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“No,” I scolded him. “Bad.”

When Ray Sheeren showed up, the guy in charge of all the shipping for the company, everyone but Talia yelled “Ray!” at the same time, and his face lit up. I adored Ray; he had the best stories about packing up some really interesting items over the years. He was regaling everyone in the living room, sitting on the coffee table, talking about an urn, when I called out that dinner was ready.

“My understanding is you’re not supposed to ship urns through regular channels,” Talia said to him as they got up.

“Only if you’re honest and explain about the human remains.” He winked at her. “Sometimes, to get someone home, ya gotta get it done. Am I right?”

She smiled at him. “You are right.” When she reached the plates, she turned and passed him one first.

“Thank you. I’m so happy it’s meatless. I would’ve had to grab a slice of veggie pizza on my way home.”

“Me too. Where’s your favorite?”

And they talked, and I liked that, watching them, the guy who did our shipping and, I’d learned, the textile heiress. So interesting the ways life intertwined that you never expected.

It was a wonderful evening. People checked out my books and my art, loved my couch pillows, the wine, my lasagna, the dessert, and my espresso maker. Talia gave Ray her number, Bing bonded with Paul and Rohan, as it turned out they all played D&D, and Wyn stayed in my little kitchen and helped me put lasagna and bread and dessert into containers for people to take home. The wine was all gone, and Talia had been right, her pick was the best. I made sure to take a picture of the label.

Once everyone was gone except Wyn, he took out the garbage for me, along with the recycling, and I was loading my dishwasher when, for the second time that night, the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

I spun around and came face to face with Royce Kimball, one of Deacon’s odious, entitled trust-fund friends.

“Holy shit,” I gasped, grabbing a dirty knife from the top of my washer where they lay flat—my mother had bought me the same model she had—and brandished it, ready to fight.

“You’re overreacting.” He sounded patronizing even when he wasn’t trying.

“Get out of my house,” I demanded.

He turned to Wyn, who was strolling in from outside. “He’s overreacting.”

“What are you doing in here? You were supposed to wait,” Wyn snapped at him.

He shook his head. “I can’t wait anymore. This is life and death for me.”

I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. “You’re working with him?”

“What? No. And stop looking at me like that,” Wyn chided. “And working on what, might I ask?”

I had never felt so vulnerable in my life. This was my home, my sanctuary, the one place I had created entirely by myself but for the addition of the dishwasher my mother had insisted on. It was warm and inviting, everyone always wanted to stay a bit longer, and sitting on the couch across from the leather sofa, wrapped up in blankets, watching TV, was one of my favorite things in the world. And now Royce Kimball was there, in my space. I had no idea what I could ever do to reclaim the feelings of happiness and security and make it mine again.

“I didn’t know there were any lupines working at Hudson’s,” Kimball said, hands flat on the counter now, staring at me. “It’s the only reason I suggested it to River.”

Ah. River Wilkes. This was starting to make a bit of sense.

“I knew if anything was found, a human auction house would contact him first, even with his family signing the waiver that it wasn’t necessary to do so. Because humans would return something that was found. They would have no reason not to.”

I said nothing, not letting him see any change in me, not even a twitch of emotion on my face.

“But when Wyn told me today that there was a hope chest at your station, a hope chest I don’t remember seeing in the house, ever, I have to wonder… Did you find something?”

“Two things I don’t understand,” I began, upset with myself for asking, but I had to know. Curiosity and the cat and all. “First, I thought all the boxes and crates of paper were accounted for. Is that not true?”

He leaned back and took a step to the left, like he was coming around the counter to the kitchen where I was. At the same time, I moved to my own left, ready to dart.

“You realize,” he began, his voice flat, devoid of feeling, “as an alpha, if I wanted you dead, you already would be.”

Was that supposed to be comforting?

“I’m answering your question, not about to gut you.”