Page 39 of Bookish Girl’s Emergency Contact Is a Lycan King

I’m in the bathroom, brushing my teeth, trying to convince my brain that it’s time for sleep even though my brain has other ideas. Ideas that mostly involve replaying Orion’s face in the candlelight, the way his eyes went gold before the shift, the impossible breadth of his shoulders against the dark.

Stop it. He’s a wolf person. A lycan. A supernatural creature who turns into a giant predator. You cannot be attracted to a giant predator.

The whine comes again. Low. Unmistakably canine.

Unmistakably him.

I set down my toothbrush. Grab the knife I’ve been keeping by the bathroom door since the break-in, a kitchen knife, big enough to be threatening, though probably not threatening to someone who can survive getting shot, and creep down the stairs.

The back door is solid and familiar, and I press my ear against it, listening.

Shuffle. Whine. The sound of something very large settling onto my back steps with a patience that suggests it’s prepared to wait all night.

I take a breath. Square my shoulders. Remind myself that I’ve survived ADHD, anxiety, running a small business, and finding out that werewolves, lycans, are real. I can handle this.

I open the door.

And nearly stab the massive furry gargoyle sitting on my steps.

The knife stops about two inches from his nose. He doesn’t flinch. Just looks at me with his eyes, that impossible storm-cloud gray, familiar in that lycan face, and his tongue lolls out in what might be a smile if wolves could smile.

“O-ORION?!”

He whines. The sound is almost apologetic.

“What the fuck are you doing here? It’s eleven at night! You can’t just… you can’t just show up at people’s back doors in wolf form like it’s normal…”

He pads inside before I can finish the sentence, pushing past my legs like he owns the place, and I’m spluttering, “NO NO NO, we did not discuss this, I did not invite you in,” but he’s already in my stockroom, already turning to face me, and then the shift ripples through him.

One moment: lycan.

Next moment: man.

Naked man. Very naked man. Standing between my shelves of overflow inventory with absolutely no shame whatsoever.

“Sorry to scare you, sweetheart.” His voice is soft. Sheepish. Like he’s a normal person who just showed up unannounced for a chat instead of a supernatural creature who walked through my back door on four legs. “I was just making sure you were all right.”

Sweetheart.

He called me sweetheart.

While naked.

In my stockroom.

This is fine. This is a totally normal situation that I am handling with complete composure.

“You’ve been watching me,” I say, and I mean it to sound accusatory but it comes out more like a squeak. “Haven’t you. These past three days. You’ve been out there. Watching.”

“Protecting.”

“Those are NOT the same thing!”

“Aren’t they?” He says it like it’s a genuine question, like he honestly doesn’t understand the distinction. “Someone tried to hurt you. In my house. Under my protection. Until I’m certain there’s no ongoing threat, I’m going to make sure you’re safe.”

“By lurking outside my window like a creepy stalker wolf?”

“I prefer the term ‘vigilant guardian.’”