Page 31 of Brock’s Mate

Even though he knew he was lying. He was probably going to spend a large part of his time in the near future watching her escape, then chasing her down and bringing her back.

Or not. Hell, more likely he’d end up having to go on the run with her, like Bonnie and Clyde.

By the time he got upstairs to the kitchen, he was already expecting to find the back door open and her gone.

He was wrong. She’d found the cereal and was drowning a bowl of it in— “Is that orange juice?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Your milk is chunky.”

She was probably right—the carton was sitting on the counter and he could smell it from across the room. He didn’t spend a lot of time here.

“And I couldn’t find your coffeemaker,” she added. “Although without the milk…”

She hiked herself up on the countertop and dug into her cereal. Brock shuddered. “You could always put orange juice in your coffee,” he said.

He found the French press and put water on the stove to heat, then got the bag of coffee grounds out of the freezer and dumped some in the press. He had to search the cupboards to find the box of emergency shelf-stable restaurant-type creamers.

There were sugar packets too, in a baggie, so he got them out and tossed them to her. “In case you like it sweet.”

She smirked. “Yeah, no. ‘Sweet’ and I don’t really go together.”

That was totally true. He’d never really been attracted to abrasive women, but for some reason this one got under his skin. He liked her wild-colored hair, and her attitude, and the way she managed to adapt to any situation.

Adaptability was key with Turned shifters. They had to accept their animal, and the fact that their life had changed forever. If they were too rigid or too scared, or too angry at having their world upended…

They were part of the eighty-two point six five percent who didn’t make it.

Brock shoved that thought away and pulled the box of eggs out of the fridge. Eggs lasted a long time—they were probably still good. And there was bacon in the freezer.

The water on the stove boiled, and Brock poured it over the coffee grounds and put the lid on the press before starting the bacon and eggs.

When she saw how much he was cooking, Desi said, “You don’t have to cook for me. I have orange Cap’n Crunch.”

Brock shook his head. “Your wolf needs protein.”

She didn’t have an answer for that. In fact, she didn’t say anything else until well after he’d finished the scrambled eggs and bacon, and dished it out onto plates.

She didn’t move to the table, just stayed on the countertop. Like something as small as sitting down at the table with him would normalize this—give him the idea that they were some kind of couple. Or even friends.

So he ate standing up, leaning against the sink, not saying anything either. What did you say to someone who really was your captive? He’d put her in a cage, for fuck’s sake. No matter what kind of spark he’d felt between them last night, it didn’t override that.

And anyway, he didn’t want it override it, right? The absolute last thing he needed was to fall for yet another of his patients. Twice was too many.

After eating in silence for a while, she said casually, “How did you get Turned into a shifter?”

“Didn’t,” he replied. “I was born one.”

Desi almost dropped her bacon. “People are born like this?”

Hell, of course she hadn’t known. “Yeah. Most shifters are born. Turned shifters are rare.”

She chewed the bacon slowly. “So, I could still have a kid, even as a werewolf?”

She wanted kids? He thought about all the IDs he’d found, how long she’d been on the run. He wouldn’t have pegged her as someone who wanted to settle down.

She added, “But then they’d be one too, right?”

“Yeah. But that’s not a bad thing. It’s different from growing up human, but it’s still good, if you’re in a stable shifter community.”