'Well, I suppose if you're going to get technical — ' Gwen laughed softly. 'No, I mean there're two types — those who are born and those who are bitten.'
She raised her eyebrows. 'Really? I didn't know.' Mainly because they'd never actually come across any werewolves in their travels for the Circle. A couple of wolf shifters was as close as they'd ever gotten.
'Those who are bitten are the ones responsible for all the bad press werewolves get.' Gwen rose, her movements stiff as she hobbled over to the kettle. 'They're usually bitten well after puberty and haven't the experience or knowledge to control the sexual and emotional turmoil the rising moon causes. And of course, the physical change makes most quite mad.'
'And those that are born?'
Gwen filled the kettle and plugged it in, then grabbed three cups and spooned instant coffee into them. 'The werewolf born can generally control the worst of his urges. And they can generally shift shape any time they want.'
'Does the moon still force the change?'
'Always. That's part of the legacy that can never be escaped.'
Like the weakness and headaches she got after using her abilities to the fullest. Like the arthritis ravaging her grandmother's body. 'So why is he coming here?'
'He's one of the cops on the special task force. And his niece is one of the missing kids.'
'Oh, great.' A werewolf seeking vengeance was not what they needed to deal with right now. The kettle's shrill whistle sounded. She put the herbal pack on the coffee table and swung off the sofa. 'And you didn't answer my original question.'
'No.' Gwen hesitated. 'He comes here because he thinks we know more than what we are saying — ' 'Which we do.' She grabbed the kettle and poured the water into the three cups. 'Does he take milk?'
Her grandmother shook her head. 'Three sugars.'
'Black syrup. Yuck.'
Gwen smiled and continued, 'And because he's desperate for a miracle and willing to chase the most remote lead.'
She nodded. Had their positions been reversed, she'd be doing the same thing. 'So, what's the plan?'
'I think we need to keep your wolf on a very tight leash.'
'He's not my anything, so quit it.' She stirred some sugar into the second coffee then handed it to her grandmother.
'You don't have to try to set me up with every eligible male that comes within sniffing distance.'
'Someone has to. You're doing a somewhat foul job of it yourself.'
Kat rolled her eyes. 'I thought gray-haired grannies were supposed to warn their granddaughters against the evils of casual sex, not sit down and plot ways of getting them into the sack with some guy.'
'My dear, you're so much easier to deal with when you've been laid.'
'Gran!'
Gwen's green eyes twinkled. 'Well, it's the truth, isn't it?'
'Maybe,' she muttered. A good night of sex certainly did have a way of easing tension — but she didn't have the time for that sort of thing. Not with this case.
'My dear, there's always time if you use your imagination.' She patted Kat's arm then hobbled over to the sofa.
Kat picked up the two remaining coffees and followed.
'What do you mean by a tight leash?'
'Just that.' Gwen eased her feet onto the coffee table and sighed. 'Would you mind massaging my feet later?
They're aching something fierce.'
Kat nodded and placed one coffee cup on the table. The other she held on to as she walked to the door. 'We can hardly hog-tie him and keep him captive.'
'We won't have to. Trust your grandmother and open the door.'
She did. 'Welcome, detec — ' The words died, snatched away by the potency of the man approaching. In some ways, he was nothing out of the ordinary — dark hair, nut-brown eyes, a determined chin that desperately needed a razor. He wore a black leather jacket that strained across his shoulders, a white shirt pulled over the top of faded denims and black boots.
An everyday man. Except on this man, everyday was not only powerful but sexy as hell.
'Coffee?' She inanely offered him the cup.
One dark eyebrow rose as his gaze rolled languidly down her body. It was a touch that wasn't a touch, and yet one that sent lust winging through every fibre of her being.
Though she wore an old T-shirt that exposed far too much of her midriff and loose sweat pants, the intensity of his gaze suggested she might well have been standing there naked. His desire burned her. Made her tremble. Ache.
'Thank you.'
He wrapped a hand around the cup, and his fingers briefly caressed hers. Energy jolted her spine. Knowing werewolves were sexually magnetic during the rising of the full moon and actually coming under the effects of one were two entirely different things. She resisted the urge to mop her brow, and stepped back.
'Come in.'
'Thanks.'
He moved past, and she caught a whiff of his after-shave.
It was an odd mix — the rich aroma of freshly cut wood combined with the tang of earthy spices.
'Evening, Detective Morgan.' Amusement touched her grandmother's voice. 'Nice of you to finally drop by and say hello.'
'You were expecting me?'
'You seem surprised.'
'A little.' He folded onto the chair opposite Gwen.
'Though Benton told me you were both psychics.'
Kat sat crossed-legged on the floor and grabbed her coffee. 'But you didn't believe him.' It was a statement rather than a question. One that had echoed through their entire lives.
His gaze met hers. There was nothing to see in those rich depths now. No emotion, no heat. What had passed between them at the door had been carefully controlled and thrust away.
'I had no reason to. I still don't.'
A werewolf who didn't believe in the supernatural.
Interesting. She shared a glance with her grandmother, then said, 'So what did you come here for?'
'To satisfy curiosity.' He took a sip of his coffee.
'Perfect. Thanks.'
Kat ducked her head to hide her smile. He might not believe, but he wasn't about to query. Not when he wanted help.
It was Gwen who continued. 'Ask your questions, werewolf. It's been a long night, and we both need to rest.'
A raised eyebrow was the only reaction Gwen got to her calling him a werewolf. Maybe he thought ignoring the statement was better than confirming what he was. 'You found the body of the second victim — how?'
His tone was deliberate. Controlled. Looking at him you'd never guess his niece was one of the missing kids.
Still, you didn't have to be psychic to see where this line of questioning would lead. She glanced at her grandmother. Usually Gwen didn't go too in-depth with details, but she had an odd feeling it would be different with the werewolf.
'Scrying,' Gwen answered.
'Which is?'
'You want the short form or the proper explanation?'
He hesitated. 'Proper.'
'Then it's a type of divination in which a trance is induced that allows the practitioner to see events or
