I’m not sure how I know, but I do. There’s something similar in the way the man moves to how I’ve seen Warner walk. Only Warner has never stalked me like prey before.

Fearful fingers clench my gut, encouraging me to retreat to my truck and lock the doors.

But then I would be prey.

The man is only a few feet away, his eyes slipping between blue and black, a triumphant grin curling Cheshire-like across his stubble-covered cheeks. Despite the facial hair, I can see now that he’s young. Probably barely old enough to drink.

Not that it matters. If anything, young men are more dangerous.

“What is a pretty thing like you hanging around here for? Looking for some fun?”

He’s about to step into my space, and my mind flips between fight or flight.

I won’t be prey.

Before he can loom over me, I step forward, staring straight into his eyes.

“Do I know you?” I ask.

“What?” He stutter-steps with hesitation.

“You look really familiar.” I put on my deep, thoughtful face, then snap my fingers as if I just remembered something. “I know! You’re the guy who’s bad in bed!”

He was not expecting that. Horrified shock slackens his face. Exactly what I was hoping for. I came here to meet Warner for lunch, not be accosted by a horny, power-tripping werewolf.

“Yeah. The sad sack in the sack. Mr. Pitiful Fuck. Everyone in town told me about you. Said you harass strangers because no one wants to give you a second go since you can’t find a clit, even with a detailed map.”

There’s a little chunk of my brain that wonders if insulting a werewolf’s sexual prowess is the safest route to take. But if a guy is going to harass me, supernatural or not, I figure it’s better to let them know up front that I won’t go down without tearing into them first.

“What the fu⁠—”

“Ross.” A man with thick brown hair, streaked through with gray, strides toward us. He’s tall, wiry, and coated in authority. Not visibly, but it spills off him in waves as he approaches.

My aggressor turns to the man, red-faced. “Sir.”

That’s when I see, just behind the man’s shoulder, is Warner. He stares at me with wide eyes and a bobbing mouth, as if he can’t decide whether to grin or not.

Guess he heard my comments to his coworker.

“Is something going on here?” The older man glances between the two of us before his eyes come to rest on me. There’s no accusation in them, just scrutiny.

“No.” Ross is quick to assure the man, who I notice now has a vest with the label of Foreman.