I huffed at him. Then I licked his hand.

“I agree.” Marc stroked the entire length of my newly compact, powerful torso. “Now, Shift back so we can eat.”

Twenty-Five

The Shift back hurt just as badly, but it went a little quicker. And when I stood—naked and fully human—I could tell little difference in my broken arm. It still hurt like hell to move, so I kept it as still as possible.

Fortunately, the gash in my left arm had closed. It was red, and swollen, and tender—still a wound; not yet a scar—but it was no longer oozing blood, and it didn’t hurt quite as badly. After one more set of Shifts, Marc would remove the stitches.

As soon as I stood, I grabbed my towel and clutched it to my chest. I’d never had qualms about nudity before—Shifters have to be naked to Shift, unless they want to ruin a lot of clothes—but as we’d already established, everything had changed. Marc always had heat in his eyes when he looked at me, and I didn’t want to run the risk of Jace having a repeat reaction in front of him. Or me.

Unfortunately, with my wrist still in serious pain—much more than when it was immobilized in the cast—I had to let Marc rewrap me in my towel. I still couldn’t eat right-handed, but that didn’t stop me from devouring several sausage, egg, and cheese biscuits and two cartons of hash browns in under five minutes. It turns out hamburgers are hard to find before ten in the morning.

“What’s that?” I asked around a mouthful, nodding my head toward a plastic grocery bag on the far bed.

Jace swallowed a drink from his cup. “Duct tape, for Lance. Picked it up on the way to Burger King. I also got a brace for your wrist, in case you don’t have time to fully heal it.” Which was a definite possibility.

“Good thinking on both.” I couldn’t help smiling.

“So, let’s talk details.” Marc took a long drink from his soda, then set it down and focused on me as I swallowed the last bite of my biscuit. “When you’re whole again, we’re just going to sneak in—under the cover of glaring daylight—and do a quick snatch-’n’-grab?”

Jace snorted. “You make it sound dirty. It’s a covert operation, not a quickie in a public bathroom stall.”

I desperately wished he hadn’t said quickie and bathroom in the same sentence. Not when Marc was suspicious enough of my cast-soaking bath earlier.

“My point,” Marc continued, holding a hash brown patty aloft, “is that we need to know more than the broad strokes before we go in.”

As soon as he heard broad strokes, Jace laughed again and choked on a drink from his soda. Marc glared at him, and I shot him a frown. I wished we had time for a leisurely breakfast, peppered with stupid sex jokes, but somehow, I never seemed to find time for such simple pleasures.