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After I ran out this morning with the only clothes I could grab, I sat in my van for nearly two hours, blasting the heat and reading everything I could about werewolves on my phone. Mostly, the question “how to deal with a werewolf” brought up a lot of sarcastic comments in online forums —advice like “file their claws” and “feed them snacks,” which was less than helpful.
Eventually, though, I did uncover the basics. It took a trip to the butcher, the health-food store, and an old friend who still hunts deer and elk.
I stiffen when Dimitri enters the room, followed closely by Beckett. Dimitri is dressed in a pair of low-slung jeans that leave the tops of his hipbones exposed. He isn’t wearing a shirt. I can see every ridge of his broad toned chest, and, despite my newfound fear, my stupid body responds.
Tingles race all over my skin. Heat blooms in my core. My heart feels as though it might punch out of my chest, and I suddenly have no idea what to do with my hands.
Dimitri looks paler than usual, the hollows under his eyes discolored. His dark hair is mussed as though he’s been running his hands through it, but his irises are no longer that unsettling gold color.
Ordinary hazel eyes stare back at me. Human eyes.
At the sight of me sitting there, Dimitri’s shoulders stiffen, but I see the relief on his face. His gaze rakes over me, head to toe, as if checking to confirm that I’m all in one piece.
“You’re still here,” he rasps. His voice sounds scratchy and ancient, as though he hasn’t spoken to anyone in years.
I shift my weight awkwardly on the couch, unsure if he’s pleased or not. “I did leave for a while.”
Something like hope ignites in his eyes, which don’t leave my face for a second. “But you’re here now.”
I nod once, swallowing around the lump in my throat as I gather up the courage to ask the question that’s been eating me since this morning. “Do you want me to go?”
It comes out so softly I’m not immediately sure Dimitri heard me, but the look on his face says he did. “No.”
I flinch when he takes a step toward me and curse my cowardly instincts. I’m not afraid of him, but my body remembers the huge gray wolf he turned into.
Dimitri quickly schools his reaction, but I see the hurt in his eyes. There’s a long awkward pause. Beckett clears his throat, and my gaze flicks to him. Even though he’s Dimitri’s head of security, I’ve rarely seen them together. Judging by the look on his face, he knows his boss’s secret.
“You’ve been busy,” says Dimitri after a long while, nodding at the supplies I’ve spread out on the coffee table.
“Yes,” I say. “That’s why I left.”
“To go grocery shopping?” Beckett remarks dryly, eyeing my stash with amusement. “And . . . hunting?”
“I did some reading,” I admit, cutting a nervous glance at Dimitri, who is also studying my supplies. A shotgun is lying on its side, though I have no idea how to use it. There’s also a giant slab of raw beef on a plate and a foot-long swag of garlic heads.
“Is that yours?” Beckett asks, staring pointedly at the gun.
I shake my head. “I . . . borrowed it.”
“And do you plan on using it?” There’s an aggressive edge to Beckett’s voice, and I remember that his job is to protect Dimitri. Though, based on what I saw, it’s not as if he needs protecting.
“No.” I gulp, wiping my sweaty palms on my thighs. “I . . . couldn’t find any silver bullets, but my friend assured me that this model could take down any mammal in North America.”
Beckett snorts. “He’s obviously never met a wolf shifter.”
My eyebrows shoot up, and I turn to Dimitri. “You mean you can’t . . . die?”
“I can,” says Dimitri, moving slowly around the coffee table.
When I don’t flinch, he lowers himself onto the couch beside me, though I notice he positions himself as far away as possible.
“I’m just harder to kill than most. Shifters aren’t immortal, though we’re immune to most human diseases. We also heal extremely quickly — comes from our ability to shift.”
I nod, trying to process everything he just said. Beckett and Dimitri both used the word “shifter,” not “werewolf.” For some reason, that small distinction puts me at ease and makes this whole thing seem less like a bad TV show.
“If you’re a wolf shifter, does that mean there are other kinds of shifters?”
Dimitri nods. “There are bear shifters, mountain lion shifters, eagle shifters . . . I met a fox shifter once, but those who change into smaller animals tend to keep their identities hidden.”
