Micah had been planning to join us for lunch, if he could, and there he was, joining us. He stepped in, my height with brown hair that curled past his shoulders, tied back in a ponytail that had too many curls to make his hair lie flat. His eyes were green and yellow, and not human. That beautiful face-and for Micah it truly was beauty, not handsome, more delicate jawline, more slender-was only just masculine. The leopard eyes in that lovely face just added to the impact. He wore sunglasses most of the time to hide the eyes. He started to get the glasses out automatically when he glimpsed the man behind me.

“Don’t bother hiding the eyes,” Bennington said, “I saw the interview you did for the news. You’re the head of the Coalition for Better Understanding Between Humans and Lycanthropes, and I know you’re a wereleopard.”

Micah stopped trying to fish his glasses out of his suit jacket pocket and just stepped in with a smile. “I believe if we keep hiding what we are, it just adds to the fear factor.” He didn’t offer his hand, because some humans didn’t want to touch any part of you once they knew you were a shapeshifter. Bennington put his hand out, and Micah took it.

“Tony Bennington, this is Micah Callahan,” I said.

They shook hands just like normal folks. It got Bennington a brownie point.

“Again, Mr. Bennington, I am sorry that I can’t help you, but I urge you not to try to find someone else to raise your wife.”

“It’s my money; I can find someone who will take it.”

“Yes, but no one will be able to give you back your wife. Trust me; a zombie is not the same thing, Mr. Bennington.”

He nodded, and there was that glimpse of pain again. “I’ve already asked around, Ms. Blake; everyone said that if anyone can raise my Ilsa so she looks like herself and doesn’t know she’s dead, you are the only one to go to, and you’ve turned me down.” He bit his lip again, that swell of muscle showing his control beginning to slip.