Rick said, “He’s back. Wake up, sleepyhead.”

I sat up and yawned, spotting the dark shadow that was Kem, far below us on the opposing face of the mountain. He was moving erratically, jerking and sliding, backside first, dragging a black bear down the mountain. It looked like two hundred pounds, maybe two fifty. Beast couldn’t have dragged the bear. She hissed in displeasure, but it was true. Beast could drag a hundred fifty pounds, but not much more. Leopards have excellent musculature in head, jaw, neck, and shoulders, and superior climbing ability. They can even climb down a tree headfirst. The leopard could probably drag the bear up a tree, which is where leopards keep their dinners, safe from other predators or scavengers. Kem dragged the carcass inside the mouth of the cave. I looked at Rick. “I thought Kem was ticked off with the grindy for killing Safia.”

He shrugged. “Instinct is hard to resist. I’ve seen him feed the grindy while fighting the urge to kick it. He says the two species are linked, I’m guessing on a metaphysical level.”

I shook my head and put my cold, wet boots back on. Together, Rick and I descended the precipitous hillside, mostly on our butts. When we got to the bottom, Kemnebi stepped from the cave in human form. Naked. I averted my eyes. Rick opened his backpack and tossed Kem some clothes and a bag of nuts. Kemnebi dressed without the slightest sign of embarrassment, and ate the nuts, while I tried to affect a bored expression, pretty sure I wasn’t succeeding. Rick tossed him a package of granola, the kind with M&Ms in it. Kem ate that too. Then he walked barefoot toward us with that deadly-looking, catlike grace. Without preamble, he said, “They give birth only once a century. I did not know she was female, nor that she was carrying young.” I wasn’t sure how he could not know her gender, and he answered almost as if he had heard my thoughts. “They have very little external genitalia. They are very private creatures. I put her life in danger by bringing her to this country.” His voice was toneless, but his eyes were heavy with guilt and sorrow. He looked around the steep hills and back to the cave. “She has been deeply stressed by her inborn imperative to hunt down feral weres, while carrying young. She did not hunt enough for food, did not gain enough weight, and her litter is small. The bear will feed her baby-hunger for the remaining days of her nursing.”

I remembered the teats. I’d thought the grindy was an amphibian, not a mammal.

Without looking at Rick, Kemnebi held out a hand, imperiously. “Shoes.”

Before Rick could react, I jerked the backpack out of his hand and stalked to Kem. Far too close, inside his personal space. I felt his cat flinch at the intrusion. Beast huffed in defiance. “He’s not your servant. He’s not your slave. He’s not your punching bag.” Kem’s eyes went golden green so fast I didn’t even see the change. But I wasn’t finished. “And he isn’t yours to challenge or to kill. He’s mine. Get it?” I tossed the backpack into the pond. It landed with a splash. “Get your own damn shoes.”

I grabbed Rick by the elbow and yanked him downhill. “Yours, huh?” he said, sounding entirely too satisfied. I growled at him. “You do like to play rough, Jane Yellowrock. I like that about you.” I ignored him, dragging him along, Rick laughing under his breath, shaking his head.

I shook my head and hid a smile. “Shuddup.”

Back at the parking lot, I let the men go off in their borrowed, battered truck and I headed back to Asheville. I was cold, wet, exhausted, and really, really, really needed a nap. Which I got. Finally. Even though sleeping meant I still had not called Angie back.

By half an hour after midnight I knew there were problems, I just didn’t know what kind or how bad. The evening’s talks had been scheduled to begin at twelve, but Shaddock was late. Again. No one answered at the clan home. No one answered anywhere. It was like Shaddock and clan had been sucked out of the universe, and thinking about the thing in Evil Evie’s basement, the bite marks on her neck, and the pink spell, that might be possible. I just hoped he wasn’t stuck in the basement ward. If he was, I’d need Evangelina’s sisters to free him. And maybe a howitzer.

Grégoire, insulted, retired to his suite with his twins, having a midnight blood-snack and a massage, leaving me with orders to find Shaddock. Things weren’t going well for the local vamp, and if Grégoire’s expression was indicative of the future, Shaddock wasn’t going to be master of any city, anywhere. Ever.

Back in my room again, I closed the door behind me, stripped off my fancy jacket, and opened my cell. There were no voice mail messages or texts from Molly. No calls from Evan either. Nada. Nothing. They wouldn’t call now, not this late. There was also nothing from Rick.

I was closing the cell when it rang, startling me. I flipped it back open, my heart in my throat, but it wasn’t Mol. I narrowed my eyes at the number on the screen. It wasn’t one I wanted to hear from right now. “Yellowrock.” I let my tone show my lack of pleasure.

Bruiser hesitated as if reading my emotions from the single word. He said, “Leo is dispatching the Rogue Hunter to the service of Lincoln Shaddock.” Bruiser was sounding all formal, which he did when he was acting strictly in Leo’s behalf, and not entirely with his own approval. When Leo wanted me to sleep with Kemnebi, Bruiser had used the same tone.

“Yeah? Would this have anything to do with old Linc being a no-show? Again?” I asked.

“There has been a disturbance. You will provide him and his clan all reasonable service.”

“I don’t sleep with Leo’s pals,” I reminded him.

His voice was warm, a low burr, when he said, “You have been remarkably resistant to my charms.”

Ooookaaay. I opened my mouth and closed it. Not gonna say anything I was thinking.

“Now,” he went on, his tone sharpening, “Leo hears rumors that his pet Rogue Hunter has claimed the title of his Enforcer. Is this true?”

“Ummm?” I got a sudden bad feeling. “Maybe.”

“Brilliant.” But I could tell he really meant stupid. “The Enforcer is a titled position in a Master’s household. Have you drank from him? Have you drank from any Mithran?”

“Nooooo.” I drug the word into three syllables.

“Don’t, for a period of two moon cycles, unless you want to be bound to that vampire as an Enforcer—a top blood-servant similar to a primo. One sip of blood will seal the contract.” I let a breath go, a long exhalation he couldn’t hear. Not a problem. I had no intention of drinking from any vamp, ever. “Please . . . attempt to be less foolish,” he said. The call disconnected.

I was still holding the cell when it rang again. I was a popular gal tonight. “Yellowrock.”

“Jane. It’s Adelaide. We need you at the compound.” Adelaide, tall and blond, the blood-servant lawyer who wanted to be my gal-pal. Before I could respond she said, “Lincoln’s chained scions have been let free of their shackles. They killed—” Her voice shut off as if someone had garroted her. I heard a breath drawn, full of tears. “They killed Sarah. She turned twenty-two yesterday. She was just a child.” There was a sob in her voice. She had liked Sarah.

This was why Leo had turned my services over to Shaddock. Young rogue-vamps who killed humans were staked. By me, if they got out of the scion lair; opening a scion lair with unchained rogues was a near guarantee that some would get out. I chose my words with care. “Why hasn’t Lincoln handled it? Or Chen?”

Her voice changed, growing stilted and sharp. “Mr. Shaddock isn’t on the premises at the moment. He is not available. And Chen is elsewhere employed.”

“Ah.” Crap. Shaddock was missing from more than his parley talks, and Chen was hunting him. “And the person who set the rogues free?”

“We have the event on digital video, and the perpetrator is contained.” Her emphasis on the word contained made me think her culprit was not in the best shape.

“I’ll be there within the hour.” I tossed my vamp-hunting gear on the bed, catching sight of myself in the long mirrors as I moved. I was no clotheshorse, but I looked pretty good in harem pants, boots, white silk shirt and short vest. Too bad I wasn’t going to get a chance to show the outfit off. While I talked on the cell—ordering the supplies I needed, and my SUV brought around front—I stripped and pulled on leather studded with silver. Weaponed up, stakes in my bun, and every vamp-killer blade and gun I owned. And strode toward the door to the hallway.

It opened, my hand still above the knob. The smell of vamp swept in. I had a hand on a stake before I could catch myself, and met Grégoire’s gorgeous dark blue eyes. His delicate brows lifted, his gaze resting on my hand and the stake, unamused. I released it as if it burned. “Oops.” Grabbing a stake in the presence of a master vamp wasn’t smart.

Grégoire laughed. Waving one hand as if he were dismissing the gesture of violence, he moved into the suite, graceful as a ballerina. His forward motion alone backed me up, his blond hair loose about his shoulders, his scent like aromatic lilies tonight. Grégoire was wearing midnight blue silk jammies that probably cost more than everything I owned, the shirt unbuttoned to reveal a pale chest, hairless and smooth. And he was barefooted. I don’t know why, but the sight of a man’s bare feet can make me melt. Of course, if a vamp wanted to get the drop on me, he would come at me just like this, looking innocent and harmless. I backed up fast, my hands off my weapons. “Grégoire.”

“Rogue Hunter.” The matching bookend blood-servants stepped in behind him and shut the door. They were wearing even less than their master, silk pajama bottoms hanging low on their hips and twin looks of expectancy that sent warnings through me like lightning. “My master sent a gift for you,” Grégoire said. “I have been instructed to give it to you prior to your activities tonight.” He extended a black velvet box six inches high and fourteen square, like something from an expensive jewelry store.