Little as I liked King dictating my wardrobe, and as tempting as it was to pocket the cash - which I definitely needed - I wound up going shopping, and found a dress that looked the part but didn’t restrict my movement. I had no reason to think things might get physical, but with werewolves you never knew for sure, and the last thing I needed was a long dress for me to trip over or a tight dress I couldn't run in. I went medium-length and loose enough for movement, but it was clear from the moment I arrived at the Pack Lodge that I was the only woman there who had worried about movement when picking what to wear.

Werewolves are raw violent animals, and to counter that roughness, they go glam in a serious way when the event calls for it. The place was a sea of colors; blood red, emerald green, azure blue, all sparkling in the bright lights of the foyer.

There were long trailing dresses that could surely only be worn once, and narrow dresses, split to the hip, showing a wide swath of smooth skin.

There were dresses so short that they required readjustment every few steps, and sitting down in them would give an eyeful of goodies to anyone seated, and plunging neck lines that revealed a canyon of skin between twin peaks of carefully separated breast, contrasting with powerful underwires that subtly thrust bosoms up and together, creating a cleavage you could ski down. There were backless dresses, strapless dresses and dresses that seemed to consist of little more than a few strips of fabric glued on to cover strategic areas.

The heels were high, the hair was huge and the jewelry could have been sold to pay off third world debt.

To be honest, I didn't look that closely because it was making me second-guess my choice of dresses, and because there were other places to look.

Human men, on such an occasion, tend to make less of an effort - just throw on a rented tux and they're done. But werewolf males like to preen almost as much as the females. Some of the open shirts had more plunging necklines than the women, showing off chests that were hairy or waxed, muscular or plump - no one seemed to care much in this world. The pants were tight enough that a doctor could have diagnosed through them. They wore as broad and bright an array of colors as the females and strutted proudly about, sizing each other up. A lot of these parties ended in violence, but it was usually all in good fun.

"Name?" the plainly dressed man on the door asked.

"Lana Malone." But before the words were out of my mouth, he was already frowning - he had caught my scent and knew what I was. "The Pack Leader requested my presence."

The man ran an eye down his list to find my name. "Got ID?"

I reached into the little clutch purse I had brought. I might as well get used to this now; I was going to be getting funny looks all night long.

The man checked my ID, checked his list again, then ID, list, me, list, me, ID, before finally admitting me with a curt jerk of his head. He clearly thought standards at these parties were slipping.

I made my way through the throng, overwhelmed with the smell of werewolf. I had never been in a room with so many of them and it was... Actually, it was intoxicating. Something primal inside me, something that the genetic material of all my human ancestors was unable to fight, uncurled and growled. It would be too much to say that I felt at home, but I felt... Hot. I had never slept with a werewolf - it had always struck me as dangerous - and right now, a part of me that I had always denied was raising its head and howling at the moon.

It was not helped by the fact that I had not slept with anyone in the last six months - the last guy dumped me when he found out what I was. By text, no less. Spineless prick. People got…nervous when they found out the truth. I've always had a healthy sex drive but it's often butted up against my basic belief that sex is best between two people who love each other. Finding love for a part-wolf is difficult, and so I spend a lot of time suppressing that drive and just letting it out every once in a while when I've had too much to drink and need to get laid or explode.

Around humans, I could pretty much cope going without - I got a bit frisky from time to time, but who didn't? - around wolves, however, it was a different matter.

Wolves use pheromones far more than humans, and there was something in the air in that room that was like breathing in sexual desire. Suddenly, six months was seeming like even longer than it was and definitely longer than I could bear. I wanted to jump every man in the room right then and there. More than that, my body knew that this was something that it not just wanted, but that it had never had, and that forever-unfulfilled need for werewolf sex gnawed at my nerves.

I grabbed a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and slugged it back. I had to control myself and remember why I was here. Fortunately, pretty much the only thing I like more than great sex is a mystery. I love my work and this was the most important case of my career. Tonight, even with my hormones going nuts, I could keep myself in check. Tomorrow, I was going to a bar and taking home the first man who smiled at me.

"Friends!" The powerful voice of Kenai King soared above the hubbub of the room. He threw back his head and let loose an impressive howl that echoed about the rafters. As one, the rest of the room answered him, all howling, loud enough to shake the Pack Lodge. I wondered if I was supposed to join in or if that would be cultural appropriation.

"Tonight is a special night," King continued, once the last echoes had died away. "Tonight, I welcome a new mate to my harem."

In some respects, werewolves have a very open attitude towards sexual relationships. A male can have as many partners as he can handle and they are all considered his mates. Perhaps more surprisingly, it's the same deal with females; they can have multiple mates to their hearts content and, looking around the room, I could see a few females - particularly the more mature ones - with four or five males around them, all chatting companionably. It was not seen as a problem or anything to be jealous about. The only caveat was that you didn't mate with another wolf's mate without him knowing - or at least you told him afterwards as soon as possible. Affairs where secrecy was involved were settled by bloody duels, which the law had found a way to ignore.

"Welcome Shelby Maria, and know her now and henceforth as Kenai Maria!" As the howl was taken up to welcome King's new bride - 'bride' is not technically the right term but the truth is more complicated - a female walked forward to join King at the front of the dais.

She couldn’t have been more than twenty-one. Long and lean, with hair dark brown and smooth, bronze skin. She wore a green dress that looked to have been painted on to her and revealed as much of her body as possible.

I was relieved to note that she looked happy enough to be there, her cherry red lips framing a brilliant white smile, fangs glinting in the light. Kenai King might be three times her age but he was a powerful male, which mattered a lot in this world, and, as I had noted when he visited my office, he was handsome and exuded a charismatic sexuality.

Kenai King wasn't my type - perhaps there's still too much human in me to overlook the age difference and basic nastiness of his nature - but that sort of thing can still be hard to resist.

The thought was on my mind as my gaze went beyond the 'happy couple' to the Kenai Court arrayed behind. Here stood King's closest advisors, his other three mates, and his sons; Tanner, Gray and Hudson.

Perhaps it was the mood I had been put in by the unexpectedly charged atmosphere of the Pack Lodge hall, and my first encounter with the sharp ferocity of werewolf sexuality when they gathered en masse, but when I saw the three brothers, it felt like my libido skipped a beat. They certainly had their father's air of authority, the strong features and rugged good looks, the easy charisma and a virility that seems almost like a physical thing projected from them. Yet, to my eyes, at least, they seemed to lack his smug confidence in all those aspects - they simply were who they were and how they were, taking no pride in their obvious superiority to every other male in the room. Male was the word I found branded on my brain - though they were all very different, they all seemed supremely masculine.

The one in a russet military-style jacket, buttoned across his broad chest, I recognized as Tanner, the eldest son, standing closest to his father, though still not all that close. He was tall with black hair and stern features that seemed to preclude what his father had said about him, were it not for the eyes that stared out from beneath his heavy brow. The eyes were as dark as his hair and a fire burned within them as they flashed almost angrily about the room.

Everything about Tanner seemed to speak of someone keeping themselves in check - he was like a coiled spring, ready for action, ready to explode, ready for anything, and able to handle anything, as well. As I edged closer through the crowd to get a better look, I saw him move and couldn't help admiring the power in his physique. Something as simple as walking a few steps looked like an athletic event when Tanner did it. His clothes were cut snugly enough that I could see the muscularity of his body, I could sense still more of it, and the combination of the two made me want to see the rest firsthand.

Beside Tanner, his face morose, his eyes half-closed, stood middle child, Gray. I wondered if he had been named for the color of his eyes which, even at this remove, I could see were slate with just a hint of blue, like a stormy sky at sea. His brown hair was neatly trimmed and his head hung heavy as the party continued around him.

Despite the vivid green jacket he wore, emblazoned with gold piping and epaulets, he looked like he was the only one here who was at a funeral. His hands were clasped in front of him, and as I looked, I saw they were clasped tightly enough to make the veins pop and the knuckles stand out white. They were unusually long hands, sensitive and artistic, for all their obvious strength and the roughness of them, like a sculptor's hands. My mind leaped without my permission into vivid wondering at what they might feel like roving across my helpless body.

In contrast to the dark energy of his brothers, Hudson seemed to shine. His butter yellow waistcoat, off-set by the brilliantly white shirt, certainly helped, as he looked like a beacon. The light, playful clothing choice did little to disguise the impressive physique beneath - Hudson's body was as strong and beautiful as his face, which was saying something. But there was also a brightness to Hudson, in general. His golden curls were like a halo of vivid gold, his smile was quick and wicked enough that my nipples peaked instantly at the sight of it.

While Gray stood stock still and Tanner walked with deliberate strength, Hudson was never still, the energy that fired through him seeming to need a constant outlet that made him seem to prowl about, vibrating with a tension that moved me. A lot of that energy was sexual, his tight pants were practically an advertisement, and his sharp blue eyes were as active as the rest of him, ever on the move, passing from woman to woman and seeming to like everything he found. I had heard the stories about Kenai Hudson, and knew that there was no way he would be going home alone tonight.

The thought both irritated and intrigued me, and I had to shake off my undue focus on the appearances of the three compelling males and remember my purpose.

Those were my targets.

One of the three men I had just been undressing with my eyes had tried to kill his father and would no doubt try again. This was not how I usually started an investigation, but you play the hand you're dealt, and there was no point pretending that these men were anything other than incredible.

I caught Kenai King's eye.

He had been watching me and had no doubt seen my appraisal of his sons. Fortunately, from the look on his face, he assumed that my interest in them was purely professional, and I was just doing my job - the job he had given me - by checking them out. Men like Kenai King always consider themselves to be the only attractive male in any given room, and never even allow the possibility that a woman might be looking at someone else.

Lucky for me.

"To Kenai King and Maria!" A call went up from some eager sycophant, and the toast was repeated around the hall, augmented by howls as it went.

But the brothers, I noticed, stayed silent. Could it be all of them? Conspiring against their father?

"To the Pack Leader and his mate!" Another toast.

If the brothers were working together, then that alliance would not last, and there would be more blood to come - that type didn't like to share.

"To the future of the Kenai line!"

As this toast was called out, hinting at the possibility of more children for the virile Pack Leader via his fertile new mate, I saw Kenai Tanner turn on his heel and march off the stage, heading for the exit.

I only took a moment to think. Here, King was surrounded by friends, well-wishers and bodyguards - it was possible they were all against him, but if they were, then there was damn all that I could do about it. I was an investigator, not a bodyguard. Better to leave the party and see where Tanner was going. Even if he disliked his father as much as King thought, it was odd for him to leave like that at a time when his inheritance was at stake and he might have been better off ingratiating himself.

Nerves making my hands slick with sweat, I slipped out in pursuit of the eldest of the Kenai heirs.