I wasn’t sure if Cody was going to ignore me, but he manned up and came over to greet me as the receiving line dissolved and hungry and thirsty young werewolves headed for the keg and the platters of rare steak, underdone burgers, and half-cooked sausages stacked around the charcoal grill.

“Hey, Daise,” Cody said quietly. “Thank you for doing this.”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“I know.”

It was awkward. I didn’t know what to say, what to do with my feelings. By the look on his face, neither did Cody. “So how long am I expected to stay at this thing?” I asked him.

He glanced at the horizon. “Not long. Until the sun sinks below the tree line. Come dusk, there will be a hunt.”

“I bet these city-slicker werewolves are looking forward to that,” I said. “So much territory to roam!”

“Daisy.” Cody squared his shoulders. “Don’t.”

I sighed. “She seems very nice, Cody. They all do. It’s just—”

“I know!” He raised his voice, then lowered it. “I know. Sorry. I’m in a shitty mood. On top of everything else, I got a subpoena Friday night. I heard you and the chief got served earlier. Any idea why?”

“Nope.” I watched the mingling tribes fill their plates. Stephanie headed over toward us, a plate in either hand.

“I brought you a steak,” she said to Cody, setting the plates down on a picnic table beside us. “Liaison, can I get you anything? A beer?”

“I’ll get it,” Cody said before I could answer. “I’ll get beer for all of us. I’m supposed to be one of the hosts here. Daisy, can I bring you a plate?”

“No, thanks.” Even if I’d had an appetite, which I didn’t, I wasn’t a big fan of werewolf grilling techniques. “Beer’s fine.” I didn’t really want a beer, either, but I didn’t want to be rude.