“Because of Jaqueline Jean-Louis, right?”

Irene nodded, but one of the wolves moved and she pointed her weapon again, taking a quick step back.

“Irene.” The snap in Van Holtz’s voice drew her attention back to him. “Tell me what you know.”

“What?”

“About us. About the Van Holtzes. Tell me what you know.”

So she did.

“The Van Holtz Pack are descendants of the Holtzes from Gaul. Barbarians used by the villagers to stop the advancement of Caesar’s armies across the Rhine River. They used pagan rituals to force this”—she motioned to the Pack—“on you. Used your kin as war dogs of a sort. But once it was over, they couldn’t control the Holtzes. No one could. You finished with the Romans and turned on the locals, using them as cattle to feed on until the Christian church took power and went after anything remotely pagan. That’s when the now Van Holtz Pack, due to a marriage involving Dutch wolves, broke apart. Some left Germany altogether and went to other parts of Europe. Eventually, they ended up on the shores of North America and briefly settled in a small town called Smithville.”

By now, almost half the Pack had shifted to human and they stared at her. She wondered how many of them didn’t even know this background information about their own Pack. Probably all of them.

Finally, Van spoke up. “That was amazing, Irene. How did you know all that?”

“I found a book in the library of an old German monastery. Buried in the back and under a ton of other books. It was in Latin, Greek, and some old German.”

“And you understood it?”

“Latin and Greek I already knew. I had to do a little deciphering to figure out the rhythm and structure of the older German. It was quite fascinating,” she added.

“Is that how you found out about Jackie?”

“No. I knew about her first. It was an accident. Her puberty hit early, while we were at a camp for gifted children. She was only twelve when it hit her one night. She must have shifted six or seven times in less than an hour. She couldn’t control it. She told me everything and I never told. I never would.”

Van nodded. “I know that, doc. I really do.”

Irene realized she’d lowered her arm to her side and her body no longer shook. She took another deep breath and it no longer went in or came out shaky. Somehow Van Holtz had calmed her down, simply getting her to focus on the one thing she loved. Knowledge. And that’s when she finally realized Van Holtz was right. She had to trust him, because the hyenas would want her dead for killing one of their own, and the lions, the more pragmatic of the shifters, would want her dead for seeing too much.

“I’ll come home with you,” she told him. “I can call Jackie from your house; she’ll beworried.”

Appearing relieved, Van Holtz nodded and held out his hand.

Irene took a step—with absolutely no intention of taking the man’s hand—and quickly found herself face down on the ground. Before everything went black, she thought, Ah, yes. Blood loss. I should have accounted for that.

Her wounds worried him. A meaningless scrape on her forehead, but deeper gouges in her torso and thigh. A lovely, still-bleeding gash on the side of her face, a black eye. Her fingers were torn up from dragging on the ground when she was trying to get away. You put up quite a fight, didn’t ya, my little PhD?

“Are you sure about this?” Carrie asked close to his ear.

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

“The hyenas are going to want her blood and the bitches will just want her dead,” Carrie needlessly reminded him.

“Call a meeting with the Pride and the Clan. We’ll figure this out, but I’m not letting them kill her.”

Carrie nodded as Van stood with Irene tucked safely in his arms.

“And get Vasquez for me,” he ordered while they walked back into the woods and onto Van Holtz territory. “I’d prefer she not bleed to death in the middle of the night.”

It was that brutal snoring that woke her. How could any human being sleep through all that noise? As it was, Irene wasn’t much of a big sleeper anyway. So any additional noises she found simply annoying.

Irene lay in a wonderful bed on her left side, naked, and she immediately knew why. The slightest movement sent a shock wave of pain through her system. Turning her head slowly, she looked down the length of her body, barely covered with a single white sheet. Some parts were bandaged up and she guessed that was to protect the stitches she could feel every time she moved. The rest that hadn’t been bandaged had lovely black and blue marks. Good thing she didn’t have an ego about her looks; otherwise she’d probably be sobbing right now.

Irene turned her head toward the snoring. Damn. Van Holtz. Had he really stayed by her side the whole night? She wouldn’t put it past him to sleep in his own room and then stroll back here around five a.m. trying to give that impression.

Still, he’d saved her life last night and she couldn’t ignore that. He’d taken a risk by bringing her to his home and not letting the others kill her. As Jackie would say, “This is one of those times where your emotion should be one of gratitude.” And Irene was grateful. Few people ever helped her and she was quite loyal to the ones who did. Although the thought of being loyal to Van Holtz made her butt itch. She knew the man well enough to know he’d take any advantage he could get. So, she’d be loyal but she didn’t need to announce it. Quiet loyalty had its benefits as well.