He felt the tingles under his ear and thought they were due to more electricity. But then the air turned cold, and sweat dried on his skin enough to make him lift his head and stare. His mouth dropped open as he saw the golden tingles expand across the wolf’s body. Bruce wasn’t dying, as he at first thought, but shifting.
He was coming back to human!
Laddin rocked back on his heels, relief making his entire body weak. And he watched with awe as the wolf body dissolved into a light that burst through his retinas. And then it drew back together, coalescing into flesh and blood. The skin was flushed with health, the bones strong, and the muscles lean with a ropy strength. Bruce was alive and strong.
And gorgeous.
Laddin was used to looking at sexy actors with sculpted bodies and pretty-boy manscaping. But there was something different about Bruce. His body wasn’t built for show. He’d earned his heavily muscled torso with hard work. His chest hair was thick, his dick was hard, and his thighs were corded powerhouses. That was when he remembered that Bruce was a firefighter. That involved heavy, sweaty, daily work. And wow, did that ring Laddin’s bell.
While Laddin was caught up in his very inappropriate moment of lust, Bruce straightened out his body. He rolled fully onto his back, stretched out his legs, and used his hands to easily release the catch on his collar. And when he pulled it off, he stared at it and slowly, carefully crushed the thing into crumpled electronic parts.
Okay, that was impressive.
Laddin didn’t want to look into Bruce’s eyes, but he couldn’t avoid it either. He had to say how sorry he was, but Bruce found his voice first.
“I am going to fucking kill you.”
Chapter 4
BRUCE LEARNS EUPHEMISMS
RAGE.
It burned through Bruce’s body—not in a physical way, but the memory of agony was there. As was the certainty that he’d been betrayed. Pain and betrayal were inextricably linked in his mind, and he had no room in his rage to analyze it. All he had was a target—a man with slender shoulders, bright brown eyes, and dark hair that kept flopping into them.
“You did it! You turned back into yourself!” the guy crowed.
Bruce sat up, his lips curling. “I was always me,” he said, and his voice sounded weird to him. Deeper, hoarser, and with a rumble that moved like a wave through his cells, as if making a roll call. And every part responded, I’m here, awake, and pissed off.
“Okay, yeah, but you’re not a wolf anymore.” The guy’s mouth curved into a bright smile, and he threw up his hands in happiness. “Yay!”
Bruce narrowed his eyes. The man seemed to be stretching here, putting on a false cheer in the hope that Bruce would play along.
He didn’t. He rolled over to his knees, feeling his body settle into smooth motion. Arms, legs, torso—all seemed to vibrate with power despite the vivid memory of a fiery electric pain and the desperate minutes where he lay powerless in a twitching lump.
The guy moved with him, then hopped up onto his feet. Bouncy much? And though Bruce was feeling out his own body, he was still watching his environment, which was why he jolted in surprise. The man wore a T-shirt and nothing else. And since Bruce was still on the ground, he got an eyeful of the guy’s junk. It was thick, ruddy, and bobbed way too close to his face. Bruce had the urge to grab it and squeeze, but that wasn’t his style, so he surged to his feet instead.
Bruce towered over the smaller man as a way to establish control of the situation. Much easier to intimidate someone from a higher position. Only this guy didn’t freeze, and he sure as hell didn’t act intimidated.
“You’re moving well,” he said, inspecting Bruce from top to bottom.
Truth. Every part of him felt fluid. There was no pain, no ache. He couldn’t remember the last time his back had moved without catching, or his knees had bent without popping. Even his neck didn’t crack. The life of a firefighter often meant body aches, if not from an injury on the job, then from the constant training. He’d been living with that background noise of pain for so long, this was startlingly unfamiliar.
“I don’t see any swelling or red spots.” The man was walking in a slow circle around Bruce. “Nothing out of whack. Sometimes people don’t come back quite right, but you’re good. I’d hoped that shifting would fix this”—he held up his right hand to show two infant-sized middle fingers—“but I’m as I always was.” His eyes narrowed as he moved behind Bruce. “I don’t see any scars. Did you have any? If so, they’re gone now.”
The man chattered on, his tone bright, and he moved like a puppy discovering a new toy. Up, down, sideways. He even squatted down for a moment as he peered at the back of Bruce’s leg.
“There’s a burn scar here. It looks nasty. How long have you had it? I bet it hurt like a bitch when it happened.”
It had. Bruce had gotten it on one of his first calls as a firefighter. It had been a bad house fire, with kids trapped upstairs—two unconscious teenagers. He couldn’t carry both, so he’d picked up the girl, thinking he could carry her faster and then come back for the boy.
There hadn’t been time. He’d gotten the burn when the floor had collapsed beneath his foot, and he’d had to fight to get it out while the flames ate at his flesh. His partner had managed to grab the girl while he worked himself free, but the agony alone had nearly killed him. He’d awoken in the hospital to the sound of a woman crying. It was his own mother at his bedside, but in his mind, he
