"Mom," Vivian whispered anxiously. "What do you want?"

Esmé shook her head. "I like it here." But she looked unsure.

I always took it for granted that everyone agreed, Vivian thought. That when the time came we would go.

The Wagners were arguing among themselves now, as if no one else existed; the triplets were wrestling and squealing again; Orlando Griffin was trying to raise his voice above the racket. Jenny Garnier burst into tears and the baby joined her.

Rudy jumped up. "Shut up, all of you!"

His words didn't do any good. The noise crescendoed. Vivian put her hands over her ears and wished they'd go away. She saw the Five edging toward the door.

Then Gabriel strode across the room and leaped onto the coffee table. "Quiet!"

The Five froze. The room fell silent. Almost.

Rudy knelt beside Jenny to comfort her, and gradually mother and baby stopped sobbing.

"A strong leader has control, Rudy," Astrid said. "Maybe the reason the boys are running a little wild is you, not the city. I think with the right leader we can make a good life here." She studied Gabriel with pleasure. "I know a good strong man when I see him."

"You've known a lot of them," Esmé said loudly.

Astrid's lip twitched but she suppressed the snarl. "What do you say, Gabe? Want to stay in town and lead the pack?"

Gabriel looked from one of the women to the other with languid amusement and Vivian thought she'd die of shame.

"Yes, Gabe," Esmé said sweetly. "You've been very quiet. What do you say?"

"I vote we go," Gabriel said, and jumped down from the table.

Astrid stared at him in amazement.

"Hah, I vote we go, too," cried Esmé, "with Gabriel to lead us."

Raul stepped forward to face Gabriel across the coffee table. "What makes you a leader, puppy? I've got years on you."

Several other males stood up to argue their cases.

"Come on, let's vote on this," Rolf said. "Let's be fair."

"Who said this was a democracy?" cried Lucien.

"It's not," said Aunt Persia, in a voice that rang effortlessly above the others, startling them all. The keeper of ancient magics raised her hands slowly, her rings glittering. "It is time," she said, "to choose a leader in the Old Way."

"But that's like stepping back into the Dark Ages," Esmé cried into the shocked silence.

Vivian was stunned. The Old Way? When was the last time they had done that? Yes, her father could have taken on any male around and come out on top, but he had been made leader because of his management skills, and no one had challenged that. He was respected and well loved.

"Not completely the Old Way," Astrid said. "Times are different."

Aunt Persia eyed her coldly. "Males only."

"No!" Astrid pounded her seat with a fist.

"You want to get us all arrested?" Renata asked.

"There are several state parks in driving distance," Gabriel answered. "Places that are deserted at night."

"We've lost so many of us," Rudy said. "Do we want to cause death and injury to those who remain?"

"A leader must have the support of all the pack," said Aunt Persia. "If there is no agreement, then the right must be won by combat."

"The Old Way, the Old Way the Old Way," the Five began to chant. Rafe grinned gleefully; Finn's eyes sparkled as bright as the chains around his wrists.

Orlando Griffin rose and walked to the center of the room. The noise subsided. "As oldest male, I preside in matters of Ordeal," he said. He pointed at the Five. "You are not of age. We do not wipe out our young."

"We can fight," Rafe snarled.

Whatever the other boys said was drowned out by the crowd. Everyone had an opinion. Everyone expressed it.

Vivian got up quietly and slipped out the door. No one noticed. No one stopped her, not even her mother. It was a relief to leave the house.

Outside, she sat on a bench under the ramshackle grape arbor, half hidden by the trailing vines. The backyard was quiet except for the chirping of tiny nightlife. Early fireflies danced in the shadows.

She had never witnessed the Ordeal. All she knew was that every adult male fought in his wolf-shape until one was left standing - the strongest, the smartest, sometimes the most devious.

She felt a surge of exciting heat, thinking of them in a tangle of fur and limbs. She pictured Gabriel, half changed, his scarred chest glistening with sweat. She shrugged the image off in anger. Would he win? And would her mother make a bigger fool of herself to become his mate and be Queen Bitch again?

The screen door slammed.

The Five came out into the back, mumbling and growling.

"That worn-out old dog," Rafe said. "He can't tell us we can't fight."

"Damn right," agreed Gregory. "We deserve a chance."

Vivian laughed.

The Five converged on her. They peered through the vines like angry satyrs.

Rafe tore aside the tangle of stems, and his claws grew. "What's so funny, Viv?"

"You," she said. "You honestly think you'd have a chance in the Ordeal? That the pack would follow you? Grow up."

Rafe bared his teeth. His new beard gave him a demonic look. "The fight's the thing," he said tightly, but she knew his fantasy was to win.

"I don't want to get dragged back to the sticks again," Willem said, almost pouting. His twin gave him a glance of disgust.

"Why not?" Vivian asked. "Life was good there. The hunting in the hills, long runs with no one around, no one to cry wolf, no hiding, no skulking, no worrying."

"No fun," ended Rafe.

"I don't like your kind of fun," she said. "It doesn't amuse me to rouse lovers out of the long grass by snapping at their heels, or to creep up on children at dusk with my fur on to hear them scream."

"It's a laugh, Vivian," Gregory said. "Just a laugh."

"You used to think it was funny," Willem said, looking hurt.

"And how funny will it be when you scare the wrong person and get a bullet in the face?" she asked. "You might be stronger than Homo sapiens, you might heal faster, but you're not immortal. You can die if your head's blown off. It's not only silver bullets or fire that kills us; anything that severs the spine will do."

"Come on, Viv. Don't worry," Willem said gently. "We'd get them first, honest."

Vivian groaned and a cold thread of fear ran through her. "That's exactly what I am worried about. This is the same shit that got our home burned and my father killed."

Rafe swung himself through the crumbling frame of the arbor. Moonlight lent a brief sheen to his sleek, muscled arms. "But it's different in the city. Better. Lots of people. Lots of suspects. Easy to hide."

"Anonymous," Gregory agreed, shredding leaves from the length of a stem.

"Don't act so prissy, Viv," said Finn. "You've got a taste for boy flesh, they tell me." He ran a tongue over teeth that were pointier than they had been seconds before.

"Who told you that?" she snapped.

"Mom said you have a date tomorrow," Gregory answered with a sly smile.

Blast Esmé; she'd told Renata. "So what?" Vivian said. "I'm going to a concert, not disemboweling him. I don't think that's going to get anyone into trouble."

Rafe stepped closer. "We don't like our woman hanging out with meat-boys. It's unnatural." His breath was hot on her face. "You better not choose some meat-boy over one of us."

"Piss off," Vivian spat, and got up. "No one tells me what to do." She shoved Rafe away so she could pass him, catching him off guard.

"You're not Princess Wolf now," Rafe growled behind her. "Wait too long and we'll take what we want."

"Don't give that human anything we can't have," Finn called after her, "or we'll give him something, too."

As she stalked into the house, Vivian heard Ulf's high-pitched giggle.

Damn them, she thought.

Chapter 5

5

"You're not wearing that dress, are you?" Esmé demanded.

Vivian looked down at the slinky tank dress that sheathed her. "Yeah. Why not?"

"Don't you think it's a bit small?"

"It's supposed to fit like this." The soft yellow dress clung to every curve as she crossed the dining room. Vivian smiled wickedly at the fleeting glimpse of her leggy reflection in the glass front of the curio cabinet. "Anyhow, it's hot out."

"It damn well will be, with you wearing that," Esmé said. "I don't want you giving that boy ideas - not a meat-boy."

"And you never give anyone ideas, do you?" Vivian answered.

Esmé looked as if she was about to grow claws but instead she asked, "Where did you get that ridiculous dress?"

"Your closet, Mom." Vivian grabbed her tiny best purse from the hall table. "I'm waiting outside."

She swept out the door and slammed it behind her. She imagined with pleasure her mother inside, fuming. Esmé wouldn't follow her, Vivian knew. She'd pretend that Vivian hadn't bothered her in the least.

Vivian waited on the sidewalk at the edge of the lawn. What if he'd changed his mind? What if he'd decided he didn't want to go out with her after all? She glanced down the road. What did he drive?

A blue sports car tore down the street, speakers blaring nightmare tom-toms at a thousand decibels. It didn't stop. Well, that figured. She couldn't see Aiden Teague in a Corvette, somehow.

Two other cars came down the road in the next seven minutes, and each time her breath caught in her throat, but each time they drove on by.

She began to have second thoughts. What if I can't act normal with one of them? What if he tries to kiss me and I bite him? But she couldn't go back in the house and face Esmé's smug looks.

Finally, an oddity made a left turn from Madison and chugged along the street, a giant yellow bug that squeaked to a halt in front of her house. Aiden removed his sunglasses and smiled lazily out the window at her. She consumed the beauty of him. He sported another outrageous shirt and looked rumpled and warm, as if he had just woken up. The thought of him in bed made her flesh heat and her fears dissolve.

"Like it?" he asked, patting the side of the car.

"Like it?" she said. "I'm not even sure what it is."

"Volkswagen Beetle," he answered. "Circa 1972. It sends my father right up the wall - not only is it imported, but it's the sort of car 'those damn hippies' used to drive."

She nodded in sympathy. "I like the dragon on the door," she said.

"Yeah, Jem did it for me." His eyes widened. "Hey, maybe you could paint something, too. You're an artist."

She stroked her lower lip and watched him watching her do it. "Maybe."

He grinned. "Hop in, we'll be late."

The curtain on her front door window dropped when she looked over. Nosy, nosy, she thought smirking, and walked casually around the front of the car to the passenger side.

The car smelled of banana and old plastic. There was a book called Witchcraft for Tomorrow on the floor. The seat groaned as it swallowed her, and her dress rode high. She wondered how she would ever get out gracefully when the time came. The look on Aiden's face as he gazed dreamily at her legs made her realize he hoped she didn't figure out how. Touch me, she thought.

"Are we leaving?" she asked, smoothing her hands down her thighs.

He blinked and paid attention to the wheel once more. "We've got to pick up Quince," he said as he ground the gears and the car jerked away from the curb. He cranked up the radio and she relaxed, happy to enjoy the sweet sweat of him, the light fur of his legs, and the way he flashed her smiles like heat lightning.

Quince lived in a brick rambler near the university. Vivian had to get out so he could jam himself past the folded-down seat and into the back. She swallowed a chuckle when he actually blushed at her leggy exit, but she wished she didn't have to share Aiden with him. She listened to Aiden and Quince yelling back and forth above the rumble of the engine and the roar of the music - who was going to the concert, who wouldn't be there - and tried to picture what was in store for her this afternoon.

The parking lots at the university were packed. Aiden finally parked on a field that had been roped off into temporary aisles. He took her hand, pretending to be casual, although she could smell in his sweat that he wasn't calm; then they followed the noise of the warm-up band until they found the outdoor arena. They wound their way around the patchwork of body-strewn, multicolored blankets laid on a gently sloping lawn, down to a semicircle of tiered stone seats that faced a stage laden with a confusing melodrama of scaffolding, wires, lights, and amps.

"There's Kelly," Quince yelled over the music, pointing to their left. "Keh-LEY!" he boomed, waving his arms above his head.

The small, dark-haired girl who'd been with Aiden at school waved back, and two other girls camped out with her on the top tier cheered. Vivian and the boys picked their way around the perimeter of the theater, trying not to step on hands or knock over bottles.

"Women!" Quince yelled, and flung himself upon the two nameless girls, biting necks and squeezing as they exploded in giggles.

"You remember Vivian, don't you?" Aiden asked Kelly.