Page 17 of The Coyote's Veterinarian Omega

But the coyote shifted, fur disappearing into pale skin, snout resolving into Cam’s ski-jump nose. He stood up slowly, and I bit my lip.

I glanced down, then screwed my eyes shut.

“Wyatt,” he said. His voice was rough, like a growl. Why did it make me shiver?

I took a step back, clutching at the doorframe. Cam advanced as I stumbled into the kitchen. “Hey,” I snapped, “you can’t just show up, unannounced, and barge into people’s housescompletely naked—”

“Wyatt,” he said again, the screen door banging shut behind him. He reached out and landed a hand on my cheek.

I should have flinched or smacked his hand away or something. I didn’t. Instead, I found myself leaning into his touch, almostsighing at the way callus brushed my skin.

What the hell was wrong with me? Some naked guy who could turn into a fucking coyote had stalked me across the countryside and entered Vern’s house without permission. Why wasn’t I telling him to get out or running outside screaming or calling the cops or …

Or anything, really?

I opened my eyes. I hadn’t realized I’d closed them. Now I was staring into two pools of amber emotion, and I had to swallow the sudden lump in my throat at what I saw burning in his gaze.

He wanted me. Badly. Maybe as badly as I wanted him.

In the morning, I was going to tell myself that this was a momentary lapse in sanity. That it was because I was so desperate. It had been a long time, and I was super pent up. That was all.

He opened his mouth, and I thought I saw now that his teeth were sharper, more like the canines of a coyote than a regular human’s.

Before he could say anything, I was answering. The word came out in a breathy rush—yes.

Cam paused, amusement and confusion crossing his features. “Yes what?”

I took another deep breath. “Yes this. Yes everything. Just … yes.”

Cam considered that for about thirty seconds. Then he smirked and lifted his other hand, cradling my face between his rough palms, before he leaned in and sealed our mouths together.

He pushed his knee between my thighs, and I stumbled back into the kitchen counter. I gripped it, hard, trying to hike myself up on it, but I’d never been the most athletic. I ended up being bent backwards over it, the corner digging painfully into my lower back as Cam ravaged my mouth and rutted against my leg.

Thankfully—or maybe mortifyingly—Vern walked in at thatmoment. The door squealed open, his boots clomped on the floor, and he said, “Why in the hell do you have the storm door open, Wy—”

And then he paused, the screen door banging shut behind him, bumping him a bit further into the kitchen as he stared at us. And we stared back.

“I, uh,” I started.

“Well,” Vern harrumphed, putting his hands on his hips. “Ain’t no business of mine, but can you takeyourbusiness outta my kitchen, at the very least?”

He glanced at Cam. “And put on some goddamn pants.”

“Uh,” Cam said.

Vern’s face fell. “You ran over here in your fur?”

“Youknew?” I squeaked, feeling my eyes bug out.

Of course. All of Vern’s talk about getting mixed up with the Carlyles and their secrets suddenly made more sense. He hadn’t been talking about me hanging out withqueerpeople. He’d been talking about me hanging out withcoyote shifters.

I blinked. Did that mean Vern was also—

Cam was waving a hand, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling.

Vern huffed again, then kicked off his boots and clomped around us, into the sitting room. “Goddamn coyotes, you’d think they were raised in a barn,” he grumbled, barely audible over the squeaking floorboards. Cam tracked his progress. I stared at the ceiling, biting my lip.

Vern clomped back in, shoving a bundle of clothes into Cam’s arms, which Cam promptly used to cover himself. “I don’t wanna see your junk,” Vern grumped. “If Wyatt does, then that’s fine, but in the privacy of his room. For God’s sake. Kids these days.”