And he's wearing a cardigan. A bright yellow cardigan covered in cartoon cats.
Cats.
The irony isn't lost on me.
I take another breath, trying to sort through the layers of scent. Rain, obviously. Wet wool. The fries he's eating. Something floral that might be fabric softener. The lingering ghost of cologne that isn't his. That makes my lip curl. And underneath everything, that warm-sweet smell that's making my lion pace restlessly, demanding I get closer.
"Boss," Vaughn starts, but I hold up a hand.
The human doesn't look up. Doesn't even register my presence. He's completely absorbed in his phone, brow furrowed, mouth moving slightly as he reads something on the screen. Jason catches my eye and beams at me, actuallybeams, like he's proud of himself for finding a stray and bringing it home.
This is going to be a problem.
I move closer, deliberately letting my footsteps fall heavy on the wood floor. The boards creak under my weight, protesting. Any shifter would have clocked me the second I walked in—would have felt the displacement of air, heard the change in the room's acoustics, smelled the shift in everyone else's anxiety levels.
The human notices none of it.
He's still fighting with his phone, thumb jabbing at the screen, completely oblivious to the apex predator approaching his table. My lion is fascinated. Usually humans sense us on some level, even if they don't know what they're sensing. A primitive awareness that makes them step aside on sidewalks, avoid eye contact, find excuses to leave rooms we've entered. Survival instincts left over from when we hunted them.
This one is apparently immune.
I stop at the edge of the booth, close enough now that I can see individual water droplets still clinging to his eyelashes. Close enough to count the freckles scattered across his nose. Close enough that his scent wraps around me like a physical thing and my lion makes a low, rumbling sound of want that I barely manage to keep from becoming audible.
He finally glances up.
"Oh, hi." He blinks at me through those rain-spotted glasses, completely unconcerned. Like I'm not twice his size and radiating enough dominance that Vaughn is practically flattened against the far wall. "Sorry, I'll be out of your way in just a second. The app's being weird about—"
The words die in his throat.
We make eye contact, and for a moment, neither of us moves. His eyes are brown. Warm brown, the color of good whiskey or autumn leaves. There are flecks of gold near the pupils that catch the bar light and gleam.
His pupils dilate. Just slightly, just for a second—the involuntary response of a prey animal recognizing a predator. His heart rate spikes. I can hear it, can smell the sudden sharp note of adrenaline cutting through his exhaustion.
And then—impossibly, inexplicably—he goes back to his phone.
"Stupid thing," he mutters, jabbing at the screen again. "I swear it worked fine this afternoon."
I stare at him.
I look at Vaughn, who shrugs helplessly. At Jason, who's grinning like this is the best thing that's ever happened to him. At Ezra, who's watching me with careful eyes, ready to intervene if needed. At Silas, still holding that plate of food, frozen mid-step.
None of them have any answers.
"Uber won't come out here," I say, because I have to say something and that's the first thing that comes to mind.
His head snaps up. "What?"
"We're too far out. They don't service this area after ten." It's barely a lie. They do come out here, technically, but I've made sure the local drivers know not to pick up from the club. Too many questions we don't want to answer.
"But—" He looks at his phone, then at the window where rain is hammering against the glass hard enough to rattle the frame, then back at me. His face cycles through several emotions—confusion, frustration, exhaustion, resignation—before settling on a quiet despair. "Fuck."
"Storm's supposed to get worse before it gets better." I sit down in the booth across from him. "I'll drive you home when it passes."
"I couldn't—"
"Wasn't asking."
I bare my teeth in what humans usually read as a smile. It's a useful trick—shows enough dominance to end arguments without triggering full fight-or-flight.
