An emotional wreck, Lily had been in no position to defend or protect Harley, so Tess had taken her away. Harley’s grandparents had eventually accepted her, though they treated her as human and expected her to behave like one. But that had been okay, because she had the fabulous Tess. Her aunt didn’t look at Harley and see someone who was half shifter or half human; she just looked at her and saw her niece.

“You’ve lived in the human world ever since,” continued Gabrielle. “You are half human, half shifter. You’ve spent large portions of your life in both the human world and the shifter world. That puts you in a very unique position. It gives you two different perspectives. What’s your take on things, Harley? Are the extremists justified in their prejudice? Does The Movement take things too far? What species is in the right in this war—humans or shifters?”

“I’d answer you, I really would . . . but talking to you is about as appealing as sandpapering a wild cat’s ass while having my nipples chewed off by rabid dogs. You are well known for twisting the facts. I’ll bet that if I had a dollar for every truth you printed, I’d be in debt.”

“You have a way with sarcasm.”

Harley smiled brightly. “Just a little service I provide. It’s even free. Now as much as I enjoy our conversations, I have somewhere to be.”

“I’m going to write that article with or without your help, Harley. Give me something.”

Damn, she was persistent. It was a quality that Harley might have admired under other circumstances. Without breaking stride, Harley glanced at her over her shoulder. “I suppose I could give you one final thought . . . but I’m not sure you have anywhere to put it.” Smiling at the fox’s growl, Harley walked straight to the hotel.

The moment she was in the privacy of her room, she dropped the halfhearted smile, took a deep breath, and tried to shake off the memories of her past. She wasn’t ashamed to be a shifter and she didn’t resent her inner cat. As a species, shifters were mostly good and they took care of their own. Harley’s pride mates, however, had somewhat different priorities. Even to this day they squatted on land they didn’t own, caused brawls and bar fights for fun, and spent most of their time either drunk or blitzed on drugs.

Given her pride’s reputation, she understood why Mia’s parents and pack blamed Harley for their daughter’s addiction—especially since Harley had looked the part of a “bad influence.” Back then, she’d hidden behind a goth “I don’t give a shit” look so that no one would see just how unhappy and angry she was with . . . well, everything.

What Mia’s parents should have noticed was that their daughter had wandered down a path of self-destruction. Once, when Mia was totally shit-faced, she’d told Harley all about how her best friend, Torrie, had drowned while they were at a lake; both girls had been eleven at the time. Mia not only lived with survivor’s guilt and an unrelenting grief at the loss of Torrie but with the knowledge that Jesse would be without his true mate.

Mia was convinced that Jesse secretly hated her, despite the fact that he claimed he didn’t blame her for not saving Torrie. As a child, Jesse had been playful and roguish. After his true mate’s death, he became hard, militant, and distrustful; he always wore a blank expression that Mia believed masked a deep loathing of her. And nothing Harley said could convince her otherwise—Mia would just claim that Harley was biased because she loved him.

In honesty, Harley had loved Jesse. As an adult, Harley could see that it had been an immature, juvenile love as opposed to the fierce, ferocious, all-consuming feeling that every shifter felt for their partner. It hadn’t been any less real, though. And that hadn’t stopped her from melting inside when she saw him at Mia’s memorial . . . or from having him in her bed that night.

Yeah, well, their emotions had been all over the place, and they’d just wanted comfort. Or, at least, that was what she told herself on those few occasions when she wondered if she’d made the right choice by sneaking out the next morning. Those occasions were few and far between, because Harley was a realist.

He might have spent a night in her bed, but it hadn’t meant anything to him. Not once in her life had she ever kidded herself into believing he was attainable or could ever care for her. He would always long for the mate he’d lost, which was perfectly understandable.

Even if that night had meant something to Jesse, there could never have been anything between her, a half-human female who had no wish to be in a pride or pack or anything else, and Jesse, a male shifter who was an enforcer and whose family despised her.

It was a harsh reality, but it was a reality she’d just have to live with.

Back aching, Jesse Dalton sank into the sofa after a long day of building the outdoor play area. Every single one of the thirteen adult wolves of his pack had helped build it using only natural materials. There was a fort, a tree house, swings, tree stumps, a slide, a sandpit, and log tunnels. And now everyone was relaxing in the main lodge, where the Alphas lived.

Well, “lodge” wasn’t quite the word, in Jesse’s opinion. The three-story building was more like a rustic mansion—all timber and stone and large glass dove windows. The rest of the Mercury wolves lived in smaller yet similar hunting lodges that were scattered around the vast, wooded land. The place was both wild and peaceful, and it would sing to any wolf’s soul.

“The kids loved it, didn’t they?” said Shaya, the Alpha female. She had designed the outdoor play area and was rightfully proud of it.