But on the bright side, it had broken the ice on the introductions.
Knox glanced up as Rachel walked into the living room still wearing the same tank top and shorts. While he didn’t mind getting another look at those legs, he was more concerned about her injured feet.
“You sure you don’t need to go to the hospital and get checked out?” he asked. “With the trash and crap in those alleys, you could get a serious infection.”
“We don’t get infections, as long as you get any foreign debris out of the wounds. Your body will take care of everything else. It’s a werewolf thing.”
She lifted one foot, showing him that the bloody lacerations were now replaced with scars that looked three or four days old, then continued into the kitchen. Taking two mugs out of the cabinet, she grabbed a package of popcorn from another, then stuck it in the microwave. She was making popcorn…at 0300 in the morning. Coffee and popcorn. Different but okay. Within moments, the smell of butter and the sounds of popping kernels filled the apartment, making his mouth water.
When the microwave beeped a minute later, Rachel dumped the popcorn in a bowl, then poured coffee into the mugs.
She glanced at him over the peninsula separating the kitchen from the living room. “Cream and sweetener?”
He nodded. “Please.”
Rachel added cream and two packs of sweetener to each mug, then set the bowl of popcorn on a wooden tray along with them and carried everything into the living room. Placing the tray on the table, she handed Knox a mug, taking the one with the Tennessee Volunteers logo for herself. Then she curled up on the other couch, gracefully tucking her long legs under her.
Knox tried to keep from staring at all that exposed skin, but it was damn tough. He hadn’t seen skin that smooth and perfect in a long time. Well, ever, actually. He attempted to focus on the aroma of the hot, buttered popcorn instead, but then he picked up another scent even more mouthwatering—cinnamon with a hint of licorice jelly beans. He’d never smelled those two scents together before, but they completely worked. Probably because they were two of his favorite things. Maybe she had a candle or some of that potpourri stuff in her apartment.
Wonder why I didn’t smell it before.
He swigged his coffee. “So, it’s true then. I’m a werewolf?”
Rachel arched a brow as she leaned forward to grab a handful of popcorn. While Knox was focused on her face, he didn’t miss the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra under that Captain America tank top. He had superb vision and the low sides of the tank showed off a teasing amount of skin.
“Yeah, you’re a werewolf,” she said. “But you knew that already or you wouldn’t be here.”
Knox nodded. “I guess. I think I knew it when I survived that gunshot wound. I mean, I should have bled to death within a few hours. The fangs and claws were a dead giveaway, too. Not to mention the anger management issues I’ve been having lately.”
She frowned. “How many times have you lost control?”
“Enough,” he said noncommittally.
He supposed losing control was simply part of turning into a monster. He lost count of how many times he’d snarled at people for no reason in the past week. He’d even come close to putting a few guys at Theo’s security firm through a wall when an episode of roughhousing had gotten out of hand. Fortunately, Theo hadn’t gotten upset and fired his ass. In fact, he’d approved, saying he liked the way Knox had put them in their place. Apparently, the boss thought some of his employees had been getting soft lately.
As far as Knox was concerned, the random outbursts were one more in a long string of reasons he needed to get this problem fixed. But before he got into that, he needed to understand how the hell he’d ended up in this situation to begin with.
“How can I be a werewolf?” he asked. “I didn’t get bitten.”
He reached out with his free hand to snag some popcorn so she wouldn’t see how tense he was now that they’d come down to the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. It was buttery and perfectly salted.
“It doesn’t work like that.” She sipped her coffee. “Werewolves aren’t created from a bite. That’s myth and Hollywood make-believe. We’re born this way.”
He snorted. “Like hell. I wasn’t like this before I got shot at that wedding reception.”
She scooped up some more popcorn, then leveled her gaze at him. “Actually you were. Getting shot merely brought the werewolf out in you.”
Okay, now he was really confused. “Maybe you better start from the beginning.”
Rachel nibbled on a piece of popcorn, and he stared at her mouth, transfixed as she chewed. He was so distracted he almost missed what she was saying.
“The werewolf trait is in our DNA,” she explained. “It remains dormant until something traumatic—usually painful and, a lot of the time, violent—happens and triggers it.” She popped another piece of popcorn in her mouth with a shrug. “And poof, you’re a werewolf.”
And poof, you’re a werewolf.
Well, damn. Could it be anymore underwhelming? At least if another werewolf had attacked and bitten him, he’d have a cool story to tell. The most he could admit to was getting shot in the leg due to an overdeveloped sense of morality.
“So, getting shot was all it took?” he said.
