“There’s only one thing for you to do.” He peered into the fridge and took out leftovers.
“Tell him about shifters?”
“No, go study photography, and in a couple of years you can come back and show him your portfolio, wow him with stories of you in the wild when you were almost eaten by a lion.” He sniggered and put the food in the microwave.
I wasn’t getting any help from my brother, and I’d have to shift and run and clear my head.
“The solution isn’t difficult. You said it yourself. Tell him the truth.”
I threw up my hands. “And he’ll run and probably call a reporter and say he’s got the story of the century. They’ll go on all the talk shows and make millions, and we’ll be put in cages and studied.”
“Wow, and I thought I was a mess.” He tapped my brow. “What’s going on in there, Bro?”
I braced myself against the kitchen island. “Not sure, but meeting Bronson has befuddled me. I can’t think straight.”
Dale put a hand on my shoulder. “This is your fated mate, Linc. You want to be with him, don’t you?”
“More than anything.”
“There’s no way around it.”
He suggested I find a shifter mated to a human and ask how they broached the subject. But I didn’t know anyone that fit that category—Ron didn’t count—and it would take too long to suss one out. I could be in jail or on the run by then.
“Even if you bluffed your way through the whole you’re-a-professional-photographer issue, you can’t start a life with someone when it’s built on a lie.”
When did my little brother get so smart?
“And if he reports me anyway?”
Dale smirked, and I prepared for a smartass answer. “I’ll bake a file in a cake and bring it to you in prison.” He giggled. “But you will have tried to tell him who you really are.”
The microwave dinged.
“I guess you’re right.” I gave him a noogie, and he shoved me away.
“I was going to thank you for rescuing me from Mike.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I knew he was wrong and probably a cheater, but I was lonely and needed a good fuck.”
Ewww. I didn’t want to hear that, and I put my hands over my ears. But Dale removed one and added, “But I didn’t. We didn’t.”
But he’d put that image in my head which had temporarily removed the ones of Bronson. Gross.
Dale picked at the leftovers and grabbed a bottle of water. “Now we’ve solved your dilemma, can I go back to bed, please?”
“Yeah, and thanks.”
It sounded easy. Tell Bronson, shift in front of him, and I wouldn’t be in danger of going to prison. And if he stuck around after the history and biology lesson and reveal, maybe we could date.
One text to set up a meeting would be the first step. That was the easy part. But what if Dale was wrong? I scrolled through photography classes, looking for the shortest one.
Tell him before we lose him, my panther begged.
6
BRONSON
When I left the coffee shop that day, I was a ball of confusion. On one hand, I felt like I’d just had a first date, and on the other, like I’d been played. Nothing about any of this made sense.
It didn’t help that I was unable to separate my feelings from the actual reason we’d gotten together in the first place. Knowing that at the end of the day, it didn’t matter how good-looking he was or how much I liked being around him, he still sent me that picture.
