Defeated, I pulled my shirt over my head and started the shower. He allowed this and flopped down in the doorway, head on paws. A bra and panties were all that preserved my modesty as I stepped into the tiny glass enclosure. The bloodstained ensemble reminded me of Graeson’s earlier bikini comment, and I blushed. I got the distinct feeling he wasn’t home, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Wargs were blasé about nudity, but I wasn’t that kind of shifter.

The heat from the water relaxed my tense muscles and washed away the blood caking my leg. It lubricated my inhibitions too. Soggy and tired, I wanted to feel clean and safe again. Graeson’s dozing posture made stepping out of my underwear that much easier. My bra landed in the basin with a splat, and my panties followed. While I was bent over, I braced myself and inspected my calf. The cocktail of warg blood had done me good. The raw edges were knitting together much faster than they would have otherwise.

Not until my teeth began chattering did I realize I had used up all the hot water. Packed into the tight stall, I dried off then made the short grab for gauze from my medicine cabinet. The one good thing about the size of my bathroom was pretty much everything was within reach of everything else.

After slathering my leg with antibiotic ointment and binding it in gauze, I wriggled into pajamas, skirted the wolf and hobbled into the kitchen in search of food. The uncertain temperament of my houseguest meant I couldn’t afford not to eat. I had to replenish what the shifts had cost me in case I had to sprout claws in order to defend myself against the guilty-looking wolf drifting shadowlike in my wake.

“I have a frozen pizza, some of those microwave pocket things and an unmarked container, contents unknown,” I told the wolf, wishing I could turn back time and ask Isaac for steaks or roasts or whole chickens instead of a few staples. “Let’s try the fridge.”

A carton of eggs, an unopened pack of bacon and a container holding biscuits I knew must be homemade because of their size and shape.

“You sneak.” I glanced over the door at him. “You left groceries at my house.”

The wolf flicked his ears.

“I can do breakfast. Nothing fancy,” I amended before he got excited, “but it’ll get the job done.”

First I cracked open a bottle of ibuprofen and tossed back a handful. I washed them down with the half glass of remaining orange juice then set about hard scrambling eggs and microwaving bacon.

Graeson sat there watching the whole production. The man might have judged my dry eggs or slightly burnt bacon edges, but the wolf made whiney-growly sounds of encouragement.

A muffled ringing noise sent me dragging into the bathroom to dig out my cell. “Ellis.”