Nor had he realized how much pleasure could be gained from waking up on his back to find her holding him. She had snuggled against his left side, her arm draped over his chest, leg between his as if she had claimed him.

In the quiet moments of the previous night when Naya was fast asleep and clutching him tightly, a wholly new and unexpected feeling had emerged. One that kept him up the rest of the night, watching the door. Not because he was afraid of someone discovering them, but because he needed to protect what was his.

Suddenly it didn’t matter anymore if he deserved her, if she wanted him, if people would cast judgment on them, if it would mean losing his pack, or if the whole goddamn world thought they were crazy. He wanted claim on Naya. Of all the fucking practical jokes for the gods to play, he’d fallen for a panther.

A wicked tongue like hers might have put off most men, but Wheeler felt like he’d finally met his equal. Beneath the layers of beauty was an intellectual woman, and that was the secret she kept from the world. She put on a good show, but maybe it’s because that’s all that men had wanted to see in her.

Not Wheeler. After spending three hours in the bathroom listening to how her mind worked, he wanted to know everything about Naya. For Christ’s sake, the woman knew who Jackson Pollock was. Most of the women he’d slept with didn’t even know who Ronald McDonald was. Sure, her coffee tasted like motor oil and she owned a cross-eyed cat, but that’s what made her endearing as hell.

He could sense morning even without sunlight and decided it was time to make an appearance in the house. Wheeler yanked on his jeans and raked his fingers through his disheveled hair, which looked like a cat had licked it out of shape. He pulled the sleeveless shirt over his head and put on his socks, but it took him a few minutes to find his boots. Naya, in a panic, had thrown one of them into a vase near the bed. He carried them down the hall and set them near the entrance to the kitchen. He figured it would look suspicious if he had them on so early in the morning, since most of the time they avoided wearing shoes in the house.

Lynn had two skillets of bacon frying on the stove.

“Morning,” he grumbled.

The early morning sunlight glittered through the windows and cast a pretty light across the floor.

“I heard about last night,” Lynn said, using a fork to flip over a piece of bacon. “I’m glad you found that poor woman. I can’t imagine what would have happened to her and that sweet little girl.”

They all knew. If they hadn’t found Skye, the pack would have taken in the child. No question.

Lynn never wandered around in a robe or nightgown like some of the other women did. She had on brown slacks and a flowery shirt that matched.