Evan calls for Jace three times before the beta approaches, his usually graceful movements oddly mechanical. "My second-in-command," Evan says, but Jace hardly seems to hear him. When Christa extends her hand, Jace flips it over and presses his mouth to her inner wrist, lingering there until her face turns scarlet.

Once Jace leads the cook and elderly woman toward the pack house, I let out a nervous laugh. "That was weird," I whisper, and relieved chuckles ripple through our group. I lace my ...