Cody was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was gentle. “Daisy, I never said I didn’t find you attractive. But attraction’s easy.” He gestured toward the nightclub. “You saw what happened in there. Most of those people were strangers. And I have an obligation to my own clan, to my own people. You . . . you’re not a potential mate. You know that. And I care about you too much to mislead you, okay?”

My eyes stung. Goddamn werewolves.

“Daise?”

My phone rang. I fished it out of the pocket of my skirt. It was Sinclair. I let the call go to voice mail and then listened to it. “Hey, girl!” He sounded affectionate, only a little worried. “Hope everything’s okay. Stop by, all right?”

Cody may have wanted me, but he didn’t want to want me. And that made all the difference in the world.

“The fake Jamaican?” he asked, a slight edge to his voice. Well, too bad.

“Ha ha.” I put my phone away. “Look, if we’re done here, I have a date to get back to.”

“After this?” Cody raised his brows. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

No, of course it wasn’t. I’d just been dowsed with satyr-funk and had a brief, intense make-out session with my lifelong crush, who was standing in the parking lot eyeing me skeptically, his uniform shirt half undone because I’d torn off buttons when I ripped it open. “I don’t think it’s any of your business,” I said, walking past him. “I’ll let the manager know we’re leaving.”

“Daisy!”

“What?” I turned around to glare at Cody.

“Just . . . be careful, okay?” He gave me a wry smile, resting his hands on his utility belt. “Because I know when I get off duty, I’m going to go home and kill something.”

Sure, that’s healthy. And yet the thought of Cody hunting in wolf form gave me a shiver. Go figure. “Duly noted.”

Inside the nightclub, the staff were making a cursory effort to clean up. Now that the place was empty, you could see how trashed it was. There were spilled drinks, crushed cups, and broken glass everywhere, abandoned flip-flops, discarded boxers, briefs, and panties that no one had wanted to reclaim.

The manager, Terry Miller, was still in a state of shock. He nodded absently when I told him we were leaving. “I just don’t understand what happened,” he murmured. “What am I going to tell the owners?”

I patted his arm. “Tell them the truth. It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t anything you could do about it.”

He turned his stricken gaze to me. “But what was it?”

“A satyr in rut,” I said patiently. I’d already explained it to him twice, but apparently Lurine was right. Most mundane humans’ memories were sketchy about the events of the night. “Big naked guy?”