Micah and some of the other local leaders had come up with an idea for a family support group, where the members of the families that weren’t shapeshifters could talk freely about their parents, siblings, or even grand-parents. It was legal to be a shapeshifter in the United States now, but discrimination still occurred. There were entire professions where failing one blood test would get you excluded forever. Military, police, food industry, medical care—it was hard to keep a job if you were a teacher of children and the parents found out you turned into the big bad wolf once a month. That kind of discrimination was illegal, but hard to prove. It was one of the reasons that Richard Zeeman, junior high science teacher and local Ulfric, wolf king, wouldn’t be here tonight sitting on the other side of Jean-Claude. Richard was technically Jean-Claude’s wolf to call, as I was his human servant. We were a triumvirate of power and should both have been here at his side, but Richard wouldn’t risk being outed and losing his job. That, and Richard really hated being a werewolf, but that was a problem for later. For right this moment, nobody who had come with Jean-Claude had a problem being exactly who and what they were.

Most of the seats were already full, and it was Asher’s hair that I spotted first, gleaming golden under the lights. I wasn’t kidding about the gold. He wasn’t blond; his hair was as close to true gold and still a natural color as any person I’d ever met. Of course, once I’d found Asher, Jean-Claude was at his side. Jean-Claude’s black hair curled over the seat back, inches longer than Asher’s, which was just past shoulder length. Jean-Claude had grown his hair out because I seemed to like more hair on my men. Asher had informed me, “It takes energy for a vampire to grow his hair longer than it was when he died. I don’t have that kind of energy to spare.” Which implied that Jean-Claude did, and that had been interesting to know.