Rita didn’t want your garden variety alpha male. What she wanted . . . well, he wasn’t even going there, just hoped for her sake she never found it because he was damned sure it wasn’t going to be what she expected.

What the hell was she reading anyway? Not the same "werewolf romances" he had. Sure, there had been dominance play, maybe mild BDSM, and while that wasn’t his thing, he could fake it if it meant getting this mess cleaned up. But there was a big difference between "tie me to the headboards" and . . . that.

When it came to sex, Nick considered himself an omnivore. If a woman wanted something a little kinky, he could get into it, and decide later whether he wanted to come back for more. But combine a serious turnoff with a woman he could barely work up an attraction to? This job wasn’t getting finished without a whole bottle of Viagra.

Even if he knew where to get Viagra, he wasn’t doing this. Sex with an attractive woman? Sure. Take pictures for her ex? After meeting Rita, he’d decided she’d probably earned a little humiliation in her life, so he could justify it, even if he wouldn’t be proud of himself later. But when it meant playing out a scene that disgusted him, he looked back on the whole deal with "what the hell was I thinking?"

This wasn’t working. He needed to confess his predicament to the Pack and say . . .

And say what? Sorry, I won’t whore myself for you guys? You’ve killed for me, and it’s not like I haven’t had sex with more women than I can count, but this is different. I have standards. Now, if I give you this guy’s phone number, can you look after it for me? I’d love to help, but I have a hot date tonight.

Nick ran his hands through his hair and groaned. There was no way out of this that wasn’t going to make him feel like shit. That wasn’t going to make him a shit.

He could run to his friends and ask them to cover for him, knowing it meant killing for him. Or he could degrade himself with a woman who made his skin crawl. If the choice was between hurting himself and hurting his friends, there wasn’t a choice at all.

He could only hope there was an easier way to finish this. Paul said Rita would go for him because he was a werewolf. He’d hoped to avoid that angle, but maybe, rather than acting like her idea of a werewolf, he could simply admit he was one, and she wouldn’t need all the "extras" to get her motor running.

He called Paul’s cell phone.

 

"You want what?" Nick said, loud enough to turn the heads of the couple seated beside him.

He prayed he’d misheard. Having sex with Rita would be demeaning enough. But this? No, he must have misheard.

"The deal was for a photograph—" he began.

"Yeah, of a werewolf having sex with my ex. Key word being werewolf. You need to be in wolf form, obviously."

Obviously? Obvious how? The thought had never entered Nick’s mind. Sure, the thought of having sex in wolf form had. It did almost every time he Changed with Elena. Smelling her, watching her run in front of him, tail flicking up, feeling his body respond, wishing Clay was a little more of the sharing type . . .

But that was wolf-on-wolf.

"Hey, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding," Paul went on. "You didn’t need to go through all that seduction shit. Just tell her you’re a werewolf and she’ll be down on all fours waiting."

"Waiting for a wolf."

Paul chuckled. "Yeah. Like I said, when Rita gets her mind set on something, she goes full out. She wants a werewolf, and she wants him wolfie. My deity, Grannus, told me Darren even tried to, you know, accommodate her, by bringing in this big dog and—"

"I get the picture." Actually, he was trying very hard not to . . .

"Well, it didn’t work. She’s got this thing about wanting to do it with a wolf, this . . . fetish."

There was a word for that, and Nick was pretty sure it wasn’t "fetish."

As Paul continued, Nick realized that he could screw Rita in wolf form and hand him a video, and it wouldn’t matter. All this was just a test to see how much leverage his blackmail threat would buy him. "Oh, could you seduce my ex and take pictures? Wait, no, let’s make it seducing her as a wolf . . ."

Sure, Paul wanted to humiliate Rita and his buddy, and that photo would certainly do the job. But that was only the beginning. He was probably already thinking of how handy a werewolf pet would be. Thug, bodyguard, assassin . . . He hadn’t gone through all that trouble of staging a dead woman in Nick’s bed just to exact revenge on his ex-wife and ex-friend.

The solution was obvious. Kill Paul. That’s what Clay would do. But he wasn’t Clay. He needed to find his own solution for this problem.

He told Paul he’d have the photos by morning.

 

At eight-thirty the next morning, they were in a parking lot as Paul examined his prize.

It was a damned good Photoshop composite. Nick was an excellent judge of women and had a good idea what Rita would look like naked. Browse some porn on the web, find a decent likeness on all fours . . . Then stake out Rita’s office and take some pictures at the right angle for a head shot. Finally, take a self-portrait of himself as a wolf, appropriately positioned.

The result was some of his best graphic work. Of course, like any composite, it wasn’t perfect. There was something not quite right in the shadows and shading. But Paul studied it, and studied it some more, and when he finally asked, "Is it real?" his tone said he was ready to take Nick’s word for it.

Instead, Nick said, "Does it matter?"

Paul looked up sharply. "What?"

Nick met his eyes with a steady stare. "You wanted to show your buddy a picture of your ex having sex with a wolf. Isn’t that what that is?"

"Well, yeah, but if it’s not real . . ."

"Does it look real?"

Paul’s mouth opened and closed. Nick’s gaze didn’t waver and that, he realized, was really all it took. A cold, steady stare. The same one a wolf Alpha would give an Omega who dared to question his authority.

Paul swallowed. "Yeah, okay. It’s good. So, um . . . Oh, right." He pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Nick. "The photos and the negatives."

Nick took the envelope. "One more thing. That werewolf who told you about me, McKay. What did he give you on me?"

"You mean Tyler Lake? He told me your name, address, where you worked . . . But don’t worry. I’m getting rid of that too."

Nick started to turn, then stopped. "You said you didn’t ask Lake to do it because he wasn’t right for the job. Why? He’s a werewolf."

Paul laughed. "Sure, but have you seen him? Rita might have a thing for werewolves, but she’s not blind. That guy’s so ugly my dog wouldn’t fuck him."

"Huh."

When Nick didn’t move, Paul wiped his hands on his jeans, his brow beading sweat. "So, uh, if we’re done here . . ."

"Do you know how I can get in touch with Lake?"

"What?"

"I can’t let him get away with giving out my name to anyone who asks for a werewolf. I need to hunt him down and beat the crap out of him."

Paul’s hands flew up. "Jesus, no. If he finds out I told you, he’ll—"

"Beat the crap out of you?"

"I’d be lucky if that’s all he did. That guy is seriously fucked up." He took a deep breath and eased back. "Anyway, I don’t know where he is or how to get in touch with him."

"That’s okay. My Pack will."

Nick turned to go. Paul leapt forward, catching his arm. Nick looked down at his hand. Paul quickly released it.

"Sorry, sorry. But please, don’t do this. He’ll kill me. You know he will."

Nick considered it. He spent five minutes considering it, letting Paul sweat, enjoying the stink of his fear, waiting until it hit just the right level, then, "I do need to teach him a lesson. But . . . I suppose could say I figured it out who told you on my own."

"Oh God, thank—"

"But . . ." Nick took his keys from his pocket. He cycled past the keys, past the flash drive, to a newly added device. "If you ever contact me again? For anything? Or give my name to anyone?" He pushed the playback button on the tiny voice recorder.

"You mean Tyler Lake?" Paul’s tinny voice said. "He gave me your name, address . . ."

Nick pushed the stop button.

"Lake won’t like that," Nick said. "And he’s also not going to like the part about him being too ugly for your dog. He’s a bit sensitive about his looks. A guy like that? He’s liable to make sure you aren’t too pretty either before he kills you."

Paul looked like he was going to be sick.

Nick continued, "So, now, you’ll take that photo and you’ll be happy with it, real or not. Then you’ll get rid of my name and number and forget you ever met me. Agreed?"

Paul agreed.

 

"Tyler Lake," Nick said. He lay on the sofa, phone in one hand. "I need to find him. Can you help with that?"

"Um, sure," Elena said. "But why . . .?"

"Apparently, he sold my name and number to some guy looking for a werewolf."

"Shit!" Her voice sharpened, and he pictured her scrambling upright. "Forget Lake for now. The first thing we need to do is find whoever he told and look after—"

"Done."

A moment of silence. "You’ve . . . taken care of it?"

"In my way. The guy was a Druid, so he already knew about werewolves. He was just using that to blackmail me. He put this dead woman in my bed and took pictures, threatening framing me for murder."

"What!? How—? No, just hold on. Clay and I will—"

"No need. I handled it."

The line went quiet.

Nick laughed. "Stunned to silence?"

"No, I just . . . Handled it how? What—?"

"I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now, I need to take care of Tyler Lake. And that’s one thing I won’t argue about accepting help with, if you and Clay don’t mind a weekend away from the kids, hunting a mutt with me."

"Love to. But . . . About this Druid and the blackmail. Are you sure . . .? Is everything okay?"

Nick smiled and stretched. "Everything is just fine."