"Liam? What are you—"
I cut him off with a raised hand. Then, holding his gaze, I grabbed my pad of paper and wrote down what I wanted him to know, something I hadn’t shared with anyone. Ever.
Rooster's mouth dropped open when I turned the page toward him, the ice pack forgotten in his hand. "You're a shifter," he whispered, eyes wide with astonishment.
I blinked slowly in confirmation, my golden eyes holding his gaze.
"A lynx," he continued, wonder replacing shock. "I thought you might be, with those eyes, but I wasn't sure." Rooster’s expression changed from shock to something more complex—curiosity mixed with a gentle understanding that made my chest feel strange. “I’ll bet you’re a beautiful lynx.”
I wouldn’t know. I quickly wrote on my pad again, before turning it toward Rooster.“Never shifted.”
“You’ve never shifted?”
I shook my head.
“Then…” Rooster frowned. “If you’ve never shifted, how do you know you’re a shifter?”
I huffed before writing on my pad again. When I turned it toward Rooster, his eyebrows hit his hairline.
“Someone told you?”
I nodded again. I couldn’t exactly tell him that plants had told me I was a lynx shifter. He’d think I was nuts.
“Your parents?”
This time I shook my head.“No parents.”
"No parents? How long have you been on your own?"
I held up all ten fingers, then five more. Fifteen years.
"Since you were what? Seven? Eight?"
I nodded. Seven.
"Jesus," he muttered. "And you've been alone all that time? With no one to guide you?"
I shrugged. I'd figured it out on my own. Plants had helped—they always recognized what I was, even when I was in human form.
I pointed again at the drawing, then at him, raising my eyebrows in question.
"You're right," he admitted. "Shifting would help me heal faster. But I didn't want to scare you off." A small, rueful smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "Guess I was worried over nothing."
I nodded, gesturing impatiently for him to get on with it. The stubborn man had a head injury that needed healing.
"Not here," he said, rising carefully from his chair. "Too exposed. We have a shifting room down the hall for emergencies. Will you come with me?"
The question hung in the air between us—an invitation, not a command. He was giving me a choice, acknowledging my freedom to refuse.
I hesitated, then nodded. I'd already revealed my biggest secret to this man. Following him down a hallway seemed like a small risk in comparison.
As I walked beside him, supporting his larger frame when he swayed slightly, I realized something had fundamentally changed between us. We were no longer just the provider and the stray, the cook and the homeless kid.
We were two shifters who had recognized something in each other—something that felt oddly like belonging.
The thought should have terrified me. Instead, as we moved deeper into the clubhouse, I felt the unfamiliar sensation of my defenses lowering, just a fraction.
Maybe, just maybe, I could trust this red-haired cook with the kind eyes and gentle hands. For tonight, at least, I'd stay. Tomorrow's problems could wait until morning.
