alone. To be honest, I wouldn’t have guessed Jaime would be that woman.
“Jeremy Danvers?” Jaime said. “Isn’t he the, uh, leader—oh, God, what’s the word?”
“Alpha. The lead wolf in a pack is the Alpha. Werewolves use the same terminology.”
“So that guy—the dark-haired one—We are talking about the dark-haired one, right?”
“The dark-haired one is Jeremy. He’s the Alpha. The blonde is Clayton. He was Jeremy’s adopted son; now he’s the Pack muscle and Jeremy’s self-appointed bodyguard. Elena is the woman, of course. She’s Clay’s partner and acts as Jeremy’s representative outside the Pack. Clay and Elena are the beta wolves, though I don’t think they use that terminology.”
“Uh, right,” Jaime said, gaze once again glued to Jeremy. I suspected she’d be asking me ten minutes from now to explain the relationships again, having not heard a word I’d said about Clayton or Elena. “So he’s the leader? I thought the Alpha would be some old guy. He can’t be much older than me.” She squinted for a better look. “Shit, no, he could be younger than me. He isn’t, is he?”
She turned from the view and rubbed her hands over her face. “Ack! Is it just me or was I suddenly channeling the ghost of a love-struck fifteen-year-old girl? Don’t ask me where that came from.” She inhaled and exhaled. “There, all better. So, uh, how old is he, anyway?”
I grinned. “Too old for someone who doesn’t date men more than a decade her senior.”
“Bullshit. I mean, that he’s that old, not that I won’t—it’s not a hard-and-fast rule, so if he was that old…But he’s not. Can’t be.”
“Werewolves get prolonged youth. He’s fifty-three, I think. Maybe fifty-four.”
“No way.” She sighed. “Damn, everyone else gets cool powers, and I get hauntings. Doesn’t seem fair. What the hell does a werewolf need a fountain of youth for, anyway?”
“Same reason vamps have regeneration,” I said, holding open the patio door and waving her back inside. “With the hunters, it’s all about survival. Prolonged youth means prolonged strength, which means you’ll be able to defend yourself longer.”
“And look really good doing it.”
The door slammed open and we both jumped. Savannah rushed in ahead of Jeremy, with Elena and Clay bringing up the rear.
Seeing Jaime, Savannah skidded to a stop. “Oh, my god! It’s—it’s you.” She shot a glare my way. “You didn’t say it was her!”
“Jaime, meet Savannah,” I said. “A fan.”
“Oh, my—I don’t believe it. See, Paige? I told you she could really contact the dead and you said”—Savannah switched to the unflattering impersonation every teen uses for adults—“‘Only a necromancer can contact the dead, Savannah.’ Well, ha! She is a necromancer. This is so cool! You’re the best, Jaime. I watch you on The Keni Bales Show every month—well, I can’t always watch it, because I’m usually in school, but I tape it.”
Jaime fairly glowed, sneaking quick glances at Jeremy to see what kind of impression this display of adoration was making on him.
Savannah continued, “I saw your show last month—Whoa, what happened to your face?” As Jaime’s hands flew to the scratches down her cheek, Savannah studied her closer. “You don’t look so good. Well, not like you do on TV. Are you sick?”
I grabbed Savannah’s arm and tugged her aside. “We’re still teaching her manners. Normally, we keep her confined to a locked room in the attic, but today she escaped.”
“Very funny, Paige. I just meant—”
“Jaime’s been going through a very nasty haunting, her reward for helping us out. Now for the proper introductions. Jaime, this is Jeremy Danvers. Jeremy, Jaime Vegas.”
As Jeremy shook Jaime’s hand, his face revealed nothing more than a glimmering of polite interest—not surprising, given that Jeremy can make Lucas look over-emotional. Disappointment darted across Jaime’s face. Savannah, obviously thinking Jeremy wasn’t nearly impressed enough, scurried back to stand beside her.
“Jaime’s on TV,” Savannah said.
“TV?” Jeremy repeated.
Elena swung up beside him, grinning. “Yes, TV. Small box, pretty pictures that move…” She stage-whispered to Jaime. “He’s very old. Not quite used to the industrial age yet.” She extended a hand. “I’m Elena.” She looked around. “And the rude one who walked past you without saying hello is Clayton.”
She paused, waiting for Clayton to offer a belated greeting, but he just kept heading toward the sofa, where Lucas was slowly waking up. He handed Lucas his coffee, sat down beside him and passed him his glasses from the side table.
“Sorry,” Elena muttered. “Just ignore him. Please. You know, I read an article about you a few months ago.