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“Wow.” This is just too much to process.
“What’s the steak for?” Dimitri asks, nodding at the bloody slab of meat in front of us.
“Oh, uh . . . I thought you might be hungry.” Blood heats my cheeks at my own ignorance, and I look down at my hands, which are still clutching my knees.
“I took care of that,” says Beckett gruffly. “But that was smart.”
I lift my head, surprised by the compliment.
Beside me, Dimitri grimaces. “Shifters are much more volatile when we’re hungry.”
“And the garlic?” Beckett cuts in.
I shrug. “It works on vampires.”
Both men snort, and I frown in irritation.
“Not on shifters,” Beckett says, wrinkling his nose. “It just stinks up the house.”
“Is there anything that does work on you guys?” I snap. Would they even tell me if there was?
I was addressing Dimitri, but Beckett is the first to speak. “Yes. Shifting regularly, for a start. Lots of physical activity. Plenty of food — though not just meat. And not denying your wolf.”
He cuts a harsh look at his boss as he recites his list, and a muscle tics in Dimitri’s jaw.
“That’s why Beckett is here,” he says. “He’s going to be helping to enforce my new . . . regimen.”
Dimitri grumbles the last word as though Beckett is making him go on a diet, and a rogue chuckle works its way up my throat at the thought of the beefy head of security forcing Dimitri to eat only salads.
“He told me what happened,” Beckett explains. “And he’s agreed to cooperate from this point forward.” His face grows serious as he adds, “As long as he follows my orders, I can assure you that this will never happen again.”
I nod, though I’m not sure how Beckett could promise something like that.
“I have not been shifting as often as I should,” Dimitri admits. “That’s the main reason I lost control of my form this morning. My wolf, he . . . needs to stretch his legs every now and again.”
“You speak as though you’re two different people — er, beings,” I say.
“We are.” Dimitri squints one eye and cocks his head to the side. “At least, that’s how it feels.”
“When the wolf and the man are more integrated and the animal’s needs are being met, a shifter is much less volatile,” says Beckett. “That’s why it’s important not to deny one’s wolf.”
Deny one’s wolf.
There was that phrase again — the one part of Beckett’s “regimen” that still didn’t make any sense.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
Dimitri rubs the back of his head, shooting a pointed glance at Beckett. The head of security casts one more look in my direction before stepping out of the room.
Once he’s gone, Dimitri shifts on the couch to orient his body toward mine, and I get the feeling that whatever he’s about to tell me is serious. “Do you remember me telling you about my co-founder? The one who tried to force me to step down?”
I nod. I remember everything Dimitri’s ever said to me, and I read every article I could find about the eccentric CEO when I first took this job.
Dimitri’s jaw goes stiff, and I can tell it bothers him more than it should. “Rhys wasn’t just my co-founder or the CFO. He was my pack brother . . . and my best friend.”
My eyebrows shoot up at his admission.
Dimitri has a pack? I’ve never seen anyone around the house apart from Beckett, and Dimitri rarely goes anywhere except the Denver office. How is it that he has a pack?
