Beer bottles lined the kitchen counter. I counted them without meaning to, wolf senses picking out each one. Eight. No, nine. Empty soldiers standing guard over nothing.
And there, in the living room, Michael Harrington.
He had his back to me, wrestling with a piece of trim near the far wall. Same clothes he'd been wearing three days ago at the hardware store. Same stubble shadowing his jaw, grown into something that might have been a beard if he'd been doing it on purpose. His hands trembled as he lined up the wood, and when he swung the hammer, he missed the nail by a full inch.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Your aim's off,” I said.
Michael spun around so fast he nearly dropped the hammer. His heart rate spiked, I could hear it, jackhammering against his ribs before it started to settle.
“Damn it, Daniel.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “Make some noise when you walk, would you? Normal people don't just appear out of thin air.”
“I knocked.”
“No, you didn't.”
“I thought about knocking. That should count.”
“It really doesn't.” But some of the tension bled out of his shoulders. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to watch you miss that nail three times.”
“I missed it twice.”
“I heard three.”
Michael's eyes narrowed. “You heard me. From outside.”
“I have good hearing.”
“You have freaky supernatural hearing.” He set the hammer down on the windowsill, and I watched the fine tremor in his hands. Watched the way he braced himself against the wall like he wasn't sure his legs would hold him up. “What are you doing here, Daniel?”
Good question. Wish I had a good answer.
“Checking on the renovation,” I said, because it was easier than the truth.
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Michael crossed his arms, and despite the exhaustion carved into every line of his face, there was something sharp in his eyes. Something that refused to back down just because an Alpha was standing in his living room. “You don't give a damn about my renovation. You've been circling this house for months, finding excuses to show up, and I'm too tired to pretend I don't notice.”
My wolf went very still. Caught. Cornered by a human who had no business seeing through me so easily.
“I'm making sure you're okay,” I said.
“I'm fine.”
“Michael.”
“I'mfine.”
I looked at the beer bottles. Looked at the dark circles carved like bruises under his eyes. Looked at the way his hands wouldn't stop shaking no matter how hard he tried to hide them.
“You're not fine. You're running on caffeine and stubbornness and whatever's left in those bottles, and you look like you haven't slept in a week.”
“Four days, actually. But who's counting.”
