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He nodded. “You know the worst part?”

Cameron and I shared a look before I said, “What?”

“I lied before. We weren’t in the same pack. I’m the only one in a pack. Lenny was a lone wolf. He barely had a support system.”

“So, Lenny was a lone wolf.” That confirmed what I’d suspected.

Mitch groaned in misery. “Yeah. That’s why I went to you when you walked into the bar. I thought maybe if you agreed to the job, you’d have a better chance of finding him.”

“Why was he a lone wolf?” Cameron asked.

“The drugs,” Mitch said with a tired wave of his hand as if shooing away a fly.

“He burned too many bridges with our alpha and the pack elders, so they excommunicated him from the pack. His friendship with me was all that kept him from going feral. He wasn’t feral, though,” he snapped.

“But you couldn’t tell anyone that. It takes a long time for a lone wolf to turn, and if they stick around other shifters a little, they can keep it at bay.

Hell, you know,” he said, gesturing toward me.

“I do,” I muttered.

“The pack’s pretty set in its ways. They all are,” he added bitterly.

“Most packs have laws against lone wolves and ferals. The problem is, if they accepted these people, they wouldn’t be at risk of turning feral.

It pisses me off because this was preventable, for God’s sake. ” He pounded his fist on the hood.

“Mitch, I’m very sorry about all this,” Cameron said.

The man snorted and walked around to the driver-side door. “It’s okay. I had a feeling this was how I’d find him.” He looked from Cameron to me. “I really do thank you, though. I appreciate that you found him. Do, uh, well, do I need to pay you? I know I said?—”

“Absolutely not.” The very thought of taking money from him made my skin crawl. “This was one person helping another.”

“Thank you. I’m gonna head out. I have a funeral to plan.”

He got in his truck and drove off, leaving us standing in the parking lot.

Without another word, we climbed onto my bike and drove back to the safe house. By the time we got there, some of the shadow of the meeting had passed, though I wasn’t sure it would ever truly go away.

“Did you understand anything on that report you were reading?” I asked Cameron once we were inside and the door was locked.

Cameron held her finger and thumb a smidge apart. “A little.”

“And?”

“He was pretty bad off,” she explained and flopped onto the couch. “Report says he was malnourished and dehydrated.”

“Not surprising,” I said as I took a seat beside her. “Ferals have a hard time taking care of themselves. It’s sort of like when a dog or raccoon goes rabid, except shifters have some of their mental faculties intact. It’s why they look like wild animals even in their human form.”

Frowning, she pulled her phone out. “There was something else on the report I couldn’t understand. I took a quick picture of it while you and Mitch were talking.” She turned the phone around and showed me the image.

I stared at the photo of the coroner’s report. After trying to read it, I shook my head in bewilderment. “How the hell can you understand that? It looks like gibberish to me.”

Cameron chuckled. “Well, I always wanted to be a journalist, but I was also a bit pragmatic about the finances of that. For a while, I had a double major in college—journalism and nursing. That got to be too much for me, and it turns out I’m not a big fan of cleaning up blood and shit.

I dropped it after a few semesters to focus on my passion. It helped me learn some stuff, though.”

“Well, Nurse Torres, what does this say?” I asked with a grin.

She zoomed in on the picture. “This was in the toxicology report.”

I stared at the word she was pointing at: a-Dimethylphenethylamine.

“Cam, I can’t even pronounce that, much less tell you what it is.”

“It looks familiar, though.” She frowned, then chuckled to herself.

“You look like you’ve had an idea.”

“I know exactly who would know what this is.” She swiped out of her photo gallery and scrolled through her contacts.

“Who? Your high school chemistry teacher?” I laughed.

“Close,” she said as she hit the call button.

A few moments later, her friend Lesley answered the phone.

“Oh my God, where the fuck are you, Cam?” she demanded as soon as she answered. “I’ve been worried sick.”

“I’m fine.” Cameron grimaced. “I’m actually working with the police for a story.”

“That doesn’t explain why you haven’t responded to any of my texts or calls.” She sounded both worried and hurt.

Cameron blew out a breath. “I’m sorry. They, uh…” She raised an eyebrow at me. I shrugged helplessly. “Well, the cops think this is a big deal, so they want me to stay off the grid from everyone. It could be dangerous. I can’t tell you more than that. I’m sorry.”

“Look, if these fuckers are putting you in danger, then I need to kick someone’s ass. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Look, I need your expertise, actually,” Cameron said. “How much do you remember about chemistry?”

Lesley was quiet for a beat before she spoke again. “Are you for real, Cam? I was a chemistry major in college. My master’s degree is in pharmaceutical sciences. You know this.”

“Yeah, but you’re Miss Bigwig now. You don’t work in a lab anymore, you help run the damn company. I’m just checking if you’re rusty.”

“Rusty? How dare you?”

I could tell by her tone that the other woman wasn’t actually offended.

These two were obviously really good friends.

Guilt coursed through me again. Cameron had been torn away from her normal life, from her family and friends.

My anger toward Rick and his father escalated until I had to take a breath to calm myself.

“So you’re still pretty versed in the stuff, I take it?” Cameron went on.

“What do you want to know? I’m intrigued,” Lesley said in a faux aloof tone. “Perhaps I’ll bestow my knowledge upon you.”

“I’m texting you a picture. I circled a word I don’t understand. Can you decipher it? Tell me what it’s used for?”

“I got it,” Lesley said. “Uh, chica, this is a coroner’s report. You know that, right? Who the fuck died?”

“I told you I’m working with the cops. It’s all kinda hush-hush. Can you tell me what that word is?”

“Well, yeah ,” Lesley said. “It’s fucking crystal meth.”

“Excuse me?” Cameron said.

“Methamphetamines,” Lesley explained. “Drugs. Looks like this guy had it in his system when he died. It’s really weird, though.”

“What’s weird about it?” Cameron asked.

“If you read down lower, there are some weird chemical imperfections in it. Whatever he took wasn’t pure.

Though, that doesn’t surprise me. Most of this shit is cooked up in sheds, trailers, and basements.

But what’s really strange is that some of the chemicals don’t belong.

And the amount in the guy’s system is ridiculous.

Shows he was a heavy user. At least for the last few weeks or months.

No way you could keep doing that much for long before dying—oh!

Shit . Is that how this guy died?” Lesley asked.

“No,” Cam said. “I can’t go into much more detail. Thanks for the info, though.”

Lesley sighed. “Cameron, are you sure you’re safe? I’m worried about you.”

“I’m safe,” Cameron insisted. “Don’t freak out. I’ll probably be done with this in a week or so, then we’ll have a girls’ night. We’ll eat a bunch of Thai food and drink cocktails.”

“We better. Promise you’ll reply to my texts?”

“I can. Sorry about that. It’s been, um, busy the last couple days.”

After they said goodbye, Cameron tossed her phone on the coffee table. “Meth. Is that how Rick was controlling Lenny to get him to search for me?”

“Maybe,” I said. “But where the hell did good boy Richy-Rick get that much meth? I’ve dealt with those circles. Guy like him doesn’t stand a chance of getting out of the rough neighborhoods safely. I don’t think he even knows how not to look like a rich prick, regardless of the situation.”

“Probably true, honestly,” Cameron agreed.

“Listen, I’ve got to take a shower. I feel disgusting,” I said. “Are you good while I do?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Go ahead.”

After stripping and getting in the shower, I sat, letting the steaming water flow down my face and chest as my mind drifted.

Everything I’d learned about Lenny Nash and his situation struck dangerously close to home.

I had no drug issues, but other than that, we were remarkably similar.

Both ostracized from the pack world. Both of us living on the fringes, barely holding on to sanity.

Lenny had slid into being feral—either through his own mistakes or because someone had used his weaknesses to drag him down. The same thing could happen to me.

Mitch was right when he said the whole structure of our society was the reason why there were ferals to begin with. As soon as a wolf found themselves without a pack, it became exponentially harder to join one. Without that support, camaraderie, and structure, the madness began to trickle in.

I’d managed to keep it at bay better than any other lone wolf.

There were times I’d go weeks without making contact with a pack, and I didn’t have issues.

The problem was, I wasn’t an exception to the rule.

One day, maybe soon or maybe later, I would become feral.

I’d be the mindless, slobbering monster Lenny had become. And all of it was beyond my control.

How many other ferals had no choice? The shifter collective consciousness liked to think that all ferals were nothing but psychotic or evil shifters who would have been worthless to society even if they had been part of a pack, but that was more myth than truth.

Like me, most were victims of circumstance, pushed out to the fringes of society to fend for themselves.