Tiffany circled around, balanced on her toes, ready to spring away if she needed to. The other girls were only just struggling to their feet when Vera sprang with catlike agility, diving in low so talon-tipped fingers could close on the hunter’s ankle, yanking her off her feet. Tiffany was unable to compensate and lost her balance, crashing onto her back and sending one of the daggers clattering across the floor to slide under a couch, far out of reach.
Before any of the other werewives could stop her, Vera was on top of Tiffany’s sprawled form, one paw on her shoulder to keep her down and massive jaws diving for her throat.
Tiffany didn’t hesitate to bury the remaining dagger in Vera’s side, the sharp metal sinking between her ribs with the ease of a hot knife through butter. Vera’s head snapped back and she howled in pain, her talons ripping through Tiffany’s silk blouse, and then her skin as she convulsed and jerked away. The knife came free as she pulled back, and Tiffany dropped it in favor of scooting back across the slick floor as far from Vera as possible and grabbing at her bleeding shoulder, crying out in pain.
By then Cassandra and Alexis had regained their feet. Heather, the weakest of the three, was still clutching at the back of her neck and moaning on the floor. Cassandra was a little unsteady, but she put herself between Vera and Tiffany, her jaw tight and a muscle ticking in her cheek as she placed her fists on her hips. She glared down at Vera, who was whimpering and rolling on the floor, writhing against the silver burn now racing through her bloodstream. It wasn’t enough to kill her—the blade hadn’t struck anything vital or damaged any internal organs—but she’d be in a great deal of pain for the next few days, and left with a permanent scar.
Assuming Cassandra let her live, that is.
“I hope you’re happy,” Cassandra said, a scowl twisting her features as she kicked Vera’s bleeding side, drawing another choked yowl of pain out of her. “You’ve just signed our death warrants, you moon-crazed, silver-tainted, imbecilic whore!”
Heather’s head jerked up, her eyes widening. She gasped when she spotted all of the blood now pasting Tiffany’s shirt to her chest, then dragged herself to her feet using a nearby chaise as leverage. “Cassie—”
“If I told you once—”
“Cassie!”
Cassandra turned a withering glare on Heather, and she shrank back from the heat in her gaze, voice a low whisper.
“I filed the contract.”
Everyone—Alexis, Tiffany, Cassandra, and Vera—turned their attention on Heather, who wrapped her arms around her stomach and looked away so she wouldn’t have to meet the incredulity and anger in their gazes.
“I filed it this morning. Before the meeting. I knew none of you would ever do it, and I didn’t agree with Gabriel saying no.”
Tiffany gave voice to a raspy, triumphant laugh, sitting up and tossing her hair back over her shoulder, though some of the longer strands were now red with blood and clung to her chest and shirt. Cassandra sucked in a breath through her teeth, her gaze torn between Tiffany and Heather, who was busy hugging herself and trying to look as small as possible. Alexis simply ran her palm over her face, though she was admittedly relieved that it now meant there was no liability connected to herself as far as this unbelievable fuck up on Vera’s part was concerned.
Tiffany used her free hand to grab a nearby lamp pole to lever herself to her feet. The wounds weren’t too deep, but they stung when she moved around, dragging a wince out of her. Cassandra tensed, but made no move to help, not wanting to risk being struck by another silver weapon she might have hidden in her clothes.
“Well,” Alexis ventured, hoping to defuse some of the tensions between the women now that the worst seemed to be over, “I suppose that means you’re really going to be one of us, now. Congratulations.”
Tiffany’s sunny smile was at odds with her pallor and the way she swayed on her feet. Despite the pain, she stood tall and proud, arms folded in front of her chest. Lifting her chin, she turned that pleased grin on Alexis, her look just as predatory as any of the werewolves could have pulled off.
“Don’t worry. None of you will regret the decision. I promise.”
Vera growled, the low rumble cutting off into a pained whine when Cassandra shoved her again with her foot until she subsided. Cassandra whirled on Tiffany, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed into tight knots as she stalked forward, though she still left a healthy distance between them.
“You may have gotten your way, but you’ll have to rise through the ranks just like the rest of us did. Gabriel isn’t going to make it easy for you, and neither will the rest of the pack. What you did was inexcusable, and hardly fitting behavior for a member of the Diamondfangs. I have the feeling you’ll be spending the next couple of years proving yourself to the rest of us.”
Tiffany’s smile faded, and she inclined her head by way of apology. She was still far too pleased to be terribly sorry. “If that’s what you wish, so be it. I suppose I have nothing but time now, so I’ll spend as long as it takes to prove my worth.”
Heather paused in rubbing the back of her neck, still sore from Vera’s blow, to turn a puzzled look on Tiffany. “What do you mean?”
“You know that’s why I came to you instead of the vampires, don’t you? I wanted immortality without the nighttime limitations, and I got it. Under the circumstances, it seems to me being furry for a few nights out of the month isn’t such a bad deal. Now that what’s yours is mine, I’ll do whatever it takes to earn the respect of the pack. We can start with my overseas connections—which should help the pack expand its influence enormously. It’s only a fair trade, considering.”
Cassandra snorted, leaning back on her heels and eyeing Tiffany with a sly twist to her lips. The other girls were staring blankly now, even Vera, too surprised to contradict her.
“Really, now. That’s why you wanted to join us so badly? Immortality?”
“Of course. You think I like the idea of being a monster? What’s the point if you don’t get something out of it—like living forever?”
Cassandra startled everyone by throwing her head back and laughing, covering her eyes with her hand. Her shoulders shook so hard with mirth that she couldn’t speak right away. Irritated, Tiffany huffed, looking at Heather, who was watching her with wide eyes, her hand over her mouth.
“What’s so funny about that?”
Heather shook her head, not wanting to be the one to break the news. So Alexis did it for her.
“Honey, you should’ve stuck with the vampires. Werewolves aren’t immortal. We have decreased life spans because of our nature.”
Tiffany blinked. “Come again?”
“Decreased. Life. Span,” Alexis repeated. “We’re destined to die young. Well, relatively.”
Already pale from blood loss under the bronze shimmer of her makeup, Tiffany grew whiter still. She staggered a few steps to collapse into a nearby chair. Heather grimaced when she saw the bloody handprint left behind on the furniture, but felt it was the wrong time to caution her guests about keeping the place tidy.
“... but ... but I thought ...”
“Wrong, obviously,” Cassandra said, lacing her tone with as much sympathy as she could muster. Under the circumstances, it wasn’t much. “Sorry, sweetness. I’m surprised you didn’t know. I thought the White Hats were better informed than that.”
Tiffany shot her an angry look, though she was still too shocked and weak to do more than raise a shaky fist at her. “I didn’t care about the details, I just went with Richard when he went on hunts. No one ever told me!”
“Get used to it,” Heather snapped, her own patience at an end. “You’re one of us now. Welcome to the werewives.”
EPILOGUE
If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to.
—Dorothy Parker
Six Months Later
Alexis stirred her martini, watching a woman ordering one of the cabana boys at the hotel pool to get her a towel and something from the bar. The werewives had decided a vacation down to Atlantic City was in order, and were making the most of the time away from their husbands by shopping, gambling, visiting the local clubs, and soaking up sun by the poolside. Now, resting at a glass table with a view overlooking the rest of the patio, the pool, and the ocean in the distance, the ladies were relaxing after a long, hard day of wearing out the magnetic stripes on their husbands’ credit cards.
Alexis studied the woman with interest. She was dark-haired and golden-skinned, probably from out of town. Her bikini and matching sarong were ones Alexis had considered buying herself when she was shopping at Saks Fifth Avenue earlier in the week. The rock on her finger shone brightly enough that Alexis was glad she’d remembered to bring her Christian Dior sunglasses with her.
The lady said something so sharply that the boy taking her order was quick to pick up her purse for her when she gestured for it, and then rushed off to fetch her drink. Though the sight of the tight butt as he bent over to pick up the bag was distracting, Alexis used the excuse of plucking the olive garnishing her drink out and shaking it in the woman’s direction to turn the attention of the other werewives her way.