He needed to bring this meeting to a close soon. He thought she was more comfortable with him, and that had been his ultimate goal. He had to tell her about Lycan, and that was best accomplished when she wasn’t drenched with the smell of fear. Unlike their last meeting, he hadn’t caught even a whiff of fear from her today. Actually, that might explain his excellent mood. Lizzie smelled like lust and want. He hadn’t actively noticed until now, but he was pretty sure his wolf had been aware on some level.

“Um. You are. A conspiracy nut, I mean. Just because the conspiracy is real, doesn’t make you any less of a nut.” Lizzie blinked wide, innocent eyes at him.

Awesome. She thought he was a nut. The reveal conversation should go really well.

“Can’t you just ask someone else how the book works? It’s a family book—so maybe a distant cousin, an elderly aunt?” She waited. Still blinking those great big blue eyes at him.

Unfortunately, her question hit close to the heart of some Lycan cultural taboos. Taboos that he thought more and more about breaking, as time marched on and left the Texas Pack stuck in the past. So—no, he couldn’t just ask another pack.

In this respect, Lycan were much more like wolves than people. They had a strong sense of “us” and “them.” Wolves belonging to another pack were most certainly “them.” Information sharing was difficult at the best of times, and with another pack... He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

When he looked back up, he just said, “Not an option.”

Lizzie response was puzzled. “Okay…”

John leaned forward in his chair, dipped his head down a little to catch her gaze, and said, “I have to run, but we have a lot to talk about. Can I call you?”

After holding his gaze for a moment, she blushed faintly and nodded.

Mission accomplished. Lizzie Smith was officially fear-free. Now, how to break the news that her newfound magical friend turned furry…

***

Lizzie wasn’t sure why, but every time John mentioned his family she got a weird Mafia vibe, rather than a warm and fuzzy pic of him sitting at the table with Grandma. She shook her head. She was being silly. Speaking of silly—here she was, driving home, thinking about her meeting with John like it had been a date. It was an appointment, not a date. Not much different from meeting with a client.

But there had been a marked difference in his attitude. He’d been friendly, helpful. And when he said he wanted to meet again, she’d been excited. Not worried at all. He was nothing like the abrasive, overly assertive jerk who’d shoved his foot into her doorway and threatened her when she’d mentioned calling the police. Either there was a nice person lurking under John’s scrumptious exterior, or he was trying really hard to make a positive impression. She thought about that for a minute. Probably both. And contrary to the impression she gave some people, she knew she was quite good at reading people.