STORY EXCERPT

Fourteen hours into his shift, Clint’s scrubs bore the evidence of his day. Yellow rubber duck fragments extracted from a panicked Lab’s stomach, performing back-to-back C-sections on two yowling cats, and three vials of Mrs. Henderson’s geriatric poodle’s blood that had taken seven attempts to collect. His body ached for the sweet oblivion of his mattress, where he could hibernate until sometime next week.

Turning into his driveway felt like crossing a finish line he hadn’t been sure he’d reach.

Cool air hit him when he climbed out of his truck, and he paused long enough to appreciate the smell of grass and distant pine. Overhead, clouds drifted across a sky scattered with stars, the moon casting everything in silver-edged shadows.

Beautiful, really, if he’d had the energy to appreciate it.

His house sat dark and waiting. No lights in the windows, no sound except the wind rustling through the trees at the edge of his property. Keys jangled as he unlocked the front door and stepped into the familiar quiet of his house.

He dropped his keys on the counter and tossed the mail onto the growing pile he kept meaning to sort through. Bills could wait until tomorrow when his brain functioned again.

Mabel, his orange tabby, wound between his ankles with an indignant meow that clearly communicated his displeasure at the late dinner service.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

After filling her bowl and refreshing her water, Clint opened the fridge and stared at its contents with the blank expression of someone too tired to make decisions.

Leftover Chinese food from three days ago, half a sandwich he didn’t remember making, and a concerning number of condiment bottles. Nothing appealed.

Maybe he’d just go straight to bed and deal with food in the morning.

Mabel crunched kibble in the background, tail flicking with satisfaction.

Through the kitchen window, the backyard sat dark and empty, trees swaying in a breeze he could hear but not feel through the glass. Peaceful. Quiet. Exactly what he needed after a day that had felt more like a week.

Clint grabbed a bottle of water and was halfway to shutting the fridge when he froze, listening.

Outside, something whined. Between Mabel's enthusiastic eating and the hum of the refrigerator, he might have dismissed it as nothing.

But the whine came again, longer this time.

Definitely real.

Definitely outside.

For a moment, he considered going to bed like a normal person who valued sleep and personal boundaries. But the sound set off every instinct he’d developed over years of working with injured animals. Pain. Distress. Something out there needed help.

Clint headed for the back door, already running through possibilities. Injured dog? Coyote caught in something?

“Probably a raccoon,” he muttered, though he grabbed the flashlight from the junk drawer anyway. “Or a possum. Something that’s going to bite me for my trouble.”

Wouldn’t be the first time an injured animal had wandered onto his property, though it hadn’t happened in months.

Word had somehow gotten around among creatures that supposedly couldn’t reason.

The vet lives here. Go bother him.

Outside, the temperature had dropped enough to make him wish he’d grabbed a jacket. He thumbed on his flashlight, the yellow beam cutting through darkness as he scanned the yard, each exhale creating ghost-like clouds that drifted through the light.

Grass stretched away toward the tree line, shadows pooling under the branches.

“Hello?” His voice sounded too loud in the stillness. “Anyone out here?”

He’d just become every horror movie trope.

Movement caught his eye. Clint swung the light over and stopped walking. There, about twenty feet away, something dark lay in the grass.

“Are you really going to go over there? That’s how stupid people die in those movies,” he whispered. He could only guess since he’d never watched a scary movie in his life. Not since Barney the purple dinosaur had frightened the living shit out of him as a child.

Great. Now the theme song was playing in his head.

As he grew closer, the shape resolved into an animal. A wolf.

Massive didn’t quite cover it. The animal had to be pushing two hundred pounds, maybe more. This thing would come up past his waist if it stood.

Black fur caught the light, and labored breathing rattled in its throat. Each exhale seemed to cost it.

Professional assessment warred with common sense. Approaching an injured predator ranked high on the list of spectacularly bad ideas, right up there with petting rattlesnakes and trusting expiration dates on gas station sushi. But something about the way the animal lay there, not trying to flee or defend itself, pulled at him.

Clint kept the light low to avoid blinding it. Animals in pain were unpredictable, and something this size could do serious damage if panicked. Its muscle and fur and teeth would make any sane person turn around and call animal control. Or the police. Or possibly the National Guard.

Against his better judgment, Clint took another step closer, medical curiosity overriding common sense. Blood matted the fur along the animal’s side, dark and sticky-looking in the flashlight beam. One of its back legs lay at an angle that suggested injury.

Ragged breathing possibly meant broken ribs, maybe worse.

Whatever had happened, this wolf was in bad shape.

And now that he was closer, it was definitely a wolf.

Blood matted the fur along its side, dark and wet. The smell of it mixed with earth and something else he couldn’t quite place.

“Easy,” Clint murmured, more out of habit than any real hope it would help. “Let me take a look at you.”

The wolf’s head lifted, and its eyes found Clint’s in the darkness. Intelligence looked back at him. Not the reactive awareness of an animal but something deeper.

Something…human.

Animals looked at you. They tracked movement, assessed threat levels, operated on instinct and learned behavior.

This wasn’t that. This was recognition. Calculation. Understanding.

This wasn’t looking. This was “seeing.”

“Oh, hell.” Clint’s grip tightened on the flashlight. “You’re a shifter, aren’t you?”

ADULT EXCERPT

Clint should pull his hand away. Should maintain some distance while his brain processed all this. Instead, he found himself turning his wrist, letting Bayne’s fingers slide against his palm.

“That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Only if you let it be.” Bayne’s grip shifted, fingers interlacing with Clint’s. “Right now, it’s just us. In your kitchen. Eating mediocre leftover pasta.”

“Hey, that pasta is perfectly adequate.”

Bayne’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile but made Clint’s stomach flip anyway. “Adequately mediocre.”

“Ass.”

“Probably.” Bayne’s thumb kept moving against Clint’s hand, each sweep sending sparks up his arm. “But I’m your ass, apparently.”

The laugh bubbled up before Clint could stop it. “That’s the worst line I’ve ever heard.”

“I’ve got worse ones.”

“God help me.” But the anger had mostly dissipated, replaced by something warmer. Still complicated, still overwhelming, but less sharp around the edges.

Bayne stood, tugging gently on their joined hands. “Come here.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to kiss you and reaching across the table is uncomfortable.”

“You want to kiss me, but I have to come to you?”

Bayne was out of his chair in seconds, pulling Clint to his feet. They stood close enough to share breath. Then Clint smelled something incredible—soap from the morning shower, the faint musk of wolf underneath, and something wild Clint never wanted tamed.

“Still pissed at me?” Bayne’s free hand came up, fingers threading through Clint’s hair.

“Yes.” But it came out more breathless than unconvincing.

“Good. I deserve it.” Bayne’s mouth brushed against his jaw. “But I’m going to kiss you anyway.”

“Arrogant.”

“Definitely.” Another almost-kiss, this time just below his ear. “Tell me to stop.”

Clint’s hands found Bayne’s chest instead, fingers curling into his shirt. “Stop talking.”

Bayne’s mouth claimed his with intent, tongue sliding past his lips with a confidence that made Clint’s knees weak. The hand in his hair tightened, angling his head for better access, while the other arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him flush against that solid frame.

Heat flared through Clint’s body, every nerve greedy for more. His hands fisted in the thick fabric of Bayne’s shirt. Soft lips pressed to his, not just once, but over and over, mouth moving in lush pursuit. At first, slow, savoring Clint, then hungrier.

“Now are you still pissed at me?” Bayne murmured, breath warm against his lips.

“Starting to reconsider my position.” Clint’s fingers found skin where Bayne’s shirt had ridden up, tracing the muscle there. “Multiple positions, actually.”

Bayne made a sound that was pure wolf—hungry and approving. His mouth moved to Clint’s throat, teeth scraping against sensitive skin before his tongue soothed the sting. “Want to take you apart. Want to learn every sound you make.”

“Are you going to tell me about any other life-altering supernatural bonds first?”

A quiet laugh rumbled out Bayne, a sound that tugged at something low and needy inside Clint. “Just the one.”

Moving required coordination neither of them really had. They kept stopping to kiss against walls, Bayne’s hands sliding under Clint’s shirt, mapping skin with calloused fingers that left trails of fire. By the time they made it upstairs, Clint’s shirt was gone and his scrub pants hung low on his hips.

Bayne pressed him against another wall, mouth dropping to Clint’s neck, biting, sucking, making him whimper.

“You make such beautiful noises,” Bayne said, voice jagged, already breathless. “Keep going.”

Lips dragged down Clint’s jaw, nipping at his throat. He gasped and clawed at Bayne’s torso.

They made it to the bedroom, though Clint couldn’t say how. One minute they were making out in the hallway, the next, clothes hit the floor. Bayne’s skin was golden under the warm lights, muscles flexing as he moved. Clint couldn’t stop touching him. The ridge of Bayne’s shoulder. His biceps. The small freckle just beneath his collarbone.

Every inch was distraction and invitation, and he needed more.

He leaned in, grazing his teeth over Bayne’s ear, then down to his throat, tasting him right back. Bayne arched against him. Clint felt the tremor in the man’s body, the way Bayne pulsed under his tongue.

“Damn, Clint,” he groaned, “if you keep that up, I’m not gonna last.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to last,” he teased

Growling, Bayne’s hands slid lower, fingers gripping Clint’s ass. “You’re trouble.”

“You love it.”

Bayne smiled wickedly, gaze hungry. “Damn right I do.”

What followed was systematic destruction. With each touch of mouth against skin, Bayne mapped out areas on Clint’s body he never knew could make him gasp. A brush of lips against the hollow of his neck. The gentle scrape of teeth along his hipbone. A warm tongue gliding over the inside of his wrist where his pulse raced wildly against his sensitive flesh.

By the time Bayne’s mouth reached his cock, Clint was already wrecked. Fingers twisted in the sheets, back arched, every nerve ending lit up like a city grid.

He devoured Clint like he was starved, like he’d been waiting for this all night. Maybe his entire life.

Clint wanted him to take whatever he wanted. It felt fucking incredible. Bayne lapped at the head, tongue swirling over the slit. Clint almost lost it right there. His whole body trembled, hips jerking up for more.

Bayne nipped Clint’s inner thigh, then worked his way up, licking and sucking every inch. When he reached Clint’s balls, his mouth was hot, greedy. He took one in, rolling it on his tongue, then sucked the other, while stroking Clint’s cock with his hand.

With a wet pop, he released Clint’s balls. “Could do this for hours,” he said, breath ghosting over Clint’s sensitive flesh. “Take you to the edge over and over without letting you fall. See how long before you beg.”

“I don’t beg.” A complete lie. Clint would beg right now if his pride would let him.

“We’ll see.” And then Bayne’s mouth was on him, hot and wet and perfect.