Page 33 of Preacher

“Safe to enter?” Drift’s voice came from the hallway.

“He’s in the shower.”

Drift appeared in the doorway, took one look at the kitchen, and shook his head. “What happened to my wall?”

“Trent tried to cook.”

“Ah.” He moved to the coffee pot, pouring himself a mug. “He okay? Heard the crash.”

“He’s fine.” I dumped the ruined pan in the trash. “Could use some actual breakfast though. Something that won’t poison us.”

Drift snorted. “On it. The usual?”

“Extra bacon. No eggs.”

“Got it, Prez.” He paused, studying me over his mug. “You look different this morning.”

“Different how?”

“Settled.” He shrugged. “Like your wolf finally stopped pacing.”

I didn’t answer, but we both knew he was right. Finding your mate did that to a man. Made everything else fade into background noise.

“Silent Moe still breathing?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Reaper and Deadeye are keeping him company in the basement.” Drift’s expression went hard. “He’s not talking yet, but he will. Nobody takes shots at our house without consequences.”

“I want to know who was with him.” I poured my own coffee, black and strong. “Someone bailed fast when things went south. Left Moe to take the fall.”

“Could be Hammer sent him.”

“Could be.” But something about it didn’t sit right. Hammer was many things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. Besides, Dr. Haaz hadn’t told me about Hammer having visitors or making any calls. “Keep him breathing until I can have a conversation with him.”

“Copy that.”

The shower shut off down the hall, and my wolf’s attention immediately shifted. Drift caught the look and chuckled.

“You got it bad, Prez.”

“Shut up and cook.”

He was still laughing as he pulled ingredients from the fridge. I headed back to the bedroom, grabbing a pair of my track pants and a clean shirt from the dresser. They’d be too big on Trent, but they’d do until we could get his things from his house.

If I had my way, that would be the last time he set foot in that place.

Trent emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, towel wrapped low on his hips, water still beaded on his shoulders. The bite mark stood out against his pale skin, already healing faster than it should thanks to my saliva but still visible enough to satisfy my wolf.

He caught me staring and touched the mark self-consciously. “Is it bad?”

“It’s perfect.” I handed him the clothes. “These should fit well enough.”

“Yeah, right.” He dropped the towel without warning, and I had to force myself to look away before I ended up pinning him to the nearest surface. “So... about last night.”

Here it came. The regret, the second thoughts, the—

“Am I gonna turn into a wolf now?” He pulled the shirt over his head, voice muffled by fabric. “Because ‘surprise, you’re gonna have fur’ is kind of a big revelation to spring on someone.”

I blinked. That wasn’t what I’d expected.