The customer finally handed Noah a small laminated card.

He stared at it blankly, then handed it to Van.

Van took the card and frowned at it. “What’s this?”

“My order,” the woman said, laying her hand out on the counter. The snake dutifully slithered up it. “I couldn’t remember it all, so I typed it out.”

Van stared at it. Then looked at the lady. Then went back to the card. Finally, she handed it back to the customer. “You realize that at 185 degrees, the milk will be burnt, right?”

“I want it to stay warm until I get to work,” the woman said, tucking her card away.

Van waved a hand at a small display of insulated mugs. “Our mugs are on sale. If you want, I can make your order and put it in one of those.” She grabbed a new container of milk out of the fridge.

The customer shook her head.

Van gave a little shrug that I translated as it’s your milk, and I’ll burn it if you want me to. She kept her smile tight-lipped and didn’t say a word as she poured the nonfat and two percent into a metal pitcher in equal measure, before popping in the thermometer, which she never used. Van had been doing this so long, she could go by touch.

Noah popped his dimple at the customer, drawing her attention back to him. “One percent split-shot 185-degree no-foam latte with two packets of Equal.” He was very polite, but then, the customer still had a snake wrapped around her arm. Van handed over her coffee and the woman dropped a few coins into the tip jar as she left.

“Did you see the snake?” I whispered to Van as I handed Noah my card to cover my order.

Van tapped the pitcher on the counter before giving it a swirl. “I think I was this close to getting hexed. Thank all the gods for Noah’s dimple.”

Noah snorted. “You keep relying on it like that and my dimple is going to take its own percentage of the tips.”

Van tilted her head. “You know, I think it would be worth it?”

Chapter Four

Declan

Early afternoon light slanted through my windshield as I parked on the quiet neighborhood street that GPS claimed was my final destination. I’d taken my time driving up, stopping at a state park to shift into my wolf form and run for a while to burn off some energy. The park had been large enough for me to avoid other people—werewolves didn’t become mindless, slavering beasts when we shifted, but not every person understood that. I stayed me when I changed, fully in control unless I chose to let the wolf take over, but he wouldn’t hurt anyone.

It had felt good to run, and I’d come back to my SUV in good spirits, ready to hit the traffic outside of Tacoma. I’d wanted to be calm, my wolf quiet, when I did.