"I really just wanted to tell the other side of the story. My side. That guy wasn't speaking for all vampires. Thanks for listening."

"That's what I'm here for. I'm going to move on to the next call now, okay? Good luck to you, Jake."

And so it goes.

I heard from men, women, vampires, humans, human servants of vampires, people who were funny, sad, lost, and angry. The problems ranged from silly to terrifying. I heard stories of people trapped in lives they hadn't expected, couldn't escape from. A lot of the time I didn't know what to tell them. I was totally inadequate to dispense advice—I could barely take care of myself. Early on, though, I'd learned that a lot of times people just needed to vent, and they needed someone to listen. People were desperate for conversation, and many of them didn't have anyone to talk to.

Talking about it made a thing—a problem, a weakness, a fear, a hope—more solid, and easier to confront. Easier to control.

I would do well to remember that in my own life.

"I've got time for one more call. Becky, you're on the air."

"Hi, Kitty," said a woman who sounded like she was on edge. "This isn't about vampires. I hope that's all right. It's important, I think."

At the end of the show, it didn't much matter. "What's the problem?" I didn't doubt that she had a problem. I recognized that tone. The screener had put in "domestic abuse" as the topic.

"I'm a werewolf, I'm part of a pack, and I'm worried. There's a new wolf. She's really young, really vulnerable, and the alpha male—he's taking advantage of her. But it's worse than that because he's beating up on her. This goes way beyond the dominance and submissive crap. The thing is, she won't leave. I've tried to talk her into going away, but she refuses. She won't leave him. I don't know what to do. How can I make her see that she doesn't have to put up with this? That she shouldn't? She won't stand up for herself."

The story sounded way too familiar. My first three years of being a werewolf, I'd been on the bottom rung, completely submissive to an alpha who was borderline abusive. But the pack meant protection, and I didn't want to leave. A time came when I had to choose between the pack and my own life—my show, my goals, my future. And I picked me. I'd never looked back.

Despite my experience, I didn't know what to tell her.

I said, "You should be given some credit for wanting to help. But sometimes that isn't enough. As hard as this sounds, there isn't much you can do if this person isn't willing to take that step for herself. I'm sorry."

"But—" she said, and sighed. "I know. I know you're right. I just thought there might be a trick to it."

"You can be a friend to her, Becky. Keep talking to her. And maybe you could lead by example. Maybe you should both leave town." I wasn't all that hot on the pack structure. My bias showed.

"That's hard to do," she said. "I'm safe here. But I can stand up for myself. She can't."

"Then all you can do is look out for her the best you can. Good luck to you, Becky."

You can't save everyone. I'd learned that.

I lightened my tone to wrap up. "All right, my friends, we're about out of time. How quickly it goes when we're having fun. I'll be counting the hours 'til next week. In the meantime, a bit of shameless self-promotion: don't forget that my book, Underneath the Skin—that's right, my book, written by me, all about stuff I want to talk about—will be on sale in a few weeks. Like you weren't getting enough of me already. Stay safe out there. This is Kitty Norville, voice of the night."

Cue credits, with wolf howl—my own wolf howl, recorded especially for the show.

I was exhausted. Sometimes doing a show left me so buzzed that I couldn't sleep until morning. Not tonight. I couldn't wait to get home and crash. I felt like I'd been awake for days.

After chatting with the producer and finishing some paperwork, I headed outside. In his car, idling by the curb, Ben was waiting to pick me up. I hopped in on the passenger side, leaned over for a quick kiss, and smiled. Now this was a lovely way to end the night.

"How did it go?" Ben asked on the drive home. We were renting a place in Pueblo, a hundred miles or so south of Denver.

I pulled the elastic off my ponytail, shaking out my hair and scratching my head. I wanted a shower. "Great. It was a good night. But it really wore me out."

"You okay?"

I was always worn-out, lately. A condition of success was what I told myself. "Yeah," I said with a sigh and closed my eyes. I could feel Ben in the seat next to me, a comforting presence.

Ben and I never decided to be involved in a relationship. We'd fallen into the role of committed lovers by accident. Which was to say, both of us being werewolves, our wolf sides had bonded immediately and formed a pack. Our pack of two, I called it. A mated pair. This made it sound like our wolf sides and our human sides were two different beings, separate, distinct. But our human sides hadn't resisted the impulse. It had been easy, falling into each other's lives like this. Ben and I had been friends before he'd become a werewolf. Given time and opportunity, maybe we'd have become something more. I'd never know, now. Most of the time, I could ignore that niggling worm of doubt that hinted that this wasn't right. That this had somehow happened against my will. Ben was a good man, and I was lucky to have him in my life. We looked out for each other. But sometimes our relationship seemed a little bit like being in limbo. We were just along for the ride.

I slept like a rock and woke up nauseous. I'd been working too hard, I told myself. I hadn't had enough to eat the day before, but I couldn't bring myself to eat anything for breakfast. This morning, this day, was the day of the full moon. We had to drive, get out of town to someplace where we could Change in safety. Our safety, and everyone else's.

"You okay? You're looking a little green around the gills," Ben said as we packed the car. Usually on full moon days, I was the one asking him if he was okay. He was still a new wolf, still learning to control himself. I studied him; he seemed a little pale, a little tense. He had this habit of distracting himself from his troubles by worrying over me.

"Just a little off," I said. "Not ready for tonight for some reason."