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I pick up the book and find the page again.

Wolves rarely waste energy guarding what they do not consider important.

I stare at the line for a long moment.

Then I look toward the dark window. “Interesting.”

Chapter 9

Hewit

I wake hard.

Not half-hard. Not morning wood I can ignore while I stumble downstairs and make coffee, but hard enough that the sheet is tented over my hips.

I lie there staring at the ceiling while rain ticks softly against the window and the wolf prowls under my skin like he has somewhere to be.

Nora’s scent is faint through the cracked bedroom window, diluted by wet earth and pine, but I catch it anyway. Coffee. Soap. Her. Warm skin and whatever it is beneath that makes every instinct I have snap to attention.

I clamp my teeth together as the wolf surges. “No.”

The response is immediate—a low, restless shove beneath my ribs, as if the animal inside me objects to being told no about the only thing he’s wanted in years.

I throw back the covers and head for the shower. Cold water doesn’t help. Hot water definitely doesn’t help. By the time I give up pretending this is a problem I can out-stubborn, I have one hand braced against the tile and the other wrapped around my cock.

I haven’t done this thinking about a woman in years. All I can see is Nora at her window last night, hair loose around her shoulders, looking at me in wolf form without fear. I remember the sound of her voice drifting through the rain as she said my name as though she knew exactly who was sitting at the edge of her garden.

My grip tightens.

The wolf wants her. I use the thought like a shield. The wolf wants her. Not me.

Then my hips jerk into my hand at the memory of Nora’s mouth curving when she teased me from her living room window, and the lie becomes harder to maintain.

I finish with a guttural groan, my forehead pressed to the tile, breathing like I’ve run ten miles. For several seconds, there’s nothing but water striking stone and the pulse hammering in my throat.

Then the wolf settles with the smug satisfaction of an animal who’s been proven right.

I shut off the shower. “Fuck you.”

By nine, I’ve repaired a section of fence that didn’t need repairing, reorganized the shed, split enough wood for the winter, and avoided looking directly at number fourteen.

I hear a crash next door and stop with the axe halfway through a swing. Another thump follows.

Then Nora says, loudly enough to carry through the open window, “Oh, come on!”

I close my eyes. Not my problem.

“Why are you even this long?” she demands.

I lower the axe.

Two minutes later, I’m standing outside her kitchen door. Before I can knock, Nora appears through the glass, holding a screwdriver. She sees me and her entire face brightens.

Opening the door, she points the screwdriver at me. “You came voluntarily.” She looks past me. “Or did someone drag you over and run away?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I glance at the kitchen curtain rail. One bracket hangs crooked from the wall, and the other has been screwed into what appears to be absolutely nothing.

“What did you do?”