I clear my throat, pushing the impulse down. Luckily, Harvey has the radio blaring hard core metal, so he didn’t hear my slip. The guy knows about wolves, likes us even, but there still aren’t many humans comfortable with being reminded.

I was naive to think Zoey would accept my truth as if I were merely showing her an ugly birthmark. A small blessing that she didn’t run away, screaming her head off.

And if I’m being honest with myself, I could’ve kept it from her.

If I had been firmer about her leaving, she might’ve gone.

Or I could’ve stayed in my human form and fought the lion off that way. Would’ve taken longer and been bloodier, but I’m strong, and I heal fast. If I had gone that route, I might be with her now, getting nursed back to health. Zoey would probably be babying me this very moment. Maybe kissing my bruises to make them feel better while scolding me for being stupidly reckless.

Instead, I’m sitting here, alone, covered in grease, mourning the loss of her.

All because I wanted her to know. In that moment, the decision to reveal my secret seemed easy. Certain the connection I could almost see between us must mean something. That she wouldn’t cringe from me, but accept what I was with open arms and her excited smile.

Sometimes, I can be completely dense.

Also, sometimes, I hallucinate. Because there’s no way that Zoey Gunner just walked into Harvey’s shop. Especially not looking like that.

The woman I know wears sweatpants, maybe jeans, and paint-stained T-shirts or possibly a soft sweater.

Zoey Gunner does not wear dresses. Definitely not white ones that hug her waist and have trails of copper buttons down the front. The material sways around her thighs, showing off a set of legs meant to make a man fall to his knees and crawl behind her in the hopes of catching an ounce of her attention.

And so I know, for certain, this cannot be her.

It’s impossible she’d come into this shop with her honeyed hair down, curling softly around her shoulders. One small section is pulled away from her face with a glittery clip.

This can’t be her.

Because that would just be cruel.

But the world is often cruel, which I know for a fact when, over the scent of motor oil, I finally pick up on that lovely tease of earthy maple-ness.

A loud clang reverberates around the shop, and I realize I dropped the wrench I was holding when my hands went slack.

The flesh and bone and temptation incarnate Zoey starts at the sound, her eyes finding mine.

“What the hell is wrong with you, boy?” Harvey rolls out from under the car whose oil he’s been changing. “You throw my tools around, and I’m gonna kick your ass out of my shop.”