“Is Dad here?” Carver turns to the room, the plate he was half-done washing dripping water onto the floor.

“That can’t be him. He has a gig in Boulder tonight.” Byron moves to the front window, pulling the curtain open and peering out, Donovan at his shoulder.

“Looks like some pretty-boy biker guy,” my youngest brother announces, and I try to stifle my snort as I start screwing the caps back on my paints.

Some of my humor fades when Abram stands from his chair, his looming rugby build taking up more than his fair share of the cabin’s family room. He stares down at me, his face blank, but I know his protective instincts are firing to life, like a series of gears he always keeps well oiled.

“Who is he?”

“He’s my …” So many different words bombard me that I struggle to finish my sentence.

Friend? I don’t tend to have wild sex with my friends.

Boyfriend? We haven’t talked about commitment because that would mean I have to think about the future.

Biker werewolf protector? Well, I don’t want to give my brothers any reason to think I’m hallucinating. Or that I need protection.

“Warner,” I finish with a hopeless shrug.

“Your Warner?” My brother’s jaw tenses. “Or does he think you’re his?”

“What are you talking about?”

“We stopped in to see Mom before heading out here. She had some interesting things to say about the local biker gang.” Abram takes a step toward the door.

Holy shit. Did she tell them about the werewolves?

“What interesting things?” I forget my paints, shoving my chair back to follow my brother.

Abram glares at me. The expression doesn’t intimidate me, but it does make me worry about what is about to go down.

“She said these guys aren’t like Dad’s group. Not just casual riders. She said they make their own rules. That more than half this town is scared of them.”

I grimace, not able to refute any of that.

Thanks a lot, Mom.

Abram clearly thinks The Dark Moon Riders are some outlaw motorcycle club that’s smuggling guns and dealing drugs.

I want to tell him that they don’t follow our rules because they can’t. No lawmaker ever took supernatural creatures into account when they were drafting legislation. And, yeah, people are scared of them. But not because they terrorize the town. They’re scared because the existence of werewolves is disconcerting.

If I was sure my mom had told my brothers about werewolves, then I’d make this argument.

But it seems like she left them in the dark on that important point.

And it’s not my secret to share.

“Zoey?” Warner calls from the driveway.

I can imagine him staring at the SUV, wondering who my visitors are.

“Mom also said these guys get possessive when it comes to women. Like they think they own you.”