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wasn’t him, it would be another vamp. They always find me. I can see them, and they’ll never forgive me for that.”
     
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
    Cole tossed and turned on the couch. It was large, but not nearly large enough for his frame. His original intention had been to share the bed with Jane, but that would have created all sorts of problems. For one thing, he wasn’t sure if he could keep his hands off her, even if she had pink hair. And for another, whatever she’d been through, she didn’t need to feel that threat like she was constantly two seconds from attack.
    Why did I make this my problem. I can’t save everyone. He’d never wanted control of the pack to begin with. He’d killed the former alpha in a mad rage when he’d caught him raping his mother. Then he was stuck with it. And the pack needed him.
    The former alpha had been sadistic and cruel to nearly everyone in one way or another. It had taken almost a year before they’d felt safe again. Now he had Jane on his hands, another person who needed him. Another responsibility he hadn’t asked for.
    She’d said she wasn’t a vampire groupie, she hated vampires, and she could see them. He’d flipped those three sound bites over and over in his head for the past hour trying to figure out what it meant. He should have asked for clarification. What the hell did she mean she could see them?
    He stared at the ceiling of the cave, counting the little natural indentations. Almost as good as sheep. Sheep.
    Damn, now I’m hungry. He listened to Jane’s breathing. She was asleep, but not deeply. Best to wait awhile.
    He flung the cover to the floor and padded to the office. He’d do a bit of work, then if Jane had hit REM, he’d go hunting. Cole found the shattered cell phone on the floor and bent to pick up the pieces. No wonder he was freaking her out. He needed to get a grip on himself if he was going to have a human living with him.
    “Stop obsessing over what you did, and deal with the choice now,” he said to the empty room. “No sense going over and over it. You rescued a human from a vampire in lieu of ten grand. You’re insane. Let’s move on.”
    Satisfied with the self-talk, he dropped the cell phone bits into the trash bin and settled into the big leather swivel chair to work. He typed theriantype.com into the browser window and logged in as an administrator. If half the people who did business with his site knew the owner was a werewolf, they’d flip their lid. He filtered most everything through Mick.
    He opened a second window to check email.
    “Dammit, Dayne. You little whiner,” he muttered. There was an email from the Board of Magical Merchants showing Dayne Wickham had filed a discrimination claim. It was absurd. Was it discrimination when you didn’t sell a handgun to a career criminal?
    Cole had only been a child when Dayne had gone on his psycho killing spree with the werecat tribe, but any ninny knew he was bad news. Freaky old hermit living out in the woods waiting for Hansel and Gretel to stumble upon the place.
    He sent an email back to the board explaining his side of the situation. He didn’t have proof of the sorcerer’s misbehavior, but everybody knew he’d done it. It wasn’t as if they could keep records as closely as humans could without detection.
    It was ridiculous to Cole that the preternaturals were so afraid of the humans finding out. But due to the human fear of the unknown and their increased technology, it wasn’t a war many felt they could win anymore.
    If they could have gotten over their squabbles and joined together in the Middle Ages during the last major supernatural panic, they could have won. But the preternatural factions had been too divided back then.
    The vamps had spent the last three centuries organizing and trying to make friends with everyone else. It had worked with everyone but the wolves. That bitterness ran deep.
    The second email was from Mick:
     
     
    Hey Bossman, um, Dayne