Page 24 of Hungry Like the Wolf

“Sure.”

Robbie took a sip of water. “How did you convince them to let me stay?”

Nadja closed her eyes. “That’s what we need to talk about.”

He felt itchy all of a sudden. “Can you just tell me? I can’t really handle any more surprises today.”

“Robbie, I’m so sorry,” she said. “It’s only until you shift for the first time, which JJ promised could be any day now.”

He stared at her, waiting.

“I told them we were mates,” she blurted, the words running together in her race to spit them out of her mouth.

Surely he hadn’t heard her correctly. Mates? He’d worked with a few wolves over the years. Only one of them was mated, but it seemed like a forever sort of thing.

Nadja looked pale, like she might pass out.

“Hey,” he said. “You don’t look so good. Do you need to lie down?”

“No!” She closed her eyes again and took some deep breaths. “Didn’t you hear me? I told them we were mates, Robbie. Without your consent.”

“It’s a little lie. It’s not like we have to consummate this thing in front of the whole pack.”

Somehow, she looked even more ill.

“Hey, now. Don’t make yourself sick over this. Like you said, I’ll shift, and then we can go back to life as usual. No harm, no foul.”

“I’m fine. I’m just—I’m fine,” she said, dropping her head against the back of the chair. “This isn’t about me. But you were unconscious, and I panicked. It’s a violation of at least five ethics codes—probably more—but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did the right thing,” he said, feeling the sudden urge to hold her hand, to rub his thumb over the bumps of her knuckles and feel the delicate skin that covered them. She had long, graceful fingers, but her nails were torn to hell. He wouldn’t have expected a therapist to be a nail biter. Then again, he hadn’t expected to be a werewolf either, so apparently there were a lot of surprises still left in the world.

“Thank you, Nadja,” he continued. “This place… I don’t know. It feels… like it’s all gonna be okay. And I don’t want you to worry that I’ll push you or anything. This is a”—a sudden thought occurred to him, and he laughed—“this is just a fake mating of convenience.”

Nadja groaned. “I’ve read those books too, Robbie. I know what happens.”

Robbie waved his hand. “That’s fiction. This is real life. We’ll put on a good show, make it believable, I’ll shift, and then we’ll figure out what happens next.”

She rocked forward and buried her face in her hands. “There’s more.”

“Let me guess. You’re a bunny shifter.”

“Robbie, be serious. Wait. A bunny shifter?”

“Why the hell not?”

“This isn’t a joke.”

“I’m sorry. I use humor to lighten the mood,” he said.

“Or to deflect,” she snapped.

He looked up at the ceiling, at the high wood beams, the varnish turning slightly orange from age. He’d always used humor to cope. Usually, the levity was appreciated, or at least received, by his friends. But Nadja wasn’t his friend. She was his therapist. And she’d only met him that morning. Had it really only been a handful of hours?

He felt like a new person, like he’d been reborn. He remembered the panic of the morning, the agony of the day, but now, as the light grew soft and hazy, as his body felt loose and easy, he struggled to accept that it had been less than twelve hours.

“You’re right. Sometimes I do use it to deflect. But it doesn’t mean I’m not taking this seriously. I know how serious this is. And I know how much you’ve put yourself on the line to help me. I appreciate all you’ve done.”

“Oh, Robbie,” she said. “You don’t even know the half of it. And that’s the problem. I don’t smell like you.”