Its back leg started to smack the wall of the house again. But this time the beast tilted itself so that the leg waved around in the air. Something light blue flashed in between the wolf’s legs. She knew that color. The wolf twitched again. It wasn’t in pain—well, maybe it was, but it was dreaming of something. Probably chasing a squirrel. Its hind paw stretched out, and that was when she realized how she knew the color. The thing had stolen her ice cream. Her beloved ice cream from her freezer. But how did it get inside? She raced to the freezer, but her pistachio ice cream was still there. She turned fast enough to strain her neck. Goddess. She snuck to the window. Where had a wolf gotten ice cream? Oh, there was even a canvas bag next to it.
That wasn’t a wolf. That was a wolf shifter. What the heck was a shifter doing lying in her backyard with a half-gallon of melting ice cream? Was it the last renter of the town home? She hadn’t even rented it for herself; her boss had found it for her. Housing was part of the package. And he’d set up the lease as a rent-to-own.
The renter of the other half of the building was a nice older couple that had gone to Florida for the winter, and they wouldn’t be back until June, so it couldn’t be them. But she didn’t want a vagrant shifter hanging out next to her rusted barbecue and broken chair.
She rapped on the window. It echoed in the kitchen, startling her. The wolf shifter didn’t move. Perhaps she had it wrong. The wolf might be rabid after all. Do it, Emma. She moved to the slider and this time knocked with her whole fist. The slider shook in its track, and the idea that it might shatter sent a bubble of fear through her stomach.
The wolf cocked its head like a child who didn’t want to get up and dropped it down onto its paws.
Emma knocked again. This time the wolf sat up on its haunches. The empty ice cream container sat in front of it. It blinked its brown eyes at her, and her heart thudded. She’d never wanted a dog. Every ShifterChat quiz she’d ever taken had come out that she was a cat person. But right now, she wanted to open the slider and let the wolf come in and eat her precious pistachio ice cream.
He—she knew it was a he somehow—cocked his head the other way at her, and she found she mimicked him. “Who are you?”
The wolf lifted his gums and bared his teeth.
Emma slapped the glass. “Stop that. Don’t be rude.”
He cocked his head and closed his eyes, looking away from her.
“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.
