"Don't argue with me."

"I'm sorry, Carl. I'm sorry." It was so hard groveling upright, without a tail to stick between my legs.

T.J. stood a couple of feet away, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed and shoulders hunched.

"It's my fault," he said. "I told her it was okay."

"When did you start handing out permission?"

T.J. looked away. Carl was the only person who could make him look sheepish. "Sorry."

"You should have called me."

I was still trying to catch my breath. "How—how did you know where to find us?"

He looked at T.J., who was scuffing his boot on the asphalt. T.J. said, "I left him a note."

I closed my eyes, defeated. "Can't we do anything without telling Carl?"

Carl growled. Human vocal cords could growl. The guys in pro wrestling did it all the time. But they didn't mean it like Carl meant it. When he growled, it was like his wolf was trying to climb out of his throat to bite my face off.

"Nope," T.J. said.

"T.J., go home. Kitty and I are going to have a little talk. I'll take care of you later."

"Yes, sir."

T.J. caught my gaze for a moment, gave me a "buck-up" expression, nodded at Carl, and walked down the street Carl put his hand behind my neck and steered me in the opposite direction.

This was supposed to be my night.

Usually, I melted around Carl. His personality was such that it subsumed everyone around him—at least everyone in the pack. All I ever wanted to do was make him happy, so that he'd love me. But right now, I was angry.

I couldn't remember when I'd ever been more angry than scared. It was an odd feeling, a battle of emotions and animal instinct that expressed itself in action: fight or flight I'd always run, hid, groveled. The hair on my arms, the back of my neck, prickled, and a deep memory of thick fur awakened.