"You're running scared from Shifters, man," Julio said, his voice filled with disgust. "You backed down from them. You let them do what they wanted."

"I didn't back down because I was scared, you shit. I've learned how to weigh risk with reward. The risks in this case are too great, and I'm not going to get a big reward going up against a bunch of Shifters."

"Whatever, man. It's another way to say you let them walk all over you. I think you aren't strong enough for this business now. So I'm taking it."

"Don't be such a dumb-ass." Pablo glanced at the white man who had a big, shining Sig in a holster under his jacket. "Who the hell is this?"

Julio started to speak, but the man forestalled him. "The name's Casey. Zach Casey. I don't really give a damn which of you wins this family spat, but Julio says if he wins it, I get my girlfriend back. Thanks for finding her."

Pablo looked him up and down in impatience. Another person who couldn't cut their losses. Elizabeth Chapman, or Rachel Sullivan, whatever you wanted to call her, had left this S.O.B. six years ago. Move on, already.

Julio had his hand on his holster. "You were the dumb-ass to come out here, bro," he said to Pablo. "All I had to do was have one of Zach's crew call you and tell you I was running your feral in the fights, and you came charging out here to stop me. So let's talk."

"Yeah, let's," Pablo said. "Somewhere a little more private."

"Fine by me." Julio nodded at one of his crew. "Take his gun."

The guy stepped forward. Pablo didn't move, but he didn't have to. His own men got in front of him, ready for a fire fight.

Julio didn't look as afraid as he should have. "If you come fight for me," he said to Pablo's men, "I'll let you work for me on the same terms as you did for Pablo. If not, I'll shoot you alongside him. You're outnumbered. You want to die tonight?"

Pablo knew full well that most of his crew worked for him for money. There was some friendship, sure; but in the long run, they worked for Pablo because he paid them well. What surprised him was not that two of the men immediately went over to join Julio and Zach, but that two of them stayed.

Julio finally drew his gun. "All right. Let's go under the trees."

"Wait." Pablo lifted his hands. "No, you two get out of here," he said to the men who'd remained with him. "There's no reason for you to die for me."

They hesitated, assessing the situation. "Go on," Pablo repeated.

The men in his crew were, in the end, practical. They gave Pablo apologetic nods and walked away toward the cars.

"I'll pick them up later," Julio said, motioning with the gun again. "I can't believe you're surrendering to me."

Pablo's brain spun with escape scenarios even as he let one of the men take his gun and started walking where Julio indicated. "You're my brother. I'm hoping I can talk some sense into you."

"Only if you can talk fast on your knees with my bullet in the back of your skull."

Ay, Julio, I predict that you'll regret every one of those words.

They stepped under the thick trees that grew so well in Texas hill country, the branches blotting out stars, moon, and lights around the big barn. Darkness made for terrific cover, and no one had been smart enough to bring a flashlight.

Pablo felt something brush past him, sensed a whuff of breath and the warmth of fur. The skin between his shoulder blades prickled again, every instinct telling him to drop and get out of the way.

He took a few more steps, threw himself flat on the ground, and rolled away through mud. He came to a stop on his back and saw something leap over him, wildcat limbs flowing through the darkness. The thug the wildcat landed on screamed, his weapon discharging, bullets flying. Someone grunted, hit.

Pablo heard Julio cursing, men shouting. More dark shapes solidified from the trees, sparks igniting in the darkness. Collars. Shifters.

The fight was swift and ugly. By the time Pablo scrambled to his feet, all of Julio's guys and Zach's were down, many of them unconscious. Julio was screaming, hanging from the arms of the tall Shifter with all the body art. Now that the guy was naked, Pablo saw that he was well and truly inked.

Julio tried to twist around and shoot Spike, but the Shifter called Dylan materialized from the shadows, took the gun out of Julio's grasp, and crushed it into scrap metal.

Pablo brushed off his clothes. His suit was thick with mud, and he'd have a bitch of a dry-cleaning bill. "What the hell?"

Spike's teeth flashed in the darkness. "Nate said you looked like you could use a hand," he said in perfect Spanish. "Or two, or ten."

"Thanks." Pablo said it briskly, because he knew that Shifter help wouldn't come cheap. He was a long way in their power now. They'd been right about this territory being theirs. Just because no humans realized it didn't make it true.

"Did you stop the fight?" Pablo asked Dylan.

Spike answered, switching back to English. "Can't stop it. Rules."

"Don't be an idiot," Pablo said. "That feral's insane. He's never lost, and you'll have to pry him off the other Shifter's dead body. He has a strong instinct to kill."

Dylan dropped the pieces of Julio's gun onto the grass. "Sean's on it." He faded away so noiselessly that Pablo lost sight of him after the man had taken two steps.