text: Lunch was a typically overwhelming affair. Wolves needed to eat a lot to support their shifts, and a buffet supposed to feed nine wolf couples and five staff members was like something out of a medieval feast. Never had the word heaping been so appropriate. The tables sagged with plates of shrimp and grits, barbecue beans, fresh salads, and fried green tomatoes.
  
  Looking at it all made Cooper's mouth water, even if his fragile gut couldn't happily digest many of the options. He gamely loaded up on salad and beans, snuck some hot sauce, and nicked shrimp off Park's plate. Nearly every one of the guests came up to Cooper to ask how he was feeling after his misadventure yesterday, which was embarrassing but kind and seemed genuine. Only Jimmy didn't approach him, but often Cooper would sense being watched and catch him looking quickly away.
  
  Joining Cooper and Park at their table were the two older Black women who had arrived late yesterday, whom Cooper eventually learned were named Yvette and Angela. They had met in school almost forty years ago, had settled down nearby to be closer to Yvette's large family/pack, and were doing the three-day version of this retreat "more as an excuse to get some alone time than anything else." Would anyone here just admit they'd come for relationship help? It seemed not.
  
  Angela was a historian and had heard Andrew was a literature professor, so the three of them immediately got deeply involved in conversation about wolf folklore and how while it differed around the world, some curious themes reappeared again and again. They even talked about the painting Park had pointed out in the lobby yesterday. Apparently Angela and Yvette had recognized the legend being depicted there, too. Something about a little blue wolf who lost his tail to a mountain monster. Or maybe the mountain was the monster? Or maybe the little blue wolf had gotten eaten in the end? Honestly Cooper was having a hard time parsing out the specifics from their rapid, lively discussion.
  
  "I'm telling you, it's yet another example of how the species is socialized from birth to reject self-determinism," Angela had insisted. "We can't escape it. We don't try to."
  
  "Oh, now look what you've started," Yvette said to Park, who was shaking his head.
  
  "That's absolutely fascinating. I've always looked at little blue as a cautionary tale of out-group homogeneity," he said.
  
  Angela raised an eyebrow. "Wolves with caveats about self-categorization? What clown college did you say you teach at again?"
  
  They all burst out laughing. Cooper smiled along, gamely. He tried to keep up, but they began referencing so many stories he'd never heard of that more and more he found himself zoning out and watching Park's face instead, soaking up the genuine excitement and interest there. How happy he seemed. A good deal of Park's adult life between being a feared enforcer of his family pack and then being conscripted into the Trust, had been spent teaching university. Compared to everything else, it must have been a wonderfully peaceful time, grading season and all.
  
  Cooper wondered if he missed it. If working as an agent of the Trust lit him up inside the way conversations like this so obviously did. Getting to actually help wolves and investigate crimes while operating outside the inherently problematic system that was the BSI—and even the FBI—was a dream come true for Cooper. Not to mention getting to continue working with the best partner he'd ever had. But had Park joined him in this as just another way to make Cooper happy? To be close enough to protect and support him even while on the job?
  
  Also joining them at their table was Mutya and her quiet, bespectacled human partner, Christopher. Possibly out of wolf-human couple solidarity, or possibly because she wanted to follow up on her impromptu patient.
  
  "Are you sure you've had no symptoms? Fever? Dizziness? Nausea?" she asked him.
  
  "A little during the night. But I feel fine now," Cooper said, and felt Park kick him lightly under the table. "Umm, maybe a little...emotional, but that's not related...right?"
  
  "Sounds natural to me. I mean, you might want to talk to Claymont or Joyce about it, but you went through quite a scare. How often do any of us get into serious physical trouble like that?"
  
  Every four months or so, Cooper thought. "True. Thanks again for looking after me. Um, sorry if I was a bit brusque yesterday. I was pretty embarrassed." Not really accurate, but as close as Cooper felt he could get without sounding unbalanced.
  
  Mutya flapped her hand dismissively. "I didn't notice. Really, they should have a medical doctor on site. Any one of us might have fallen in your position and not been so lucky. It has nothing to do with being human. Unfortunately, they can't even afford to keep permanent staff as it is. I heard in town there's new faces working here every few months."
  
  "What makes you think the staff leaves because of money problems?" Cooper asked, glancing around the room. Like everywhere he'd seen, it was impeccably decorated with overlarge, handcrafted wooden furniture, colorful rugs and more of the same style paintings he'd seen in the lobby. If they were being forced to skimp on money somewhere, it certainly wasn't on décor or food. "Looks pretty fancy to me."
  
  Mutya gave him a look. "Fancier than they can afford. They've already sold about two-thirds of the original property, and there's a rumor in town they're under tons of pressure to sell even that."
  
  "Pressure from Montclaire Mill?" Cooper asked, recalling the scene yesterday when they'd arrived.
  
  Mutya shrugged. "Apparently from the way she talks about it in town, it's already a done deal. Christopher and I almost canceled, but...well. It's not like couples like us have many options. I'm sure you and Andrew have faced the same."
  
  "Mmm," Cooper agreed vaguely. He looked to the back of the room where Paul Claymont sat eating with Dr. Joyce and Reggie. He had yet to see Vanessa Claymont since yesterday and hadn't gotten the chance to thank her for saving him. "Why get into this here at all? If it's such a financial pit?"
  
  Mutya shrugged. "They love love?" she suggested faux-innocently. "Or it's the unprecedented access to the inner minds, secrets and sex tapes of all the highly influential wolves that pass through here." She caught sight of Cooper's horrified expression and burst into laughter. "I'm joking."
  
  "That would be pretty fucked up," he said weakly. "To violate their—their—" He waved his hand to fill in the blank. He might not know much about therapy, but he sure as hell thought it'd put a crimp in the process if you were afraid your therapist was selling your secrets. Could something like that really be happening here? Suddenly every potted plant in Dr. Joyce's office looked suspect. All those decorative urns in the spa dressing room. His head spun at the possibility.
  
  "Well, if that was their plan, they're going to be pretty disappointed with me. I have no fancy-pants connections to spill dark secrets about. Do you?" She laughed, and after a second, so did Cooper.
  
  "Do a lot of influential wolves pass through the retreat?" he asked.
  
  Mutya sipped her coffee and looked at him slyly. "If our own session's visiting celebrity is anything to go by, I'd say so."
  
  Cooper's throat went dry. "What do you mean?" he mumbled tightly, not looking at Park.
  
  "Oh, they got in last night for dinner. I forgot you and Andrew went straight back to your cabin after—well, after. Did you know opting out of rafting was an option? They could have been a lot more clear about that," she muttered darkly.
  
  "Who got here?" Cooper asked with some impatience. He no longer thought she was going to name the Shepherd, but his arms still tingled with anxiety.
  
  Mutya nodded behind Cooper. "Just walked in. By the buffet table."
  
  As casually as possible, he shifted in his seat and turned around. He didn't know what he expected a celebrity wolf to look like. Someone in an all-white zoot suit? A blood-red ball gown?
  
  The two newcomers looked so bland Cooper wasn't surprised he hadn't noticed them earlier. Just two more guys in jeans and T-shirts. One was Latino with wavy, chin-length hair dyed white-blond and at odds with his dark, neatly trimmed beard. The other was white, purple-haired and had big, fashionable gold-wire glasses. Both were in their late twenties or so, fairly short and though casually dressed, it was obvious a good deal of thought and money had gone into each piece.
  
  Around the room, Cooper noticed a few other guests also checking out the two young men, their expressions a range between trepidation and pleasure. At the staff table, Joyce and Reggie were having a hushed, intense sort of conversation while Paul had disappeared entirely. Strange, considering how he'd tripped over himself to greet the last "celebrity" wolf who'd showed up.
  
  "Who are they?" Cooper murmured.
  
  "Daniel De Luca is the purple-haired one and second in command to his sister. That's his mate, Victor Terradas."
  
  "Am I supposed to know who his sister is?"
  
  Mutya chuckled. "Maybe not. But I bet you most people in this room do. Celia De Luca runs the pack with the largest territory around here."
  
  Oh, Cooper mouthed. "So they're a big deal?"
  
  "Well, they're not a legendary empire like the Parks or the Nguyen pack, but it's the closest we get in the Carolinas."
  
  Cooper had visibly flinched at the casual name drop and tried to cover by grabbing his coffee. Across the table, Park had obviously heard his name. He looked over at them, distracted from discussing werewolf ghost stories, but Angela beat him to it.
  
  "Well, well. Look who's here," she said, taking in De Luca and Terradas. "Aren't they a bit young for something like this?"
  
  "Never too young to work on love and kindness," her partner Yvette disagreed, nudging Angela's shoulder.
  
  Cooper only watched them peripherally. His focus was on Park, who had finally caught on to who they were talking about. As soon as he'd seen De Luca, his eyelids had fluttered. Just a tiny bit, but that was enough for Cooper to read. Alarm. Dismay. Frustration.
  
  Park slipped out of his seat, giving Cooper a curt head shake and some kind of complicated hand signal. "Excuse me. Wonderful speaking to you, Angela. I'll see you again in the group session, I hope."
  
  "Speaking of scary stories," Angela joked, winking at Yvette. The table laughed and Terradas glanced over at the sound, but Park was already halfway across the room and quickly out the door.
  
  "I'm also going to..." Cooper stood, but not quickly enough, it seemed. Even as he backed away from the table, his way was blocked by the approaching celebrity couple.
  
  "Yvette," Daniel De Luca said. "What a nice surprise. I wasn't expecting to see anyone from our neighborhood."
  
  "Our world is small," Yvette said, a typical wolf greeting, and stood to greet him. "I hope your family is keeping well."
  
  They exchanged pleasantries while the rest of the table—and room—watched awkwardly and Cooper continued to stand, hovering over everyone like a ghoul. He started to back away as subtly as possible, wondering if he could make it out of the room like this, but Terradas turned to stare at him, his very dark, intense eyes stopping Cooper in his tracks.
  
  "Hello," De Luca said. Now he, too, was staring at Cooper. Either he was very tuned in to his partner's movements, or he hadn't been quite as caught up in conversation with Yvette as he'd pretended to be. "You look like a lost, lone duckling." De Luca smiled and winked, taking any sting out of his words. "Where's your mate?"
  
  "He's, um, just stepped out."
  
  "The big, tall, handsome guy who just left?" Terradas asked. "Aren't you the lucky one."
  
  "Oh, well," Cooper said uncomfortably. "He's a terrible backseat driver, so we all have our burdens to bear."
  
  De Luca looked a little bewildered, then started to laugh. "I'm sure he's very lucky to have you, too, Mr..."
  
  "This is Kyle. Davis," Yvette filled in, taking pity on Cooper, clearly awkward in the limelight, then continued to introduce the rest of the table.
  
  De Luca, seemingly reluctant to be distracted, turned back to Cooper almost as soon as was polite. "And your bad passenger? What's his name?"
  
  "Andrew Preston," Cooper said with casual confidence and waited to be told it most certainly was not.
  
  "Preston... I don't know the name," De Luca said, looking to Terradas, who shook his head. "Small family, I assume?"
  
  The overwhelming instinct was to agree. They were literally handing him a perfectly reasonable answer. But the best way not to get caught in a lie is not to lie, Cooper reminded himself. "Pretty big, actually. But he grew up way north of here and we live in DC now."
  
  For whatever reason this seemed to relax De Luca, and Cooper knew he'd made the right call. "How exciting for the retreat, to have guests willing to travel. Victor and I were just finishing some business nearby and thought we'd make a long weekend of it. Fortunately, they were willing to fit us in last minute."
  
  Cooper wondered if they were given a choice. Was this retreat within De Luca's territory? Did it matter? He desperately needed to talk to Park.
  
  "Business?" Yvette asked, bless her. "Nothing to worry about, I hope."
  
  "No, no. Rebel packs and their yearly grumblings. Would it even be a true summer if dogs didn't get hot under the collar?" De Luca trailed off, distracted. Standing just outside their little circle was Jimmy. He shifted nervously as the eyes of the group landed on him. "Hello," De Luca said with less friendliness than he had given Cooper.
  
  "Dan, right?" Jimmy said, a bit too loudly, reaching forward to shake De Luca's hand, pumping it a bit too hard. Machismo was alive and well in this corner of the wolf world, apparently.
  
  "I prefer Daniel," De Luca said. Beside him, Terradas looked vaguely amused.
  
  "Right, Daniel, of course. My mate and I just moved outside of Charleston." He gestured toward, Lisa who was watching from across the room. "Met your friend in the area, Gloria."
  
  De Luca smiled. "I adore Gloria."
  
  Jimmy, enthused by this, seemed ready to say something else, but De Luca turned back to Cooper. "And how long have you lived in DC?"
  
  "Oh, um." Cooper counted quickly in his head even as he noticed Jimmy's face, angry from yet another dismissal. Specifically, angry at Cooper, center of attention again. "God, almost thirteen years now." Had it really been so long? He'd moved to DC only because it made the most sense at the time. And now he was looking at buying a house? Was this it? Was this where he'd live for...the foreseeable future?
  
  Cooper blinked rapidly, refocusing. Midlife crisis later, crime solve now. "But it's certainly beautiful in the mountains. Cooler, too."
  
  "Yes, such a relief to put fur on here," De Luca said. "It really is a perfect location," he added almost covetously, and exchanged a speaking look with Terradas. Cooper wondered if the pack with the largest territory around was perhaps looking to expand.
  
  As any comment about the weather could be relied on to do, everyone in the group felt compelled to describe the specific temperatures they had just experienced at their own hometown, and soon Cooper was able to casually drift out of the circle and start to slip away. Terradas again looked sharply at him, almost as if willing him to stop, but this time Cooper just ignored him. He could hear Jimmy's loud, eager voice contradicting what he had just said about preferring dry heat when De Luca said the opposite. Cooper silently wished him luck with that.
  
  Most of the room was making moves as well. Preparing for their next activity of the day or just ready to relax elsewhere. Heading in the direction he'd seen Park go, Cooper exited the dining room and found himself in a dark hall he was pretty sure led back to the lobby. Park had definitely known who De Luca and Terradas were. Did that mean they had recognized him, too? If they had, they'd done an excellent job hiding it. Really, Paul could use a lesson or two.
  
  Toward the end of the hall a wooden door was partially open, and beyond it Cooper realized he heard voices. They were arguing. He immediately slowed, pulling closer to the wall and inching closer as quietly as possible.
  
  "...for you. Please don't do this." That was a woman's voice, a slight Southern accent tipping her words.
  
  "Don't pretend this was ever about anything but you and your fucked-up obsession. But you'll never be forgiven. Never." Likely a man's voice. Deeper and harder to hear, but that was all Cooper could tell without getting closer. He racked his brain for who had already left breakfast. He risked a step closer, not daring to breathe.
  
  "It will be better this time," the woman said.
  
  "Better for who?" the man spat. "There's nothing for me here. Not anymore." That sounded like a couple's fight, and Cooper felt a pang of guilt. If he was just eavesdropping on someone's relationship imploding, he'd feel pretty shitty.
  
  "Just wait. A couple of months and we'll—" A distant rumble of thunder sounded and the woman paused. "Great. Just perfect. As if this weekend couldn't get any worse."
  
  Another prolonged murmur of thunder reached the hall. Cooper didn't breathe. They were too quiet. Any moment one or both of them were going to burst through that door. He needed to back the hell up. Now. But to do so while they listened to the approaching storm seemed the height of foolishness. So he stood there. Tensed. Ready.
  
  The sound of the man's voice still within the room nearly made Cooper jump. "What about Llcaj?" This was his chance to retreat, but the logger's name froze him in his tracks.
  
  "What about him?"
  
  The man laughed. "Right. Of course. If we pretend there isn't a problem, the problem will go away."
  
  "I didn't say—What was that?"
  
  The distant shouted laughter of someone back in the dining room had caught their attention. Cooper tipped his head back and watched the door. Another rumble of thunder began—this one short, too short—and he backed up the hallway as quickly as he could. He was halfway back to the dining room when the ajar door yanked open and Vanessa appeared.
  
  "Oh!" Cooper said, not needing to fake his surprise.
  
  Her silver hair fell oddly helmet-like around her round face, almost like a pioneer woman's. He could see the bun had loosened and sunk to the back of her neck. She looked confused to see him there and a little suspicious.
  
  "What are you doing back here?" Her eyes darted over his shoulder as if looking for potential conspirators even as she moved to block the door behind her. This was definitely the woman he'd heard, though he hadn't recognized her before, because the Southern tilt in her words was far less noticeable now.
  
  "I was looking for you, actually," Cooper said, walking confidently toward her, hoping to catch a glimpse of whomever she'd been arguing with through the now open door. As he approached, Vanessa took a few quick, stumbling steps backward, like she was alarmed by his nearness, and Cooper stopped immediately. He backed up, giving her room. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
  
  "Not at all," she said smoothly. But didn't move out of the doorway, or suggest they go somewhere with, you know, light. Of course, he was the only one squinting. Sometimes it was hard to differentiate between suspicious cues and plain, natural behavior of wolves.
  
  "I—I wanted to thank you. For yesterday. I understand you pulled me out of the river."
  
  Her expression relaxed slightly, but she stayed blocking the doorway. "Oh. Of course. I'm sorry you've had such a rough start to the weekend."
  
  "Would have been a lot rougher without your quick thinking. And strong swimming," Cooper said honestly.
  
  "I've spent a lot of time on the river," she replied, neither accepting nor denying the compliment.
  
  Thunder rumbled again and they both listened in silence.
  
  "It's getting closer," Cooper said, and Vanessa shook her head in disagreement.
  
  "It sounds loud now, but it won't actually reach us for hours yet. I just got word the hurricane took an unexpected turn. It's hitting a bit south of here tonight, down the coast."
  
  "Hurricane?" Cooper said, alarmed.
  
  "Not a very big one. But I'm afraid even this far away we're in for a nasty night of weather." She glanced over her shoulder at the partially closed door. "My office is through here. Come have a peek at the view."
  
  She led him through the door and Cooper stopped in his tracks, struck by the sight. One wall was made entirely of windows overlooking the lake. The falls dominated the scene, framed like some kind of eighteenth-century art: the Romantic sublime. The incoming storm hung over the sky, and wind had whipped the water until it was swollen and white. For an unsettling moment, Cooper was filled with the sense of his own insignificance, his own brief and small life and how much of the world would always be beyond his reach.
  
  "It's...wow," he said, which felt like a shameful understatement. Tearing his eyes away from the window, he noted the room was slightly larger, but decorated similarly to Joyce's. Bookshelves, love seat, chair, desk and plants. What had seemed tasteful and relaxing now looked laughably small and artificial, sharing the same visual field as the falls. What he didn't see was another person. Or any obvious way out.
  
  "I don't know how you get any work done," Cooper said, scanning the room for perhaps another subtly painted door. "I'd probably just watch this all day."
  
  Beside him Vanessa smiled faintly, still staring outside, a deep, tender sadness in her eyes. "You should see it in the springtime. The water gets so angry you can't even see the rocks. But it's nearly as good in a storm."
  
  "You sound like you've really fallen in love with this area."
  
  "It's complicated."
  
  "Like most love, then."
  
  Vanessa laughed, her expression softening a bit. "I grew up here you know. But I—well, I left when I was sixteen. Only came back a couple years ago when Paul and I started the retreat. Twenty, thirty years, it doesn't matter to these mountains. It's strange how little a place changes," she added softly, staring at the falls. "How coming home can make you feel like that same, small child again." She tucked her wispy, fallen hair behind her ears and Cooper inhaled sharply at the vivid, dark bruise on her upper jaw.
  
  "Did I—" he said, horrified. "I'm so sorry."
  
  She shook her hair back to cover it. "An accident. Please don't worry about it."
  
  "But I hurt you," Cooper protested. He felt unsettled and sick.
  
  "I hurt you, too," she said with a significant look down at his leg. "Do you blame me for that?"
  
  "No," Cooper said. "But you did that to save me. I just..." He trailed off.
  
  "You weren't yourself," Vanessa said—too generously, in Cooper's opinion. He did not want excuses to be made. She hesitated, then said gently, "I'm not unfamiliar with what a flashback looks like, Kyle. Do you want to talk about it?"
  
  "What make you think—" Cooper looked down and away, suddenly unable to meet her gaze. Frustratingly sympathetic. "How did you know about that? Did I...say something? In the river? Or after?"
  
  "No, not that I could hear," she said. "But I wasn't always a couple's therapist. I spent the early part of my career focusing on PTSD and trauma recovery."
  
  Cooper laughed, startled. "I don't have PTSD. I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that, but I don't."
  
  Vanessa tilted her head, observing him. "Can I ask why you say that?"
  
  "I'm not..." Cooper hit a complete dead end. It wasn't that he'd never heard of PTSD before. He wasn't even someone who thought only people who lived through war or sexual assault survivors could experience it. He knew it could result from a myriad of traumas. He'd never thought it was something to be ashamed of, wholeheartedly supported anyone who got help for it, and had not once seriously associated the diagnosis with himself.
  
  Why the hell not? Why hadn't the possibility he might have PTSD ever even crossed his mind? Now that he was asked so directly, he honestly couldn't say.
  
  "I've always had anxiety," he said at last. "Sometimes it's just worse, that's all."
  
  "Does it get worse more often than it used to?" Vanessa prompted, leaning against her desk. "Maybe particularly in certain situations?"
  
  Cooper didn't respond. He didn't need to.
  
  "How about I list a few common symptoms and you tell me if any of them feel at all familiar?" she said. "Only if you're comfortable with that."
  
  Cooper moved to cross his arms, and realized they already were crossed. Around his gut. Tight. He forced his hands behind his back and nodded. "Okay. Why not."
  
  "An increase in jumpiness, feeling like you have to stay watchful, irritability, difficulty concentrating, emotional numbness, detachment or isolation from others, nightmares, flashbacks, strong physical sensations when you think about the trauma." She waited.
  
  "I don't have nightmares," Cooper said eventually, voice barely more than a whisper.
  
  Frustratingly, Vanessa remained quiet. He wanted her to yell at him, to laugh at him. To tell him what an idiot he was. But she said nothing. Just plucked a tissue from the box on her desk and handed it to him.
  
  Cooper stared at it, uncomprehendingly. Was this some kind of metaphor? Was he supposed to wave the tiny white flag of surrender and be healed?
  
  But Vanessa touched the corner of her own eye delicately, and when Cooper reached up to mimic her, found his cheeks were wet. He twitched, surprised and embarrassed. He had absolutely no memory of starting to cry. Hadn't felt it at all.
  
  "Sorry," Cooper mumbled, wiping his face.
  
  "You have nothing to apologize for."
  
  "I swear I'm not usually this—" He waved his hand, frustrated. "I don't know what's wrong with me. Well. I guess I do now, but—" Cooper froze, the bottom dropping out of his stomach once more, hopefully for the last time. "Um, I've been feeling really off since yesterday. Kind of...erratic, I guess? I thought it was, uh, something else."
  
  "It's not uncommon to feel emotionally fragile or like you're overloaded on emotions after a dissociative episode," Vanessa said.
  
  Cooper sat abruptly on the love seat and dragged his hands through his hair. There were too many new words. Not new-new. But newly belonging to him. He couldn't believe he'd thought he'd been changed by a werewolf bite.
  
  He groaned into his hands. He'd never felt so small and humiliated and...weirdly energetic. Wired and buzzing.
  
  "Can I ask what you're feeling right now?" Vanessa asked.
  
  Not sure he wanted to put any of that mess into words, Cooper went with a tertiary emotion. "Ignorant. Ignorant about my own insides, which is worse for some reason." He hesitated. He had to maintain cover, but he also wanted to know. "I saw a therapist once. After I was, um, attacked. I don't remember him saying anything about this."
  
  "I can't speak for them. But maybe you weren't in the right place to hear it," Vanessa offered. "Sometimes we need the distance. The space to study something clinically before accepting it for ourselves."
  
  Considering he was in the middle of a missing persons investigation and his therapist was a main suspect he wasn't sure he was in the right place to hear it now. "You said you worked with...stuff like this before? What made you move to couples counseling?"
  
  Vanessa glanced at the falls. A particularly strong bout of wind was flinging its surrounding mists far and wide. "My father passed away and I inherited this place. It seemed like a sign."
  
  "Oh," Cooper said surprised. "So when you said you grew up here, you meant here-here."
  
  She laughed. "Yes, though it wasn't a retreat then. We may pay top dollar for rural now, but back then it was...well. When I left at sixteen, I never once expected to be back. Never mind doing this." She gestured around.
  
  She shook her head, and he could feel the fragile thread of connection between them thin. He felt oddly desperate not to let the conversation end. To not be alone with his own thoughts.
  
  "Dr. Joyce said you worked together. I thought that meant as couples counselors, but did he work with trauma recovery, too?"
  
  Vanessa looked surprised. "Did he say that? Yes, I suppose we were colleagues eventually. Though I'll always think of him as my professor."
  
  "And now you get to work together again?"
  
  "We have very similar beliefs about what makes a healthy pack dynamic. When I decided to open this place I knew—I knew there wasn't anyone else I trusted and respected more."
  
  "Was—"
  
  The lights flickered off. The air itself seemed to sigh, long and low, as every machine in the building slowed to a complete stop—dying as one.
  
  "Wonderful." Vanessa sighed. The enormous window still let in plenty of the gray natural light. It made her look much younger, softer somehow, in the gentle blur of shadows.
  
  "It's not even raining yet," Cooper said, surprised.
  
  "Wind must have brought down a tree. It happens. A lot. But the generators should be kicking in..."
  
  The lodge remained eerily quiet. You never realize quite how much ambient sound you're living in until a power outage, Cooper thought.
  
  Vanessa straightened, frowning. "I hate to do this, but I should really check up on what's going on. Would you mind if we finished our conversation another time?"
  
  Cooper hastily stood. "Of course, that's fine. This isn't even a session, for god's sake."
  
  He got himself together and noted how her eyes darted to a cabinet across the room before crossing the room to open the office door, flicking the inside lock to prevent reentry. When she looked over at him, he pretended to have been busy wiping his eyes again and not seen.
  
  Cooper followed her and took over holding the door. "Ladies who make me cry first," he insisted in a joking tone, leaving her with little choice but to walk out in front of him. Not his usual style at all, but as soon as her back was to him, Cooper's hand slid down the edge of the door edge and flicked the lock back into open position, coughing to cover the click. He closed the office door behind them both.
  
  "I really do want to continue our conversation," Vanessa said. "I can recommend some resources for you in your area."
  
  "Thank you," Cooper said honestly. "But I'd better track down Andrew now."
  
  Vanessa hesitated, then put a light hand on his arm. Cooper felt a wave of something unexpected. He felt...drawn to her in a way he might have once assumed was sexual attraction in his youth. Now, more in touch with the nuances of desire, he wasn't sure what it was. A calming, sweet pleasure to be near her. To feel trusted by her. Attachment because she'd saved him from the river? Some misplaced affection resulting from his current emotional rawness?
  
  "This is a good thing," she said. "But don't feel obligated to explain yourself. Not even to your mate."
  
  "I guess that's the PTSD doctor talking and not the couple's therapist."
  
  Vanessa smiled oddly, an unexpected hardness in her gaze. "A real partnership doesn't exist without the individual. Don't ever sacrifice yourself for anyone."
  
  Cooper blinked but nodded, and they said goodbye. He walked in the opposite direction of her for a couple minutes, then turned back around to the office.
  
  The door opened easily and he closed it behind him as softly as possible. The file cabinet she'd looked at before leaving was his first stop. That was locked. He tried the desk next. Open, but useless. The only thing of interest was a prescription pad in Vanessa's name: Dr. Claymont.
  
  Cooper searched under ledges, in the glass bowls decorating the surfaces and all over the bookshelf, but couldn't find a key for the cabinet. The silence of the electricity-free lodge felt tense and watchful. He kept expecting to pull a book out of its spot and find a face watching him.
  
  But maybe that was his hypervigilance and increased jumpiness talking. Cooper scowled. He couldn't think about that now. It was...too large. Too heavy. He needed the comfort of focusing on the job and the job alone.
  
  While Cooper ran his hands over the tops of books, searching, he brushed over the stiff edge of something sticking up slightly between the pages. He pulled the book out, The Mindful Child, and flipped it open to the bookmarked page. It appeared to be nothing more than a passage on forgiveness, but the bookmark itself was interesting. A photograph.
  
  Cooper recognized Vanessa easily enough, though she couldn't have been older than fourteen or fifteen. Behind her was an adult man with a stern face, eighties-style mustache and large glasses that caught the glare, hiding his eyes. One of the man's hands was on Vanessa's shoulder, the other held the hand of a small child standing beside him. Cooper wasn't great at distinguishing kids' ages, but he seemed to be a boy between the ages of three and six. The child grinned at the camera, the only happy one in the photograph. The three of them stood in front of a pretty white house, mostly shadowed by trees.
  
  On the back someone had handwritten one word. Unforgivable.
  
  Well, that wasn't the creepiest borderline cursed thing he'd ever seen or anything.
  
  Cooper reached for his phone to take a quick picture when a heavy thud sounded from behind the bookcase. He tossed the picture back in the book and replaced it on the shelf, backing away, heart pounding. He managed to shove his cell deep into the loveseat cushions just as the bookcase itself swung open. Nielsen stepped through.
  
  "This is interesting," Nielsen said after a moment. He seemed amused, but his eyes were dark, cold, furious.
  
  "I lost my phone," Cooper said. "I thought it might have fallen out somewhere when I was talking to Dr. Claymont. Nice secret passage. Narnia's keeping well, I assume."
  
  "Dramatic little thing, doing what you do best," Nielsen said lazily. "Zero for two, though, I'm afraid. Vanessa had me build the bookshelf onto the door rather than disturb her perfect view."
  
  "Chef, landscaper, carpenter. No danger of you becoming superfluous," Cooper said lightly.
  
  Nielsen leaned against Vanessa's desk, nearly in the same place she'd been in only fifteen minutes before, though his pose was much different. Hands behind his back, legs spread. "I'm a man of many talents," he said.
  
  Cooper shifted, looking away. "I should find my phone."
  
  "Of course," Nielsen said. There was a slight mocking edge to his tone. "Where have you looked?" He looked pointedly around the office. "Maybe it's in here," Nielsen opened one of Vanessa's desk drawers.
  
  "What are you trying to say?" Cooper said coolly.
  
  Nielsen shrugged. "Just trying to be helpful. You know, most of the wolf couples who come through here aren't so different from human couples."
  
  "I never thought they were," Cooper said stiffly.
  
  "Really? 'Cause they certainly think so." Nielsen stood and walked slowly around the room, dragging a finger over the shelves. "They come here thinking all their problems can be distilled down to a question of dominance. Everything will be fine, if they find the right balance of alpha to follower. If they get the right AQs. If everyone just knows their place, then they'll make the perfect pack," Nielsen said, enunciating those last two Ps viciously.
  
  "But that's not what you think?"
  
  "Just a lot of bullshit masking the same issues everyone else has. Trust. Do you trust me not to hurt you? Do you trust me to make a decision for my life? Check under the couch."
  
  It was such an abrupt change in topic, Cooper didn't even comprehend what Nielsen had said at first. "What?"
  
  "Check under the couch. For your...phone."
  
  Cooper eyed him, then carefully knelt, keeping Nielsen in his peripheral as long as possible. Bending over, he looked quickly for the phone he knew wouldn't be there.
  
  "Nope," Cooper said, straightening quickly.
  
  "Try again," Nielsen said. "On the bottom. Like this." He gestured rubbing his hand around, palm up.
  
  Cooper refused to look away from Nielsen this time, defense on high alert, as he felt up the underside of the couch. Toward the very center he brushed across a small key taped to the felt.
  
  "Ring, ring," Nielsen said, holding his fingers in the shape of a phone to his own ear. "It's for you."
  
  "What is it?" Cooper asked, unamused.
  
  "Your chance to check if you can trust Andrew," Nielsen said. He nodded at the file cabinet. "All the guests' AQs. Past, current, yours, his." He walked slowly toward Cooper, where he knelt by the love seat. "Isn't that what you're in here for?"
  
  "It's not my business." Cooper stood hurriedly, not wanting to be kneeling at Nielsen's feet. Unfortunately, that just positioned them standing very close, with no room to back up or he'd fall over the couch. "I thought you said it was all bullshit anyway."
  
  "Just because something's a delusion doesn't mean it doesn't affect us in real ways."
  
  "Another tidbit you've picked up working here?" Cooper asked.
  
  "More like a family motto."
  
  Behind them the door to the office opened abruptly, and Paul Claymont strode in. His eyes widened when he saw Cooper and Nielsen standing inches apart in the middle of his wife's private office. The fact that neither of them should have been in there didn't seem to be his number one concern, though.
  
  "Get away from him," Paul said harshly, grabbing Nielsen's arm and yanking him away from Cooper. "Are you insane? He'll smell you on him."
  
  "We weren't—" Cooper started. "I just dropped my phone in here somewhere."
  
  Nielsen's eyes were alight with curiosity, darting between Paul and Cooper. "Why so worried, Paulie?"
  
  Paul was pale and sweating again. "I'm not. I mean, I am. Ranger Beck is here again. He's downstairs taking a look at why the generator's not going." He gave Nielsen an irritated look. "Like you should be doing. Where the hell have you been? Vee's frantic."
  
  "Helping our guest look for his phone," Nielsen said in a mocking sort of way.
  
  Paul sniffed harshly a few times, then plunged his hand into the couch cushions and pulled Cooper's phone out with the efficiency of an eagle plucking a fish from dark water. "There you are. Now you can rejoin your mate." It wasn't quite an order, but there was an unspoken but obvious please god, just go attached.
  
  Nielsen, on the other hand, looked irritated that Cooper had been telling the truth. Apparently. He snapped at Paul, "What are you doing up here if Beck is poking around downstairs?"
  
  "He's asking for Kreuger's forwarding address," Paul said miserably. "Again. God, what a mess. And of course it had to be this weekend when—" He glanced guiltily at Cooper and quickly continued, "When De Luca's here, I mean."
  
  "De Luca's here?" Nielsen said sharply. "The De Luca?"
  
  "The brother. Daniel."
  
  "Why?" Nielsen demanded.
  
  "For the same reasons as anyone else, I'm sure," Paul said, not looking at Nielsen. He reached into his pocket. He pulled out a key that he quickly fitted into the file cabinet, opening it. For confidential files, they certainly seemed readily accessible to a ton of people. "Where the hell is his file? Why would—"
  
  He didn't get to finish the question. A scream split the air. It came through the vents, below their feet.