#1 New York Times bestselling author Patricia Briggs' third Alpha and Omega novel brings werewolves out of the darkness and into a society where fear and prejudice could turn the hunters into the prey… It is said that opposites attract. And in the case of werewolves Anna Latham and Charles Cornick, they mate. The son—and enforcer—of the leader of the North American werewolves, Charles is a dominant Alpha. While Anna, an Omega, has the rare ability to calm others of her kind. When the FBI requests the pack’s help on a local serial-killer case, Charles and Anna are sent to Boston to join the investigation. It soon becomes clear that someone is targeting the preternatural. And now Anna and Charles have put themselves right in the killer’s sights... “The Alpha and Omega series gets its next transfixing installment as Anna and Charles undertake a critical assignment. This procedural hunt for a serial killer is mesmerizing and breathtakingly intense. Briggs never disappoints!”— RT Book Reviews   “Once again Patricia Briggs nails it—the perfect blend of action, romance, suspense and paranormal.  Fair Game  has it all.”— Rex Robot Reviews   “Briggs brings her world alive...An intelligent, exciting story...Highly recommended.”—SF Revu More Praise for the Alpha and Omega Novels “A terrific saga.”—Midwest Book Review “Briggs has created such a detailed and well thought out world that I am helpless to resist.”—Fiction Vixen “[Briggs] spins tales of werewolves, coyote shifters and magic and, my, does she do it well...If you like action, violence, romance and, of course, werewolves, then I urge you to pick up this series.”—USATODAY.com “Interesting, fast-paced urban fantasy...[An] imaginative writer who always leaves fans anxiously waiting for the next tale.”—Monsters and Critics “Patricia Briggs is amazing…Her Alpha and Omega novels are fantastic.”—Fresh Fiction Patricia Briggs is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Mercy Thompson urban fantasy series and the Alpha and Omega novels. Aspen Creek, Montana “Go home,” Bran Cornick growled at Anna. No one who saw him like this would ever forget what lurked behind the Marrok’s mild–mannered facade. But only people who were stupid—or desperate—would risk raising his ire to reveal the monster behind the nice–guy mask. Anna was desperate. “When you tell me you will quit calling on my husband to kill people,” Anna told him doggedly. She didn’t yell, she didn’t shout, but she wasn’t going to give up easily. Clearly, she’d finally pushed him out to the very narrow edges of his last shred of civilized behavior. He closed his eyes, turned his head away from her, and said, in a very gentle voice, “Anna. Go home and cool off.” Go home untilhe cooled off was what he meant. Bran was Anna’s father–in–law, her Alpha, and also the Marrok who ruled all the werewolf packs in his part of the world by the sheer force of his will. “Bran—” His power unleashed with his temper, and the five other wolves not counting Anna who were in the living room of his house dropped to the floor including his mate. Their heads were bowed and tipped slightly to the side to expose their necks. Though he made no outward move, the speed of their surrender testified to Bran’s anger and his dominance—and only Anna, somewhat to her surprise at her own temerity, stayed on her feet. When Anna had first come to Aspen Creek, beaten and abused as she’d been, if anyone had yelled at her, she’d have hid in a corner and not come out for a week. She met Bran’s eyes and bared her teeth at him as the wave of his power brushed past her like a spring breeze. Not that she wasn’t properly terrified, but not of Bran. Bran, she knew, would not really hurt her if he could help it, no matter what her hindbrain tried to tell her. She was terrified for her mate. “You are wrong,” Anna told him. “Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. And you are determined not to see it until he is broken beyond repair.” “Grow up, little girl,” Bran snarled, and now his eyes—bright gold leaching out his usual hazel—were focused on her instead of the fireplace in the wall. “Life isn’t a bed of roses and people have to do hard jobs. You knew what Charles was when you married him and when you took him as your mate.” He was trying to make this about her, because then he wouldn’t have to listen to her. He couldn’t be that blind, just too stubborn. So his attempt to alter the argument—when there should be no argument at all—enraged her. “Someone in here is acting like a child, and it isn’t me,” she growled right back at him. Bran’s return snarl was wordless. “Anna, shut up,” Tag whispered urgently, his big body limp on the floor where his orange dreadlocks clashed with the maroon of the Persian rug. He was her friend and she trusted the berserker’s judgment on most things. Under other circumstances she’d have listened to him, but right now she had Bran so angry he couldn’t speak—so she could get a few words in past his stubborn, i