The wolf’s tail wagged harder.
Jamie’s stomach dropped through the floor. Through the foundation. Possibly through the Earth’s crust. “Oh my god. Oh my actual god. You’re—are you really—?”
The wolf nodded. An actual, deliberate nod.
“I need to sit down.” Jamie was already sitting. “I need to lie down.” He was basically horizontal. “I need therapy. So much therapy.”
The wolf—Sloane?—made a soft whining sound that might have been concern.
“Don’t you whine at me!” Jamie pointed an accusing finger. “You can’t just—people don’t just turn into wolves! That’s not how reality works! There are rules! Physics! Science!”
Another huff, definitely amused this time.
“This isn’t funny! I’m having a complete mental breakdown, and you’re just sitting there being all wolfy and—” Jamie’s voice cracked again. “How is this even possible? When did this happen? Have you always been able to do this? Oh god, how many other people can do this? Is everyone secretly a wolf? Is Nick a wolf? Am I the only human left?”
The wolf shook its head.
“Oh good, glad we cleared that up. I’m not the last human. Just the idiot who didn’t notice he was dating a—what even are you? Werewolf? Shapeshifter? Some kind of elaborate furry situation that got way out of hand?”
Standing, the wolf moved toward the bathroom door, paused, and looked back at Jamie expectantly.
“What, you need to pee? Because I’m not walking a wolf. I don’t care if you’re actually my…whatever you are.” Jamie pulled his knees up to his chin. “I’m staying right here until my brain starts working again.”
The wolf disappeared into the bathroom. The door clicked shut.
Jamie stared at the closed door.
Then it opened, and Sloane walked out. Human Sloane. Wearing absolutely nothing, all that skin on display like this was a perfectly normal morning.
“So,” Sloane said, leaning against the doorframe with infuriating casualness. “We should probably talk.”
Jamie’s eyes rolled back as he fainted.
Chapter Nine
Jamie groaned as his eyelids fluttered open. Softness pressed against his back. Warm. Solid. Sloane’s bed, not the chair. How had he gotten here? Memory trickled back—the wolf, the bathroom, Sloane emerging completely naked—and heat flooded Jamie’s face.
Did I…faint? Did he carry me? Am I alive? Am I dead? Is this heaven? Hell? A wolf-themed fever dream?
“There you are.” Sloane’s voice came from somewhere above him, gentle and amused. “Feeling better?”
Better? Jamie had just discovered his whatever-they-were could transform into an actual wolf. Better wasn’t exactly the word he’d use. “Peachy. Just fantastic. Living my best life discovering supernatural creatures exist.”
A soft chuckle rumbled through Sloane, and Jamie became hyperaware of several facts at once. First, Sloane sat on the bed beside him, close enough that Jamie could feel body heat radiating off him. Second, that heat suggested Sloane remained very much unclothed. Third, Jamie’s traitorous body didn’t care about the whole wolf revelation when faced with that much bare skin.
“You’re safe,” Sloane murmured, and something in his tone made Jamie’s ribs ache. “I'd never hurt you. You know that, right?”
Safe. The word bounced around Jamie’s skull, colliding with images of canines and fur and those impossible bluish-gray eyes. His thoughts scattered in twelve directions—werewolves were real, Sloane was one, had he always been one, were there others, what did this mean, why wasn’t he more terrified—while his pulse hammered against his throat.
Cedar and musk filled his lungs with each breath, Sloane’s scent wrapping around him. Familiar. Comforting, despite everything.
“I don’t know what to think.” The admission scraped out raw and honest. Jamie turned his head, finally meeting Sloane’s gaze. Those same eyes that had watched him from a wolf's face now crinkled at the corners with concern. “My brain’s doing that thing where it just shows an error message and plays elevator music. But I know how I feel about you, and that hasn't changed. Which probably makes me certifiably insane.”
Something shifted in Sloane’s expression, heat flickering behind the concern. His hand settled on Jamie’s hip, thumb tracing small circles through the fabric of his jeans. “What about feeling? What are you feeling?”
The question stripped away Jamie’s defenses, leaving him raw and exposed. He could lie, deflect with humor, pretend none of this mattered. But Sloane’s steady gaze held him in place, patient and open and somehow still him despite everything. Every nerve ending focused on that single point of contact, on the way Sloane’s thumb moved in lazy patterns that made thinking difficult.
“Like I want things I shouldn’t want.” Jamie’s voice came out rougher than intended. “Like you make me feel safer than I’ve ever felt, which is ridiculous considering you can literally turn into a predator.”
