Jason grins, sharp and delighted. He knows exactly what he's doing. He's been poking at me since I got back last night and he was up getting some water, watching for cracks, waiting for me to break.
"Bet he'd look incredible spread out on your desk," he says quickly, then ducks.
The shift happens before I can stop it.
One second I'm human, irritated and trying to hold it together. The next I'm four hundred pounds of pissed-off lion, muscles bunching and releasing as I pounce. The world goes sharper, brighter—colors muted but movement crystal clear. I can smell everything: motor oil, metal, Jason's gleeful lack offear, the lingering trace of Toby's scent still clinging to my skin even after a shower.
Jason goes down laughing, hitting the concrete floor with a thud that would have knocked the wind out of a human. I'm on top of him instantly, teeth at his throat, not breaking skin but making my point very, very clear. The position is pure dominance—alpha to pack member, a reminder of exactly who's in charge here.
He bares his neck, submitting, but he's still fuckinglaughing. His whole body is shaking with it, completely unafraid despite the fact that I could rip his throat out with one twitch of my jaw.
"Vaughn!" he calls out, not even trying to get away. "You owe me fifty!"
Vaughn appears in the doorway, takes one look at me in shifted form pinning Jason to the garage floor, and pulls out his wallet without a word. His expression is somewhere between amused and resigned.
"Two hours," he says, counting out bills. "I thought you'd last at least until lunch."
I shift back, which leaves me naked and irritated on the cold concrete floor. Jason is still laughing. I resist the urge to kick him.
"You bet on me?"
"Everyone bet." Vaughn hands Jason the cash, utterly unrepentant. "Silas had three hours. Ezra thought you'd make it to tonight. Jason said you wouldn't last past ten AM."
"It's 9:47," Jason adds helpfully from the floor, checking his phone. "I know you so well, boss."
"You're all assholes."
I push myself up, looking around for something to wear. My clothes are shredded—shifting while dressed will do that—scattered across the garage in torn pieces. I grab someone's shirtfrom the workbench. It's too big, which means it's Silas's, but I pull it on anyway. It falls past my thighs, which is enough for basic dignity.
"Did you have fun last night?"
Ezra's voice comes from the doorway. He's leaning against the frame with a mug of coffee, watching me with those sharp, assessing eyes. Of all my pack, Ezra's the one who sees too much.
"Your bike was gone for an hour," he continues. "Maybe more."
"I took him home."
"And?" Jason sits up, eyes bright with interest. "Did you go up? Meet the roommate? Get his number?"
"No."
"Did you at least get his last name?"
I pause. Open my mouth. Close it.
Fuck.
"You don't even know his full name!" Jason crows, scrambling to his feet. "Oh my god. Our fearless leader is pining after a human and doesn't even know—"
"I'm not pining."
"You threw a wrench at the wall because I mentioned his throat."
"That was about you being annoying."
"That was about you imagining marking his throat," Vaughn corrects mildly. "We can smell the arousal, Knox. Every time someone mentions him, you spike."
I grab a pair of jeans from the emergency stash we keep in the back—there's always spare clothes around when you live with shifters—and pull them on with as much dignity as I can muster.
