Page 62 of License to Kill

Things had been so much easier as a fox.

“I don’t know how to fight for dominance,” I finally admitted.

“I was counting on that to give me an unfair advantage.”

“Jake.”

He shrugged. “Desperate times, desperate measures. Fine. We shift and get into a fight. The winner, me, will bite you, the loser, and when you, the loser, submits to me, who will be the winner, I will bring you into the pack. Dad might have explained how to me during a theoretical discussion Mom doesn’t know about.”

Hell had frozen over, Satan had started ice cream socials, and the place had chosen to become a safe haven rather than continue its role as a place of eternal damnation. “Your father went behind your mother’s back?”

Jake grinned. “My parents screwed up, but Dad does care about the final outcome while Mom remains blind. Dad will claim desperate times create desperate measures, and that he always knew I was too smart for my own good. And as Dad is a very talented liar when he wants to be, Mom won’t smell it on him—or even think to check to see if he’s lying. Dad figured the only solution to the problem was to fix the core problem, so here we are. I’ve known the trick to bringing someone into the pack for a few weeks now, but I hadn’t figured out how to get a hold of you. Nobody in the pack has access to any of your information anymore.”

That tidbit interested me. Someone in the FBI had safeguarded all of my information? I’d only asked for my address to be sealed. I considered how that changed anything—if it changed anything.

I wondered if the black market operators had gotten involved with my situation.

I could truly disappear if Jake’s pack and family couldn’t readily access my file. I’d just have to give Jake the slip first, if I could. I’d put serious thought into it once he left me alone for a few minutes.

The Jake I knew talked big but bowed to his parents’ wishes. His defiance came in the form of a smart mouth, not in actual deeds. I gave the last living remnants of my sense of humor some CPR to get me through the rest of the conversation. “Who are you and what have you done with Jake?”

“People change. A pack without you in it is a pack I’d rather live without. If I have to choose, I’m choosing you, as I should have from the very beginning.”

Too little too late applied in our case, but I couldn’t help but wonder if we could rebuild a bridge out of the rubble that’d once been our relationship.

The problem with small apartments was the general lack of privacy. I needed some space, so I spent at least an hour hiding in the bathroom, spitting curses while trying not to cry. I avoided the tears, but it took a long, cold shower to accomplish. When I emerged, Jake was in the kitchenette, his smug smile fixed in place.

While I had been in the shower, Jake had made a modification to my apartment. On my counter was a coffee maker, and I was almost a hundred percent certain the rat had picked it up just to piss me off. Who came into someone’s apartment and set up a coffee maker uninvited?

My husband, apparently.

Asshole.

I pointed at the offensive, tempting machine. “What is that thing?”

“It’s a coffee maker. I saw you didn’t have one, so I picked one up after I finished successfully bribing your landlord into looking the other direction should you have a beautiful brown and tan dog over or if I happen to not leave at night. After our discussion about bringing you into the pack bonds, I decided to set it up. I need coffee, Karma.”

“That is not a coffee maker, Jake. That is an abomination.”

Jake pointed at the carafe. “The liquid in the glass pot is coffee. The machine made it. It’s a coffee maker.”

“And how long does it take that so-called coffee maker to brew coffee?”

“About twenty minutes,” he admitted.

“And how many cups does it hold?”

“I’d guess maybe five, if I’m being generous.”

“How much did you spend on it?”

“Six dollars at some thrift store I found down the street.”

If Jake wanted a fight, he was about to get one. He didn’t need his fur, did he? I could see spending a few hours ripping it all out and using it to stuff a pillow. When he shifted back to human, he’d be fine. The cold shower had done nothing for my resurrected libido, which wanted to skip the fur-ripping and go straight to bed. Unless he disregarded his nose completely, he could smell the truth of my situation.

One lost shirt and a few muscle flexes would do me in.

I lifted my chin and did my best to ignore my inappropriate case of lust. “I stopped drinking coffee months ago. Take it back.”