She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Hank is one of my people, too. If he needs help, I’ll be there. Keep his phone handy. If the situation becomes dire, speed dial number two. Add your thumbprint to his phone so you can use it. His passcode is ‘m-y-p-h-o-n.’”
Seriously? His passcode was “my phone” shortened to six numbers? Practical, she supposed.
“Anything else to report?” he asked.
Something along the lines ofI’m not your employee,sprang to mind. But she didn’t say it. She didn’t dare at the moment. With Hank gone, she might need Simon’s help. So she suppressed her rebellious side and reacted rationally.
“Nothing.”
“Excellent. And let me remind you that our information is secret, Dr. Lu. There are real consequences if more people know about us.”
“So why bring me in?”
“The situation is dire. This Detroit Flu—”
“No, I get that,” she interrupted. “Why me?”
“Ask Hank. I told him to speak to Dr. Hayes. Simon out.”
Well, wasn’t he a barrel of laughs. This is why she never went into the military. Whenever anyone gave her an order, her first instinct was to give him the finger. Which in a good Chinese girl wasn’t normal. In any event, she followed his instructions and added her thumb imprint to Hank’s phone. And after checking on both Mother and Sammy, she was able to get down to business with the bodies.
Pictures first of all three—taken with Hank’s phone—and then she started taking detailed measurements of the werewolf given that his people were likely to take the body away for burial soon. She couldn’t stop herself from looking for Hank every few minutes. She was listening intently to the night sounds but except for the occasional long distance howl, all she heard were normal urban noises. Cars, a couple helicopters, an angry cat. Unless that was a cat-shifter? Did those exist, too?
She really needed to focus. She could already see evidence of decay in the hybrids. Interesting that the werewolf just looked like a normal wolf going through normal animal decomposition. At least as far as she could tell without the benefit of a microscope or even a magnifying glass.
She needed to stop with the werewolf and focus on the far more relevant hybrids. So she straightened and started her regular I-need-to-wake-up back stretches. She froze midtwist with her arms lifted over her head.
There was Hank standing framed by the empty windowpane. He was naked, his cut body lit like he was a Greek God. Or Shakespeare’s Othello. Or maybe just Hank looking fierce and terrifyingly wonderful.
“Hank,” she breathed, her gaze drinking him in greedily. The harsh angles of his scarred square jaw, the raised line of his collarbone, the taut pectoral muscles, and the bulging biceps. Her gaze took in the narrowing of his hips and the sweet line of dark hair that angled down to his erection. Corded thighs, strong feet, and clenched hands imprinted themselves on her mind.
Wait. What?
Erection. Big, thick, and arrowed straight at her. She saw the wet drop of pre-ejaculate and the way it seemed to pulse as he breathed. She heard that, too. The steady bellows of his lungs. And lord, she heard her own heartbeat rapid and aroused. Her breath was short and quick, her nipples tight, and her body lifted as she stretched out her spine.
She unhooked her hands where she clutched them together over her head. And as her arms came down, she felt her breasts sway as if she wanted him to see her condition: interested and too tired to fight him off. Except, of course, she wouldn’t be fighting him.
Wait! Of course, she would! She wasn’t an animal who mated with the first hot guy who showed up naked and erect. She was a thinking, rational, scientist. And she couldn’t possibly be wet and needy from the sight of him standing there, his gaze zeroed onto her nipples before dropping slowly—sensuously—to look at her hips and thighs.
She swallowed, her mind screaming to act rationally. This was not normal. Do something science-y. Grab a clipboard, take a measurement, damn it, say something! Begin with the basics.
“Are you…okay?” Her voice was breathy, and she cleared her throat midsentence trying to get her mind back online.
He nodded, a quick slash of his chin.
God, how could he be so beautiful just standing there? And how could the musky scent of him have her thinking of ways that he could impale her.
“Um, is this normal?” she breathed.
He tilted his head in an obvious question.
She gestured weakly toward his penis. “Your arousal.” She swallowed. “I’m…”
His nostrils flared and his hands twitched by his side.
“Is this pheromones or something? Are shifters deeply…um…erotic somehow?”
