I gasped as I took in the room. I was expecting it to be small and—if I was lucky—to have an en suite bathroom. This was much bigger than that. More like an apartment than quarters in a stronghold.

I wandered in and started taking stock. He had an office with a library off to the left. A kitchen with a well-stocked fridge. A guest room was down the hall to the right, and his room was at the end of the same hall. But what I didn’t see were any pictures or paintings. No knickknacks on the shelves or tables. The colors were all dark—deep burgundy, navy, and forest green—and the furniture was dark wood. They were mostly antiques and the quality of everything was amazing. Especially the embroidered silk duvet cover. But it all felt a little serious. None of it reflected the Donovan that I knew. His easy smiles and soft nature weren’t reflected at all in his dark, stuffy apartment. I glanced back at him, trying to see how he fit in here, and he didn’t. Not to me anyway.

The writing desk that faced a window was the only thing that felt like Donovan. It was a lighter amber color, and sturdy, without all the curving flourishes of the rest of the furniture. One side had gouges from the claws of a certain pissed-off Were. I ran my fingertips over the grooves, wondering what could’ve made Donovan so mad.

On the desk stood the only picture in the room. It was an antique black-and-white photo of a beautiful woman. Curls flowed down her back as she laughed at the camera, her grin frozen in time. I knew that smile.

“Your mother?” I asked, holding out the frame for him to see.

“How’d you know?”

“The smile and her eyes. You look a lot like her.”

“Ah. Yes. I favor her over my father.”

I put the silver frame down carefully, placing it back where it belonged, and turned back to the room.

A flat-screen TV hung above the fireplace in the sitting area. It was the only thing that hinted we were living in the modern era. That made me a little nervous. Some Weres thought technology was a luxury, but for me it was a requirement.

Donovan was leaning against the doorjamb between his room and the hall when I finally turned to him. “It’s nice.” My voice went up at the end and I winced.

He chuckled. “You can change it as you like. I’m not too keen on decorating. I let someone do it a long time ago and left it. But I want this to feel like home for you.”

I looked over the room, now trying to see myself there. I didn’t. “You won’t mind?”

“Not at all.”