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. . . but before I go . . .” He slung his bag over one shoulder, crossed the room, and started to hunch lower, prepared to show throat.
    Michael grasped his shoulder and jerked him back up. “Don’t do that,” he said quietly. “For one thing, you’re off to save the world, so as far as I’m concerned, the slate’s clean between us. For another, Moira says you could be alpha. Since I’m pretty sure she’s never been wrong about anything—”
    “It’s annoying,” Derik agreed.
    “—it’s best for you to get out of the habit of showing throat as soon as possible.”
    Derik paused. “So . . . we almost had to chacha today, but because I’m gonna save the world, you’re gonna let that go?”
    “That’s just the kind of swell guy I am,” Michael said solemnly, and both men cracked up, their laughter sounding more like howls than anything else.

5
    THE MONTEREY PENINSULA
    HE KNEW IT MADE HIM SHALLOW. HE KNEW HE WAS probably too old for such nonsense. He knew he should be focused on saving the world. But he couldn’t help it.
    Derik loved convertibles. And this one was sublime—electric, eye-watering blue, with leather seats and a superb sound system. Robert Palmer’s “Addicted to Love” was tearing his head off, because, joy of joys, he’d found a local all-eighties rock radio station. The weather was gorgeous—low 70s and sunny—and his proximity to the ocean meant that thousands and thousands of tantalizing scents were on the air.
    He took a gulp and dizzily tried to process.
    Derik’s nose was an instrument of frightening precision, but even it could be confused and overwhelmed. Shit, that was half the fun of a convertible! Right now he was smelling seaspraylilacshottarmacdeerpoopraccoonsseagullfeathers— whoops! Now he was getting a tantalizing whiff of fishoceangrasslawnmowerexhaustpossumfriedchicken and—thank you, Jesus!—girlsweat and Dune perfume.
    I am in California, land of babes and cool cars and movies-of-the-week, but I can’t think about that until I save the world.
    At the thought of what was riding on this little day trip, his heart lurched. He had always thought of himself as a mellow kind of fellow (recent events notwithstanding), and if someone had told him he’d be responsible for saving the world—not the Pack, or even his closest friends, but the world , the entire world . . . well, his mind just couldn’t get around it. It would try, and then it would veer away and think about something stupid, like how great it was to find an eighties radio station so far from home.
    Saying good-bye to Lara did it. Brought it home for him, however briefly. He loved that little stinker like she was his own pup. He’d die for her in a New York minute. He’d wring the neck of anybody who hurt her and snap the spine of anyone who made her cry. But if he fucked up—if this Morgan gal got away from him—Lara would never make it to first grade. Never go on a date, never experience her first Change. Never grow up to be his boss, the way her daddy was.
    Shit, he’d almost burst out crying just saying good-bye to her.
    Quickest done, quickest back home. Not that he was so terribly anxious to go back home—the mansion held its own unique set of problems. Derik figured you knew your life was screwed up when you were almost glad you could use saving the world as a distraction.
    Well. He and Mike would work shit out. They had to. Otherwise—otherwise, he just would never go home again, even though that probably wasn’t the best way to handle things.
    He didn’t trust himself around Mike, that was all. If he lost his temper and things got way out of hand, the deed would be done, and Mike would be dead, and he’d be Pack leader, and Jeannie would be a widow, and Lara would be without a daddy, and then he’d probably go off in a corner and blow his brains out. Better to be a (coward) loner than risk that. Way better.
     
     
     
    SARA GUNN THRUST HER FOOT INTO THE SECOND pair of panty hose