“Other than beating the hell out of you? I also saw him pin Chloe one night, on the front lawn. It wasn’t pretty.” Thinking back on it, my fingers curled into fists.
Peter’s expression darkened, but his eyes dropped to my hands. “Liam, you take him on now, and you’ll die. If you want to help, get through this sane and alive.”
Keen whined and thrust her head between the seats, poking at my arm with her nose. My heart hurt. “Peter, if something happens to me . . .”
“You’ll make it through this.” His lips tightened in a grim line. “But yes, if you’re hit by lightning or kidnapped by aliens, I’ll look after Keen for you.” We slowed and turned down a long drive that wound between dense evergreens.
Peter stopped the truck and faced me, pausing to gather his thoughts. It shocked me to see the sorrow in his eyes. “I swear, if I had any idea that Dillon was this bad, I would never have let him come here. Now you’re paying the price for my stupidity.”
“It’s not your fault. Isn’t even Dillon’s, really. I tried to save Keen and got in the way.”
“He shouldn’t have been chasing that deer. And he sure as shooting shouldn’t have gone after your dog.” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, I’m trying to say I’m sorry. I’ve never told you this, but I think of you as a son.”
I opened my mouth to tell him it was okay, but my throat closed. Peter was the only person who knew my full story, and he understood what the comment meant to me.
“You know you’re like a father to me.” He nodded. “And this isn’t on you, Peter. Dillon has to take responsibility for his actions.”
Peter put the truck back into gear and continued up the drive. “You say that now. Wait’ll your spine pulls apart and sprouts a tail.”
My jaw dropped. “My spine will pull apart?”
Peter chuckled low in his throat. “Not really. But it sure as hell feels like it.”
* * *
I admired the sprawling single-story house as we climbed the steps to a wide, covered porch. The entire place appeared like something out of a gardening magazine, with sculpted paths, perfectly placed trees and shrubs pruned to enhance the substantial front gardens.
“Chris’s partner is a plant maniac,” Peter mentioned as he noticed me gawking.
“His partner is wulfan too?”
“Thought I explained that already.”
“Right.”
The door opened and my jaw, which had yet to properly close, gave up the effort. I had expected a typical retiree, perhaps with a better, wulf-induced fitness level. What stood in the doorway more closely resembled Rambo. Chris was shorter than me, but where my muscles were long, lean and hugged my frame, his sprouted hard all over his body. Even his muscles had muscles. I thought his skin had red-brown indigenous undertones, but considering his build, Viking seemed more likely. His hair hung in shaggy layers around his face, with twin grey streaks growing from the temples. A faint silver line ran along his cheekbone and interrupted one thick eyebrow. I contemplated the possible source of the scar when Peter slapped me on the shoulder.
“Chris, this is Liam,” he said.
I extended a hand. I’d forgotten about Keen, who now pushed past me to sniff Chris. Mystified, I watched my dog wag her tail—at a wulfan she’d never met.
Peter must have noticed my expression. “Wulfan have years to master their wulf. If we focus, we can bury it as deep as we need to. Keen never reacted to me.”
That was true, but I had assumed it was because she’d known him since she was a puppy. I reflected on my vet career and the animals I’d scared the piss out of. “Will I learn how to do that?”
Chris answered, his voice matching his physique. I wouldn’t want to mess with this guy, either in wulf or human form. “I can teach you how,” he said, exchanging a look with Peter. “Have you heard from Dillon?”
Peter cleared his throat, hesitating on the step. “Chloe got a text. He ended up at the garage. It’s closed today, so I think he’s alone.”
Chris’s pupils shrank to pinpoints, and for a microsecond, his eyes glowed gold. “Text me if things escalate.”
I blinked. Had I imagined the glow? Then my brain focused on another incongruity. Text? Peter doesn’t text.
Peter pulled a phone out of his pocket.
“You have a phone?” I asked, incredulous. “You text?”
“It was Chloe’s old phone; she gave it to me. Which would be okay, except now she’s making me use it. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”
“Get her to show you how to text me, too,” I said. “You have my number.”
“Yeah, okay.” His face expressed only doubt as he and Chris moved to help me unload Keen’s stuff.
“Lucky dog,” Chris said, laughing and shaking his head.
“Tell her that,” I commented, glancing at her wiggling body.
In the front hall, Peter set down Keen’s bag of toys and shifted his stance, looking uncomfortable. “I’d better get back.” He extended his hand and I took it. Before I’d even thought about it, I pulled him into a swift, one-arm man hug, releasing him quickly. “I’ll see you in two weeks,” I said, embarrassed when my voice cracked.
He held up his phone. “I’ll stay in touch.” Back ramrod straight, he walked to his truck, got in, and drove off without looking back. I ached to go with him, Dillon or no Dillon. Like an arrow from the darkness of my past, I relived the tearing sound my heart made when someone I trusted handed me over to strangers. Followed by frustration that these things kept attacking me at vulnerable moments. I thought I’d buried them long ago.
No doubt sensing my inner turmoil, Keen whined softly at my feet, and I swore I saw recognition in those mismatched eyes. She too, understood abandonment.
I realized Chris was staring
