Except I'm irritated and tired and distracted by his scent and by the way my blanket looks wrapped around his shoulders, and my control slips. Just for a second. Just enough for my teeth to be a little too sharp, a little too numerous. Just enough for my eyes to flash gold in the dim bar light.
He freezes.
His breathing stops entirely—not a gasp, not a hitch, juststops, like his lungs have forgotten how to work. The fear scent spikes so sharp and sudden that Vaughn steps forward instinctively before catching himself. I can hear the human's heartbeat pounding, rabbit-fast, can see the pulse jumping in his throat.
Shit.
I try to pull it back, to smooth my expression into something human-safe, but the damage is done. He's staring at me with wide eyes, and I watch himseeme for the first time. Really see me.
Then his gaze slides past me, scanning the room. Taking in the way Jason moves too smoothly when he shifts his weight. The way Vaughn's eyes catch the light at the wrong angle. The careful distance everyone's maintaining. The unnatural stillness of a room full of predators trying very hard to look harmless.
"You're..." His voice is barely a whisper. "You're all shifters."
No one moves. No one breathes. Even the jukebox seems to go quiet, though I know logically it's still playing.
"Lions," he says, and it's not a question.
That surprises me. Humans usually guess wolves—too many movies—or bears, if they're being imaginative. But he looked at a room full of us and sawcats. Something about ourbuilds, maybe, or the way we hold ourselves. The particular quality of our stillness.
I wait for him to run. To scream. To do what humans do when they realize they've stumbled into a den of predators—panic, bolt for the door, make everything worse. I'm already calculating how to contain it, who to send after him, how much of a mess this is going to be.
Instead, he slumps back against the booth.
"Okay, sure. Why not." He reaches for another fry, gestures vaguely with it. His hand is shaking slightly, but his voice is steady. Resigned. "Already walked two miles in the rain after my date decided I wasn't worth driving home because I wouldn't put out. Might as well accept a ride from a motorcycle club full of lion shifters. What's the worst that could happen—you eat me?"
The silence that follows is deafening.
"That was a joke," he adds weakly. Then his face flickers with something like concern. "Shit, do you actually—? No, wait, don't answer that."
"We wouldn't—" Jason starts, sounding genuinely distressed.
"Jason." I put enough command into it to shut him up, but the human—I still don't know his name—just looks between us with raised eyebrows. Unimpressed. Like I didn't just flash predator eyes at him thirty seconds ago.
"Look," he says, and Christ, he's talking to me like I'm not dangerous. Like I'm just some guy in a bar who's mildly inconveniencing him. "If you're planning something nefarious, can you just let me know now? It's been a really shit night and I'm too tired for suspense." He waves his phone at me weakly. "Also, my roommate knows where I am, so."
"Your roommate?" I lean forward, cataloging everything about him without meaning to. The way his pulse flutters inhis throat, steadier now but still too fast. The faint ink stain on his fingers—left hand, index and middle finger, the kind you get from writing with actual pens. Who uses pens anymore? "Robin?"
His eyes narrow. "How did you—" Then he glances at his phone, realizes the texts are still visible on the screen. "Oh."
"Robin bakes?" I ask. I shouldn't be asking. I should be figuring out how to get this human out of my bar and my territory and my head. But I saw the text about chocolate peanut butter cake, and I want to know.
"Stress bakes," he corrects, pulling the phone closer to his chest like he's protecting it. "And regular bakes. He's a pastry chef."
He. My lion's hackles rise immediately. There's ahewaiting at home for Toby, baking him cake, texting to make sure he's safe. Someone else who gets to take care of him.
Not your business, I tell myself.He's not yours.
My lion disagrees.
"You should eat more," Jason interjects, sliding the basket of fries closer. "You're still shivering."
"I'm fine—"
"You're not." I cut him off before I can stop myself. He's definitely still shaking, fine tremors running through him, and I don't know if it's cold or shock or both. "Jason, get him another tea. Hot."
Jason practically sprints for the bar. The human watches him go with raised eyebrows.
"So you're clearly in charge," he observes. "That's why everyone got weird when you were coming."
