“Violet, please.” His voice breaks on my name. “He turned himself in. To the alphas. He’s… he’s buyin’ you time, yeah? He’s gonna let them kill him so they don’t come here, and I’m not—” His breath snags. “I’m not letting that happen. Not again. There’s only so much you can expect a wolf to take.”
Wolf.
The word skids across my mind and doesn’t stick.
“I don’t understand,” I say, because I don’t. I can’t. “You’re not making sense. Start over. Slowly.”
“I can’t,” he whispers. “We don’t have time for slowly. We’ve got maybe—” His voice cuts off in a strangled cry. “I need you to trust me. Just this once. Please.”
Trust.
Right.
With the fake program, the fake classes, the missing dog, and the very real terror crawling under my skin.
“Give me one good reason,” I say, my voice shaking. “One.”
Something in him crumples. I can hear it in the exhausted sound that leaves him.
Then he reaches for my hands.
I jerk back on instinct. “Don’t you?—”
He doesn’t grab. He doesn’t yank. He just takes my hands gently, like he’s handling something fragile, and puts my hands on his shoulders.
His skin is hot.
“Please don’t freak out,” he murmurs.
“Why would I freak?—”
Heat explodes under my palms.
Heat and pressure and a slick, wrong dampness, like flesh turning inside out. Bones… move. There’s no other word for it. They roll and twist under my fingers, rearranging themselves with wet, meaty pops. Air rushes around us, a gust that smells wild, like fur and adrenaline.
I scream and rip my hands back.
My heel hits the threshold and I slam into the doorframe, hard enough to see stars—not that that means much anymore. Pain ricochets down my spine. Paws—plural—heavy, clawed paws, scrape against my entryway tile.
Something huge brushes my shin. Warm, solid, and covered in thick fur. Panting fills the space. Too big to be a dog.
I scramble back until my back meets the wall, heart jackhammering, lungs stuttering.
Then the horror-movie wet sounds start again—bones shifting, muscles slithering under skin, a body rearranging itself in real time. It feels like the air is warping.
The panting quiets.
“Werewolf,” I gasp, voice cracking in half.
“Kinda,” Beau hiccups.
“Kinda?” I choke. “How is that akinda?”
He lets out a broken laugh that sounds way too close to a sob. “Long story. Part wolf, part dumbass, little bit of criminal, yeah?” He sniffs hard. “Look, I know it’s a lot. But I swear, I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here ’cause Jason’s gonna die if we don’t do somethin’.”
My terror falters at the edges, because he sounds wrecked. Not slick. Not triumphant. Wrecked.
“What did you do?” I whisper. “What did he do?”
