As the next shot rang out, I pressed my hands to my ears and made a face. Clay motioned for us to circle back along the woods and come up on the opposite side. When we drew alongside the shed, I could make out a figure on the stone patio, his back to us. Tall, lean and dark-haired, that hair curling over his collar, as sporadically clipped as the lawn. He lifted the gun. Clay grinned, handed me his shoes, then broke into a silent lope, heading around the stone wall.

I kept walking, but slower, having a good idea what he was up to. By the time I neared the wall, he was already vaulting over it. He caught my gaze, and lifted his finger to his lips. As if I needed the warning. He crept up behind the gunman, paused, making sure he hadn’t been heard, then crouched and sprang.

Jeremy sidestepped without even turning around. Clay hit the wall and yelped.

Jeremy shook his head. “Serves you right. You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.”

“Live dangerously, that’s my motto.”

“It’ll be your epitaph, too.”

Jeremy Danvers, our Pack Alpha and owner of Stonehaven, where Clay and I lived, and would doubtless continue to live for the rest of our lives. Part of that was because Clay was Jeremy’s bodyguard, and had to say close, but mostly it was because he’d never consider leaving. Clay had been no more than five or six when he’d been bitten, and when other kids were heading off to kindergarten, he’d been living as a child werewolf in the Louisiana bayou. Jeremy had rescued him, brought him to Stonehaven, and raised him, and this was where Clay would stay, bound to his Alpha. Now it was my home too, had been really since the day Clay bit me, nearly fifteen years ago. I’ll never ask Clay to leave, and he’s grateful for that, but it’s no sacrifice on my part. I’m happy here, with my family. Besides, without Jeremy to mediate, Clay and I would have killed each other years ago.

Jeremy watched as Clay bounded over to me. He slanted a look my way. “Good run, I take it?”

“Apparently so.”

I handed Clay his shoes. Jeremy’s gaze slid down to Clay’s bare feet. He sighed.

“I’ll find the socks next time,” Clay said. “And look, Elena found that shirt she lost.”

I held up a sweater I’d “misplaced” a few months ago. Jeremy’s nose wrinkled as the smell wafted his way.

“Toss it out,” he said.

“It’s a little funky,” I said. “But I’m sure a good washing, maybe some bleach…”

“In the garbage. The outside garbage. Please.”

“We’re going into town for ice cream,” Clay said. “Wanna come?”