“The Garzas are…complicated. I can’t guarantee a meeting, but I’ll ask.” She twisted her bottom lip then released it with a pop. “They made a pit stop on the way back from Mississippi. That much I do know. I’ll reach out once they get home.”

More delays, but hunting Charybdis was a bunch of hurry up and wait. “I appreciate it.”

She lifted a hand in farewell. “No problem.” Then she was gone, and I was alone with Graeson.

Circling around the trailer, I clomped up the stairs, grabbed the handle on the screen door and pulled. It didn’t budge. I jiggled it again. Locked. From the inside. Sitting on the laminate flooring of my entryway, the wolf gazed out the mesh at me through clear, guileless eyes.

“I guess you understood what I said about squatting when you pee, huh?”

Chapter 3

I’m not too proud to admit I bribed my way back into my own home. The cost was a packet of gas station beef jerky from the glove box emergency kit in my truck. Graeson was happy to nudge the door open and take his prize from me with gentle teeth. He was even happier as he trotted to my bedroom and made himself comfortable while smearing drool and meaty juices on my sheets.

I retreated to the table where I could keep an eye on the wolf. I was sitting there, back to the wall and legs stretched out on the cushion in front of me, eating a bowl of soup I didn’t taste thanks to the frantic thought loop whirling through my head, when a couple of rapid knocks rang out.

“Cammie,” Isaac boomed from the porch. “Groceries.” He opened the screen with his pinky then backed through it. “Here. I forgot to tell you. This arrived before we left Three Way.” He dropped a bubble mailer on the table with a Wink, Texas return address, and it was all I could do not to snatch it up and tear into it then and there. This could be it. My first real look at Charybdis. Stepping into the kitchen, he dropped off groceries from the list I’d texted him. He froze, one hand in the paper bag. “What the hell?”

A bone-chilling snarl peppered the air.

“Graeson.” Hand gripping the back of the bench seat, I scowled at him as he leapt off the bed and prowled closer. “Knock it off.”

Armed with the first thing his hand closed over, a carrot, Isaac pointed its tapered orange tip at the slavering wolf. “That’s Cord Graeson?”

Scooting on my butt, I slid off the booth and between my cousin and my wolf. Not my wolf. No one tamed a warg. Graeson. He was just Graeson, and I would do well to remember that.