Pacifico Lopez stared at the elevator door. Anger had
brought him to New York City. Just the smell of this
werewolf office tower made him want to bare his teeth.
For months he’d applied his software conglomerate’s
resources to track down an international book piracy
operation. At last he had proof the werewolves’ World
Wide Publishing, WWP, was stealing ebooks by the millions
and giving them away free from an unknown location.

Pacifico pulled himself as tall as his five foot two
height allowed. His black fedora and shoulder pads added
height and bulk and he’d need every centimeter to face
Dominika Romano. Online photos showed she looked like an
older version of her daughter Sybilla, who’d for years
terrorized his town of Shipsfeather. Tall with terrible
fierce beauty, the Romano women were alpha from their
Mediterranean noses to the tip of their plumed tails.

With a whoosh the door parted. He stepped onto the black
ninety-ninth floor marble lobby. The gold letters WWP
floated over the receptionist’s head next to a swirly
abstract logo that looked like a wolf swallowing a
penguin. Pacifico removed his hat, grasped his briefcase
tighter, and marched toward the desk with all the
confidence of a CEO of the world’s dominant software
company. Known to prefer to do business electronically,
the financial press called him the most brilliant recluse
since Howard Hughes.

Ready to do battle, he would expose damned Dominika if
she didn’t shut down the scam ruining the book world.
Werewolves only entered publishing to dominate and
intimidate other publishers and demoralize librarians and
dog-shifters dedicated to disseminating knowledge. The
woman behind the desk looked up and opened her mouth.
When he strode past, she demanded, “Where are you going?”
to his well-tailored back.

He heard the receptionist phone security as the soles of
his Italian-made shoes tapped stone-tiled floor, sending
echoes against walls lined with museum quality paintings.

The hall ended at a huge double door labeled D. Romano,
Publisher. Pacifico didn’t slow but pushed open the door
and stepped inside, primed to demand Dominika end all
illegal operations immediately or he’d point all Zoogle’s
resources into shutting down WWP, ruining her personally,
impeaching her former husband Senator Dante Romano, and
if necessary revealing them all as werewolves. That last
would, of course, be the last resort, for exposing
werewolves would also expose the worldwide community of
dog-shifters whose librarians kept safe the world’s
knowledge and literature.

As the door closed behind him, his brow wrinkled and he
blinked. Instead of the terrifying werewolf he’d
expected, a petite young woman peered at him over reading
glasses.

His eyes scanned the office the size of most New York
bistros, black leather except for the red carpet under
the ebony desk and book-lined walls. Behind the desk a
window framed a classic New York skyline. He squinted in
the midafternoon light to see the woman who leaned over a
messy pile of papers. Whoever she was, she was not
Dominika Romano. Perhaps a secretary or gofer, but not
the most powerful woman in a city run by powerful women.

The woman stood, her delicate body draped in a black
dress, a white cardigan pulled over her shoulders.

He stepped closer, “I’m looking for Ms. Romano,” and
noticed exotic periwinkle blue eyes against her pale
face.

Her voice was hesitant as she smoothed her blond curls.
“I am Ms. Romano. Who are you?”

He saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes before he
replied, “Pacifico Lopez, Zoogle Corp. But you’re not
Dominika.” He smelled a faint scent of frangipani and his
face flushed.

She snugged her sweater tight over her chest. “That’s my
mother. She’s out of town. I’m Atlandia Romano. Her
daughter.” Then added, “Mr. Lopez.”

Pacifico realized he was staring. Atlandia looked nothing
like her mother or Sybilla. This lovely woman didn’t look
like she could even be a werewolf. His face softened and
he smiled, then remembered he’d come on serious business.

Behind him doors flew open and two ugly security guards
entered, burly werewolves that appeared to be wolf-hyena
crosses. The bigger one growled, “Want us to hurt him,
miz?”

Atlandia shook her head. “I’m fine. Leave us alone.”

When they left, she raised her chin and asked, “Why did
you come, Mr. Lopez?”

Pacifico stepped closer to the desk. “I have information
that WWP operates an international ebook piracy
operation. I want your mother to shut it down.”

The look on Atlandia’s face told him she had no idea what
he was talking about.

“You must be mistaken, sir. This is a legitimate
publishing company. Not financially successful, but I try
to publish—”

The door burst open again and Sybilla Romano stepped in
looking as mean as in the days she was Alpha of the
Shipsfeather Pack. Her black Armani suit and knife-sharp
stilettos accented her werewolf bitch style suit. Her
raven chignon was pulled so tight that the edges of her
darting dark eyes slanted up. “Landy, whatever is this
dog doing in Mother’s office?” She approached Pacifico,
looked down her prominent nose at him, and laughed. “Dog-
shifters should be leashed. Or are little lap dogs an
exception?”

Pacifico bristled. “Sybilla, this is not your business.”

“Ha! Chihuahua-shifter, you have no business with my
little sister.” She turned to Landy. “Will you put the
dog out or will I have to do it?”

Landy rubbed her hands together and seemed to shrink next
to her sister’s powerful persona.

Sybilla snapped at Pacifico, “Get out! Now scat!”

Pacifico didn’t move. He looked at Landy who seemed too
frightened of her sister to speak. He removed a gold pen
from his inside jacket pocket and wrote on a business
card. Sliding it across the desk towards Landy, he said,
“My card,” and with a nod strode past Sybilla and out the
door.