Page 11 of Safety Hazard

“It’s not exactly covered in the inspector’s handbook,” I pointed out. “Dealing with supernatural fire chiefs.”

He shifted slightly, his hand stroking lazy patterns along my back. “What do you want to know?”

I had a thousand questions, but fatigue was quickly overtaking my curiosity. “Later,” I mumbled, my eyes growing heavy. “I’ll make a list.”

His laugh was the last thing I heard as sleep claimed me, warm and safe in the arms of a man who should have been my professional adversary but had somehow become something much more complicated.

Chapter 4

“You’re staring again,” I observed without looking up from my clipboard. It was the fifth day of my inspection, and Shep’s eyes hadn’t left me for more than a few minutes at a time.

After the storm and our night in the lookout tower, something had shifted between us. Publicly, we still maintained our adversarial roles—me citing violations, him defending his town’s practices—but there was an undercurrent now, a secret knowledge that made every interaction charged with meaning.

“Can’t help it,” he replied from where he leaned against the community center wall, watching me document the newly installed evacuation maps. “You’re very stare-worthy.”

I fought a smile, keeping my expression professionally neutral as a town council member walked past. “I need to finish this inspection by tomorrow if there’s any chance of approving the fireworks display.”

Shep pushed off the wall, coming to stand closer than was strictly necessary. “And will you? Approve it?”

I finally looked up at him, taking in the tension in his shoulders, the slight strain around his eyes. Something was off about him today—a restlessness that hadn’t been there before.

“With the modifications we discussed, and proper safety personnel on site… yes.” I tapped my pen against the clipboard. “Assuming all other violations are addressed.”

The relief in his expression was immediate and genuine. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for doing my job,” I said automatically, though without my usual sharpness. “Are you feeling alright? You seem… edgy.”

He glanced toward the windows, where late afternoon sunlight streamed in. “Full moon tonight,” he said quietly, as though that explained everything.

And I supposed it did, given what I now knew about him. “Oh. Does that mean you’ll… change?”

He looked around quickly to ensure we weren’t overheard. “Not completely. Not unless I choose to. But it affects me regardless.”

“Heightened senses? Aggression? Increased libido?” I suggested, my inner scientist unable to resist cataloging symptoms.

His lips quirked. “All of the above. Especially that last one.”

Heat rushed to my face. Since our night in the tower, we hadn’t had another opportunity for anything beyond heated kisses stolen in moments of privacy. My body immediately responded to the implication in his words, my pulse quickening.

“I see,” I said, striving for a professional tone. “That’s… interesting data.”

“Data,” he repeated, his smile widening to show just a hint of those too-sharp canines. “Is that what you call it?”

Before I could formulate a suitably dignified response, the town council member returned, forcing Shep to step back to a respectable distance. I finished my inspection of the community center with mechanical efficiency, hyperaware of his presence, of the way his eyes tracked my every movement.

By the time we stepped outside, the sun was setting, painting the sky in vivid oranges and pinks. Shep inhaled deeply, his head tilting back slightly as he scented the air.

“Storm’s passed for good,” he said. “Clear night ahead.”

I made a note on my clipboard, more for something to do with my hands than any official purpose. “Good. That’s good for the… inspection process.”

He turned to me, amber eyes reflecting the sunset in a way that was definitely not human. “I need to run tonight,” he said, his voice dropping to ensure privacy. “After moonrise. Come with me.”

It wasn’t really a question, but it wasn’t quite a command either. An invitation, perhaps, or a challenge. I should have declined—I still had reports to write, data to analyze, professional boundaries to rebuild.

“Where?” I asked instead.

“My cabin. On the north shore.” He reached out, one finger trailing lightly down my arm. “I’ll pick you up at nine.”