Page 41 of The Werewolf’s Study Date

I pause with my sandwich halfway to my mouth. "Dream?"

"Recurring dreams of your mate's face for years before you ever meet them. No context, just their eyes and mouth. My mate dreamed of me for three years. I dreamed of him too." Her mouth twitches into the rarest thing on earth, a gargoyle smile. "When we finally crossed paths in the quad, we just stopped and stared. We already knew."

"That is," I say, "unbelievably romantic."

"It is efficient," Petra corrects, though she looks pleased.

By four o'clock, practice is over. I'm sitting outside the vet building when the football team cuts across the quad. Boone spots me instantly. He separates from the pack without breaking stride, his eyes already glowing that distinct, heavy amber in the late-afternoon light.

Mikey, the team's massive bear-shifter kicker, cups his hands around his mouth. "MAISIE!"

"MIKEY!" I shout back.

Boone reaches me, drops his duffel, and pulls me against his chest. His mouth presses hard against my temple, his big palm cupping the back of my neck, thumb tracing my hairline. But beneath the warmth of his hold, there's a restless, coiled tension humming through his frame like a live wire. A low, vibrating rumble hums in his chest—pure wolf, completely unfiltered.

"Hi," he murmurs against my skin.

"Hi. Your eyes are completely gold."

"Moon's coming up soon." His jaw tightens, his shoulders twitching as if his skin is two sizes too small for him.

Tate jogs past us, grinning. "Good luck, Pope! Keep him fed!"

Mikey gives a solemn nod from the sidewalk before catching up to Tate.

I look up at Boone, taking in the sharp edge of his cheekbones and the restless flex of his fingers against my waist. "Don't you normally do something on a full moon?"

His hand stills. "Run."

"As Boone?"

His mouth twitches. "Not exactly."

The realization hits me all at once. "I've never seen you shifted."

Boone hesitates, his gold eyes searching mine with that familiar, careful protectiveness. "You don't have to see it if you're not ready. Some humans find it... a lot. We can just head straight to my apartment⁠—"

"Boone," I cut in, raising an eyebrow. "You're planning to bite my neck tonight and bind our souls together for the rest of our lives. I think I can handle seeing the wolf."

A startled bark of laughter breaks through his tension. "Wolf, Pope."

"Take me to the trails, Kinkaid."

He scoops up his duffel, his fingers locking tightly between mine as we head past the athletics complex. Creature University has designated shifter running grounds bordering the dense woods on the north side of campus—hundreds of protected, boundary-warded acres where wolves, bears, and other shifters can run safely without terrifying human freshmen or tearing up the quad.

At the edge of the tree line, Boone drops his bag on a wooden bench. He strips his sweatshirt and t-shirt, kicking off his sneakers. For a second, he just stands there in the cool autumn air, towering over me, his chest rising and falling in fast, shallow breaths.

"Step back a couple of paces," he says quietly.

I do.

I've studied shifter anatomy in my textbooks. I've memorized skeletal reconfiguration diagrams and watched educational videos in lecture.

None of it prepares me for Boone.

There is a sudden, fluid ripple beneath his bronze skin, a sharp snap of bone aligning into place, and in the span of two heartbeats, the man dissolves into pure muscle and momentum.

Where Boone was standing, an enormous beast now fills the clearing.