“Yeah, I have no idea what that means in wolf shifter, buddy. But unless you want to be eaten by a bear, I suggest you get the heck off of my porch.”

The black wolf glanced down at the mostly exposed cracked concrete slab beneath his paws. His empty Rocky Road ice cream container now sat between them.

“Back up there, Rocky, that’s a large amount of judgment going on about my classy backyard for someone who spent the night curled around an ice cream container.”

He cocked his head the other way.

“Yeah, well, no, I can’t read minds, but your judgmental snout isn’t hard to read.” Emma hadn’t opened the slider. Part of her wanted to. The other part screamed the stranger danger units from elementary school on permanent repeat.

He tilted his head the other way.

“Yeah, I mean it. I’m not a mind reader.” She laughed at herself and opened the slider. Internal bells and whistles went off around her, but something about his eyes made her want to trust him, even if she didn’t trust his judgment of sleeping on a half-ice-covered patio with an ice cream carton as his companion. She dragged a kitchen chair out with her and tugged her robe tighter over her Super Cat pajamas.

Rocky rolled his lip and blinked at her pant leg.

“What, not a fan of Super Cat? How can you not be a fan of Super Cat? She’s funny, awesome, and a badass who takes down all the criminals in the Panther Hollow universe. You’re more of a classic Marvel guy, then?”

He growled lightly.

“Okay, okay. DC. I get it. That’s not bad. I like some of the older stuff.”

He leaned back, and his stomach growled.

“Oh, I’m hungry, too. Want some eggs?” Emma stood up. Why in the world was she asking the vagrant who fell asleep in her backyard if he wanted some eggs? She had no idea. But then, she hadn’t met anyone, not in the last month she’d been here. So why not? She wanted to eat. He was hungry; she was hungry. There didn’t seem to be an issue.

He nodded a little.

“I can get you a blanket or something if you want to shift to, like, being a guy?”

He shook his head again.

Why did it feel like this conversation was going better than the last date she’d had with a guy from ShifterChat? Seriously, like, a lot better, and the way Rocky was communicating with her was tilt, tilt, blink, nod. Maybe that said something about her.

“Suit yourself. You want to come in? Shoot. You’re not some crossover vampire, are you? I didn’t just curse myself?”

He raised his eyebrows. She hadn’t even thought that wolves had eyebrows.

“Sorry, too many late-night movies and reality crime shows.”

Rocky growled.

“What? You’ve got to know how the murderers do it to keep from being murdered.” Emma stood in the doorway.

The eyebrows went even higher.

“I know, but you look like a friendly wolf. And seriously, what serial killer passes out around a tub of Rocky Road? I like ice cream too, and if I had to sleep in the dirt and mud, I’d do a round of ice cream, too.”

Rocky dropped to the patio and crossed his paws, dropping his head on top of them.

“You do you, boo. I’ll be right back with the eggs. Want toast, too?”

He shook his head no.

“The more for me.”

Ten minutes later, Emma came out with two plates. She sat one in front of the wolf. Seven eggs and the rest of her precooked turkey bacon. The cooking gene had skipped Emma, but she could fix a halfway decent breakfast. Hers had two eggs, no bacon, and toast. She poured herself a mug of milk with a splash of coffee.

Rocky’s lips twitched.

“Oh, you’re welcome.”

His head inclined at her coffee.

“You want coffee? I draw the line at pouring coffee into a bowl. You’ll have to shift, Rocky, if you want a mug of joe.” She sat on her bright yellow chair that she’d brought out, set her mug on the cracked concrete patio, and dug into her breakfast.

Sitting with the wolf, a sense of calm floated around her and hugged her like a warm bubble. Soon enough, the furry beast had polished off his eggs and bacon, licking the plate clean. He trotted to the window and picked up the empty carton and put it onto his plate.

“You’re leaving?”

He nodded.

“Okay then. Have a good day, Rocky.”

His shoulder tilted up, and he turned to go, but instead he crossed the patio. Her throat closed up. Was she going to be one of the dumb ones on the crime shows? The voiceover would announce, “Emma Davis didn’t think anything strange of the derelict shifter sleeping in her backyard. Oh, no. She fed him breakfast before he feasted on her flesh.”

But then the wolf pushed against her hand, sending it down his muzzle, over the side of his face.

“You’re really soft. But I don’t pet on the first date.”

The wolf sat down on his haunches and let out a chuff that reminded Emma a heck of a lot of a laugh.

He took off running for the tree line. He didn’t turn back and look at her, but she couldn’t stop looking at him. His fur was the softest thing she’d ever touched.

8

Everything in Flint flashed and fired. His heart might explode, his lungs didn’t know how to pull in air, and he had two seconds before he tripped over his own paws if he didn’t get away from her.

The list of things that ran through his head was long and frustrating. He wanted to shift and scream at her. You don’t let a male wolf into your home if you don’t know who the hell he is. You don’t touch a male wolf if you don’t . . . You don’t cook him breakfast. How the hell had the witch survived as long as she had? But he had to keep himself from stopping in the middle of her little yard and turning to look at her. He made it until the underbrush before he quietly crept around to turn back. She sat on the cracked patio slab staring at the spot where he’d run into the woods. Right, well, no dating. Dating brought feelings—too dangerous. He didn’t have any plans to use his magic, but what if he rolled over and fried his girlfriend because he didn’t have control of his power?

He plopped down to watch Emma. His wolf enjoyed the control, and right now there wasn’t a damn thing that could possibly make him leave until she went back inside. And little Emma seemed more than content to stay right where she was.

A standoff where half of the players didn’t know they were playing. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and texted someone. Who? He wanted to know. Was it a boyfriend? Why should it matter? He wasn’t going to date her, so it didn’t—that was the answer. He also wasn’t going to fuck her. He stuck to hook-ups when in the city now. The way her power had spread to him yesterday, they would probably blow up the whole county.

A half hour later, the wind picked up and she pulled her robe closed. A couple times when she moved around, it had flapped open, and he couldn’t stop himself from staring at her shapely legs. She yanked the chair inside and pulled the slider closed. But then she stood there studying the edge of the woods. Flint didn’t move, not a hair. When she left the slider, he turned and headed through the woods, behind all the homes, and back to Main Street. It was late enough for those going to church to already be there but early enough that those who should have been going to a service of some kind but hadn’t were still asleep.

He padded along the street and ducked into the firehouse. Off until Tuesday, he headed there anyway for the spare clothes in his locker. And a shower. And to use the phone, because his was at his sister’s.

He shifted at the back door and slipped inside. The trucks were in the garage, so he didn’t have to worry about running into the other crew.