He pales, which is saying something considering his skin is a warm brown color, and he pulls at the collar of his shirt, though it’s already loose. He even reaches inside and touches the gold cross necklace around his neck.

It’s almost like he doesn’t get Zoey’s sense of humor at all, because that was obviously a joke.

A damn funny one.

I laugh, Zoey is fighting a smile, but Alver is looking more than a little concerned.

Zoey gives in, probably to reassure the guard’s nerves. “He’s fine, and I don’t need dinner tonight. I’m finishing up, and then Mr. Hale and I are grabbing a drink so I can do some paperwork for him.”

“Blake,” I correct again, determined to break down that wall she’s keeping between us.

Alver looks from Zoey to me, checking the vibe once more, and then shakes his head. “Your funeral, man.” He backs out of the room, not giving Zoey his back.

When the door closes, I whirl on Zoey. “What the fuck was that?”

Zoey’s eyes roll back in their sockets, and not in the good way. “You’re fine. I won’t really sacrifice you, full moon or not.”

She thinks I’m asking about her? I’m about two heartbeats from going out in the hallway and sacrificing that asshole for giving Zoey shit.

“Not you, Zo. Him. What’s his problem?” I clarify, pointing at the door, where I think Alver is still hanging around like a creeper.

That’ll just make it easier to kick his ass, though.

Hmm, I wonder if he’s got a Taser?

“Alver?” she says, her nose crinkled in a way that would be cute except I’m not sure why she’s confused. “He’s mostly nice.”

“And insinuates that you’re evil incarnate and going to sacrifice me to the full moon?” I accuse. “That doesn’t seem mostly nice to me.”

Her smile breaks through, large and mischievous now. “Technically, that was me.”

“Zoey,” I say in warning. I have no right to come to her defense this way. She’s obviously fine with the way her co-worker acted, but I can’t help but plan a little sacrifice of my own . . . of Alver. Full moon or not.

“Blake.” She mimics my tone with an extra dose of sarcasm. I don’t know how to answer that, both the tone and that she finally used my first name, but I’m probably gaping like a fish on the sandy beach that wishes someone would toss him back out to sea.