As he approached her house, he lowered his head closer to the ground. He altered his path, moving from curb, to grassy edges, to shrubs, up to the garage door, then front door. He covered all of the crevices, edges, and areas of denser cover where scent might linger.

Satisfied, he continued to her neighbors’ homes. He set off a few motion sensor lights, delaying his progress slightly as he waited them out in the shadows or shrubs. Once he’d covered the area five houses deep, he was confident of his findings. No other Lycan had been near her house, at least not for the last week or two.

***

Lizzie slept fabulously. She had some vague recollection of a dream involving an overgrown Spencer look-alike, but no details remained. It must have been a pleasant dream. She woke up early and refreshed, which would hardly happen if she’d been having nightmares. And anyway, why would she have a nightmare about Spencer? He was a complete cuddle bug.

Tea at her elbow, she was in her home office typing away on her computer in record time. By the time her appointment with John was nearing, she’d made good progress. She’d earned the long lunch she’d be taking today. Without stopping to analyze her exceptionally good mood, she grabbed her keys and headed out the door.

Lizzie arrived at Full English a few minutes before eleven o’clock.

Chapter 6

All signs pointed to Lizzie’s complete ignorance of Lycan. John needed to tell her about the pack. He couldn’t fully explain the purpose of the book if she didn’t know about them, about magic. But he certainly couldn’t tell her here. He looked around at the handful of customers.

Turning back to his coffee, he took a sip. He’d never outed himself to a human. Revealing he was basically what human culture and myth called a werewolf—a word Lycan found distasteful—was something he’d gladly forgo. Forever. Not that he didn’t have human friends who knew. But he hadn’t told them. Much like talking about feelings after two dates or complaining about a toothache, he just didn’t want to talk about it.

Worse than the discomfort of discussing something so private, were the images created by Hollywood. Grotesque, horrid in their unnaturalness. His wolf was not a monstrous creature caught between man and wolf. His wolf was beautiful. His human self was slightly uncomfortable with the idea of male beauty, but his wolf just preened. The uncontrollable rage and forced changes of form associated with the Hollywood werewolf were also ridiculous, but likely what humans envisioned.

The term werewolf was deceptive. He was a man and a wolf, but yet nothing so simple. While he sometimes thought of his wolf as a separate part of himself, the truth was much more complex. Each form retained characteristics of the other. He looked at his watch. He’d had enough. Too much introspection would give him indigestion.