the worldwide population was still small—and it was possible to discreetly handle situations. But there’s no recourse for me now, nowhere to go—and no real laws.”
“You should find a way to handle it,” Saxon said. “But since you can’t, I will.”
“This is everyone’s fault—not mine!” Monty insisted.
Saxon felt tension riddling his body. He wanted to land a punch on Monty’s clean-shaven jaw; he wanted to shake him out of his comfortable, suck-up position at the casino. Monty was a figurehead. He wasn’t running the werewolves—they were running him.
But one thing Monty had said was true: there was no overall governing body for the Keepers to rely on when they were dealing with their charges; there were no real laws. Life and society had changed over the years. For well over a century now, the Keepers had been keeping control all over the world—preventing the mass extinction of human beings by keeping the werewolves, the vampires, the shifters and all the other paranormal races in check. But Monty was right. They were living in a world where populations had exploded. If a Keeper in one city was weak, hell, just move there and behave as irresponsibly—as violently—as you wanted.
Saxon cursed the fact that there was no judicial system for Keepers and their charges.
There should be.
Except he didn’t even know who to talk to about forming one.
And for the moment he couldn’t worry about it. He had to find the werewolf chewing his way through Las Vegas.
Hell.
Did he start with the kid, the billionaire or the stripper?
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