“Can I get you anything to drink? I have soda, milk, water, or the sweet tea?”

His eyes lift to me from the counter where I’ve laid the food out, and he says, “YUM!” It’s said so lowly while looking right into my eyes that I can’t help but think he’s not only talking about the food. My cheeks heat with a blush so red my ears might smoke. I quickly turn to the fridge hoping he didn’t see my reaction. “Sweet tea is good.” He chuckles letting me know he has seen and finds it funny.

He makes two sandwiches so large I’m not sure how he plans on biting into them. After I make a small salad, he finishes the rest right from the bowl I prepared it in. He’s done by the time I start my sandwich. “Mmm so good, I think I ate too much, but you can invite me over anytime, Sophia,” he says while rubbing his hand over his flat stomach and smiling. If I ate like that, my butt wouldn’t fit through the door.

“I guess you don’t want any cake then, huh?” I pick up our plates and take them to the sink.

“Hey, I didn’t say that; let’s not be hasty. There’s always room for dessert.” He’s smiling so big I can see all his teeth. “How about you ask me some of those questions, yeah? Then we’ll have cake.”

Now or never, I guess. “Errr, okay, so umm, how does it all work? Are there packs all over? What are the rules? What happens if you don’t have a pack, do you have to leave? Will they let me leave?” My tone gets higher as I speak and at the end of my word vomit, I'm almost breathless.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down Sophia,” he says while grabbing my hand from the table and brushing his thick thumb across my knuckles. It’s... nice. I haven’t been touched with kindness since my parents passed. “It’ll be fine, I promise. Where did you get these ideas? Packs are there to help you not hurt you or rule over you like tyrants. I’m not sure what you mean by how does it all work, but I’ll answer the other questions and go from there, yeah?”

I just nod my head while he continues to look at me like I’m about to run from the room. To be honest, I kind of want to. The only thing keeping me grounded is his hand over mine, still rubbing in soothing circles.

He starts again. “There are packs all over. Some are small, some aren’t. We are divided into territories. Some territories have several small packs, some have one large pack. We” —he gestures to himself— “are one of the largest packs in North America.”

My eyes widen with this information. How do I not know this? Why weren’t my parents in a pack? I never felt like we were hiding. My parents talked to me about being a shifter. I don’t understand. My thoughts cloud as he continues.