I PICKED up steaks at the grocery on the way in, and light the grill. I bought four, but I swear, I could eat ten. Jasmine’s going to be on to me when she sees me wolfing—heh—these down.Hell, I can’t believe she hasn’t put two and two together already. I guess werewolf is just so far out of people’s minds as a real possibility, they refuse to see what is.I’m speaking from experience, of course.I was so sure my father and Nash had been the subject of some government gene modification or enhancement project. I just never put the wolf thing together. Not even with the memory of my father’s death.Not until I saw it with my own eyes.I throw the steaks on the grill, along with corn on the cob still in the husk. Jasmine comes out and hands me a beer.“I didn’t get Flack. Just left a message. Bryce and Johnson are fine, just restless.”I clink the mouth of my beer bottle to he

PAIN RIPS THROUGH ME—A burning, gauging pain.He bit me.I don’t believe it, but Tom flies back and lands onto his ass on the floor, blood dripping from oversized canines.And his eyes.Ice. Blue.Just like the wolf in the stairwell. Like the wolf at the cabin.Cold gooseflesh runs across my arms. No. It can’t be.Werewolves don’t exist.But there’s no other explanation. Tom is a freaking werewolf!And he bit me—the man I would’ve sworn this morning would protect me from anything.“Get back!” I shout even though he’s already retreated. Hands shaking, I grab the Glock from my purse and cock it. Blood soaks my t-shirt around my right shoulder.Flashes of what I’ve already seen run through my mind. Tom’s need to go out alone for night runs. The wolf tearing at the door of the cabin. The wolf appearing in the stairwell while Tom went off comms. It all fi

THE SHOCK of betrayal guts me even though I’m starting to believe Tom couldn’t control himself. I don’t think he meant to hurt me.I run for the bathroom and pull off my t-shirt to inspect the wounds. There are four puncture wounds, a half-inch deep.Could’ve been worse. No major arteries. Not too much blood loss. I definitely feel woozy though.I turn and heave into the toilet. The room spins. Oh God. Am I turning into a werewolf?Will I start biting people at the full moon, too?I stagger to the bedroom and fall down on the bed. My eyelids are heavy— too heavy to keep open. It’s like I’ve had a few too many drinks and I’m passing out still liquored up.Yep, passing out…

I DRIVE out of the woods with my heart on the floor mat. Letting Tom walk off into the sunrise nearly killed me. I wanted to run after him, offer to drive him someplace, give him a warm meal. But I know he needs none of those things. If there’s any guy who can survive on his wits alone, it’s Tom Dune.It’s probably stupid that I’m clinging to hope he’ll find some solution to his wolf problem and show back up in my life. Even without the wolf thing, the idea would be ludicrous. It’s not who he is. He’s a work-alone spy. A deadly government weapon.He was never going to move in with me and start up a sweet little relationship. He was never going to stick around.And I knew that from the get-go.So, why then do I feel like I just jumped off a cliff and am lying flat on the desert floor below?I grab a burner phone and call Bryce.“Jasmine!” she cries. “Please tell me we can leave this godforsake

I DRAG through the motions of living. Check into the Sheraton. Get some new clothes. Shower. Feed myself.It all feels like swimming through mud.My mind is forever circling Tom. Wishing I’d said I loved him.Wondering where he is. If he needs help. If he’s a danger to others.Did I do the right thing not putting him down?I have to believe I did. His mind and rational thoughts were intact—he just struggled with animal urges. He’ll figure it out.Except guilt gnaws at me.I should be with him, helping him figure it out.The way he helped me.Why did I let him go off alone? He needs me.I force myself to move forward, the way I know Tom expects me to. I make multiple copies of the confession to safeguard it, then log in and file an offilill LIL report on what went down with Director Scape, leaving out the parts about Tom’s wolf problem. I don’t leave my contact information—not yet. I