He bristled visibly. “What did you just say to me?”

“I said suck it up, buttercup. You can’t be worried about a human if your pack is in such a fragile state that you can’t show up to your own wedding. You have bigger fish to fry.”

“Secret…” Ah, the familiar, impatient, warning sound. He’d loved to scold me like I was a naughty child, and not in a kinky way. But he didn’t get to talk down to me anymore.

“You said we’re married, right? That I’m your wife?”

He didn’t speak, but I could tell from the way his eyes narrowed he knew he wouldn’t like what I had to say next.

“Then that makes me Queen of the Eastern pack. It makes all your problems my problems. And you looking like a lost, pathetic puppy is putting every single wolf in your pack at risk. Go home. Brush your hair. Put on a suit. I’ll take care of this like I always take care of the stuff you don’t know how to deal with.”

I looked at Holden beside me, and his brown eyes were wide. I couldn’t tell if he was impressed with me or appalled. Admittedly, I was a bit of both. Lucas had told me he was fearful for someone he loved, and I’d basically told him not to get his royal panties in a twist.

I’d also called myself the wolf queen, so really I was on a roll as far as talking out my ass went.

Looking down at his rumpled shirt, then back to me, Lucas remained silent for a long time before he said, “Okay.”

When he walked out of the room, I stared with open amazement at the dark space he’d occupied a second earlier.

Holden, not wanting to let the moment go unacknowledged, said, “All hail Secret, Queen of the Bitches.”

Chapter Four

My apartment didn’t feel like home without Desmond in it.

It was also an ever-increasing disaster area since he wasn’t there to pick things up or guilt me into not being a slob. When I’d lived alone, the mess had never bothered me, but since living with him I saw everything through a Desmond Alvarez-hued filter.

When I stepped through my apartment door after walking home from Holden’s place, it wasn’t exactly like stepping into the streets of Beirut, but my living room would have served as an excellent before in juxtaposition to Holden’s sleek, spotless after, if a magazine wanted to showcase New York apartments.

I didn’t eat, so there were no dirty plates or food wrappers anywhere in sight. What was littered over every piece of furniture, however, was clothing. When I’m unhappy, I don’t like the way anything looks. When I’m depressed, as it turns out, it is an absolute requirement that I try on—and hate—every single item of clothing I own.

I’d been in a three-week cycle of repeating this process. It had gotten to the point where there wasn’t any clothing left in my closet. Everything was scattered throughout the apartment, waiting for the next time I would hunt it down, put it on, then hurl it somewhere else in disgust.

Desmond would have had it hung, folded and sorted by color in the span of twenty minutes. He was an architect and had a natural flair for order, whereas my only natural skill was destruction.

Rio, a wiry snake of fur and attitude, stretched out on top of the rumpled pile of T-shirts she’d been sleeping on and padded across the living room floor, plunking her bony feline ass down in front of me and casting her lime-green gaze upwards.

“Brreeeeow?” she asked.

“Nope, sorry, kitten, just me. Always just me.”

She butted her furry head against my shin and purred. “Mrow.”

“Ugh, fine.” I plucked her off the floor, and the purring reached epic proportions as she bashed her tiny skull into my chin. I could pretend to hate her as much as I wanted. The damned cat knew better.

Sidestepping a tangled pair of jeans that still held the shape of my legs, I carried Rio back to my small yellow loveseat and curled up with the cat in my arms, petting her absentmindedly as I stared at the black television screen.

And Desmond’s stupid Xbox.

In three weeks the desire to play Halo had not proven stronger than his aversion to seeing me. I felt like I was keeping the damned thing hostage, waiting for him to yield and come back to the apartment because he really needed to indulge in a first-person shooter.

I didn’t want to admit a grown man with a six-figure income might go out and buy himself a new game console instead of facing the woman who’d almost gotten him killed.

Rio nipped at my finger when I stopped petting her. I gave her a scolding tap on the nose then continued to indulge her whims. At least one female in this apartment might as well be happy. I couldn’t even get laid by a vampire I had a one-night-stand pact with. Secret McQueen, spinster for life.

This was why I’d tried to be happy being single.

Men screwed everything up. And the more men I added to the equation, the messier things got. Menage-a-trois romance novels lied. There was no way to have a happily ever after with more than one partner. I’d tried to juggle too many balls—no pun intended—and I’d ended up empty-handed.

So now began the Crazy Cat Lady chapter of my life.

Fine.

I could at least be a Crazy Cat Lady who could track down wayward socialites. Kellen couldn’t have gotten far, but she could have gotten into a lot of trouble. I might have told Lucas she was fine, but I wasn’t entirely sure I believed it myself. I didn’t think she was kidnapped or dead. Unfortunately, her being arrested or turned into an accidental drug mule still wasn’t out of the question.

I dialed my cell.

“Well, well, well,” came a cheerful, teasing male voice. “I hear you’re the Big Bad Wolf now?”

Dominick Alvarez, Desmond’s younger brother and Lucas’s live-in bodyguard, was possibly the kindest, funniest, most charming man I’d ever met. If he wasn’t also the only gay werewolf I knew, I’d probably marry him, save myself a mountain of drama and live in a white-picket-fence neighborhood in suburbia.

Since he was an Alvarez, he’d probably make me clean up after myself too, though.

“He made it back okay, then?”

“Yes. If you’re calling to see if he’s following your instructions, I’m pleased to tell you he has indeed showered and shaved. As the one person who has to spend all day in close proximity to him, I thank you profusely for mandating soap.”

Clearly Dominick wasn’t too worked up over the whole Kellen situation. The Alvarez family had known the Rains their whole lives. If anyone could be cavalier about Kellen’s behavior, it would be Dominick, since he’d been exposed to it since childhood.

“How long has he been like that?” I asked.

“Don’t hedge. Just spit out your question.”

Damn him. He knew what I wanted to ask, but he’d never let me be coy about it. “Did he start acting weird because of Kellen or was it…sooner? Like…after the wedding?”

“Sorry, kid. This is new.”

I chewed on my lip briefly. It was the answer I’d expected, but at the same time I’d hoped maybe Lucas had felt at least a little bad for what he’d done to me. Apparently not.

“Keep an eye on him for me,” I said.

“I keep both eyes on him. Always.”

“Then can you do me a favor?”

A pause. “That depends.”

“If he starts drifting again, let me know. I may not be with him, but as he so crassly reminded me tonight, I’m still bonded to him. And even if I weren’t, I’m still pack protector. He’s putting everyone at risk if he’s running around like a stinky vagabond.”

Dominick made a sound like he was stifling a laugh. “I’ll do it, on one condition.”

Oh God how I hated the words on one condition.

“I’m not going to have sex with you,” I replied jokingly.

“You say that like it’s a hard thing to manage.”

“Ouch.” Okay, I deserved that. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Go see Des.”

My heart sank, feeling like a stone in my chest. “Dominick, I don’t think—”

“That’s my condition.”

“He doesn’t want to see me.” And who could blame him?

“You don’t know that.”

“Has he said anything to make you think different?”

A pause. “Not to me.”

“To anyone?” A glimmer of hope began to burn inside me, and hope was the most dangerous and unrepentantly naggy of all human emotions. Hope was something I didn’t have the time to deal with.

“Penny.”

“He told Penny what exactly?” Penny was Dominick and Desmond’s little sister, and considering she was thirteen years old, I didn’t know if I could put much stock in anything she was saying.

“He told her he misses you.”

I sighed and blinked a few times. When did this room get so dusty? “Desmond would want to make it easier on her. Who wants to explain it to a teenager?”

“He does miss you, Secret.”

“Maybe,” I conceded. “But it doesn’t mean he wants me back.”

“Go see him. Say you will and I’ll tell you everything Lucas does.”

“Now you’re making me sound like a creepy stalker.”

“No, you’re being a good queen.”

There it was, my royal title for the second time that night. “So if you acknowledge I’m the queen, why won’t you take my orders?”

“Well, for starters, Your Majesty, my boss outranks you.” I could practically feel Dominick wink.

“Damn. I call for a favor from the one werewolf who is a royalist loyalist.”

“Just doing my job.”

I forced a smile, which was pointless because he couldn’t see me. “So am I.”

Chapter Five

I didn’t call Desmond.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, because it was the only thing I wanted to do. All night long from when I woke at dusk to the repellent moment sunrise forced me out of the world, I itched to call him. To see him. I sometimes would go a mile out of my way to walk by his apartment in the off chance I might accidentally bump into him. My use of the word stalker had been a joke when I’d used it in reference to Lucas, but I was towing a line when it came to Desmond.