I exhale sharply through my nose, paws hitting the ground in a hard, steady rhythm. I keep coming back to the only explanation that makes sense. It’s her stubbornness. The sheer, spectacular stubbornness of this woman who looked at a man twice her size offering to wipe out her debt and said absolutely not. Who sat in a diner and ate apple pie like she was annoyed at it. Who slapped her hand over my mouth to stop me from asking a question she didn’t want to deal with.
She is, without question, the most prideful person I have ever met.
The memory surfaces uninvited. Her face in my car, all flushed indignation, sputtering I’m not kissing you for driving me home! The way her eyes had gone wide when I’d leaned in. The way her scent had shifted into something spicier, almost mouth-watering.
She’s very pretty when she’s worked up like that.
The drive home had been difficult with constantly having to adjust my pants.
The sound that escapes me is almost a laugh.
I’m distracted by movement to my left, and two shapes break through the trees, one large and the other even larger, running in perfect synchrony. I recognize their scents before I see them clearly. Samuel, lean and fast, his wolf a dark gray shadowbetween the trunks. And behind him, Coach Ramirez, whose presence presses against my instincts like a weight settling over the back of my neck.
They fall into flanking positions without a word. This is pack language. No conversation needed.
For a while, the three of us just run. Then Coach nips at my heels, and I surge forward on instinct. Samuel matches my pace, and for ten minutes, there are no complicated problems, just the ridge and the cold air and the ground flying under our paws.
By the time the mansion’s lights come into view through the trees, the worst of the noise in my head has quieted.
We shift at the tree line. The change moves through me fast, bones resetting, muscle contracting, the brief, searing pain that never fully goes away. Then I’m standing upright, breathing hard, human again.
I head for the back door and flip open the laundry box sitting against the outside wall. It’s always stocked, a habit I picked up years ago for exactly this kind of situation. Pack members pass through, wolves come in from runs, and nobody wants to walk back into civilization in just their skin. I grab three pairs of folded pants and toss one each to Samuel and Coach before pulling on my own.
“Beer?” I call over my shoulder, heading for the kitchen.
“Obviously,” Samuel says.
I come back out with three cold bottles and drop into one of the garden chairs. The night is clear, the kind where you can see every star if you bother to look. I don’t. I’m still thinking about a pair of brown eyes and the quality of a specific person’s glare.
Samuel takes a long drink. “Any update on the doctor situation?”
Coach exhales slowly, like the question costs him something. “No.” He turns his bottle in his hands. “I’ve been weighing bringing in a human from another pack’s network. But a humanloyal to someone else’s pack is a liability I don’t want sitting in our locker room.”
“Agreed.” I raise my beer.
“So we’re stuck.” Samuel leans back, looking at the sky. “Unless someone has another idea.”
Silence.
Then, almost before the decision finishes forming, I say, “I have someone in mind.”
Both of them look at me.
“The nurse who patched me up in the ER.” I hold up a hand before Coach can speak. “Before you say anything. I know how it sounds.”
“It sounds,” Coach says, “like you want to hand our secret to a human woman because she put stitches in your leg.”
“No. Because a few nights ago, five men cornered her in the hospital parking lot. I stepped in.” I turn my bottle in my hands. “She watched the whole thing, Coach. Afterward she pulled me back inside and patched up a stab wound that was healing too fast right in front of her.” I pause. “Didn’t say a word about it.”
Samuel raises his eyebrows.
“What were you doing there?” Coach asks.
“Returning a favor. She found Ethan when he wandered off last week.” I meet his eyes. “She had every reason to start asking questions. She didn’t. She looked right at me and said she didn’t want to know.”
Silence.
“And you believed her,” Coach says.
