Bryce shook off the odd feeling and started up the trail. But his wolf was still engrossed by Tom, trotting almost silently behind him. His coat was a glossy dark gray, and he was lithe, alert, and focused.
He was also potentially dangerous. Bryce hated the predictable way he found that knowledge even more enticing. It was the same thing that had always attracted him to Matt—the dangerous edge, the knowledge that he wasn’t entirelysafe.
He shook his head impatiently, not willing to entertain those thoughts, and led the way toward the creek, with Tom close on his heels.
Chapter Five
TOM
Tom had spent years perfecting the art of detached observation, tight-lipped politeness and, above all, neutrality. It was a skill that had served him well, working on the Hill.
But all of that went out the window the moment Bryce Reynolds walked into the kitchen.
Bryce was still laughing, some teasing thing he’d shouted over his shoulder to Tristan, and there was so much light in his face it made Tom’s chest ache. His brown hair was untidy, his deep blue eyes crinkled at the corners with humor, and his smile was open and easy, genuine in a way Tom had nearly forgotten people could be.
It had been months since anyone looked at Tom like that—months sincehe’dlooked at someone and felt that spark. With Zack, that last year had been all tension and negotiation, with desire used as leverage. But Bryce looked like the kind of person who gave easily, maybe even without keeping score.
Or maybe Tom was seeing what he wanted to see because part of him still longed for that.
His gaze lingered, caught by the long lines of Bryce’s body. His weight was shifted onto one hip, jeans clinging to his legs like they’d been broken in over years of work and weather. The hem of his t-shirt caught on his belt as he leaned, just enough to hint at skin, and the flash of silver at his buckle felt indecent somehow—like an invitation.
Bryce looked good. A dangerous kind of good. And for a heartbeat too long, Tom let himself feel it,wantcurling low and fierce.
Down, Barrington.
He pulled himself back to the job with effort, wrapping his professionalism like armor around the sudden heat that had no business being there. He was here to work.
That was harder to remember as he ran through the fallen leaves beside Bryce. Not because of anything Bryce said—they were in wolf form—but because of theeaseof it. The rhythm of paws hitting ground, the shared awareness, the way Bryce didn’t crowd him or pull ahead, just kept pace, matching him.
He hadn’t felt that kind of quiet companionship since long before things with Zack had gone bad. That used to be his favorite part—running as wolves. No talking, no need to perform. Just instinct and motion and the sense that someone understood him on a level too deep for words. Zack had been declining his invitations to run together for months before the end, and he should have understood what a bad sign that was. If he had, the ending wouldn’t have come as such a shock.
He dragged his attention back to what he was supposed to be doing. He was here to do a job, and he wasn’t going to budge an inch from his professional standards. Not when they were all he had left.
* * *
By the time they were back at the house, getting dressed once more, his thoughts were filled with questions he had for Bryce about their perimeter. The knot in his chest that felt a lot like longing was irrelevant.
“Did you get everything you need?” Bryce’s voice, casual, a little rough around the edges, drifted over.
Tom turned, and there he was, pulling a long-sleeved t-shirt over his head, hiding that torso like doing so wasn’t a crime against nature.
“I need to see the room where the meeting’s going to be held,” Tom said, tamping down whatever that flutter in his chest was.
They stepped inside, the kitchen warm with late-afternoon light and the faintest trace of something sweet lingering in the air. Chocolate cake, maybe. Tom scanned the room again. Big windows, poor cover. Too many entrances, too many lines of fire.
“Kitchen or living room are the only rooms big enough for this meeting,” Bryce said. “Final choice depends on how formal Matt’s feeling. Or how much coffee he thinks he’ll need. Anyway, let me give you the grand tour.”
Tom followed him into what looked like a mudroom-slash-laundry space. He clocked the second exterior exit immediately, and the array of boots—different sizes, worn but well kept.
“How many of the pack actually live in the house?”
“About half.”
Tom turned. “Doesn’t that get a little crowded?”
Bryce leaned back against the washer with the casual confidence of a man used to being at the center of things. Tom’s gaze was drawn to the way that showed off his long legs in those dark jeans, and then he found himself staring at the buckle of hisbelt, from where it was so easy to let his gaze drop the tiniest bit to the stretch of denim, just snug enough to hint at everything underneath.
“So far it works,” Bryce said. “Though at the rate we’re picking up new members, I wouldn’t put money on that lasting.”
