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Why not? I’m on vacation.
About a half an hour after I hunkered down by the creek, my fur twitches all over, standing on end. The first time that happened, I found myself chasing my tail, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with my wolf. Living amongst humans, pretending to be one myself… it’s been a long, long time since I’ve been around other shifters except for my twin. That spark, the jolt of static electricity that puffs up my fur? That was the land reacting to the Alpha leaving it.
To get to the Coven House, Fallon and Lucas have to cross the woods of Winter Creek. That slight zap tells me that they have, already on their way to their meeting with Armand, the elder witch who’s acting like the conduit between Fallon and the rest of the witches.
I notice it, then disregard it just as easily. The Alpha couple will be back for dinner, and since I left Tristan at the house alone, I’d rather starve than eat anything he cooked for the rest of the pack. I don’t want to confuse my poor wolf anymore than she is, and eating a meal made by Tristan when he couldn’t make it any more obvious that he’s not interested in being our mate? That’ll push her one step closer to breaking.
I’m the dark Lipton twin, but I’m still padding along the right side of not being feral. I’d rather not cross the line if I can help it.
Knowing that Fallon and Lucas are gone doesn’t change anything about my plans for a lazy day outside. My fur coat keeps me warm despite the weather, and after I chow down on a vole that scampered too close to the creek for a mid-morning snack, I lie down on my belly, drop my muzzle to my paws, and relax.
And, okay, maybe that relaxation goes a little farther than I expect. In no time, I’m completely passed out, and if you never hear a shifter in their wolf form snoring, count yourself lucky. On the plus side, it keeps any other predators away.
Well. Except for one…
“What do you think you’re doing?”
CHAPTER 6
JEAN LOUISE (NOT IN THIS LIFETIME)
See? That’s what happens when you’re so Luna-damn sure you’re the biggest, baddest predator in the woods: you fall asleep and let your senses go offline long enough to be ambushed.
It’s not even the incredulousness in that rich, delicious voice that catches my attention. Nope. It’s the intoxicating mingle of sea spray and sage that slams me into consciousness.
My spine doesn’t tingle, but the jab, jab, jab of our blocked bond is fucking annoying.
I refuse to let Tristan see the way he affects me. Honestly, if I thought I could keep my eyes closed and he’d buy that I was sleeping, I’d fake it. But he’s a shifter. The moment I went from dead asleep to suddenly awake, he knew it.
Sigh.
I quirk one eye open lazily and almost immediately wish I hadn’t.
You’ve gotta be kidding me.
I knew it was Tristan. Even without his distinct scent, I knew. But as he stalks out of the trees, his slightly heaving chest drawing my attention like a fucking bulls-eye, my wolf keens softly.
Or maybe that’s me.
He’s shirtless. All he has on is a pair of low-slung sweatpants—grey, because of course they’re grey—that show off the imprint of his dick and that’s it. No shoes, either. He’s got the look of a shifter who lost his clothes because he didn’t bother stripping responsibly first like I did, and he made do with one of the pack’s stashes of spare sweatpants that they leave around the woods.
I wonder why. Did he leave the pack house, go for a patrol in his skin, then need to shift suddenly? But if that’s so, what the hell made him tug on pants?
Come on, Jeannie… you know the answer to that, don’t you? Because if I caught his scent, how much do you want to bet he caught mine?
Funny. I would’ve thought he’d turn tail and run the other way if he stumbled upon me during one of his patrols. I guess, instead, he just decided to rub salt in the wound by making sure he was as covered-up as it was possible to be before interrupting my nap.
Thanks, Tristan.
No. Really.
Ah, well. Since he obviously knows I’m awake, I start to move—and that’s when I realize something. As if the cool breeze on my skin wasn’t enough of a clue—and, damn it, that’s why my nipples are suddenly hard, not because I’m staring at Tristan’s chest!—the slight shiver—not Tristan, either!—as goosebumps pop out all over my naked, human flesh lets me know I shifted back from my wolf to my human form while I was knocked out.
Whoops.
Ah, well. It happens. Usually not once a shifter grows out of puphood and can control their changes, but it shouldn’t matter regardless. I’m a wolf on wolf land. Since we don’t come back with our clothes on, we don’t have the same hang-ups over nudity like the full humans do.
Tristan is a shifter. He should understand.
