First edition published by Meduas Editoriale 2026

Copyright © 2026 by C.M. Nascosta

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

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Cover: Chinthaka Pradeep

Contents

1. Author's Note

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

About the author

Also by CM NASCOSTA

Author's Note

Content Advisories:

Our MCs work in emergency medicine and talk about seeing all that entails. Mentions of injuries & death, depression & anxiety, and ♦scheming♦

Part 1

Trapp

Did you just send me the link to your anal sunning appointment?

The industrial-sized tray of lemonade cups he carried bobbled momentarily as the text message flashed across his wrist. Trapp squinted for a moment of confusion, hastily returning his attention to keeping the overladen tray steady against the tide of bodies already filling the square. He’d barely covered ten feet before his path was blocked by a goblin with wild red curls, popping out from a silent auction table as if she were spring-loaded and had been waiting for him.

“Trapp, I can’t thank you enough for the help with setup. I told Principal Wingrup this week that I knew I could count on you to lend a hand. She wasn’t convinced because you’re not a parent, but I knew better. The banners look perfect. And look — you’re still here, running the dunk tank!” She finished with a satisfied hmph, beaming up at him.

Another text buzzed at his wrist, perfectly in his line of sight as he gripped the tray with white knuckles.

This might come as a shock, but I’m not interested in Vitamin D blasting my perineum

Trapp returned the goblin’s smile with a practiced, gleaming white grin, ignoring his watch. “I’d love to take singular credit, Marva, but it would get back to the chief if I did. Don’t go getting me in any trouble. I do that well enough on my own.”

The goblin laughed, moving back to her table as he twinkled, a perfectly choreographed ballet to which he knew all the steps.

Especially if you’ve got your ankles behind your head in the next room

The texts from his brother moved across the miniature screen like a theater marquee, making him roll his eyes before he was accosted once more.

“Trapp, what do we have to do to get you on the dunk tank? I’ve got a twenty with your name on it.”

Another beaming smile, the laugh that accompanied it as bright as the twinkle in his eyes as he paused once more, grinning down. The sheep-faced woman who owned the coffeeshop snapped the aforementioned bill between pinched fingers, waggling her brows at him.

“Xenna, are you trying to give one of these old folks a heart attack? Don’t do that to me. I’m on an EMS rotation for the rest of the month. I’ll be dripping wet and giving CPR.”

“Why would they?! No one said you had to take your clothes off,” she laughed. “But if you wanted to . . . this is a fundraiser, right? Show a little skin for a good cause. Send next year’s grads on the best trip of their lives.”

Trapp laughed again, continuing with his tray. “Mhm. I’m telling Reg.”

The sheepwoman continued to laugh as he pushed through the crowd, keeping his smile in place as his name was called out twice more from different directions. The office manager at the community center, a lifeguard from the pool. He winked at the troll from the Food Gryphon and kicked a soccer ball in his path without letting his tray tip.

“I didn’t think the fire department handled lemonade duty,” a passing kitsune tittered, her arms stacked with cups.

“They do when the boosters are making it,” he answered gaily, right on cue.

If life were a movie, Trapp Hemming had found himself cast as the star of a PG-rated small-town parable, one about local heroes and the value of community, and he never missed a line.

Around them, Cambric Creek had abandoned all pretense of moderation. The school boosters had somehow transformed the central three blocks of Main Street into something that felt less like a fundraiser and more like a county fair. A good thing, as there was nothing the community loved more than the opportunity to eat slightly overpriced food that had been cooked in the back of a truck, as they wandered around outdoors.

Banners emblazoned with the faces of each graduating senior hung from the lampposts — banners he’d hung himself, as Wick, a laid-back werebear, slowly drove him in a cherry picker around the square. The flower beds circling the gazebo were planted in the school colors, streamers fluttered between storefronts, shop windows were streaked with temporary paint in maroon and green and gold messages of community pride wishing the new graduates luck. Trapp wasn’t sure if the level of service to optics was commendable or insane. Either way, it fit the script.

The park in the center of town was full of tents and concessions for the annual Senior Send-off fundraiser event, hosted by the current graduating class as a parting gift to the following year’s class to pay for their senior trip. Food trucks ringed the block, and the air smelled of spun sugar and charcoal smoke. Barricades had been erected at either end of the central lot, blocking through traffic. All around the expanse of green, carnival-style games were operated by each branch of the town hall, with elected municipal leaders handing out darts to throw at balloons and ping-pong balls to toss into bowls of rubber ducks.

The firehouse was running the dunk tank, and so far, he’d managed to go the entire day without mounting the platform. The evening carried the warmth of late spring, but the heat of summer was still weeks away, and the light breeze made the thought of being dropped into the hose-filled tank especially unappealing. No time to get wet, I’ve got my hands full.

Arriving at last at the tent where half of the firehouse crowded, he slid the unspilled tray of glasses to the picnic table’s surface, barely straightening before hands shot out, emptying the tray with an almost comical speed. One of the hands belonged to a grey-skinned troll, a brand-new EMT in the department and his ride-along partner for the month.

Trapp’s eyes narrowed.

“Oleg, what are you doing sitting on your ass? You’ve been here for what? Two weeks? Sitting requires at least a two-year commitment. See if Grannock needs a break from that dunk tank.”

The troll sputtered, but none of the other members of Cambric Creek’s Fire and Rescue came to his aid. Trapp raised an eyebrow, biting back a satisfied grin when the troll pushed to his feet, trudging off in the direction of the firehouse’s contribution to the cause with slumped shoulders.

“You learned that look from your mom,” one of his older compatriots laughed, an ogre who was of an age with Trapp’s parents. The whole table turned, watching as Oleg took his place on the tank’s stand with a mournful expression.

“Maybe so,” Trapp agreed, snorting when the very first ball thrown by one of the waiting children found its target, dropping the new EMT unceremoniously into the tank of water. The whole tent cheered, hooting in laughter.

Trapp lingered only a moment before turning back to return the tray. Keeping busy was also something he’d learned from his mother. Keep your hands full, keep moving, always have a task.

He picked up the coffee run each day he was on house duty, did the grocery shopping, did the cooking, oversaw the pre-school bike rodeo every spring, volunteered to work every community event that required emergency services on premises, and conducted the safety inspections of the businesses around town. It kept him from the house duties he preferred to avoid, like laundry and vehicle maintenance, kept him favorably in the public eye — useful, when his name set him apart all on its own.

His grandfather had spent more than twenty-five years as mayor and then another fifteen behaving as though his retirement was a bureaucratic misunderstanding. His oldest brother, Jackson, occupied the mayoral office now, and the ease of his election suggested that City Hall had been a Hemming family property all along, one they had magnanimously loaned out for a short stint. His father possessed no official title whatsoever, never had, yet somehow Jack Hemming exercised more influence than any elected office had ever provided or likely ever would.

The remaining Hemming sons still in town had distributed themselves strategically throughout the ecosystem of Cambric Creek like a particularly handsome invasive species. His brother Owen sat on the board of commissioners. Grayson had become the face of the fight against the human-run health industry. His own position in the firehouse might not come with as much prestige as the seats his siblings held, but it had something City Hall and the Werewolf Defense League could never provide — inherent likeability.

Trapp was the most visible member of his family by default. Monitoring capacity at the Makers Mart, jovially accepting cups of hot chocolate at high school sporting events as he sat near the ambulance, doing the firehouse grocery shopping at the Food Gryphon. Everyone knew him. Everyone liked him. He was a social creature by nature and had no problem being the Hemming everyone regarded fondly. This was a role he felt born to play.

Go looksmaxx on your own like a big boy. I’m busy workmaxxing

Invite Owen. That seems more like his sort of thing

Try not to get skin cancer on your ass hole, asshole

“Hemming! Are you going back for more?” Magruh shook his empty cup, sucking on the straw for good measure, making it clear that he expected the answer to be yes.

The smile he gave the chief wasn’t the same as the twinkling smile he gave older women and young mothers; was not the same as the genteel grin he reserved for business owners and members of the city council. The corner of his mouth pulled up — cocky, affable, agreeable. Top billing, surrounded by his adoring co-stars.

“Sure thing, Chief.”

Keep busy. Keep moving. Keep smiling. A system that had served him well for years.

As soon as the crowd swallowed him up once more, Trapp pulled out his phone. There were no notifications on the screen, despite the push to his watch.

What the fuck are you going on about?

He tapped out the message quickly, not scrolling up the conversation until he’d already hit send. He had inadvertently sent Grayson a link, not one he even recognized, unintentionally shared. Trapp groaned. He’d been having issues with his phone for the last two weeks since it had gone tumbling to the pavement outside the firehouse. He’d had the cracked screen replaced, but the internal problems persisted.

I didn’t mean to send that, I think it was an ad I was scrolling past

this fucking phone is trash

I don’t have time for a taint tan

That seems more YOUR speed if we’re being honest

He would need to reboot his phone to see what messages he’d missed for the last however many hours. That’s what happened just a few days prior. He was at home, blissfully unaware that he was being texted by his co-workers and called by the chief, attempting to wrangle him back to the firehouse . . . but his phone had never buzzed, the notifications not appearing until much later.

Three bouncing dots stayed his thumb, waiting for Grayson’s response before powering down and restarting.

Sure

Whatever you need to tell yourself, champ

The screen went black as he rolled his eyes again, taking momentary refuge from the throng of townsfolk at the side of one of the tents. Julia was somewhere around. It was odd that he’d not yet passed his girlfriend, but he had no doubt that she’d been pulled into running the school’s raffle table or taking sign-ups for the summer booster events. Trapp ducked his head, kicking at one of the tent poles, trying his best to appear as if her were on official firehouse business as he lurked behind the tent while the cellphone slowly came back to life.

He groaned again once the screen lit up. A line of messages, several from his mother, attempting to press him into service at various other points around the event, the messages from Grayson that had pushed to his watch, one from a co-worker, the group chat between him, his father and two eldest brothers . . . and a single message from Julia, received hours earlier.

Do you think we can talk? Are you going to be around at all today?

He could do her one better. He was available right now.

Sorry, I’m only just seeing this. Phone is still acting up.

Where are you?

There was a bounce in his step as he hastened towards the PTSA tent, clear across the wide park, nowhere near his lemonade duty.

“Trapp, I hope we’re going to see you in the Summer Homedays parade!”

He grinned at a mothwoman, never slowing. “Wouldn’t miss it!”

“Trapp, I was hoping I’d be able to ask when the best time might be to reach out to your dad about the parking garage over on—”

“Rhonda is the gatekeeper, not me. But that sounds like a call for the mayor’s office.”

“Trapp.” He nearly collided with a familiar wolf, the PE teacher from the high school, the same one who’d taught there when he’d been a student, two decades earlier. “Now, I know they’ve got you busy at the station, but I need you as shortstop for the Chamber of Commerce charity game.”

“Coach, is that a joke? This town is full of knees not pushing forty, including my brother, who actually sits on the board. You can’t tell me one of them isn’t able to step up and —”

“None of them get the other team’s wives hooting and hollering. And Owen already said yes. You think I want you for your fielding skills? You’re a distraction, Hemming. Next Tuesday, six p.m. over at the library fields.”

Trapp laughed in outrage. “I am wounded by that.”

The other werewolf made a dismissive hand wave. “Don’t be late!”

He was closer to the tent than he’d realized, turning to meet Julia’s eyes immediately. Her smile was small, almost wistful as he approached, still laughing.

“I saw you coming,” she murmured as he leaned down to press a kiss to her temple. “How many voluntold positions did you accept just crossing the field?”

He chuckled. “Technically only two, but the night is young and summer’s just around the corner. I’m sure I’ll be snookered into trimming someone’s hedges and visiting a summer camp by the end of the week. But I’ve been able to avoid the dunk tank, and that’s really the only goal of the day, so I can swallow down the rest.”

Trapp took a step back to survey the tent, immediately catching the eye of a gorgon on the other side of the center table, the principal from the middle school where Julia taught sixth grade.

“Trapp, there you are,” she said, as though he were late to an appointment he hadn’t known he was meant to keep. “We were just talking about next year.”

The smile he saved for Jackson’s office, for the community center volunteers, one that said we’re all on the same team, on cue. “That feels like a loaded topic during the last week of school.”

“As I was saying,” the principal went on, ignoring him, “we’re all hoping you’ll stay with sixth grade next year. I know they’re a good bit rowdier than the fourth graders you’re used to; it’s all the hormones. But it’s nice to finally get another science teacher, and I’d hate to lose you after one year.”

Trapp’s eyes moved from the gorgon to his girlfriend’s, waiting expectantly.

Julia knew how to perform on script as well.

After all, if Trapp had been put in the role of the small-town hero star, then Julia had been perfectly cast as his love interest. Girl next door-beautiful, athletic, impossibly kind, always cheerful, always empathetic. The fireman and the schoolteacher — well-liked, well-matched, as if central casting had written their relationship into existence.

She had her teacher conference smile, her monthly-brunch-with-the-werewolves smile, a bright, beautiful better-half-of-the-perfect-couple smile she employed at the coffee shop and farmer’s market. The smile she used for principals and administrators wasn’t dissimilar to the smile reserved for Trapp’s father, and that was what he expected her to flash now. Poised, professional, a look that said I got this . . . but it never came.

All around them, Cambric Creek continued celebrating the future. Graduating seniors manned every table, swarming together for photos whenever the opportunity arose. The scent of kettle corn drifted across the square on the evening breeze, and near the edge of the PTSA tent, over the sound of the band playing in the gazebo, a small goblin child burst into tears over a balloon-related tragedy, the shiny mylar drifting upward without looking back to the outstretched hands of the little girl.

“That’s very kind of you.”

Trapp blinked. The silence that had stretched between the gorgon’s statement and Julia’s response was overlong, and her words didn’t have the reassurance he and the principal had been expecting.

Well, it’s the end of the school year. She’s exhausted; all the teachers are. This isn’t the week to press about next year, not unless the union wants a stack of resignations. After all, if he’d been pressed about his future with the department only hours after responding to the scene of a grisly car accident, he’d not hesitate to tell Magruh to lick every part of his ass on his way out the door. Time and place. Read the room.

The moment was broken when a family of moths stepped up to the table to buy raffle tickets; the gorgon’s attention diverted as she counted tickets off the giant roll. An orc Trapp had known since they were in diapers together stepped up to Julia’s side of the divided table, a small, green-skinned child on his shoulders. Rasst’s wife was pregnant, and it had been months since Trapp and Julia had seen the orcish couple.

“Please tell me we’re going to do a weekend at the lake this summer. Vina and I decided that if we don’t start scheduling grown-up conversations, we might never have them again. I just got a new raft, and this one needs to learn to be a little more reckless before his sister gets here.”

The question was directed to Trapp and Julia both, the lakeside weekend a tradition they’d kept with Rasst and his family for the four years they’d been together. Trapp laughed at the little orc’s furrowed brow, gripping the sides of his father’s hair as Julia made change for his tickets.

“Of course we are! Wouldn’t miss it. Are you kidding? After the school year we’ve had?” He motioned to the human at his side, her movements slow and her head bowed, not lifting. “Plus, you know Gray’s getting married, right? That’s going to be a circus. I might move into the cabin and not come back. I’ll have to make sure Lowell didn’t leave it trashed the last time he stayed there, but absolutely. Talk to Vina and let’s compare some dates.”

Trapp traded knock-knock jokes with Rasst’s little boy, turning once the orcs had moved on, surprised to find himself alone.

Julia stood several feet away from him now, no longer smiling at the flow of passersby from the front of the table. Her movements were slow as she gathered up her bag, measured and deliberate in a way Trapp only noticed because he had spent his earliest childhood years reading microexpressions and learning to intuit when silence was peaceful and when it held the threat of raised voices.

His grandfather had only lived with them for a few short years, but it had been enough.

He, Jackson and Gray all joked that they were bonded over their shared childhood trauma in a way that they simply weren’t with their three younger siblings, but the joke was merely a smile the truth wore. They were his brothers in a way that Lowell, Owen, and Liam were not. Similar to the way Vinlop and Ragnam were his brothers in uniform, in a way the rest of the firehouse was not. They’d come through the ranks together, had each started in the box, EMT to paramedics, road trauma not shared by the members of Cambric Creek’s Fire and Rescue brigade who’d only ever worked on the fire side.

He had a smile for every script he found himself in, but the corner of his mouth faltered now. He didn’t know his line, and that wasn’t a position Trapp was comfortable in. Not at all.

Julia’s movements were still slow as she gathered up her bag, still not meeting his eye. His brows drew together when she swung the bag over her shoulder, realizing she wasn’t merely retrieving something from its depths.

“What—where are you going?”

Blue eyes met his at last. She did look tired, but end-of-the-year exhaustion wasn’t the only thing he saw there. “I’m going home. I told them I’d help until seven, and now it’s ten after.”

The notion of leaving a volunteer post before the event was done and dusted was completely foreign to him.

His mother had been the one to start this whole senior celebration festival years earlier, along with more than half of the other seasonal celebrations Cambric Creek loved so well. He’d been volunteered to help set up tables and stack chairs since he was old enough to do so, setting out paper plates and stacks of cups when he was even younger, every community holiday celebration, every picnic, every street fair. He’d been an official volunteer for so long, festival and fair worker should have had their own segmented entry on his resume. Leaving early when the party was still in full swing, when there was still so much to do, so much to manage, simply wasn’t done.

“It’s called healthy boundaries, Trapp. But you shouldn’t leave. You . . . you love this. You genuinely do.”

He did. There was no point in denying it.

He liked being the Hemming everyone liked. There would be eyes on his back regardless simply because of his name, because of who his father was, and he preferred the scrutiny to be frosted in fondness. He didn’t aspire to having his name on a monument, like so many Hemmings before him. He didn’t need to play Jackson’s game of respectability politics or Grayson’s cronyism. He didn’t mind showing up when he was needed, lending a hand to whoever had use of it. The town thrived on gossip, but memories were short. Better to fill the collective consciousness with seeing him everywhere, helping everyone, rather than disappearing and letting folks remember just how he’d wound up back in Cambric Creek in the first place.

“I do,” he nodded. “But you said you wanted to talk.”

Her smile was miserable as she edged around the table, ducking under the tent’s anchor rope without looking back. “We don’t need to do that now.”

Something tightened within him, his wolf whining in warning. Something was wrong.

“I think we do.”

Fortunately, Julia lived only a few blocks from the town square, in a duplex shared with a nurse at the hospital, a batperson who worked third shift and was rarely seen. The short walk was silent. Trapp had no idea what had happened to put her in such a melancholy mood, so unlike herself, but clearly something had happened. Something bigger than last week of school exhaustion.

Nothing that you did. Of that fact, he was sure.

Trapp mentally rewound the last month of their lives — they’d both been busy with work. End-of-the-year grading and new teenage drivers hitting the road with too much confidence, a soggy wet full moon followed by a subdued brunch at his parents’ house, everyone tired and grumpy after the soaked night.

He paused, wondering if her feelings had inadvertently been hurt that day. As the only human amidst their monthly brunch, Julia was the odd one out, but his parents never made her feel excluded. Did they? No, he decided. His mother was warm and welcoming with everyone, and his father . . . well, Jack was Jack. He possessed a low estimation of the human majority in general, but he was a politician by birth, if not by profession. His father had never treated Julia with anything less than the polished, slightly aloof pleasantness with which he treated everyone in town.

Her own mother had fallen a few months earlier, Trapp reminded himself, but her sister lived nearby and had been there through the following physical therapy. Maybe she’s worried about things that have nothing to do with you. After the moon, the rest of the month had passed peaceably, if not wetly, as expected in late spring. They had a comfortable routine and nothing out of the ordinary had rocked it. Nothing he could remember.

Her house always smelled faintly of her vanilla body butter and whatever simmer pot concoction she’d most recently obtained from Owen’s girlfriend. Today was an herbaceous blend of chamomile and mint, making his nose twitch as he stepped over the threshold. Both of them fell into unconscious habit a step before their brains. Shoes off, closest to the door on the mat beside the entry table, her keys dropped in the little ceramic dish the table held, her bag deposited on the kitchen island as she crossed the room, as he turned to close the door behind him.

Vanilla, chamomile and mint, and tension.

The smell of it was sharp, almost bitter. He could hear the nearly imperceptible shift of her pulse, increasing just enough to put the hackles up on his wolf. Trapp felt the whine within him but kept his face from betraying his unease.

It wasn’t strictly necessary to close the storm door, but he did so anyway. He shut the heavy door with a click, instinctively feeling as though this conversation, whatever it was, needed containment. He would treat this like any other blaze that needed extinguishing — starve it of oxygen and smother it with cooling platitudes, whatever Julia needed to hear to bring the sparkle back to her eyes.

Leaning against the wall partition between the miniature dining room and the kitchen, he waited as she puttered absently, moving a dishtowel from the sink to its hook on the cupboard, opening the door to survey the glasses, but removing none of them. When she turned, it was nearly a spin, as if she’d sucked in a breath and was moving on the momentum of it alone, her palms flattening against the marble-topped island.

“I’m leaving, Trapp.”

He blinked. “. . . Leaving. Leaving to go where?”

“Back to Alden Arbor.”

He exhaled heavily, relief slumping his shoulders. Back to her hometown. See? Nothing to do with you. “Sure, yeah. Is your mom okay? I know you said she’s still having some issues with that elbow. Will-will you be gone long? Not the whole summer, right? Is there anything I can do to help? You’re not moving her out of the house, are you? The boys and I can come up and get that done in one afternoon if you —”

“I’m not leaving for the summer.”

His voice cut off at her interruption, watching her mouth struggle over the words, finally shifting into a strained, sad smile. Not one that was part of the scripted repertoire.

“I’m leaving. I accepted that job.”

Her emphasis on the word “leaving” momentarily wiped his mind clean, obliterating all memory of which job she was referring to, the conversation coming back to him several beats later.

It had been months ago, shortly after the start of the year.

She had been withdrawn that whole month, since the holidays, if he were being honest. She’d gone home to Alden Arbor for a long weekend without him, just before her school term resumed in early January, while he was on duty at the firehouse. She’d come home from that trip quiet, even quieter than she’d been before she’d left, mentioning the job opening at the elementary school her niece attended, just blocks from her childhood home.

Trapp closed his eyes briefly, letting that night unwind in his memory.

It had been snowing. He loved the cold, crisp smell of falling snow and had been standing at the sliding glass door off his living room, his face out several inches, inhaling deeply, hoping it would carry through to the following week’s full moon. Julia had been curled up on the sofa, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea with a blanket over her shoulders.

“One of the fourth-grade teachers is leaving at my niece’s school,” she’d murmured, so softly he’d almost not heard her. “She’s finishing the year, but they’re moving over the summer. I-I really do miss that age. They’re still so sweet. I don’t know if I have it in me to stick it out at the middle school.”

He had crossed back to the sofa after closing the door, folding a leg under him as he’d sunk into the corner of the sofa, careful not to upset her tea. “It’s an adjustment for sure. I don’t think your kids are as bad as the junior high, but they’ve all got a lot going on at that age.”

“It’s horrible.” Trapp remembered being surprised by the vehemence of her words. “They’re all drowning in hormones. The weres are all on the verge of changing for the first time. I had a mothboy start literally cocooning to his seat. His parents had to come in and bring him home with the chair!”

“I mean, it’s a hard age. I get it, I was one of those ‘wolf howling beneath the skin, first turn is almost here’ kids. They can’t help it, you know. But I get it, you’re the one who has to deal with it all day.”

Julia had looked away, her hands tight around her mug.

“One of the girls — not in my class, thank stars! — She went into her first heat during the day. Came to school thinking she just had a stomachache. By lunchtime, she was out of control. You know what twelve-year-old boys are like! They had to put the whole wing on lockdown just to restore order, practically smuggle her out a window!”

“Puberty is a hell of a drug,” he’d laughed, throwing his hands up in defense at her glare. “I’m not going to pretend I didn’t get up to some shit when I was in middle school.” He didn’t share that by the time he was in high school, sniffing out who was on the verge of their heat had practically been a game, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate it. “And some of these parents are a little too woo-woo about things like heat suppressants. You can gentle-parent behavior, not biology. Those are the breaks in a mixed-species school. It’s always been that way; it’s not that your kids this year have been any better or worse. But I am sorry you’re the one stuck dealing with it.”

“I don’t know if I can for another whole year,” she’d sighed, leaning into his side, and the conversation had drifted.

He hadn’t realized she’d brought up the job opening as anything other than a segue into her complaining about her sixth graders, that she’d been considering it all along . . . back in her hometown. Human town, human school. Back where she belongs. Trapp flinched as the thought moved through his mind in his father’s voice.

“Wait,” he choked out in the present, shaking away the memory of that night. “The job at your niece’s school. Did — have you already signed the contract?”

He knew enough about teachers unions and the regulations on job postings and searches; knew enough to infer what her acceptance of the job implied. They had talked about this job months earlier. And she applied for it then. Without telling you. Applied and likely went through several rounds of interviews. She might have even gone back to interview in person. His firehouse schedule was forty-eight hours on, ninety-six hours off, and the first day of the off rotation was spent dead to the world, asleep. She could have easily popped out of town without his notice over the course of those three-day cycles.

She nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on the countertop before her. “I signed it last month. I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”

He bristled. A month ago. She knew a month ago that they were running down the clock, and had evidently been planning it for half the year by then. “Without even discussing it with me?! What about us, Jules?”

“What us, Trapp?”

He flinched again, not prepared for the bluntness of her voice. The windows stood open against the warm spring air, he realized, and the distant sounds of the town square floated through the screens in fragments of music and distant laughter. He hadn’t contained this well enough.

“What us am I supposed to be clinging to? The pretend-perfect couple everyone sees? Do you think it’s easy for me, deflecting every single time someone from the post office or the grocery store asks when you’re going to ‘pop the question and make an honest human’ of me? This is . . . it’s for the best. The school will be better off finding someone better equipped to deal with that age group. And I . . . I need to go back to a classroom where I’m not fighting against the tide every day. And I’m not starting from square one there; I already know the neighborhood and some of the administrators. After the holidays came and went . . . I needed something to change.”

Trapp stiffened. He knew what the holidays came and went meant, hearing nearly the same thing from his own mother. I can’t believe the holidays came and went and you didn’t get engaged! What are you waiting for?

He hadn’t known what to say then; still didn’t know what to say now. He didn’t know what they were waiting for, only that something wasn’t in place. He and Julia had discussed marriage early on in their relationship, both agreeing that they wanted to be on the same page with things . . . now it seemed they were holding two completely different books.

“So, this is because I haven’t proposed?” he demanded. “Or because you want to go back to teaching human kids? Because it sounds to me like it’s definitely one of those things, but you’re conveniently blaming the other. If you wanted to get married, why didn’t we ever discuss it again like adults?” He didn’t like his tone, liked the petulance of his words even less, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, but Julia only shook her head.

“I did, in the beginning. And I told myself I had to be patient because you told me you’d gotten married too fast once before. So, I waited. And then I realized what that would look like. You’re happy here. I don’t know if I am. And I didn’t want it anymore. And if we’re not moving forward, then what are we doing? What’s the point?”

The point is, we were a team. The point is, we were supposed to decide these things together.

“I can’t deal with figuring out these kids and your commitment issues. I’m tired.”

“I don’t have commitment issues!” His voice was louder than he’d intended, dragging a hand down his face, breathing hard. “I’ve been committed to you from day one, Jules.”

“I know you have,” she answered quickly. “Because we fit so well. We made sense. I fit perfectly into the attractive, inoffensive girlfriend-shaped hole at your side. But that’s what you’ve been committed to. The optics of who we play at being. And I want something more than that. I deserve something more than that.”

“I thought we were happy!”

She smiled then, that same miserable smile she’d given him as she left the tent.

“You’re happy, Trapp. You genuinely love this life. I don’t. I thought I would get used to being the only human at the table, but I haven’t. Don’t even pretend your father won’t be thrilled. You love this place, and you love your place in it. I’m just not cut out for the role. It took me too long to realize that.” She raised her hands, halting whatever words he’d been about to say. “I want to go home. I miss my family. I want to see my niece and nephew grow up. I want to be there for my mom. I want a life that feels like mine. Not a role I’ve been cast in. I love you, and I know you love me, but it’s not enough. I’m sorry, Trapp. But you love me in your life. And it’s not one I had a hand in building.”

***

The smell of fried dough had overtaken the scent of sweet candy floss on the air when he returned to Main Street. Trapp wasn’t entirely sure he’d meant to do so, but his feet had moved on their own accord, turning him off Julia’s street and back toward the center of town without need of his brain’s interference.

That was for the best. His brain didn’t have much to contribute at that point.

He’d been dumped.

He’d never been dumped before, he realized. He’d never been on the other side of an it’s not you, it’s me conversation, and evidently didn’t possess the common sense of a gnat to realize that was why Julia had seemed so quiet, so distant.

It’s not me, it’s you. That was essentially what she’d told him. It’s definitely you. Even when his short-lived and ill-thought-out marriage to his med school girlfriend had fallen apart, they’d called it quits together.

As he climbed over one of the barricades, letting himself back into the park, the evening reassembled itself into something recognizable. Comfortable and safe. The glow of twinkle lights stretched between lampposts, the overlapping aromas of fried food and grilled meat drifting through the warm air, the yowling voice of a bushy-tailed gnoll as his band tore through an upbeat cover of a pop song.

Trapp sucked in a lungful of air, breathing in the smells and noise, trapping it in his lungs until his eyes spotted, exhaling in a rush. It was as if he’d re-entered a familiar bubble, one in which the previous thirty minutes didn’t exist.

Someone called out his name as they passed, and he responded with his megawatt grin, raising a big hand, the motion of it so practiced that it required almost no conscious participation at all. A smile at his brother’s fox-tailed assistant at City Hall, a grin and a cheeky wave to the satyr from Gildersnood; easy, automatic, always on cue. Smiles from passersby who all knew his name, which he returned in kind, the expression settling onto his face with the reliability of deeply ingrained muscle memory.

He paused at the lemonade stand, refilling a tray.

She was right. He did love this.

This was where he belonged. This was where he made sense. Trapp Hemming, everyone’s favorite handsome werewolf. Trapp Hemming, local hero. Trapp Hemming, everyone’s friend.

“Trapp, are we getting you on that dunk tank tonight? I just assumed they were saving the best for last, but you’ve got us on the ropes now.”

“How could I not? You’d better have those dollar bills ready, Humah. I’m not stripping down to my skivvies for nothing. You’d better spread the word before the ATM runs out of small bills.”

The sylvan laughed, and so did the minotaur and naiad beside her. Trapp let the sound wash over him as he moved on, smiling at the harpy from the nail salon and winking at the frogwoman from the library. The sound of his name came from several directions as he wove through the crowd. The weight of hearing it was familiar enough to feel grounding, reminding him of who he was, even as something in his chest remained slightly misaligned, like a door that had been shut too quickly and not quite latched.

“Hemming! You taking a turn on this thing and putting these females out of their misery?”

The lemonade tray emptied as soon as he deposited it on the surface of the table, giving Magruh the same cocky, affable grin. “Sure thing, Chief. We wouldn’t want the committee to get complaints.”

Trapp moved to the outside of the tent on the far end, the area he’d been avoiding since the afternoon, where the tank of cold hose water waited.

Vinlop was just climbing out of the water, his long, lapine ears clinging wetly to the sides of his narrow face, shivering as he pulled his soaked Cambric Creek Fire & Rescue t-shirt away from his body with a squelch.

Trapp stripped his own off in response. He would be cold in the water, but that didn’t mean he needed to stay cold once he was out.

This was where he belonged. This was where he made sense. And Julia was right, he thought, even if it pained him to admit it. This was the role he was happy with.

A burst of high laughter caught his attention as he handed Vinlop a towel — a cluster of sable-haired selkies, hands over their mouths, head bowed, whispering about him, clearly. The selkie in the center held his eye as she reached into her clutch, pulling out a fistful of bills meaningfully.

This is a fundraiser, right? Show a little skin for a good cause. Xenna was right. It was for a good cause, and how could he, the town golden boy, not do whatever he could to pitch in? The girls nudged each other as he kicked off his shoes and socks and undid the fly of his uniform pants, shucking off the navy twill until he stood in his snug boxer briefs.

Reframing a bad situation had been another lesson from his childhood. Politicians in spirit, if not by trade; every one of them. He wasn’t dumped. He wasn’t a bad boyfriend; he wasn’t intrinsically unlovable. That’s not what this was. He was Trapp Hemming, ascending the dunk tank platform, grinning when he heard Xenna whooping from the crowd.

And he was single for the first time in years.

Adriana

By the time she rolled into town, it was already evening.

In just a few short weeks, the sky would still be light at this hour, the sun still bright and only just beginning its descent into the horizon, but for now, at least, the designation of evening still meant something tangible. Overhead, azure deepened to indigo, dotted with pinpricks of starlight and swirled with wispy threads of cotton candy-pink clouds so vivid she could almost taste them.

No. That’s actually cotton candy you’re tasting. Adriana scrunched her nose, deciding after a moment that she wasn’t imagining it — she could taste the sweetness of spun sugar on the air. Stopping at a red light, she leaned her head out the open window, hearing the not-so-distant churn of voices and the drift of live music. A carnival.

There had been a carnival when she was young, one that passed through town every summer of her wayward youth, and for those four nights, every July, she would join it.

Grunt work, mostly. Fetching cases of water to pour into goldfish bowls, running paper-wrapped sub sandwiches back and forth across the dirt, delivered to ride operators until her hands had stunk of onions, no matter how much she’d scrubbed them.

Every once in a while, she’d be given the responsibility of running one of the games or the kiddie rides, a heart-stopping amount of stress attached to the latter. She had no training, after all, and only the most cursory of instructions — make sure the brats are buckled in and turn the key — and she would hold her breath the entire time the ride ran, hoping against hope that there wouldn’t be some catastrophic accident on her watch.

It was a little like the ED. Adriana wondered if those balmy summer nights had been the start of her need for adrenaline-fueled victories.

She would be covered in sweat and grime, her face smudged in dirt from the non-stop clouds kicked up from the fair-goers on the lot, but her canvas belt bag would be stuffed with dollar bills by the end of the weekend, enough money to see her through the rest of the summer and ensure she actually had everything on her school supply list come September.

She still remembered the bitter sting of the year the full moon had coincided with the carnival’s stop in their grungy little patch of town, on the edge of the larger wolfpack. She’d been furious to miss it, furious with the workers, furious with herself, mostly, for being something so other that she was forced into missing the only opportunity her childhood self had at temporary solvency . . . but the fair had learned its lesson in the halved attendance, and they never came back on the full moon again.

Now the full moon had just passed, and she was a million years gone from that dirty-faced little girl, Adriana reminded herself as the light turned green, forcing her away from the familiar, mouth-watering smell of grilled sausages and kettle corn. You’ve got nothing to do tonight. Nothing to cook. Nothing to drink. The movers won’t be here until tomorrow. May as well unload this rig and come back over here, grab a lemonade to take home.

There was a slight bump in the road, causing her trailer to bounce as she shrieked. There had been a point several dozen miles back when she’d been forced to cross railroad tracks, and her soul had almost left her body as the trailer lurched over the crossing, convinced it would tip and take her small SUV with it, but somehow, it stayed upright.

She should have used a moving company. Adriana knew that would have been the smarter thing to do, preserving her back and her time, but she hadn’t. But you should have. It’s not like you can’t afford it. Whether she could afford it or not wasn’t the point, she argued with herself. It was a foolish waste of money when she was perfectly capable of packing up her apartment on her own. She was just as able to load up the midsized U-Haul trailer, hitched to her car, and drive it herself to Cambric Creek. Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.

Some of the money she’d saved on the move itself would instead be spent on hiring a handful of workers found on TaskGremlin, who would unload the trailer and carry the boxes to their labeled destinations throughout her new townhouse. Packing up her apartment had been one thing. Carrying those same boxes up two flights of stairs was something else entirely, and she could justify that spend.

Passing an old-fashioned streetcar on her way into her new development, she craned her neck back, able to make out the stop. Perfect timing. Don’t even bother going in, just park and grab that trolley.

She had only been to her new town twice. Cambric Creek.

Once, to walk the campus of the medical building, sitting for her first face-to-face interview and meeting several members of the private practice partnership. The job opening was for a new role, an extension of the office in an urgent care clinic, meant to be a bridge between the long-term treatment of the multi-species practice and the trauma ward at the larger hospital next door, easing the burden on both. It was a fixed schedule, a departure from punishing shift work, and, to her surprise, not even a loss of salary.

“And of course the biggest transition, the difference between emergency department treat-and-release and long-term patient care.” The speaker had been an immaculately dressed kitsune with glinting fangs and a sharp-edged smile. “Even though this role is for our urgent care office, you’ll still be seeing patients of the practice.”

“The main reason I’m looking to transition out of the emergency department is the lack of ability to form patient-based relationships,” she responded without missing a beat, giving the kitsune a sharp grin of her own. “Seeing nonhuman patients thrive, making a difference for families . . . isn’t that why we all entered medicine in the first place?”

The real reason she was leaving was that, as she’d told her therapist, she’d hit her limit, was burnt out, and was on the verge of needing an extended grippy sock vacation. Her anxiety had never been so constant, and the calmer environment and stable hours advertised by the private practice seemed like the answer to a prayer she’d not even uttered.

The second visit to Cambric Creek was still technically an interview, but it was with the other members of the practice, her potential new colleagues, and it had felt entirely informal.

Informal to an almost alarming degree, she’d thought, smiling outwardly and inwardly panicking as a sleek-feathered harpy bickered good-naturedly with a model-handsome orc over some new streaming series that evidently everyone was watching. Everyone except for people working back-to-back twelve-hour shifts in the city.

She would have to learn to unplug, Adriana had thought that afternoon, hoping her smile masked her inner terror at the mere thought. The harpy and the orc hadn’t seemed to notice, and neither had the managing physician, a handsome, golden-eyed shifter she’d met the last time she was there, and as the conversation moved on from the streaming series to the new bakery supplier at the local coffee shop, she counted the beats of her racing heart, feeling blood pound in her ears and the shifter’s eyes resting on her, and she wondered if the tachycardia would make her pass out right there in front of them.

She hadn’t. By the end of the afternoon, they and the other two doctors from the practice were welcoming her to the office, pronouncing her a wonderful fit. They think that now, she’d thought, moving across the parking lot on shaking legs.

From the hospital building, she’d moved on to the townhouse, putting eyes on her real estate investment for the first time since she’d placed her bid, sight unseen.

It had been a risk, buying the condo before she technically had the job offer in hand. Everything in the model condo she’d toured that day had seemed too new. New and untouched, too glossy . . . too fancy, if she were being honest. Three narrow stories, her bedroom on the top floor, its wide windows overlooking the backside of the town, and hundreds of acres of rolling greenery. She’d never lived anywhere like it, had never had anything like it that was hers.

The model didn’t have working plumbing, the only thing preventing her from stress vomiting into the toilet after her interview, the notion that she’d need to somehow fit in with her new co-workers making her dizzy. And that’s why you have a therapist.

Her explorations of the town had been short that day, circling around the business area closest to her development. A hardware store, a hobby shop, a manicurist.

Things she’d likely never need, Adriana thought, searching out the businesses she knew were actually useful. A laundromat, a gas station a few blocks up with an attached minimart, a grocery store she’d never heard of, always a good indicator that the items on the shelf would be off-brand. Her new townhome would come with its own laundry hookups, conveniently located on the third floor near her bedroom, and there had been an ad on the counter top of the model townhouse for grocery delivery from an expensive-looking deli, but life had taught her to know where certain businesses existed, whether she thought they would be needed or not.

When she went back to her existing life after that second visit to Cambric Creek, Adriana felt as though she was returning to an already-closed book. She never wanted to see the inside of the emergency department again. She was leaving her undersized apartment and the non-stop suffocation of her job for good, and had no intention of looking back.

A private practice in a quaint little suburb. Family medicine. Urgent care, but not in any way as urgent as what she’d been dealing with for years. Fixed hours. Leisure time. Permanence. She could scarcely believe it was going to be her life.

You’ll have to learn to unplug, to slow down. You can catch up on all the living you’ve missed, cultivate hobbies, go on vacation. Take up gardening. Maybe join a book club. Adriana took a deep breath as she’d returned home that day, ready to leave it behind.

You can be someone brand new there.

Now she was here, all her worldly possessions packed into a trailer that didn’t quite fit in her new driveway, hoping that anyone passing by that evening wouldn’t mind stepping through the grass to refind the sidewalk, running to catch the old-fashioned trolley.

Her hand clutched around a fistful of dollar bills in her open shoulder bag as she boarded, but there was no visible farebox or electronic validator.

A moth couple pushing a fat, caterpillar-esque baby in a stroller had come up to the stop behind her, and Adriana continued down the aisle, deciding to use their entry as her model on how to pay . . . but the moths never did, simply boarded and took their seats, the chime of the old-timey bell indicating the trolley was continuing on.

“If you’re going to the senior celebration, this is as close as we can get,” the driver called out cheerfully, just two stops later.

Adriana rose slowly, allowing the moth family and several other passengers to exit before her, emptying the car, pausing at the steps. “Excuse me . . . I-I didn’t see a way to pay, and I want to make sure I’m not—”

“Oh, this circulator is free, sweetheart.” The boar-faced driver was old enough to be her grandfather, grinning as she nodded jerkily. “Seven days a week. Although we only make the circle. You can find a map of the stops at the community center.”

“Oh, wow . . . how nice. Okay, good to know. Thank you,” she added quickly, exiting the trolley car to allow a group of goblins to enter.

The short walk to the barricaded Main Street was only a block or two, giving her the opportunity to take in the center of Cambric Creek for the very first time.

She had never seen anything like it.

Window boxes overflowed with flowers in front of Victorian-style buildings, housing a jeweler, a lingerie boutique, an ice cream parlor. Several bicycles leaned against the brick wall of a narrow alleyway between buildings without chains or visible concern for theft. The soft colors of the businesses were broken by a line of black awnings, emblazoned with the white outline of a manic-looking sheep. Baskets of color-coordinated flowers hung from the lampposts, just above pennants with the faces of high school students, all different species, presumably the graduating class. If that doesn’t scream disposable income community, I don’t know what does.

For a moment, Adriana forgot where she was going as she neared the square, her mouth agape at the excess of commerce that ringed the long park.

There was an independent bookstore with hand-lettered staff recommendations in the window, a kitchen store displaying copper cookware that looked too beautiful to ever contain actual food, a wine bar on the corner, whose outdoor tables were occupied by nymphs and trolls wearing light colors with the confidence of a bottomless dry cleaning budget as they held glasses of port and bordeaux aloft.

She took it all in slowly, gawking at the shiny gold cupola of the clock tower at the center of Main Street. An abundance of small business, all clearly thriving, people strolling the sidewalks, practically a neon sign advertising upper middle class over the building line. Towns like this only existed on television; that’s what she’d thought. Evidently it had been so long since she’d indulged in mindless viewing that one of them had wished itself into existence.

“Fluvia Jeene, if you don’t stop running right now!”

Adriana stepped back as an elementary school-aged goblin skidded to a halt at the end of the sidewalk, turning back to huff impatiently at her mother, who walked several yards back, chatting amiably with a willowly nymph.

“Better wait for mom,” she told the girl conspiratorially with a wink, stepping off the curb, hoping her mouth wasn’t actually hanging open in wonder as she took it all in.

People lived here. Not visited, not retired here after successful careers elsewhere. Lived here! There were actual families raising children in this place, young people and professionals, the doctors at her new practice. Fluvia Jeene was growing up in this place, and likely had no idea how lofty the status of her daily existence even was.

In Adriana’s experience, entry to places like this had to be earned, and the litmus test they provided to prove one’s worth wasn’t usually fair. It’s always about who you know. Never about how good you are.

“Did you even see that schedule? What are they thinking?! Swimming right before Mathletes? Who is getting their kid out of the pool excited to do math?!”

The speaker was a purple-skinned tiefling, pushing a stroller that could have doubled as an off-road vehicle, its cheddar frog-eating inhabitant never raising their head from a tablet they clutched. A selkie walked beside the tiefling, her own toddler strapped to her body in what looked like several hundred yards of stretch fabric, knotted hugely at her back.

“I almost hate to say it, but the schedule for everything was better when Sandi was in charge.”

She gulped. Toddler mathletes. These are the kids who will grow up to be the med school superstars, based on their connections alone. She certainly knew the type.

“I don’t want you spending all the money your grandmother gave you on candy!” a reptilian woman called out to the retreating forms of her own two children, cutting across the barricaded road, shaking her head when they disappeared into the central park without a backward glance.

These kids probably have a better-funded 401 (k) than you. How are you supposed to convince them you belong here? Adriana couldn’t help but wonder if the pocket money these children were given for a single night would have put her hard-earned carnival earnings to shame, before shaking the thought off, chastising herself. Get a fucking grip.

She’d always had a bad habit of getting ahead of herself, of catastrophizing, but preparedness was the doorway to perfection. It was good to establish the obstacles in her path early. All the better to circumvent them when the time came, and it was clear to her, just looking at this town square, that she would need to get her eventual story straight.

You’re not here to spiral. Go grab something to eat, find some lemonade. Fucking relax, it’s not like anyone is going to demand to see your credit score just to get a funnel cake. No one is going to ask you questions at the clinic either.

It wasn’t a carnival at all, she realized once she crossed the street and entered the park. It was some sort of street festival, albeit one with professional-level organization and amenities. There were no rides, but there were plenty of games, manned by what appeared to be regular townsfolk instead of transient workers who would be leaving along with their darts and spinning wheels at the end of the weekend.

Food tents within the green space were supplemented by a dozen different food trucks on the outer perimeter. Folding tables overflowed with raffle baskets, middle-aged trolls and shifters sold tickets spun off giant rolls, and every available patch of grass seemed occupied by camp chairs and coolers, her future patients everywhere she turned.

Adriana swayed, the smell of grilled onions and popcorn tickling at her nose. She felt a whine within her, cortisol rising, her animal skittishness on high alert. It had been years since she had seen a place that was so alive outside the ED, but there was no one in distress, and the only pressing decision she needed to make was what to eat.

See? Unplug. Slow down.

It was with that spirit that she located the grilled sausages, moaning a little at the first bite. Nostalgia washed over her again as she moved through the maze of tents, the smell of fried dough competing with the tang of vinegar from a food cart selling some pickled gnomish dish, served in foil. It was familiar in a way that nearly folded her in half, but entirely different from her own experience.

The games, at least, were similar to the ones she remembered from her own childhood midway — a ring toss, milk jugs, throwing darts at a wall of balloons.

“Do you know if they have the goldfish game?” she asked, smiling in a way she hoped seemed friendly at the green-skinned dryad who stood before the milk jugs, a basket of tennis balls before her. The handsome, dark-haired man who stood beside the dryad raised his brows, eyes widening, his smile never faltering, but tightening in a way that resembled a grimace for a brief instant that Adriana might have overlooked as a figment of her suspicious imagination, if the dryad hadn’t wrinkled her nose, eyes moving up and down Adriana swiftly.

“Uh, no. That’s like, super barbaric.”

The dark-haired man laughed lightly, shooting his companion a swift look.

“Barbaric is a bit strong. I don’t think they do that one anymore,” he directed at Adriana, with another warm smile. His tone was tactful, with a kindness she most often heard employed in pediatrics. His smile seemed friendly enough, though she could smell the wolf on him, her lungs squeezing around the nervous whine within her. Something about him tickled at the back of her memory, something she couldn’t quite place.

“You know . . . it’s uh, not great for the fish. I remember playing that one when I was young. My brothers and I would bring home half a dozen baggies . . . Poor things never lasted more than a day or two once you got them home.”

“I guess I didn’t think of that,” she murmured, cheeks heating. She felt oddly culpable. The fish toss had been her favorite game to work, and she had always gone out of her way to have conversations with each little bowl, giving the fish a pep talk, hoping they were enthusiastic about going on to their new homes. How many fish deaths were you complicit in, topping the bowls off with discount spring water? Of course it was bad for them! See? This is why you work in emergency and not in diagnostics. “Poor fish.”

“We have the same game, actually, but it's bowls of rubber ducks, if you’ve got a little one who wants to play. Probably four or five booths down from here, on the left.”

The werewolf was younger than her by at least five years or more, and there was no reason for him to seem familiar to her eyes, but the tickle persisted. There was something about him . . . and then he shifted, moving the plush dinosaur he’d been waving at passing kids, giving her a good look at the name tag he wore for the first time. Owen Hemming ~ Commissioner.

Hemming.

Adriana stiffened, cold moving up her neck like a ghost from her past had just licked up her spine, understanding why he looked so familiar. It wasn’t possible. She refused to even consider that she’d taken a job in the same city where he worked at the hospital. No, no, no!

“Are you related to anyone at Healers? The hospital?” she demanded, uncaring if her tone was suddenly crazed. What if he was here? What if he was a doctor in the practice?! She forced herself to exhale. He wasn’t. She’d met them all and already knew he wasn’t. But he might be at the hospital next door.

“No. I think that’s the one place we’re not,” he laughed. “Bit of a touchy subject, probably.” The younger man’s eyebrows had shot up again, his smile almost amused, eyes narrowing just a beat later as if he’d considered that she was asking to go to the hospital. “Is everything . . . do you need medical attention? Are you okay? I can call someone if you—”

“No, no,” Adriana blurted, taking a step back, cheeks burning in mortification. He’s going to call an ambulance if you don’t get it together. First you want a bag of mistreated fish and now you’re giving him the second degree about the hospital for no reason. Of course he thinks you need inpatient. Closer to that grippy sock holiday than you think. “I-I’m good. Thank you for the info.”

She whirled, breathing out at last once she’d moved on from the bemused-looking werewolf, allowing the crowd to swallow her up, hiding her completely. See? You’re being silly. She started her new job in just a few days, and there was no one at the hospital named Hemming. Of course there isn’t. There’s nothing from your past here. Nothing from the emergency department here. Nothing from your life at all. This is a brand new place and you can be someone brand new in it.

Adriana pushed on, treating herself to a funnel cake from the stand beside the lemonade, deciding that the people watching was more interesting than anything the makeshift fair had to offer. She’d thought she’d understood the concept of multispecies. The city she’d lived in for years was technically multispecies. Every single shift, she would treat at least a handful of goblins and trolls, occasionally even a minotaur or an orc, although they were farther and fewer between.

This, though . . . she had never seen anything like this.

Mothfolk laughed with satyrs, a centaur stood in line to buy raffle tickets behind a snake person. Children of every species ran pell-mell across the lawn, trailing balloons and bubble wands, clutching small toys they’d won at the various games. There were amphibians, minotaurs, ogres . . . and they all live here! Together! In this nice place!

The thought followed her as she joined the line for lemonade, eavesdropping as the sylvan woman in front of her greeted the teenager working the stand by name and asked after his grandmother’s knee surgery, then again when a different teenage volunteer, ostensibly the one taking payment, waved away her attempt to hand over exact change because “Jack paid for the rest of the line.”

The interaction lasted less than thirty seconds yet somehow left her feeling as though she’d accidentally crashed a private neighborhood barbecue where everyone knew everyone else and was too polite to point out that she didn’t belong. Who the fuck is Jack?!

“Well, now, here she is! Our new doctor! Welcome to town!”

Adriana started at the sudden voice at her elbow, sloshing the full cup of lemonade over her knuckles. Surely this was a bit. It was as if her inner thoughts were being broadcast over the microphone in the gazebo, advertising that she was crashing a private event. She was going to find a video of herself later that same night, making the rounds on social media, “whole town adopts clueless stranger.”

Either that, or she was about to be sacrificed in their profane ritual.

The speaker was a woman with a long, sheep-like face, her tightly coiled puff of hair secured with a bright pink band, a complete stranger to her eyes.

“I . . . what? I mean, I think you have the wrong—”

“You’re the new doctor, right? Oh my stars, you are, right? Can you imagine if I’m just randomly accosting perfect strangers for no good reason?!”

Adriana wanted to point out that was exactly what the woman was doing . . . but neither was her assumption incorrect. “I-I am? I mean, yes, I am. But how did you know?”

The sheep woman waved a hand. “Oh, I run the coffee shop. I know everything about everyone five minutes before it happens. I’m so glad you made it to the festival! Hard move? Kanar said you were coming from a bit of a distance?”

Kanar was the orc in the practice, a model-handsome pediatrician. Her face heated at the thought of being talked about. But this is just sharing harmless community news, right?

“I did, but it was fine. I-I moved myself. Workers are coming to unpack the trailer tomorrow, so I should be okay.”

“Love that, I’m a do-it-myself girl as well. Xavier? This is the new doctor!”

Adriana felt the flush spread up her ears when a man with the horns of a ram and long locs secured at the back of his head turned, giving her a warm smile, extending a hand. “Welcome to town. They are really looking forward to you starting at the clinic.”

“This is my brother, and this is my husband, Reg . . . Like I said,” the sheepwoman went on. “We know everything. If there’s anything you need help with, where to go, where to shop, I’m your girl. Now, make sure you open your welcome packet when it comes in the mail this week! There’s a pastry punch card in there for our shop — buy ten, get one free, and all teachers, medical, and first responders get a free medium house roast every day. And welcome to town!”

The smile Adriana gave the sheepwoman in response was more genuine than any she could remember crossing her face in months. They’re really nice and they give discounts?!

Her attempt to thank the coffee shop owners was swallowed by a sudden cheer rippling out from a nearby tent. She and the sheepwoman both turned in surprise, her brother leaning in to hear a reedy troll.

“Xenna, your man is stripping down. Ruby just said he’s next on the tank.”

The coffeeshop proprietress spun, her arms pinwheeling. She shoved a full bag of kettle corn in Adriana’s arms, sloshing the sweating cup of lemonade again, pulling off the bag she wore and thrusting it at the second ram-horned man.

“Hold my bag, Reg! We are getting that werewolf dripping wet tonight!”

“Should you be this excited to see that fireman in his drawers when I am standing right here?”

Xenna was already gone, pushing through the crowd with a fistful of money.

By the time Adriana edged her way closer to the noise, the crowd was so thick that she could barely see the platform. The man sitting atop it was practically naked, waving theatrically to the crowd he’d gathered.

Squinting, she tried to make him out . . . dark-haired with a lean, muscular frame, details she could only pick out based on the vaguely triangular shape of his upper body. Whoever he was, the town seemed deeply invested in his survival.

Or perhaps more accurately, she thought, surveying the whooping bystanders, deeply invested in ending it. This is like a public execution.

Another werewolf.

Her nose had picked them out of the crowd since her arrival at the square, one after another, able to smell them long before she could see them, a habit etched into the fabric of her very being. It was important to be aware of them, to know where they were, to determine if one was surrounded. Wolves, in her experience, weren’t friendly to her kind.

That’s only because you lived near the pack.

She knew it was technically true; knew that if her own pack had picked up and moved away from the wolves that had neighbored them, things might have been different. Her whole life might have been different . . . But they hadn’t, and there was no point in dwelling over a past that had never existed. The wolfpack had existed on the edge of the human city, and her smaller pack had clung to the fringes on the rim of that territory. Scavengers. Mongrels. Find your own space.

It was clear that the werewolf population in this town was ample, but none of them carried the smell of a pack. Maybe it won’t matter. You don’t have to let it matter.

A groan went up as the thrower struck out, and the wolf on the platform celebrated by dancing in victory from his precarious seat. The crowd erupted again as another throw narrowly missed the target. The man continued his cocky celebration, earning a fresh round of laughter from the spectators below.

Adriana found herself smiling again, in spite of herself. There was something strangely wholesome about witnessing a community comfortable enough with itself to create traditions built entirely around publicly humiliating someone they liked, werewolf or not.

She heard one of the balls find its target, striking the arm that kept the popular man upright a moment before he dropped. The assembled crowd seemed almost too shocked to react for a moment, erupting in laughter and cheers when he vanished, clapping and hooting as he pulled himself back onto the righted platform a minute later. She could barely make him out, but she knew he was dripping with water.

A brand new start in a nice little town, where everyone knew and liked each other enough to come together for an event like this. Nicer than anything she’d known before, but that didn’t have to matter either. She was tired of feeling as though her life was a series of temporary stops. Permanence. You can be anyone you want here. Nobody knows you. You have nothing to prove. Leave the anxiety behind and actually start living.

Her phone began to ring as she struggled to open her front door for the very first time a short while later, having hopped back on the convenient little trolley, juggling her lemonade, the second foil-wrapped sausage she’d purchased to bring home, and the bag of kettlecorn.

“Just making sure you didn’t have any trouble on the road. Everything go okay?”

Her mother never bothered with a greeting. Adriana was always vaguely mystified by phone conversations that started out with hi sweetie, hello dear, it’s mom, how are you? She and her mother simply started the conversation, no preliminary niceties involved.

“No problems at all. I got in a little while ago, no issues. Movers will be here early to unpack the trailer. I start work in a few days,” she went on hurriedly, not giving her mother a chance to tsk over the unneeded expenditure of saving her back. “I can’t be hauling boxes up two flights of steps. There’s a fair in town, so I went to grab something to eat before they shut down.”

“How’s the place?”

The place. A place didn’t need to have sentimental value. A place wasn’t the setting of one’s every childhood memory, four walls and a roof that represented security . . . a place was simply wherever one rested their head for the moment. Where they stayed without accumulating too much. Transience.

“The place is . . . nice. Really nice, Ma. Maybe you can make it out for a visit once I’m settled in.”

“Nice how?”

She understood the question. The instinct that had shaped every woman in her pack. Nice for people like us? Nice for the pack on the fringes, who made do with what they could? Nice like a used car one inherited from a relative, that might juuust make it through winter? . . . Or nice for people who took pictures for their Christmas cards wearing coordinated sweaters? Nice enough for her pack, or nice for the wolves?

Adriana suspected this whole damned town was of the matching sweater variety, regardless of species.

“Nice nice. I really like it here. It seems like a good community.”

Her mother let her go shortly after to be up early for the movers, but the call had done enough. Too nice for someone like you?

She was collapsing under the weight of the emergency department’s stress. It would break her if she stayed, had already broken her, and the thought terrified her . . . but it was all she knew. The thought of saying goodbye to the adrenaline rush and constant pace was terrifying in a completely different way. Who would she be, if she wasn’t Dr. Brunelli, fast and accurate, meticulous and thorough in the face of calamity?

Someone brand new.

Someone people liked. Someone with a life outside of work. Maybe even someone in a relationship. This was a nice place, and she was going to figure out how to make it feel like home, even if she didn’t know how to act like a person who was meant to live in a town like this. She’d not let her humble beginnings or lack of connections get in her way in med school, hadn’t let it slow her down at the hospital. She had always excelled professionally, and she would figure it out. She always had. Fake it till you fucking make it. No matter what.

Trapp

Grayson’s house stood at the rear of a snaking development, rising above most of the neighbors like a slate-grey wall of scaled roof and wide windows. Despite the absurdity of being a five-bed/five-bath layout for a singular part-time occupant — at least, at the time of its construction — the house was saved from ugly McMansion status by the classical lines of its architecture and the nearly full walls of glass, preventing its aura-suffering owner from ever needing to tolerate artificial light.

Trapp tapped in the security code, letting himself in through the side gate that evening, as he’d done a million times before, neither calling ahead nor knocking to announce his presence. He knew where his brother would be.

That, in and of itself, was an anomaly to which he’d not quite acclimated.

Once, Grayson had been entirely dependable. He was always working, was always up, entirely fueled by cocaine and ambition and an IV drip of coffee, always on, always reliable.

It had been that way since they were in school, hours apart. Grayson, at university; Trapp, the star of the local high school. Grayson at law school, Trapp in pre-med. Trapp in med school, Grayson chewing his way up the ladder at the biggest law firm in the unification on the other side of the country — always up, always reliable.

And then, once Trapp had come home, already retconning the previous decade of his life into something more palatable in Cambric Creek, Grayson had relocated to Bridgeton. Still always up, always on, his name above the door of his firm, something to prove. Reachable, reliable, closer than he’d been in years. Weekly drinks, monthly brunch. Always just a phone call away.

Trapp hadn’t realized just how much he had come to depend on that phone call.

Not until Grayson left the city, moving back to Cambric Creek full-time. They hadn’t lived in such close physical proximity to each other since they’d dwelled beneath their parents’ roof in side-by-side bedrooms. Grayson’s office at the Werewolf Defense League was right there in town, a stone’s throw from the firehouse, practically within walking distance to the Pickled Pig. They still met for drinks every Thursday, still had the monthly post-moon brunch at their parents’ house, but his brother was no longer plugged in twenty-four hours a day, always available.

Now, Trapp found that his calls sometimes went unanswered and his texts received responses hours after sending.

Gray’s new position came with stable, unbilled hours, and rather than showing his new non-profit overlords why he’d been a rainmaker at his previous firms, he seemed determined to prove the opposite point. He left his office at a set time each day and sometimes ignored his phone for hours after that, no longer invested in making his job his entire personality.

It’s called healthy boundaries, Trapp. Julia’s words rankled in his mind. He didn’t like the implication, said as if he had no understanding of “healthy boundaries.” As if being friendly and helpful were obligations that were unwelcomingly foisted upon him, when the opposite was true.

Her words were similar to what Grayson had said a few months earlier, when Trapp had challenged his new foreign attitude, shrugging unapologetically over his phone being on the dresser of the upstairs bedroom while he was down by the pool, forcing Trapp to trespass through the gate if he wanted his brother’s attention, which he had.

“This job is a stepping stone, not my endgame. They don’t like me. They don’t bother trying to hide it. And that’s fine, because the feeling is entirely mutual. They don’t have to like me. But I don’t have to run myself into the ground to prove anything, either. I’m putting in the same amount of hours as my predecessor, and he quit because of burnout. I can do this shit in my sleep, but they don’t need to know that. It’s good to have boundaries. You should try it sometime.”

Trapp couldn’t fathom any possible scenario in which he’d be so cavalier about being disliked. It was unthinkable. Disliked by his boss, by his co-workers . . . by anyone, really. The mere thought was untenable, and boundaries had nothing to do with it.

But Grayson had remained steadfast. When he returned to his giant house after leaving his office each evening, his phone was often left indoors while he retreated to his spa-like backyard. Trapp knew that was where he’d find Gray that night. It was a new sort of reliability, he supposed, one he sorely needed.

It had been two days.

Two days since the night of the Senior Send-off, two days since Julia had told him she was leaving. Quitting her job, quitting their relationship, quitting Cambric Creek. Quitting him.

Two days in which he hadn't been on at the firehouse, two days when he’d only seen his own bed for fleeting hours. Two alcohol-soaked days he barely remembered, only knowing he’d left the town square with one of the selkies the night of the fair and that it had been a steep slide into the gutter from there.

He vaguely remembered being at the Pickled Pig the following night. He remembered leaving with a dryad, one who wasn’t the same dryad he’d wound up with in the back parking lot later that same night at the Man-o-War, neither of whom was the huldra whose condo he’d slipped from as the sun was rising that morning. He’d woken beneath photographs of a family he did not know, beside a sleeping form whose name he could not remember, deciding that leaving quietly was the most generous contribution he could make to everyone’s morning.

Gray was stretched out on a pool lounger, eyes closed, bobbing in the water with a glass in his cup holder. If he’d heard Trapp’s arrival, he didn’t let on.

Trapp dropped ungracefully into a chaise, tipping his own head back and closing his eyes. He was probably handling this poorly. It was likely a bad look, but — taking a page from his brother’s book — he wasn’t sure that he cared.

He was the one who’d been broken up with. It wasn’t as if he’d told Julia that he wanted to end their relationship and then promptly fell into bed with someone else; no, he hadn’t initiated anything. And what breakup wasn’t best swallowed with a small side of debauchery?

Helping himself to a bottle of water from the table beside him — still cold, beaded in condensation, evidence that this had been Gray’s seat before he’d relocated to the water — he swallowed half of it in one, long gulp. His mouth still carried the stale, metallic taste of the last forty-odd hours of bourbon and bad decisions, while the ache behind his eye held the promise of worse pain if he didn’t take a breather to rest and rehydrate.

Tomorrow he’d be back to work, at least. Keeping busy, staying focused. He had no idea when the word would get out or how quickly it would spread, but once it became public knowledge that Julia would not be returning to the school, the whole town would eventually become aware and draw their own conclusions. The double-edged sword of being the most visible Hemming was that the visibility turned to scrutiny in the blink of an eye.

“I can smell you from here.”

Trapp glared toward the pool. He’d showered after returning home that morning . . . but he wondered if the smell of his poor choices clung to him the way he could still taste them. Grayson possessed an olfactory sense so keen that it was very nearly a disability, leaving him sickened by smells no one else could detect, adding to his lifelong migraines. It was possible his brother could pick out the smell of his two-day bender, but he wasn’t going to give Gray the satisfaction of sniffing himself to find out.

Grayson never lifted his head, but his eyes popped open, squinting as he took in Trapp. “Oh, wow . . . you look like shit, too. Consistency is important, I guess.”

Trapp barked out a laugh that surprised him with its roughness, sticking in his throat, nearly choking him. He hated feeling like this. He meant to say something glib, but the truth was in too much of a hurry to burst free. “Julia’s gone.”

His words earned no immediate reaction.

It’s not me, it’s you. Trapp let his head drop back again. He’d need to call Rasst, let him know that their annual weekend at the cabin was unlikely, would have to inform Mitzkin at work that he’d no longer require a plus-one to the wedding invitation RSVP they’d already sent in. He wondered when the gossip of his poorly-thought-out bender would reach the firehouse, and if he could head it off. There was no telling in a town like this.

No telling when it’s going to reach Mom. He shifted uncomfortably. Disappointing his mother in any capacity was in the top three things in life to be avoided at all costs, in between dying in a fire and getting hit by an 18-wheeler during the monthly turn.

Trapp had never bothered with the wolf-eat-wolf competition for his father’s attention. He didn’t need to be Jack’s favorite son, not the way Jackson and Grayson pursued it. He was comfortable, secure in the knowledge that he was their mother’s favorite, and he didn’t like to do anything that might rock that boat.

“Gone, as in ‘gone from this earthly plane of existence’ gone, or . . . ?”

His head snapped up at Grayson’s delayed response, scowling. Even if that was what he meant, Gray didn’t seem especially concerned. “What? No! She’s . . . she took a job out of state. Moving back home. She’ll be gone by the end of the month.” The end of the month was just a week away at that point.

He trailed off, letting the rest hang. That was the angle he could push. Julia had left for a job opportunity, and he wasn’t willing to leave his position in the department. End of the road, mutually agreed upon. Perhaps not the whole truth, but when had the whole truth benefitted anyone?

Grayson shrugged. “Well, that happens. What does that mean for you? You uprooting yourself to go run into burning buildings somewhere else? I’m not going to tell you not to, but your ass needs to be at the tailor here by the end of next month. So if you think moving out to West Potatoville is getting you off the hook for anything wedding-related—”

“I’m not,” he said quickly. “We-we broke up.”

Once again, Grayson did not immediately respond.

Trapp knew this trick. It was one their father employed as well — they let silence stretch, holding back their opinions, allowing the other party to continue rambling to fill the empty gap, closing the conversational noose without needing to fish. Lowell fell for it every time. Trapp could usually spot the deliberate pause and possessed the self-control their younger sibling did not, but his tongue was in the driver’s seat now, still drunk from the previous night and feeling sorry for itself.

“She broke up with me.” He swallowed the words down, disliking their sharp edges, pausing to finish the rest of the water. “Yeah, I mean . . . she’s moving for the job. She signed the contract last month, so I guess she’s been planning this a while . . . but she’s moving to get away. From me! From the whole town, but me in particular.”

Grayson snorted, using the tip of his toe to push himself off the wall, away from the sucking flow of the pool filter. “That’s actually a little impressive. You were such a shit partner that she has to physically flee the state! And here you are, looking and smelling like you were just peeled off the back hallway at the Man-o-War. Did you at least check to make sure your wallet was still intact before you climbed out of whatever hole you spent the night in? Is this why you’re sun blasting your asshole?”

He was wrong. Grayson was reliable after all. Reliably the fucking worst, and could be counted on to never be anything but. He didn’t know why he’d thought Gray, of all people, would have anything to offer that resembled sympathy. Trapp wasn’t sure if sympathy was even what he was looking for, but he certainly wasn’t going to find it here.

His face must have betrayed his irritation, for Grayson continued to hoot in laughter, smelling blood in the water and going in for the kill.

“You managed to get dumped by an elementary school teacher, Trapp. A human, at that! Do you have any idea how hard that is? They’re contractually obligated to see potential in hopeless cases. Julia spent all day convincing thirteen-year-olds that they would all amount to something, pretending that some punk shifter’s essay about Minecraft contained a compelling central theme, and somehow you convinced her you weren’t worth another semester of trying. I’m wrong. That’s hugely impressive.”

Trapp’s head found the back of the chair once more, his eyes closing. The ache behind his eye began to pulse. “We’re just going to pretend that you didn’t dismantle your whole fucking life at the first sign of relationship trouble, right? Cute. That’s convenient.”

Grayson continued to chuckle, halfheartedly paddling his fingertips to turn his float around as he drifted in a slow circle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You mean the five-year-plan job that’s going to get me elected to state attorney general? Or my beautiful fiancée, who’s about to put her name above the door of the firm I started? Which one is the life in shambles signifier?”

He continued to laugh and Trapp ignored him, wondering why he’d been stupid enough to leave his house in the first place. You should have slept. Sleep, eat, shower. Maybe hit the bar again for round three.

He refused to open his eyes when a splash split the water a moment later. The design of the long stretch of sloping property, walled in privacy fencing hidden in the pines, buffeted all surrounding noise, giving the deck a false sense of seclusion. He listened to the sound of his brother swimming laps, churning and methodical, the lull of it almost making him drowsy.

It’s called healthy boundaries, Trapp.

His boundaries were fine. He didn’t play into his father’s head games, not the way the others in his family did. He didn’t care about jockeying for a desk job at the firehouse, using his name to pave the way. He didn’t desperately need a seat at City Hall. He didn’t need to wonder about his place in the Cambric Creek heritage museum — he didn’t care. Julia was right. He was happy with his life, exactly as it was. And there’s nothing wrong with that. They can suck my balls with their healthy boundaries.

Trapp wasn’t sure if he’d nodded off or merely disassociated, his eyes opening in a glare when he was flicked with water. He’d not even heard Grayson exit the pool, but now his brother loomed over him like a mountain, rolling his eyes.

Grayson dropped into the lounger beside him, setting two condensation-covered bottles on the table between them before rubbing a towel over his hair.

“Okay, let’s get some perspective. First of all. She’s a human.”

“Do not give me one of Dad’s lines of bullshit.”

Grayson raised his hands innocently, flipping the towel to the chairback and whipping Trapp in the face in the process. “I’m just saying! Statistically, these things don’t tend to last. We both know that.”

“Statistically, that’s based on the entire wolvish population, which is heavily tilted by the packs. Of course, they’re not in relationships with humans. We both know that, too. Did you give that line to Lowell?”

“I gave it to the girl, actually,” Grayson countered immediately. “The last time they came to visit. She said he’s had her sleeping in mud huts and trekking through jungles. Said ‘him disappearing for two days a month is the least of her worries.’ I believe her. It’s probably the only time she gets any peace and quiet.”

At that, Trapp chuckled. Lowell’s human girlfriend was infinitely patient, a perfect match for their chaotic younger sibling.

“Secondly . . . What did you think was going to happen? I mean, it’s not like this is a surprise from the universe. You were together, what? Three? Four years?”

“What the fuck does that mean? You and Vanessa—”

“Vanessa and I are not the topic of conversation. And you know fucking damn well that we’ve only been together for a few years. Now she’s got me agreeing to wear pink tie to the wedding and have our ashes put in the same jar in the family crypt. Don’t even try it.”

“I honestly didn’t think she was unhappy,” Trapp admitted begrudgingly after a moment, taking the second bottle from Gray’s outstretched hand. “She never said she was unhappy! She never said anything! We talked about marriage early on, and then it was never brought up again. By either of us,” he added, scowling ahead of the comeback that he could already hear in his brother’s voice. “I’m so sick of everyone asking why I haven’t proposed. An engagement shouldn’t be a surprise. Why would it be my decision alone? Why would I be the only person in charge of deciding the next step of a partnership?”

He tipped the bottle back, choking when an unexpected carbonation hit the back of his throat. Fruity. Slightly floral.

“What the fuck did you give me? This is what you’re drinking now? Are you an elf?”

Grayson only grinned, opening his own bottle of the Elvish spritzer. “Low cal, surprisingly high proof, and they’re caffeinated. You get used to the flavor. Okay, ignore for a second that she didn’t bring it up. Humor me. What did you think was going to happen next? For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even live together. You’ve got a whole ass house to yourself, and she was living with a roommate like a fucking university student. I know you inhale smoke for a living, but surely that’s idiotic even to you, right? How did you let four years slip away without ever questioning what was next?”

Trapp sputtered, choking on the drink once more. He would have been better off going back to the bar. You might have gotten more sympathy from Dad at this point.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s because in the past two years I’ve gone from working twenty-four on, forty-eight off to forty-eight on, ninety-six off, and time is fucking meaningless? Christmas may as well have been two weeks ago! I know you all think my main job is making chili and judging the garden club’s bake-off, but I’m the senior shift paramedic. Vinlop and I are the only ones in the station licensed for flights. I train every new EMT. I still spend more time in the box than anything else.”

His voice shook with an emotion Trapp could barely define. Frustration. That’s what it is. Most of the family was the same as the rest of the community — they never saw him doing anything more taxing than grocery shopping and overseeing capacity at the Makers’ Mart. They weren’t there for the car accidents and cardiac events. They had no idea what a stressful shift actually looked like for him.

“So maybe it’s because for half the month I’m in a suspended state of tachypsychia? I don’t know what day of the week it is most of the time, so how am I supposed to keep track of months?”

“I don’t know what that is,” Grayson interjected. “And I’m willing to bet she didn’t either. If she were to walk through that gate right now, are you dropping to a knee?”

His mouth moved, jaw working, but his voice refused to participate. He didn’t know how to answer. Yes. He would fix things with her if he could. No. Julia wasn’t wrong — he liked his life as it was. When his silence persisted, Grayson raised his hand as if Trapp had proved his point.

“No,” he blurted, fist clenching, fiery irritation finally making itself heard in his voice. Beneath his skin, his wolf snapped. “No, I’m not. And she didn’t want that either; she said so. So how am I automatically the one at fault?”

“I didn’t say you were. But what the fuck are you upset about? The two of you had forty-eight months to figure out if there was a future, so if the answer is still ‘I don’t know,’ then it’s ‘no’ with extra steps. She just arrived there first.”

Trapp let his head drop forward, deflated, his anger evaporating. Grayson wasn’t wrong. He was the worst fucking hypocrite, but he wasn’t wrong. Julia hadn’t been either. But knowing that didn’t ease the sick feeling churning through him since he’d walked back to Main Street alone two nights earlier.

“I’m not saying you’re in the wrong.” Grayson clapped him on the back, too hard, nearly making him choke on the sip of flowery drink he’d just swallowed. “Things reached their natural conclusion. And she’s a human. So.” He shrugged with a grin, as if Trapp were meant to feel better.

“Whatever. I fucking hate this,” he grumbled. “Everyone’s going to have an opinion. Everyone. All over town. Mom’s going to be upset . . . I’ve got to get in front of it. It was for the job opportunity. She’s moving for a job opportunity. But then that doesn’t explain why she didn’t give the school a chance to counteroffer. . . She’s moving to be closer to her family. Her mom fell not long ago, and Julia needs to be closer . . . that’s what I’ll say when it comes up.”

Grayson’s sharp bark of laughter echoed across the water. “That’s what you’re upset about. That’s what has you smelling like a distillery. Not the end of your relationship. Not because you’re heartbroken. But the possibility that someone, somewhere, is going to think badly of you. She’s probably still packing her trunk and you’re already rewriting your version of things.”

“Oh, fuuuuuck you. Don’t even pretend that you don’t do the exact same thing! This is a page out of your playbook; yours and fucking Jackson’s. And while we’re at it, don’t pretend you didn’t fall to pieces when you and Vanessa split up. Sure, you acted like everything was fine, but I was witness to it.”

Grayson shook his head, still laughing. “Trapp, you are wholly invested in being everyone’s best friend. I could give less of fuck about the neighbors. It’s good to have a strong public game, but not at the detriment of your actual life, you dumbfuck. This is all for me.”

Grayson gestured around him. Trapp winced at the volume of his brother’s voice, wondering if the sound carried out better than it traveled in.

“It’s not to impress the neighbors. It’s not to goad the assholes in the old neighborhood. I don’t care if the minotaur from the gym whispers about how much I spent or how much land had to be cleared. I don’t care if Xenna thinks I should have been happy buying some shitty little house in the flex developments and be forced to go to the pisswater public pool. Because the second that gate closes behind me, they don’t exist and I don’t have to smile for fucking anyone until I leave again. And you’re right, I was upset when Vanessa and I split. But I was upset about us. Not over the neighbor’s opinion. And tonight she’s going to come home, and we’re going to do our skincare and float in our pool and watch a video from the caterer, and I’m not going to spare a single fucking second wondering how I might be perceived by a stranger at the coffee shop. That’s all you think about. You’re so wrapped up in other people’s opinions that you can’t take a shit without wondering whether it’ll offend someone on the other side of town. You can’t spend your whole life walking on eggshells in this place, Trapp. What’s going to happen when one of them breaks? So are you upset that your girlfriend dumped you? Or because the cashier at the fucking grocery store might have an opinion about it that doesn’t involve you being the good guy?”

He never got a chance to answer. They were interrupted by the sound of a car door slamming on the other side of the gate, both of them going quiet.

Trapp swallowed thickly. This was another part of the new normal he hadn’t realized would be such a hard adaptation, not one he even liked admitting to himself.

Once, Grayson had been entirely dependable, and that included dependably single. Too career-minded, disinterested in monogamy, too unwilling to make time in his schedule for anything but his ambitions. All of that had been upended when Vanessa had started at the firm. Now he was getting married, and everything was going to change.

“I never thought the day would come that we’d lose him to a nine-to-five job and a psycho girlfriend,” Lowell had laughed weakly, that last time he’d come home for a visit.

They’d been at the Pickled Pig. Trapp had opened his mouth to tell Lowell he was wrong, but the words had stuck. He liked Vanessa. Despite his brother’s revision of the past, Trapp knew that in the few months Gray and Vanessa had split, he had been in shambles. She was good for him . . . but Lowell wasn’t entirely wrong. Grayson had gone from a nihilistic workaholic with a girlfriend in the city to someone entirely content to sequester himself in his suburban yard with his wife-to-be and little else beyond wedding planning.

“She’s not psycho,” Trapp had corrected eventually, but the underlying sentiment lingered.

As he listened to the sound of the back door sliding open, Vanessa crossing the first deck, he considered that perhaps his relationship with Julia might have repaired itself, had they lasted through the wedding.

Trapp knew that made him sound terrible, but that didn’t make it less true. A family like the Hemmings — large, close, even if their personalities oftentimes clashed — was a safety net, one his girlfriend hadn’t had here in Cambric Creek. If she’d stayed until after Grayson’s wedding, perhaps Trapp would have been more invested in their relationship. That makes you sound like a fucking monster. You deserved to be dumped.

His inner voice wasn’t wrong, but neither was his rationale. Grayson had been his person from the moment Trapp had been born, closer than the rest of their brothers ever had been, and his relationship with Julia hadn’t changed that . . . but now his person had a different person.

“Holy shit, I have been daydreaming about this since lunch,” Vanessa exclaimed, approaching the pool, passing both their chairs. She’d changed into tight shorts and a cropped t-shirt, crossing the deck to where the bar stood beneath a shaded pergola. “Do we want to try the black caviar? Or stick with that 24-karat gold snail mucin?”

Trapp watched in fascination as she opened a small tabletop refrigerator, carefully applying black jelly under-eye pads in response to Grayson’s answer, before moving to the other side of the deck, where a matching lounger rested half out of the pool. It was the strangest version of a his-and-hers pastime he’d ever witnessed. Pushing the pool lounger into the water fully, Vanessa dropped into it backward, sending the float to their side of the pool with a small bounce as she groaned.

“This is it. This is all I’ll ever need to be happy again.”

“I’m going to pull that up on the security footage and save it,” Grayson informed her, pushing to his feet from his chair beside Trapp’s, crossing to where his own pool lounger bobbed against the wall. “I don’t understand why they won’t let us work from home. We’d never have to get out. We need to pick what’s going on the grazing table so that it can be sent to the farm.”

Trapp watched a projection screen lower from the pergola, as Grayson splashed back into his float. If he didn’t leave now, he’d be stuck watching wedding catering videos, a reminder of his newly single status.

“Oh no, what’s wrong?!” Vanessa’s words were directed toward Trapp, her eyebrows raised as she took him in for the first time since her arrival. Apparently, he did, in fact, look like shit, it would seem.

“The human dumped him,” Grayson supplied, already chuckling.

“Oh no!” Vanessa’s eyebrows were at risk of disappearing into her hair as her head swung back to him. “What happened!?”

Here you go, trial run of your version. He already knew that regardless of what he said, Grayson would tell her a different story the moment he left, but that didn’t matter. Vanessa was about to become a Hemming, and if nothing else, she seemed to understand what that meant publicly. She, too, knew how to stick to the script.

“She was offered a job in the school district where her mother and sister live, out of state. Her mom fell last year and has had a rough time with the physical therapy . . .” He took a deep breath, schooling his features, affecting a sad smile, as if he were announcing the departure of a butterfly he’d hatched. Sad to see it go, but knowing it was an inevitability. “She’s making the best decision she can. I don’t blame her for it. But that doesn’t mean I’m willing to just leave the department, not when I have so much seniority.”

Grayson clapped, loud and slow, as Trapp’s smile slipped back into a scowl. Vanessa’s head moved back and forth between them, her brows in danger of moving off her face entirely.

“Bravo. That was a magnificent first take. You even managed to work in the seniority angle! I would really zero in on the mom bit, lay it on thick. She didn’t have a choice . . . but neither do you, if you and Vinlop are the only medics at the station who can respond to critical care situations. What are you supposed to do? Move to Potatoville and mow the lawn at the park on weekends? That would be an irresponsible use of your already wasted education. By the time you deliver that at the coffee shop, I have no doubt you’ll somehow manage to make it sound like breaking up was your idea.”

Vanessa scoffed, splashing Grayson as he laughed, shaking her head. “Don’t listen to him, Trapp. We both know he can’t help it — he’s terminally an asshole. Regardless of the reason, I’m really sorry to hear that. I liked Julia a lot.”

“Go clean yourself up so I can take you to dinner this week. I have an invite to that private supper club thing Dragnar is starting. Oh, I almost forgot with all your crying . . . Shay said they hired a new doctor for that clinic. Apparently she went to Mercy. He said he texted you while she was still interviewing to find out if you knew her, but you never responded.”

“Yeah, you know what? You are taking me to dinner. That’s the least you can fucking do. Steak. Lobster. Full whiskey flight. You already know my phone is busted. And a lot of people went to Mercy. I don’t know all of them. Do you know every sixty-two-year-old socialite on the Eastern seaboard just because you fucked one of them? No? That’s how stupid you sound.”

“Woooow,” Vanessa laughed. “You two are relentless.”

“Go home, work on it in front of the mirror a few times,” Grayson continued as if Trapp hadn’t spoken. “Get in front of it early enough, spread it around. Once Julia’s version of how terrible you are gets out, you’ll already have swayed public opinion. Who are they going to believe? A human? Express how your heart is still open to love, despite this temporary setback. I’m sure you’ll have it ready by the time you hit the station.”

Trapp had already turned his back on the pool, making his way to the side gate with his arms raised, flipping his brother off with both hands. A swift glance over his shoulder showed Vanessa carefully applying a second set of the eye patches to Grayson’s face, bobbing beside him in the water, a domestic tableau he felt too raw to witness.

“Shake it off. Get laid. Don’t pick any stupid fucking fights I’ll have to rescue you from. And don’t ever come to my pool smelling like a donkey’s asshole again,” Grayson called to his back, as Vaness laughed. “Sun blasted or not.”

Gray was right. It was a good first take.

He’d need to mentally work through the variables, come up with a few conversation-ending details that would make it clear neither he nor Julia was exiting the relationship on bad terms. He’d be back at work selling his side of things before word of his two days of indiscretion spread, and by then, no one would care. After all, he was single again, looking to mend his bruised heart.

It had been worth coming over. Grayson never made anything easy, but he was good at this. He talked shit, but he understood optics. More than that, he understood Trapp better than anyone in the world, for better or worse. He’s right. You can make it sound like splitting up was your idea. By next week, she’ll already be gone, and your version will be all that matters.

Adriana

She immediately established a routine for her days.

It felt important to do so. Adriana knew too well how easy it was for the calendar to spiral and unwind, days slipping into each other until entire months passed without her notice, seasons changing in the blink of an eye before she realized she’d never actually gone outside to enjoy any of them until they were long gone.

Now you’ll have a set schedule to plan an actual life around. Get up, get moving. Go outside and breathe fresh air. Maybe you can take up yoga. It seemed unlikely, but who knew what the new version of herself might enjoy.

She was up and productive shortly after sunrise, the empty townhouse feeling echoey, stopping at the Black Sheep Beanery for the first time to grab her free medium house roast and the first punch on her pastry card, despite the coffee machine she’d unpacked sitting there on the countertop, staring at her reproachfully. This is where everyone goes, right? You want to fit in, so this is what you need to do, too. And it’s free!

“Heyyyy, there she is! How did the move go?” exclaimed the friendly sheepwoman, as soon as she spotted Adriana in the line.

Xenna. And her brother is Xavier. “Pretty easy,” she responded with a bright smile, one she had practiced in the mirror the previous evening. A smile she hoped said Hi, I’m one of you. “The movers were quick and I got everything unpacked. The only setback is my lack of stuff,” she laughed gaily, as if the same observation hadn’t had her clenching in anxiety the day before, imposter syndrome threatening to bust through the wall like a giant, sloshing pitcher of red dye 40 and exclaim that she needed to get her raggedy, scavenging ass out of town.

Several hours had been spent unpacking her boxes, doing her best to turn the empty townhouse into something that felt permanent; a job that would clearly require more stuff than she currently owned. As it was, the rooms felt empty even with her belongings unpacked, bigger than anywhere else she’d lived previously, vast and echoing without the decorative filler that made a house a home.

You need to start spending like someone who lives in a place like this. Tomorrow, you should buy one of those baskets full of throw blankets. Every cozy small town movie has a basket of throw blankets somewhere. And a goose at the front door.

“Plants,” the sheepwoman advised over the counter. “That’s what you need. Nothing like a bunch of potted plants to pull a room together. You’re over in the townhouses on Finchmere, right?”

Adriana blinked, keeping her smile in place as she nodded, even as she shuddered internally. It was going to take time to get used to strangers knowing far more about her than they should. “I am!”

“Then yes, definitely plants. You have so much natural light! When you leave here, turn left out our main door, and then take the first left at the corner. Viol, Violet, & Vine. Three shops from the corner, with the big cathedral windows. They’ll set you up with what you need.”

Her chest felt full as she nodded her gratitude, not trusting her voice right away, thanking Xenna on her way out the door once her coffee was in hand.

See? It’s that easy. You can do this.

The shop itself was easy to find. Swallowing down the apparent cost of plants and their upkeep, on the other hand, was very nearly too big a mouthful for Adriana to commit to chewing.

“How much?” she asked, agog at the placard beneath the leafy green monstera.

The svelte beetlewoman proprietress and her sister were only too eager to help her spend more money than she could have fathomed on several large potted houseplants they’d advised — a braided ficus, a burgundy rubber tree, the tropical-looking monstera.

“Well, this is a mature plant,” one of the sisters hummed. “And it’s a specialty cultivar for the size . . . but of course, we have smaller cultivars here. It’s entirely up to you, dear. It just depends on what you’re looking for.”

Something big, something that looked as if it had permanence, that would make her empty living room feel permanent by proxy. Far bigger than the smaller cultivar the beetle woman had pointed to. She had a cactus in a little terra cotta pot, one that had traveled with her to several different apartments, transient living for a transient life. BLOOM WHERE YOU’RE PLANTED was painted on the side of the pot in a curling script.

It seemed like good life advice on its face, but Adriana knew the uglier truth in that. No matter where she went, she was forced to bring herself along. “I’m trying to make my new townhouse feel like an actual home,” she admitted. “Something permanent. Not just a big empty box.”

The sisters nodded sagely. “Well, you definitely have good instincts choosing plants for that. And you know, dear, caring for living things transforms us. It’s not just a decorative element, you understand. There’s a deliberate mindfulness in the daily care that’s good for stress—”

“—and blood pressure,”

“—and lowers cortisol. Plants improve our mental health—”

“—the same way pets do. Caring for another living thing improves us, body and soul. And the delivery is included!”

Adriana swallowed when the sisters finished. Improving her mental health and blood pressure actually seemed like a good deal for the cost, when they put it that way. “I’ll take it. All of them.”

The whole town was going to know where to find her by the end of the day, she thought, leaving the shop after providing her address to the sisters.

A shiny copper teapot from the kitchenware store she’d noticed that first night of her arrival was her next purchase, a lamp with the sort of voluminous shade one might find in a Victorian tea parlor in another shop, and then — there it was. Bleached wicker, neutral and unobtrusive, the perfect basket to live beside the sofa. You can buy the blankets online. If you get them in one of these shops, you’re going to wind up eating mac and cheese for a month just to justify what you’ve spent today.

***

She was in line at the coffee shop at the start of the new week when it happened again.

“Gora, can we get the Hemming delivery order started?” Xenna’s brother casually asked a petite goblin who was disappearing through the swinging door on the other side of the coffee shop’s counter.

Hemming. Adriana flinched at the name, unable to help herself. It’s fine, it’s just that guy from the fair, probably. Right? She huffed, mumbling under her breath, able to perfectly envision his cocky smile. Trapp. Kissable, punchable, popular, perfect Trapp Hemming. The bane of her existence for years. The best sex you’ve ever had and the biggest asshole you’ve ever shared a table with.

“Hey, Doc!” Xenna called out, stepping up to the counter, noticing Adriana immediately. “Is today the big day?” the sheepwoman asked, waggling her eyebrows as Adriana beamed up from her place in the coffee shop’s line.

“It is! First day in the new clinic. I’m excited to start!” So excited that she’d already thrown up twice, but they probably didn’t need to know that. “It’s going to be a nice change of pace from what I’m used to, that’s for sure.” Adriana shifted, trying to decide if she was brave enough to give voice to her internal panic, deciding better to embarrass herself here than run into him outside the clinic’s door. “Hemming . . . that’s not going to the hospital, is it?”

“Oh, no, it’s for Sandi. Just going upstairs to the office. You were in the ER, right? That’s got to be stressful.”

Her spine straightened; once again, the fact that they seemed to know her already making her stomach churn. “Yes, emergency department. And it was. Stressful, I mean. I don’t think I’m going to miss it. It’ll be nice to actually get to know my patients by more than their chart,” she went on hurriedly, remembering the kitsune’s words from her interview. “Especially since this seems like such a tight-knit community.”

“Up each other’s asses, you mean,” Xavier piped up from behind the espresso machine, making the troll who was running cold drinks laugh. “My sister really ought to have a proctology degree hanging on the wall back here.”

She laughed along with the others standing at the counter when brother and sister began to bicker good-naturedly, accepting their ‘good luck’ and ‘you’re going to be great!’ as she left, breathing out her relief. See? You can be one of them. Now all you need to do is show them how valuable you are at work and you’ve got it made. She didn’t know a Sandi Hemming, and she didn’t need to meet them.

***

“Dā?”

The dragonborn sitting beside the examination table gave her a bright, toothy grin as Adriana entered the room after knocking, answering in the affirmative. “That’s me!” She punctuated her words with a dramatic blowing of her nose, her purple hair swinging. “You’re the new doctor?”

“Yes, I’m Dr. Brunelli. I understand you’re having an issue with allergies?”

Adriana stood before the rolling cart in the small exam room, tablet in hand. The dragonborn’s chart looked refreshingly uncomplicated, and nothing at all that required a visit to urgent care. Seasonal allergies. Persistent congestion. No fever or facial tenderness beyond expected sinus pressure.

“We’re all so glad this office has reopened! Sometimes you need to be seen and it’s not something that can wait for an appointment in the regular office, you know?”

“Allergies should be addressed with your primary care physician,” Adriana corrected. “Especially if it’s a chronic condition. You’ve been dealing with the symptoms for about a month now?”

“So you just moved to town?”

She looked up, blinking in surprise. The dragonborn had ignored her outright, turning the conversation with an off-topic question of her own. “I . . . yes, I did. Just over three weeks for your symptoms?”

“Oh! Yes, ever since we started relocating the apiary collection. From the Applethorpes, you know. It’s been down in the bowels of the building for ages, but we’re starting a new seasonal rotation of the front room. Have you been to the library yet? Did I mention I’m a librarian? The whole front collection was turned into all things garden. The historic texts can’t be checked out, but anyone can come and look through them. You should make time to stop in! Especially if you’re interested in keeping bees, there are handwritten notes in the ledgers!”

“So this was potentially triggered by a dust allergy?” She had no idea what an apple thorpe was, trying to glean something, anything useful from the patient. “Or by a fruit?”

“Oh, the basement is definitely dusty. And moldy. That’s the thing about historic buildings — they’re not always watertight. You’re over in the townhomes, right? That’s what I heard from Meraldine. She works in reference? All new builds must be nice. You won’t have to worry about the roof leaking or faulty wiring . . . You should check the calendar to see if you’re free for one of the library sales!”

Adriana gave the dragonborn a firm smile when she sneezed again. “If you’re frequently around dusty items that might be holding some mold spores, I think I’d like you to start using a steroid-based nasal spray, in addition to a preventative antihistamine. Rhinitis and scales don’t mix well, so you want to get ahead of this proactively.” Adriana smiled as she stood. “We’ll send this over to the pharmacy today. Deneen will give you your discharge paperwork at the desk.”

The dragonborn nodded, just as enthusiastically, but made no move to stand.

“It was nice meeting you.”

Another nod, accompanied by that same smile.

“Was-was there something else you needed?”

“Oh! Are . . . are we finished already?”

Adriana’s eyes cast around the small examination room, certain she was going to find another patient hidden there, perhaps this patient’s child, some gotcha moment waiting to trap her . . . but there was none. None but the dragonborn named Dā, her purple hair and post-nasal drip. She blinked again.

“Yes. You’ll be notified by the pharmacy when your prescription is ready. And since this is an ongoing issue, it needs to be addressed by your primary care physician. Deneen will be able to schedule that appointment for you at the desk. Have a nice day.”

She did not spare another look back as she left the exam room. It had taken less than ten minutes. If the majority of the patients waiting in the room beyond were that easy, she’d have the board cleared well before break. After all, no one currently in the waiting area appeared urgent to her eyes.

A blue-skinned woman was pleading with two web-fingered tweens to stop fighting over the tablet they were meant to share, while across from them, an elderly faunish couple shook their heads judgmentally. There was an orcish middle schooler with a terrible cough, a college-aged goblin sitting with a bag of frozen peas on her knee, and a mottled grey mothman, holding his elbow, scowling at the rest of the room.

It had only taken a day or two to understand that the staff she’d inherited from the general practice upstairs had never been introduced to the concept of urgency, an attitude, she discovered, that carried over to the patients, despite the name over the clinic’s doors. Unlike the frenetic pace she was accustomed to, her first week at Healers Urgent Care Clinic had passed with a plodding domesticity, crucial minutes wasted on meandering conversations from the coffee machine to the reception desk, extending into the examination rooms.

It would take time to break them of the habit, Adriana reminded herself, looking over the chart for exam room three, her hand already resting on the door handle. Anyone could be trained, and the staff here was no exception. And once the staff understands, the patients will stop expecting every appointment to be a social hour.

“Deneen will check you out at the front, Ms. Hemming. I really do hope the bread is worth it,” Sora, the trollish nurse practitioner, laughed, just two doors down, standing in the open doorway of an exam room.

Adriana felt the icy finger up her spine again, intuition forcing her to turn slowly, preparing herself for the sight of his wife coming out of the room . . . but the dark-haired she-wolf who passed the troll was not the same werewolf she remembered from med school.

“Oh, it had better be! A little blood in the batter is just extra protein, right?”

“Let me guess — mandoline injury?”

Adriana startled when she realized she had asked the question, unable to help herself, forcing the werewolf to turn.

“I should have known better,” the dark-haired young woman laughed, facing her at last. Short, choppy hair with a thick magenta streak, a ring in her nose, a tattoo up her neck, nothing at all like her poised and perfect former classmate. “The zucchini was calling to me. I should have resisted!”

“I’m Doctor Brunelli.” That voice was still coming from her own mouth, her hand extending to shake the wolf’s, and Adriana felt utterly left out of the decision-making process, watching like a spectator.

“Oh yeah, I heard we were getting a new doctor! Rina Hemming. Nice to meet you. I’d offer to drop off some bread for the staff, but I’m not sure it’ll meet safety regulations. I wouldn’t want my cousin to issue a citation.”

Sora and Shileen laughed, and Adriana watched as the young woman disappeared, slumping in relief, slotting the names together in an order that made the most sense. Rina. Her cousin was the commissioner at the fair. Sandi was maybe a mother or a sister. She had a feeling this was his extended family, the resemblance too strong, but she was safe. You can stop spooking every time you hear the name now.

The goblin and her bag of peas proved to be no more than a deep bruise, while the orcish middle schooler’s rapid strep test was positive before the reagent had fully climbed the strip. She was tapping in a prescription for an antibiotic, checking and double-checking her math to ensure the proper dosing for the species, when the errant medical assistant turned into the central desk.

“Exam four,” Adriana handed off a streptococcus information sheet. “Let them know an oral antibiotic is being called into the pharmacy. Twice a day for ten days, instructions are on the order.”

“Oh! Oh-okay! They can go? You don’t want to talk to them again?”

“They can go once you give them the orders and they check out up front.”

The goblin exchanged a fast look with the nurse coming from behind the counter, but Adriana was already moving down the hall, turning into the next room.

The mothman within, despite acting as though he’d sustained a catastrophic injury and needed to be transferred to the trauma ward next door, had merely banged his funny bone.

“It’s an unprotected nerve, and I know it hurts,” she assured him after reviewing his chart and hearing, in his words, how he’d injured himself. “But you said this happened close to two hours ago. Does it still hurt?”

She had already assessed the area — no damage to the humerus or cubital joint, no reaction as she probed. Adriana was certain he’d not even have a bruise in the morning. His scowl told her everything she needed to know, pulling his arm away as if she’d stabbed him, harumphing as he stood when she held the door open.

The board was halfway cleared, and she hadn’t even broken a sweat yet.

She was crushing it. This is how you train them — by setting the example. If they’re keeping up with you, they’re not wasting time that could be spent in the next exam room.

She still felt as though she were playacting in every interaction in town, every trip to the coffee shop, the completely overwhelming and shockingly expensive grocery store . . . but this she was good at. At this, she was the best they could ask for.

***

It was a conversation that wasn’t meant for outside ears. She could tell that immediately from the way the woman silently slipped through the shop’s door, phone already held to her ear, her face grim.

The shop was empty, save Adriana, with not even a visible clerk. Leathergoods, she realized once she’d stepped over the threshold, a small powder blue journal sitting in the window having caught her eye from the street, pulling her in like a reeled fish. Her therapist had mentioned journaling would be an excellent way to relieve stress and process her emotions, and the pretty blue journal would look right at home on the tiny antique secretary’s desk she’d had since childhood, a hand-me-down from her grandmother’s house.

Eighty-four dollars. For a notebook.

Her hand retreated. Not because she couldn’t afford it. That, perhaps more than anything else, remained the part her brain still had trouble working out. Price tags no longer represented impossibility, only permission she still had a hard time granting herself. For a notebook?!

It was then that the woman slipped into the shop, her eyes tight.

“Mmm . . . well, that’s typical. At least she was there with him at the end. Mhm . . . Of course I’m not coming. Minchia, you really think you need to tell me that?! No, we won’t be there. You don’t need to worry about me . . . but thank you for calling to let me know. No, and I really don’t fuckin’ care what he thinks. Are you coming to the wedding? . . . No, I didn’t have anything to do with it. He did that on his own. Told me he invited you after the fact. You bringing that cummà I met the last time?”

Adriana had stiffened at the first sound of the woman’s voice, her entire core tightening at the familiar accent, the smell of yet another wolf, heat rushing to her face, tears burning their way into existence in a flood of homesickness she scarcely understood as the unseen woman laughed softly at whatever was said on the other side of the conversation. It could have been her Aunt Loretta, just on the other side of the aisle. She’d never expected to encounter someone who sounded like home in this place, this sanitized, nice place, where Fluvia Jeene was a junior mathlete and notebooks cost eighty-four dollars.

“Yeah, I know. Thank you for calling. Yeah, whatever. Love you, too.”

Footsteps came from overhead, the invisible proprietor making themselves known at last, moving down a previously unseen staircase and through the door.

“Well, to what do I owe the pleasure?” the dragonborn exclaimed, smiling hugely at the woman on the other side of the aisle. Adriana nearly tripped over her own feet in her haste to see the woman, but the sound of her voice brought her up short again, body freezing.

“Good morning, Kaz! I was just passing by and thought one of your ledgers might be beautiful for the reception guestbook.”

Her voice had completely changed. Smooth and bright, half an octave higher, no trace of a coastal accent at all, no hint of trash-strewn alleyways or rundown houses, not even a rumor left of garlic and olive oil to be found. The woman’s voice had lost all trace of who she was or where she’d come from.

The dragonborn was all too eager to move to the opposite wall where said ledgers must have been, but the unseen wolf with the ability of a chameleon stopped them.

“I already took a few pictures to send to the bride, if that’s okay. Not my decision to make, of course.” The lie rolled off the woman’s tongue without missing a beat, her laughter high like a bell, and the dragonborn laughed their agreement.

“Of course! Young people today want things exactly as they envision. I blame social media, personally. Well, if they have any questions at all, you know where to find me!”

The door was opening, wood creaking as the woman stepped out, and Adriana practically threw herself after her. She needed to see, needed to put eyes on this stranger who talked like her mother but was walking around Cambric Creek.

She stumbled her way out the door, forgetting there was a step until her foot nearly missed it. “Wait!”

The woman turned on the sidewalk, already several steps away. She was nothing that Adriana was expecting. Of an age with her own mother, but shiny like a new penny. Cinnamon-colored hair fell to the middle of her back, painted in golden highlights that caught the sunlight overhead, making her glow. Her makeup was natural and neutral, her perfectly shaped eyebrows the same color as her expertly dyed hair, filled and soft and not at all dramatic. Nothing about her was tacky or tawdry, insults she’d heard leveled at the women of her pack all her life.

Adriana felt the drag of the woman’s emerald green eyes moving over her, this stranger who’d so rudely accosted her, her shell-pink smile curving up, revealing even, brilliant white teeth.

“Yes? Is there something I can help you with?” That same voice, high and bright, perfectly pitched and even. A voice of respectability.

Adriana floundered. She didn’t know how to verbalize the tumult of her thoughts without sounding like she was out of her fucking mind, which she probably was. “You from Walnut Hill?” she choked out, realizing the woman would turn away if she continued to say nothing at all.

The change was subtle but immediate.

The she-wolf’s bright green eyes narrowed, looking Adriana a bit slower. “Forsythe,” she answered at last. The code switch was immediate. “Who the fuck wants t’know?” Her nostrils flared, sucking in a deliberate, sniffing breath. “A yote. Haven’t sniffed one of you out in ages. You’re from the Gravani pack?”

“Sciacalo.” She was trembling. She hadn’t felt this exposed, this seen, since she’d left home for university on a full scholarship, never looking back.

Adriana found the wolvish conundrum of the Ship of Theseus fascinating; a thought experiment that hit close to home. She, too, had stripped herself down, piece by piece, trading who she was and where she was from for education and ambition until she scarcely recognized the person in the mirror. She didn’t know what that made her. She certainly couldn’t ever go home again, but she’d never managed to cultivate someone new. She wasn’t the girl from the scavenger pack who’d grown up on the edge of the wolves’ territory anymore, but neither was she anyone else. The stress of work had subsumed it all.

No one cared where she had come from in the emergency department. No one asked questions about where she’d grown up or what prep schools she’d attended. No one asked about her community; no one even bothered to ask what kind of were she was, if they noticed she was something other than human at all, which few did. She was too busy saving lives, intubating strangers in hallways, being covered in their blood and sick, too busy being too busy for any of that to matter . . . but it would matter in a place like this, where everyone already knew too much about her and would surely dig for more.

Poverty was transience.

Don’t get too attached, don’t accumulate too much. One never knew what calamity might befall them next without a safety net to catch them. Jobs could disappear, housing too. It was important to know where the laundromat was, for if one was lucky enough to own their own machine and it died, there was no telling how long it would take before a replacement might be afforded. Discount food stores meant one could stretch the budget for a single meal to last an entire week, if needed. Surviving poverty was a life skill that had been etched onto her bones, and it didn’t matter if she made a healthy six-figure salary now. She would never forget how to be poor, would never shake off the need to budget, and spending without calculating the cost to her savings would never come naturally to her.

She would never not feel poor in those same bones, and her life felt just as transient.

She’d never needed to worry about knowing a patient’s name, for once she left their bedside, after quickly assessing and giving orders, she’d likely never need to see them again. Her apartment had been a place, the place where she slept. She hadn’t had time for friends or relationships outside the occasional hook-up that never lasted beyond the following morning.

This place, though . . . everything about Cambric Creek screamed permanence.

The trees that dotted the long stretch of green at the center of Main Street had trunks that advertised their age with their width, planted long before any of the impressive surrounding industry existed, having stood sentinel to witness the progress rising from the mud. The buildings that ringed the park had been built more than a century earlier, perhaps longer. The benches down Main Street possessed shiny bronze plaques, as did the monuments, and others shining from the brick walls between storefronts. Cambric Creek had a tangible history about it, one that advertised itself in shining bronze and wide oaken trunks.

All around them, orcs and goblins and trolls went about their day, coming and going from the coffee shop up the block to the bookstore or hardware store, crossing the street with the unconscious ease of folks who had grown up assuming they belonged exactly where they happened to be standing.

Adriana couldn’t relate.

“You’re a long way from home,” the woman acknowledged. Further than could ever be measured in distance. “Can I help you with something?”

Her mouth opened, jaw working, her voice trying and failing to start until the werewolf raised an eyebrow pointedly.

“I just moved here. I-I heard you on the phone,” she blurted out at last, fire rushing up her face. “ And then when the owner came out, and I just . . . how? How did you do that? How did you learn to—” She gestured at the woman, voice trailing off. How did you learn to become someone brand new?

The werewolf’s eyes softened, intuiting what hadn’t been said. “Well, it didn’t happen overnight, if that’s what you’re hoping. Do you have a job yet? If you’re running away from your pack, I can put you in touch with—”

“Oh, I, um. I’m a doctor. Yeah, I have a job.”

“A doctor?!” The woman laughed, taking a step closer. “Honey, you already have everything you need, in that case. And you’re pretty. You just need to . . . let it go. And I know, that’s easier said than done. Let me guess — you got a sibling in rehab? Parent who’s proud of you but resents you, too? Expects you to give every bit of yourself and every dollar in your pocket to people who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire? And you hate them but you still desperately want their approval?”

Adriana smiled thinly. Read you like a fucking book. “Well, my brother’s in jail, so . . . I guess that’s a version of rehab.”

“Close enough,” the wolf laughed. “A doctor . . . Okay, so at least you have a budget to work with. Clothes — nothing with a designer logo. Simple. Spend money on fabric, not labels. You’re going to make an appointment at this salon,” she paused, fishing a tiny notebook from her bag, “and do whatever they say. Get your nails done if you can’t do them yourself. Every week. Keep your shoes clean. That’s what people will notice. The voice . . . I watched a lot of movies. I also had the benefit of being pregnant for two straight years, so we had a lot of time for movies, but . . . higher than you feel is normal. Enunciate. It’s not, yeah, you have a job; it’s yes, of course I’m employed. I copied. I copied until it was natural.”

She handed over the name and number of the salon she’d written on a scrap of paper, her stack of gold bracelets sliding. The wedding ring she wore sported a blue diamond the size of a gumball, its anniversary halo a circle of shining stones, and the pendant around her neck sparkled with an emerald and a sapphire. She was polished and put-together and expensive-looking. And she’s from two towns over from where you grew up.

It was Dr. Marsh who’d first made her realize how completely out of depth she was, her third day at the clinic. The managing physician of the practice was charming and glossy, casual beneath his white coat, yet somehow still expensive-looking and immaculate, not a hair out of place. The staff adored him, and Adriana knew without needing to be told that his appearance and overall comportment contributed to their fondness. She had felt like a shabby mouse that day as he breezed through the clinic, delivering iced coffees to the staff, and when he’d left with a gleaming white smile, she’d realized that her emergency department chic — bedraggled hair pulled into a messy bun and a mustard stain on her coatsleeve — wasn’t going to engender much admiration.

She would do whatever they told her at this werewolf’s salon, if it would help her look the part.

“Most importantly — you don’t take anyone’s bullshit. You let the folks around here treat you like you’re lesser and they’ll never stop. You got family here?”

Adriana shook her head, carefully pocketing the scrap of paper. “No. I’m alone. I told my mom she should visit, but now I don’t think it’s a good idea. This place is so expensive. There’s a notebook in there that’s really pretty, but it’s eighty-four dollars. For a notebook! I helped my folks out of a bad jam not long ago, so I’m trying to rebuild my savings . . . What did you have to do to afford all this?”

“What did I have to do?” the she-wolf asked, laughing. She turned, gesturing up the block in the direction of where the coffee shop stood at the center of Main Street. A man was standing in front of the building that housed the shiny gold clock tower. When he noticed them looking his way, he threw up his hands in a universal gesture of impatience that transcended species. “Him. But I love him, so no regrets.”

Adriana laughed, her throat sticking as she nodded.

“But you have endless options. You’re pretty. You’re obviously smart. You’re going to start investing.” She fished another card out of her bag, handing it over. “Make an appointment; you’ll be set up with what you need. Start dressing the part. Pay attention, watch how people act, what they say, how they sound.” She hesitated, her face tightening for a moment. “You don’t have to let go of the folks who love you, only the cycle. They’ll keep you trapped in it forever if you let them. But sometimes that means cutting your losses. That was the promise I made to myself when I got out — there was no going back. I was never gonna let any of my boys be caught up in pack life. You can start over. This is a nice place to do it in.”

She could do this. She could be like this wolf, who’d shed all she was, too. “Someone brand new,” she murmured.

“Someone brand new who deserves a new notebook,” the woman said pointedly.

“Would you spend eighty-four dollars on a notebook?!”

“I wouldn’t because that’s absurd. But I also don’t need one.” Her canines glinted as she smiled. “Go in there and buy it, because you deserve it. And today’s the day you start remembering that. You know, there aren’t too many coyotes in this area. You’re going to have a hard time finding a pack, if that’s what you wanted.”

“I don’t,” she answered quickly. “My pack days are done.”

The she-wolf nodded with a small smile. “Good girl. I’m Didi, by the way.”

“Adriana. Thank you . . . so much.”

The she-wolf gave her that bright smile again, her green eyes sparkling. You can be like her, someday.

“I wish you good luck, Adriana. You don’t ever have to forget the place that raised you. But it doesn’t need to define you. I look forward to meeting your next evolution, whoever she may be.”

***

“I’m telling you, I saw him! She’s not making it up! Normally he’s there with his brother on Thursdays. They sit alone, and no one bothers them. This was Monday! He spent the whole time I was there standing at the bar, and he definitely left with the elf from the carriage house.”

She was standing at the edge of the coffee shop’s long counter, just beside the pick-up area, listening to the tiefling behind the espresso machine talking about some unnamed person.

“Well, he’s single now,” Xenna countered, although Adriana noticed she was frowning as she said it. “There’s nothing wrong with that, right? Although, I really don’t understand what that teacher was thinking. You move your mama here to where that man is, so you can hold onto him!”

The tiefling pfffft’ed her words with a shake of her head. “I guess so, but it makes me wonder. How do we know his girlfriend left for another job? Especially after hearing that he slipped out of Hyleena’s at the crack of dawn without even saying goodbye. And you know she hates Lyla! They’ve been enemies since like, the third grade! Everyone knows that. So to hook up with both of them? I don’t see how you can hand wave that away. You know I’ve always said he’s too hot for comfort. He and that teacher weren’t even engaged! Maybe because he was slutting his way around town and she left broken-hearted in the middle of the night.”

The sheep woman burst out laughing, her frown forgotten. “Girl, goodbye. You have lost the plot entirely.”

“I’d like to see you tell our mother she needs to relocate her garden because Reg is too much of a prize to lose,” her brother added, chuckling.

“Well, that’s not the same thing at all! You’ve got that as twisted as your horns. I’m the prize in that situation, so it would be Reg’s responsibility to pack Gloreen up if she were still with us. But if the shoe were on the other hoof and he was a Hemming? You’d need to come visit us every Mother’s Day, because your mother’s ass would be moving in with me.”

Xavier threw up his hands. “I already live here!”

Hemming. There was that name again. How many of them are there?! Could the three she was aware of be responsible for this much chatter? Adriana didn’t understand why the name felt inescapable, dogging her heels since the night she’d pulled into town. What if this is family he visits? Who cares if it is, she countered immediately, arguing with herself. He and his wife had matched into a residency on the other side of the Unification. They would be too busy with glamorous private practice careers of their own, more than likely, too busy to ever be close. “Close enough to run him over with your car, maybe,” she mumbled.

Xenna was close enough to hear her grumble, turning with a smile. “Here’s my favorite doctor! What was that?”

She flushed, not really wanting the whole coffee shop to hear her discussing vehicular homicide fantasies this early in the day.

“Oh, ha, just um, that name you mentioned,” Adriana choked out, forcing a laugh, feeling heat climb her neck. “It’s . . . it’s not a doctor, is it?”

“Fireman,” the tiefling supplied, and Adriana practically melted in relief.

“Oh!” she laughed, the sound of it a little manic even to her ears. “Well, that’s a relief! I went to school with a Hemming. Maybe a relative of the guy who lives here. He was . . . not my favorite person,” she finished with a chuckle, content to silently step to the side of the counter and fade into invisibility once more.

All three heads behind the counter lifted, practically in unison, turning to her, their work forgotten. Adriana gulped.

“School?” the tiefling asked, her voice casual, moving down the counter a hair closer to Adriana. “Was this . . . med school? What was he like? The guy you went to school with, I mean.”

Her cheeks heated, nodding somewhat unwillingly. “It was. I’m sure the guy who lives here is perfectly nice,” she added quickly. “I met him, at the fair, and he seemed really friendly. The guy I went to school with . . . he was the worst. Just an obnoxious jerk.”

Brother and sister said nothing, but the tiefling nodded encouragingly. “Did he even graduate?!”

Adriana’s fists balled at the memory of competing with Trapp Hemming for everything, every exam, every lab, every point. She had always known that the playing field wasn’t even, but sitting beside the handsome, cocky werewolf who seemed to have everything handed to him for nearly two years had cemented the lesson.

“He did. In fairness, he was really smart. We were at the top of our class, always within a few points of each other, and he was like, psychotically competitive. He once threw a fit because a professor marked him down in an anatomy lab, and he argued about it in the middle of the lecture. Like, went crazy, almost started a fight arguing!”

“But was he a huge slut?” the tiefling demanded, leaning over the counter.

“Oh, you are ridiculous!” Xenna laughed, shooing the girl with the edge of her apron. “One-track mind! And you’re so wrong!”

Heat burned up her neck. Why does she care?! It’s not like it’s the same guy. She didn’t like the thought of strangers knowing too much about her, butting into her private life, but these people already knew so much. This isn’t any different than the orc from work, right? You see every single day the way everyone chit-chats, the way everyone trades stories. You want to fit in here, don’t you?

“We actually hooked up once,” she choked out, forcing herself to laugh. “It was right after a huge exam. Then the results came out, and I scored higher than him. He ghosted me, like the big fragile crybaby he was. We wound up as lab partners the following term and for the whole next year, and it was miserable. He was just . . . so mean.” Her laughter was weak and hollow, even to her own ears. “By then he had a girlfriend, and she was hateful. I heard they got married after they matched. I hope he’s gone bald and has a beer gut now. Hopefully the fireman you know is a lot nicer.”

She didn’t mind bald and found bodies of every shape attractive, but for someone as vain as Trapp Hemming had been, it would be fitting.

“Adriana,” a troll called out, having taken over the order sorting for Xenna once she’d come out from the back, passing the coffee and pastry over the counter. The sheepwoman was frowning again, a furrow between her eyes, her brother’s eyebrows raised, but similarly silent. The tiefling, Adriana saw, already had her phone in hand, thumb dancing over the screen as she lined up cups with the other hand.

“You all have a good day,” she mumbled awkwardly when neither the siblings nor the tiefling said anything further, taking her order from the countertop.

“You too, doc!” Xenna seemed to shake herself back to focus, her mouth pushing up in a thin smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Adriana left quickly, ducking her head. She wanted to hurry up and leave before she was forced to run into Trapp Hemming’s potential uncle or distant cousin. He was an asshole and no one else in her life had ever made her feel so small, but he was an asshole from her past, and it was a long time ago. You’re a whole new person now, and you don’t need to think about him ever again.

Trapp

Routines were a funny thing. They faded entirely into the background of one’s daily grind, never noticed until a single piece failed to land where it was supposed to, throwing the universe off balance in the space of an instant.

Trapp didn’t like to admit that Grayson was right, that he did care more about the aftermath than he did about Julia leaving at all, but, he’d rationalized to himself, the aftermath was his to deal with. Julia had chosen to rip the bandage off the night of the senior fair, and Trapp was only doing what he had to do in the face of what she’d left behind — questions that demanded answers; answers he’d already formulated to questions he’d already considered.

Failing to prepare was preparation for failure, and he had no intention of doing so.

“Well, well . . . look what the cat dragged in. Wasn’t sure if we’d even see you today.”

Magruh’s voice held an edge of knowing, the morning Trapp arrived at the firehouse. Knowing, but not all the way to judgmental, he’d noted, giving his cocky half-smile to the chief. He’d left Grayson’s house and gone straight back to his own, showering, eating, going to bed early. His two-day bender had been enough, and he needed to control the optics.

“Never been fond of being the victim of a cat in that scenario.” This was a game he knew how to play, having perfected it with his parents for years — play along and establish what they knew before giving anything of value away. “More of a dog person, to be honest.”

The chief and the others at the firehouse that morning had been sympathetic, listening to his story and clapping him on the back. Trapp hadn’t bothered to hide that his first instinct had been to hit Cambric Creek’s nightlife and lose himself at the bottom of a bourbon bottle, and he hadn’t needed to. After all, his relationship was over, his now-ex on her way out of town for good, and he was single.

Xenna had been most sympathetic when he’d told her the news about Julia leaving, ensuring he was the first to do so, as he picked up coffee for the firehouse. Damage control meant getting out in front of an issue before it became a problem. The sheepwoman’s mother-in-law had passed away not that long ago, and he knew she’d be sympathetic to his tale of his ex’s decision to return to her hometown for caretaker duty. For his part, he simply couldn’t walk away from his own family and the department that needed him.

“Well, I understand why you both made the decision you did, but I’m sorry you had to. The firehouse is so lucky to have you, Trapp.”

In addition to being the busiest and most successful business in town, the owners of the Black Sheep Beanery were also the arbiters of who was worthy of admiration and support in the downtown area. They traded in gossip like it was a stock market, and their opinions could make or break someone’s reputation.

It was a fact his own father acknowledged. The night Trapp had pulled into his parents’ driveway, having been invited over for dinner by his mother, only to find Grayson and Jackson’s cars already there, he knew he was walking into a trap. His brother’s election had been right around the corner. Grayson’s face had been smug, Jackson’s strained, and their father had wasted no time once Trapp had joined the table.

“We need the coffee shop.”

Trapp understood immediately that he was meant to deliver it. After all, he was the Hemming everyone admired. He was the Hemming everyone saw. He was helpful and friendly and well-liked, and there was more power in that than either of his elder brothers recognized, but their father did.

“Okay,” he’d agreed, tucking into his mother’s chicken marsala.

It had taken just under a week. A week of smiles and banter, interspliced with reminding Xavier and Xenna what his brother’s campaign stood for, and what his victory would mean for the future — inclusiveness for all nonhuman residents; not just who City Hall deemed worthy of protection. Grants for the businesses that funded their excellent public schools. And perhaps more valuable than anything else — points with the most influential werewolf in the region.

Xavier had put the Hemming For Mayor sign in the Beanery’s window on the sixth day, and that was that. He and his sister influenced more than the town’s caffeine addiction, and everyone knew it.

Getting his story out in front of Xenna early was crucial. He was feeding his own well, confident that his version would become the official one by the end of the business day. And that’s how we get in front of a problem.

The week passed methodically, days slipping away as they always did. Smiling through a visit from the daycare, allowing two dozen pre-schoolers of every species to climb through Engine Three, pretending not to notice the little reptilian boy who tried to chew a reflective sticker off his turnout coat. A werebear suffering from cardiac arrest, a call to an Oldetowne property in the middle of the night, when the trollish owners woke to the slight smell of natural gas.

His first night off was spent at the Pickled Pig. He’d overheard several different versions of his own breakup, just standing at the bar, each one contradicting the last with enough confidence that none of them could comfortably survive beyond the sidewalk. Trapp hadn’t corrected a single one. He didn’t need to. If he stayed visible, smiled at the right moments, and continued showing up exactly where everyone expected him to be, the details would sand themselves smooth. They always did. Keep busy. Keep moving. Keep smiling.

He’d reminded himself that the worst was past him and he was single, leaving with an Elvish employee of the carriage house who flirted with him every time he came by for the yearly fire inspection, slipping out of her condo early enough that he was able to catch the last trolley of the night.

He slept through the majority of his three days off, going back to Grayson’s house for dinner the night Vanessa stayed in the city, a dinner that was mostly spent on a video chat with Lowell. Their chaotic younger sibling had spent the entirety of the call talking a mile a minute, in between slurping up a bowl full of noodles, telling them he’d fallen halfway down a mountain the previous week, having lost his footing initially and then been dragged down by his camera gear until a llama had broken his momentum.

“I’m going to need a comprehensive list of everything I’m not allowed to say in my speech at the reception,” he added, punctuating his words by flicking a bit of broth on the phone lens as he slurped. “Am I allowed to share my own news? Slide shows of embarrassing photos I have of you? You’re not going to hold something against me forever if I didn’t even know it was off limits.”

Trapp snorted, nearly choking on his steak. Lowell was the sort who would absolutely announce during someone else’s wedding that his girlfriend was pregnant and also he’d started a crowdfunding effort to buy the llama he’d injured and would be coming around to the individual tables to collect.

Grayson’s laughter was a rough scrape, shaking his head. “Lowell, I truly can’t emphasize this enough, but no one — fucking no one — is giving you a microphone at my wedding. For any reason. To be honest, you’re lucky you’re invited at all.”

Once he was back at work, no one mentioned the break-up, and he was content to let the four years with Julia disappear into the horizon with the rest of his past away from Cambric Creek.

There was a series of fender benders on the highway, a catwoman in heat who’d required coaxing off the roof of the adult toy store, crowd control at the Makers’ Mart, and then, the last night of his shift, a car accident at the edge of Greenbridge Glen, the orc on the side of the road needing to be cut from his truck after being side-swiped on his way back to the commune in the neighboring hamlet. His leg was in bad shape, trapped beneath the crumpled dashboard, and by the time the vehicle had been cut open and separated, the helicopter from Healers had already been dispatched.

He liked the adrenaline rush that came with this part of the job. He hated seeing anyone hurt, especially children, but Trapp couldn’t pretend that he didn’t love the rush of chemicals to his brain, leaving him amped up and jittery for hours afterward.

It was dawn by the time he left the hospital, and the coffee shop was just opening.

Trapp parked in the same spot he always did, whenever it was available, a slight bounce in his step, still keyed up from the fraught helicopter ride to the hospital. Muscle memory was enough to carry him into the coffee shop on its own, as comfortable and familiar as turning the key in his own front door.

They had only just unlocked the door, he realized, the churn of voices not yet competing with the hiss of the espresso machine enough to make conversation impossible.

“There he is.” Xenna’s voice sounded exactly as it should, Trapp’s coffee shop smile already curving his mouth, eyes sparkling. “It’s been, what? Three days? I was beginning to think you’d found another coffee shop.”

Her smile was there, and if he were anyone else, Trapp might not have noticed that it didn’t quite touch her eyes. A piece out of place, off-script, the universe tipping. Something in him tightened ever so slightly.

“Oh, you guessed it. I’ve been seeing other cafés on the sly.”

His smile widened, waiting for her to catch his delivery, to say her line, keeping to the script of their daily lives . . . but she didn’t. Another smile, slightly thinner.

“That sounds about right, doesn’t it?”

Trapp stood there a moment longer than he needed to when she turned away to fill his cup. Muscle memory could have carried him throughout the majority of his day, but his body didn’t know how to navigate a missed line here, where every line and smile reliably landed.

Nif, the slender tiefling who worked most mornings, came out of the back, tying her apron as she pushed through the swinging door. When her head raised, Trapp couldn’t tell if he’d imagined the moment when she stopped short at the sight of him, already bending to pull out the blender jars before he could blink, lining them up without looking up at him again.

This was the part when Xenna would ask after his mother or pump him for details on Grayson’s wedding planning, maybe a good-natured grouse about the job Jackson was doing or say something glib about his newly-single status.

“We met a friend of yours,” was what she said, voice light, eyes never rising from the pastry case as she set his coffee on the counter. “From med school.”

“Med school?” There was no one he knew from med school here. Trapp made it a policy to barely know the doctors at Healers, save for the ones he was forced to interact with most frequently in the trauma ward. Grayson’s friend Shay managed the private practice next door, but other than the shifter being a member of the wedding party, Trapp had no reason to socialize with any of them. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Mmm, she told us all about it. Doctor Brunelli.”

Trapp blinked. The coffee shop doors pulled open, an entire construction crew moving through the doors noisily, prematurely ending the conversation as Trapp drifted down the counter stiffly. Doctor Brunelli. His wolf shifted, curling up, his guts clenching at the sound of her name.

Xavier came out of the back at that moment, grinning when he saw Trapp. “Hey, man. You’re in early today.”

He nodded, woodenly relaying that there had been an accident serious enough to require an emergency airlift to the hospital.

Xavier winced. “I don’t know how you all do it, day in and day out. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you do.” He glanced over his shoulder to where his sister rang out the construction crew, Nif lining up the cups in a neat line. “Look, man . . . that doctor. She was in here telling a story. About you.”

Trapp felt his smile harden slightly. “I was in medical school for four years. I’d hate to think I’ve only managed to generate one story.”

“No. But I think you’d probably hate the particular one she told.”

Around them, the sounds of the coffee shop increased. The grinder had whirred to life, the door opening several more times, the rest of Cambric Creek waking up, facing the day with their vice of choice.

“ . . . What did she say?”

Xavier gave him what he could only call a sympathetic smile. “I don’t think repeating it would improve either of our mornings.”

“So it was bad.”

“I think . . .” The sheepman paused, choosing his words carefully as he operated the espresso machine. “I think she believed she was telling a funny story. And it’s not like you’ve been home nursing a broken heart since Julia left, so . . . it looks the way it looks.”

Trapp nodded, a heavy stone taking up residence within him. He could only imagine what fucking Adriana Brunelli had said about him. Here. In his home. “And everyone else?”

Xavier laughed shortly. “C’mon man. Everyone else listened. You know how it goes.”

Trapp nodded again. He did indeed.

Facts were negligible. He’d spent a lifetime at Grayson’s side to know that, and he knew firsthand that facts were usually the least important element to any situation. Rumors were survivable, and everyone loved to embroider the truth. Stories, on the other hand . . . stories were something entirely different. Stories were engines, they breathed with life of their own. People repeated stories because they enjoyed inhabiting them, and every retelling sanded away another inconvenient edge of the truth, changing shape, becoming something new as it grew.

Case in point — your break-up story. He thought of the several days he’d spent making sure the breakup looked like something he’d agreed to.

“Thanks, man.”

Xavier nodded as Trapp turned away, edging around the line to avoid Xenna and Nif. He didn’t want to see again how much this story had already altered the way they looked at him. In just a few days. Adriana Brunelli. The new doctor. The doctor Grayson’s friend Shay had called him about, when she was still interviewing.

The malfunctioning cell phone stuck the pavement so hard that it bounced, the recently repaired screen cracking again.

It wouldn’t do to show his temper here, in the middle of Main Street. He needed to go home, needed to sleep for at least a few hours. Needed to wake up clear-headed and face this head-on. Get in front of it early.

After all, fucking Adriana Brunelli wasn’t the only one who could tell stories.

First, though, he needed to go buy a new phone. Trapp directed the wheels of his truck over the smashed remains of the mobile, satisfied over the way it crunched.

Fucking Adriana Brunelli, here, in Cambric Creek. For now. He didn’t know why she was running away from whatever hospital she’d tricked into hiring her, didn’t know how she’d wound up at Shay’s clinic, but it didn’t matter.

He was going to make her sorry she’d ever heard of Cambric Creek. The sooner the better.

Adriana

She was picking up a stack of delivery boxes on her way into the townhouse when the phone began to ring. Adriana stumbled through the door, managing to tap the face of her cell phone screen just before the melodic chime ended, answering breathlessly.

“Hey, I just wanted to make sure you have someplace safe to go for the moon. Have you had time to look around town a bit?”

The full moon, her first in Cambric Creek, was at the end of the week, at last.

She had been asked the same question the previous afternoon by Dr. Marsh, the handsome shifter nearly giving her a heart attack over his assertion that he’d wanted to check in.

“Dr. Brunelli, I was beginning to think I’d imagined hiring you! Every time I come through to check in, you’re nowhere to be found.”

Her back had stiffened, hands closing around the tablet she clutched as though it were a lifeline. It was embarrassing, the way she could be reduced to a squeaking bobble-head doll, her insides a puddle of panic and defensiveness in the face of authority. It had been that way her whole life. She always assumed the worst was about to befall her the instant any higher up wanted to “check in,” her hackles raising, jaws snapping within.

“Relax, Adriana. I know you’ve been busy with patients. I’m not accusing you of hiding in the office. But I really have wanted to check in. I feel like we hired you and then left you to fend for yourself entirely.”

Dr. Marsh reminded her of a certain clique from medical school, all privilege and pretension, most of whom had coasted into surgical residencies or orthopedics. Or private practice, apparently. The same clique Trapp Hemming had belonged to, she thought sourly. The werewolf hadn’t crossed her mind in years, and now here, in the course of little more than a week, she’d been forced to ruminate on his big dick and perfect jawline more times than she cared for.

“Have plans for the moon?” the shifter asked conversationally, swinging his bag onto his shoulder after she’d assured him that she was settling in well, that she had unpacked, that she didn’t need more time to transition.

The question had brought her up short. This is as bad as him telling you to call him by his first name. Absolutely not. If you want to be called Shay, go back upstairs to your office and call your wife. Dr. Marsh must have read her expression, raising his hands almost defensively.

“I’m only asking because you’re new to the area. We want to make sure you’re feeling supported.”

She had exhaled slowly, forcing her expression into one that wasn’t a grimace. Get a fucking grip. This is a multi-species town. Asking about the moon is the same as talking about the weather. She’d been hearing patients casually mentioning it for days.

“I have a yard. That’s good enough.”

The turn was unsafe. It was a lesson that had been drilled into her head since childhood. Too surrounded by the larger, more aggressive wolfpack of her childhood, her own pack had strove to become invisible under the moon’s bright white face. As an adult, she’d been too surrounded by humans for the turn to ever be comfortable.

She gave her mother the same answer she’d given the golden-eyed shifter, albeit with a bit more enthusiasm.

“I have a yard! Nothing big, just a little fenced-in patch, but it’s good enough.”

On the other end of the call, her mother clucked her tongue. “You have to pay extra for the upkeep? You know, that adds up fast. Your aunt Loretta had their front yard paved over, and it was a better investment. Somewhere to park instead of grass you have to pay to cut.”

She bristled. Her little patch of green space made her giddy, and she had already begun scrolling social media for inspiration on what she could do with it. A cute little bistro set, a raised garden bed, maybe. She had been thrifting her whole life and had no doubt she could make the space feel homey on a budget. Not that she voiced any of that. Her mother would probably advise killing her grass to avoid needing a mower, but Adriana was going to make her little yard a sanctuary.

“It’ll be nice having someplace for the moon every month,” was what she did say, pointedly. “I don’t even need to leave home, so that’s worth the price of a mower, I think.”

To her mother’s credit, she didn’t argue. “On your way into work?”

Adriana breathed out slowly, carefully sliding the stack of boxes she still held to a chair. The chair had been in her previous kitchen, but her little table was too undersized in her new home. The chair had been requisitioned to the foyer, now standing adjacent to a little console table with a tall mirror she’d found at a roadside sale near a winery, on the other side of town. The boxes contained the blankets she’d ordered, a few decorative pillows, and a plump, lavender-colored cushion for the chair. A little ceramic bowl sat on the table, butter yellow with purple swirls, and she decided it was the perfect spot for a vase of flowers, maybe.

And this weekend, after the moon, you can look for some frames. Because you deserve it.

She had an eclectic little collection of original paintings acquired whenever she came across a sidewalk artist selling their five-minute creations for a few dollars, deciding that some gold-painted frames would pull the motley group of canvases together, creating her own little gallery wall. Not a place. A home.

“I’m off today. I finally got my hair cut; it was like a bird’s nest.”

It was a gross understatement for the luxurious deep-conditioning treatment she’d received at the she-wolf’s recommended salon, the heavenly scalp massage that smelled like spearmint and made her skin tingle, the deep-water facial with marine botanicals that had left her cheeks feeling pillowy. Her thick waterfall of black waves was swinging loose for the first time in more than a year, the dead ends trimmed away, several volumizing layers cut in to prevent the heavy weight of it from looking limp. It had been the most money she’d ever spent on herself in a single sitting that wasn’t related to med school, but the uncharacteristic splurge was worth every penny.

She felt shiny and glamorous for the very first time in her life, and she wasn’t going to give her mother the opportunity to huff that she should have given herself a trim over the bathroom sink.

“Just be careful,” her mother went on. “You don’t know what it will be like there, during the turn. Better safe than sorry.”

Adriana murmured her agreement, staring at her reflection in the hall mirror as she did so. She looked like someone brand new. She was halfway to feeling like one. She felt pretty and polished for the first time in . . . she didn’t know how long. Maybe ever? New job, new house, new you. Next you need some hobbies, cultivate a personality outside work. Maybe you’ll even meet someone.

Perhaps the next step in her reinvention, she mused, rubbing a strand of her newly-silky hair between her forefinger and thumb, was to fall in love. She had time for a relationship now. Someone brand new, in the market for someone brand new, for the very first time.

* * *

The day had started like every other she’d spent in Cambric Creek.

Shileen had spent far too long taking vitals from a huldra with a swishing tail, and when Adriana had turned the corner to where they stood, she walked into a conversation about the tomatoes in that week’s CSA assortment, not getting back to the business of blood pressure until they noticed Adriana’s presence.

Her next case had involved a minotaur with swollen nostrils, an infection caused by an allergic reaction to his wedding ring, she deduced, the copper band cinching the bullman’s wide, pink nose the cause of his discomfort.

Exam two held an amphibious boy and his mother, suspected poison sumac exposure, she read from the chart after leaving the forlorn minotaur, the snipped remains of his wedding band in a baggie.

And this will take even less time.

“We had them in our backyard last year, and they caused so much trouble! You’ll have to be careful with that back door, especially now that summer is — Oh, Dr. Brunelli!” The medical assistant was still perched on the rolling stool, looking up guiltily when Adriana entered after knocking. “Um, Kiton and his mother were just telling me about the raccoons under their porch.”

Adriana paused, looking over the tablet screen with a frown. She couldn’t abide clerical errors, particularly when there was nothing urgent about the majority of these cases. A raccoon bite, on the other hand, was a serious matter.

“I’m so sorry, I thought Kiton was here for suspected poison sumac. If this is an animal bite, have we already followed the proper cleaning protocol? Unfortunately, we’ll need to do a full course rabies vaccine—”

“Oh! No, no, sorry . . . yes, poison sumac. The raccoons are just . . . well, the raccoon didn’t bite anyone.”

“Not yet,” the blue-skinned boy piped up, quickly shushed by his mother.

Adriana smiled thinly, stepping around the goblin on the rolling stool to reach the patient. “You were playing outside when you got this? Was it a very wet area?”

“The back of the property is a fen,” his mother confirmed. “And he knows not to go crawling through it.”

“It was an expedition!”

“No evidence of secondary infection,” Adriana murmured, looking the boy’s arms up and down. “No swelling beyond what we’d expect to see. It’s definitely sumac, but fortunately, not as bad as it could be. With the porosity of your skin, I’m going to recommend a hydrocortisone soak twice a day, in addition to an oral antihistamine. Absolutely no scratching,” she directed to the boy. “That’ll only make it worse. We need to make sure we’re wearing the proper coverings for exploration, okay? You should be feeling better within a few days, but don’t hesitate to call us or come back in if it gets any worse. And be careful in those fens!”

“Doctor Brunelli, would you like to sit here?”

Shileen made a move to get up, but Adriana’s hand was already reaching for the door handle.

“No, we’re done. Let’s find them a sticker and let them get home. Deneen will have the instructions for the soak at discharge.” She gave the boy and his mother a smile before turning out the door, pausing to tap in her prescription and close out the chart.

Her heart stuttered as she came down the hall, the familiar sound sending her heart racing, gasoline igniting in her veins. She could not see the flashing lights of the ambulance, but the sound of the siren kicked her system into overdrive. They were too close to be pulling into the neighboring trauma department, had to be coming to the clinic, she thought . . . and sure enough, the automatic doors opened a moment later, a gurney being wheeled in.

“I don’t want to stay here alone. I already told you, I didn’t even bump my head! That ninny Daronda didn’t even see it happen!”

It was the faun who’d been in with her husband earlier that same week with a UTI. Adriana had prescribed a broad-spectrum antibiotic that had proven efficacy in nonhuman patients and had ensured that a follow-up appointment had been made with her primary care provider upstairs, the sharp-smiled kitsune. The entire appointment had taken less than ten minutes, the pathology straightforward and low-acuity.

Now, though, the elderly faun looked peaked, wincing as she was rolled along, tightly gripping the hand of a tall, dark-haired medic.

“I told you, Gretna. Your head’s not what I’m worried about. I’ve already called Libby, and she’s on her way. I’m not leaving until she gets here.”

Adriana stiffened at the sound of his voice, her lungs tightening, seizing up until she could scarcely draw breath. She felt as though she had been sucked into a sewer, forcibly ripping her from the reality she knew and spinning her through time, ejecting her into the past. It didn’t make sense. Surely it could not be him. Owen. Sandi. Rina. A fireman. No doctor! Everyone told you there was no doctor! This, though, wasn’t a doctor . . .Surely her luck was not that bad; the last week and a half of her life a cruel practical joke engineered by some spiteful deity she’d inadvertently offended.

“Let’s get to work, Oleg,” the dark-haired man directed at his companion, his voice terse, completely unlike his gentle tone with the elderly faun, head raising at last, giving her a good look at the face she was already bracing herself for.

“Seventy-two, faunish female.” The speaker was a reedy troll, jumping to attention and straightening up at the other man’s words, his brow furrowed as he read with great concentration. “Suffered a bout of lightheadedness and vertigo at the grocery store and fell, striking the side of her head on impact.”

The troll recited the faun’s vitals, but Adriana could barely hear him.

It was the sheep at the coffee shop’s fault, she decided. Xavier and Xenna, speaking him into existence one too many times, like a summoning spell. Dark hair, even darker eyes, with a silvery sheen. Broad shoulders and thick biceps, he filled out every inch of the blue uniform he wore. An EMT?! No, she corrected, eyeing the stitched insignias on his navy polo shirt, remembering what the tiefling had said at the Black Sheep Beanery. A fireman. The blue and white Star of Life was contained inside the red Maltese cross, Paramedic stitched in white.

They were so close to the moon that the smell of his wolf nearly made her stumble, growling just beneath his skin. His knot would be swollen and hot, twice as fat as her fist. As it was, she was certain her body had never fully recovered from the girth of his cock, the hard fucking he’d given her in the campus library nearly breaking the table, and then again in his apartment, her astride his hips. She hadn’t so much ridden his thick length as she’d been impaled on it, his glans nearly tickling her uvula. Then again a few nights later after they’d studied together, his big hands squeezing her breasts as he’d pumped into her from behind, his knot swollen with the moon, kissing her entrance on every thrust, threating her with a good time, but never filling her completely.

She’d spent that moon in agony, wanting nothing more than to sniff him out, certain she’d be able to follow the smell of his drooling cock. She would throw away everything she’d ever been told about the wolves, everything her childhood had taught her, letting his wolf rut her into the dirt . . . but she never had.

And it was only a few weeks after that when she decided she hated him, and she’d never had the chance to find out how well her body could take his knot.

As she stared, his attention bounced between concentrating on the troll’s words and glancing down to the elderly faun with a reassuring smile. There was no beer gut to be found, and his hair was thick, curling over his collar, probably overdue for a haircut.

“Delivery status,” he prompted, his voice pointed but not unkind. Adriana winced as if his tone was a knife.

The troll nodded, his grey skin darkening to slate on his cheeks. “All bays are full at Healers’ General; dispatch advised coming here.”

She forced herself to nod, her voice not working quite yet. After all, the clinic was meant to ease the burden at the hospital next door.

“Since this is where she was seen forty-eight hours ago,” the dark-haired wolf continued, taking over for the troll, his eyes raising to hers at last.

Adriana could not tell if he recognized her, only that his glare was rancorous. She was trapped there, frozen in place like a small prey animal, and not the predator she was. A low whine came from within her, the smell of his wolf dwarfing her. More muscular, a touch of weariness replacing the sparkle of youth, but every bit as striking as he’d always been. Trapp Hemming was possibly even more attractive now, in his late thirties, than he’d been in his twenties, an insult to the rest of the world, quite frankly.

“Suspected kidney infection,” he went on after a moment. “Presenting with acute left-sided costovertebral angle tenderness. Temperature is currently normal, but the patient reports that she felt feverish yesterday. Vomiting within the last twelve hours. I’ve started her on a bolus of intravenous fluid. Forty-eight hours after she was seen here. Although seen is generous, since active treatment lasted only six and a half minutes.”

Her head snapped up, the ferocity of his words breaking through her stupor, familiar indignation boiling her blood.

At that moment, the doors opened again, a younger faun coming through in a rush, exclaiming when she saw her mother.

“Shileen, let’s get her into exam two,” Adriana scraped out, forcing her voice to life. She watched the way the older goatwoman gripped his huge hand, not letting go until it was replaced with her daughter’s, only stepping away to allow the big werewolf and the troll to carefully transfer her from the stretcher to a wheelchair, Shileen waiting to whisk the older faun back.

“The record is synced,” the goblin confirmed over her shoulder, instructing the older woman’s daughter to have a seat momentarily.

By the time Adriana turned back to the door, both men were gone. Through the doors, she could see the troll sliding into the passenger seat of the ambulance.

She needed to let them leave. She needed to attend to her patient. But a red mist had settled over her eyes, temper getting the better of her for the moment. They were too close to the moon, their feral natures too close to the surface, and she hated him too much to let him get the last fucking word, the automatic door sliding open as she stormed outside.

He was here. Trapp Hemming. Here! In Cambric Creek! In this nice place that she was supposed to turn into a home, the first real home she’d ever had, where she was meant to be someone brand new. And he’s still the same prick he always was.

“Urinalysis showed elevated white blood cells and presence of bacteria,” she spat out the instant the driver’s side door reopened. “A broad-spectrum antibiotic was prescribed for—”

“But you didn’t do imaging,” he snapped back, cutting her off, no different than he’d done in med school. “You didn’t do blood work. She’s been here twice this month! You have no idea what sort of antibiotic resistance she might have at her age with her history, which you didn’t bother taking fully.”

“An appointment was made with her PCP—”

“And if that kidney infection turns septic, she’ll be dead before then.” Her voice failed as he sneered, shaking his head. “Congratulations, doctor. One week on the job and you nearly caused your first fatality. For what? Because you want to be fast? Faster than who?” He made a show of looking around before giving her a patronizing smile, one that nearly turned her inside out with its familiarity. “Some things never change, I guess. This isn’t a contest for you to win, in case you weren’t sure. And it’s only a matter of time before your fuck-ups kill someone.”

The ambulance was long gone before she shook herself back to the present, forcing her feet to carry her in, to tend to the faun. A full blood panel, imaging, another urinalysis. She hated him, and he was here. She hated him. This is supposed to be a fresh start. You’re supposed to be someone brand new. Not the stressed-out wreck you were in school. Not the anxious disaster you’ve been for five years. A brand new life.

She didn’t know how she was meant to create a new life, not when the old one was evidently not finished with her. She hated him, and she was going to make sure he knew it.

Fucking Trapp Hemming.

Part 2

Trapp

The monthly post-moon brunch at his parents’ house would never have been described as a staid affair. There were too many of them and they were too noisy a bunch for that, particularly when they were all together . . . but even that had changed in the past year, and the house seemed quiet as Trapp let himself in that morning.

Liam was gone, attending university at the same prestigious school that Trapp had, the same pre-med program, a step away from the medical school where he’d first met Adriana Brunelli. He glowered at the mere thought. Trapp didn’t begrudge Liam the future path that he himself had been meant to follow. He’d been there at his childhood home every week for months, helping the youngest Hemming sibling study, prepare for entrance exams, craft his essay. Liam was going to make a great doctor, and Trapp was proud of him. And if his brother decided late in the game that he didn’t want to follow the path, well, Trapp knew how to pick up the pieces from that fallout as well.

Lowell made the noise of three people on his own, but Lowell had been gone for years at that point. Now with Liam gone as well, six became four, and brunch grew ever quieter.

Trapp walked in that morning to find Jackson, Owen, and their father already seated at the table, deep in discussion over some zoning issue that was impeding the long-planned parking garage around the corner from their father’s office. Owen’s girlfriend leaned back in her chair beside him, tapping on her phone, while Victoria sat in the big room beyond, her head tipped back against the sofa, eyes closed, as Little Jack sat on the floor playing a video game on the huge television screen.

“I know you want to take a big bite, don’t you, princess?” his mother cooed at baby Cecily, who showed she had no interest in the spoon, blowing out her pureed mangoes in response.

He breathed it in slowly, a bit of his tension ebbing away. Home was always reliable, even if it was a bit quieter as of late, and his parents’ house would always be home.

It had been a miserable turn. The previous afternoon had been a non-stop deluge, leaving the world a muddy, mucky mess, the rain turning back on a few hours before dawn, as if someone had flipped a switch. He hoped Adriana Brunelli was drenched and cold behind whatever dumpster she’d found to cower from during the turn. It had been an uncomfortable night, and he was glad to be back in his man skin and human bones, warm and snug in his childhood home, where he didn’t need to perform for anyone.

That morning had already shown how fraught the situation was beyond the front door.

His mother loved the croissants from one of the bakeries downtown, made fresh at the crack of dawn each day, usually selling out by the breakfast hour. Trapp made a habit of getting up early the morning of these brunches to be one of the first in line when the bakery unlocked its door, even on the days his body protested him doing so, like that morning, wanting to do nothing more than remain in bed until the ache of the turn had fully ebbed away.

He felt eyes on him the instant he stepped over the bakery’s threshold, the small bell above the door chiming awareness of his arrival. His bright smile, the one reserved for the businesses he visited in the course of the year during inspections, all twinkling eyes and gleaming white teeth glimmered. . . but it had been met with pressed lips, the two shifters behind the counter standing close enough to whisper, eyes flicking to him with no fondness to be found.

“Keep the change,” he told the cashier, sliding far too large a bill over the counter, but his voice had felt overloud in the small space, and the smile he was given in return felt thin.

Trapp had tried to tell himself it was his imagination, as he fidgeted at the end of the glass case, waiting for his box of croissants. He was being as suspicious as his father now. Jack claimed he could always tell when he was being whispered about upon entering a room, could sense it in the volume and hertz of conversations around him, could tell from the way neighbors blinked, the way they breathed.

Trapp had spent most of his life listening to his mother tell his father that he was paranoid and imagining things. Now, he suspected, his father had been right all along.

He bent, kissing his mother on the cheek, blowing a raspberry at his giggling niece who blew one of her own in turn, spraying more puréed mango across the highchair tray.

“Has anyone been out yet today?” he asked, keeping his voice casual, taking his seat at the table. No one had. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not.

He half listened to the conversation between his father and brothers, having no interest in the parking garage. Get in front of the issue before it becomes a problem. A full day and a half had passed since he’d left the Black Sheep Beanery, a day and a half for the gossip engine to do what it did best. Thirty-six hours over which he had no control, more than half that time taken up with the change.

It was infuriating that she was here. How?! He still didn’t understand how he could be this unlucky, as if he were being punished for some long-ago transgression he couldn’t remember committing. It had been so long since he’d even thought of Adriana that before this week he might have been hard-pressed to even recall her face. But now that he’d seen her, now that the soft smell of her had invaded his nose, Trapp could practically feel the heft of her hair in his hands and the way she had tucked against his side like a sprite, her breath hot and steady against his skin as she slept in his bed.

“But why do we need a reflecting pool in the middle of the hall? That’s the part you’re not clarifying. The moon is going to be in the sky, right above us. Why do we need a reflection of it too?”

Grayson and Vanessa entered the house mid-conversation, coming through the long front room as Gray rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Why don’t we just announce before the ceremony that you have no vision? I don’t want any of our guests to mistakenly think you had a hand in putting together any of this.”

Trapp half expected Grayson to beeline around the table to where Owen sat and dump their younger sibling out of the chair beside their father. Instead, he meandered in an entirely un-Grayson-like way around the other side of the table, setting a steaming coffee cup in front of their mother, pausing where she attempted to feed the baby.

When Cecily was born, she quickly proved to be a light sleeper. She wanted to be up and alert, blinking around the table, as if she were afraid to miss any of her uncles’ antics when they were all together, and Victoria struggled to ensure she napped. The entire family had learned to modulate their volume, employing inside voices for the very first time.

Everyone except Grayson.

Ironic, Trapp thought, considering he and the rest of his siblings had been threatened with life and limb for most of their childhood anytime they made noise in the house when Grayson was suffering a migraine. The result of constantly waking the baby from her nap with his sharp voice, besides angering his sister-in-law, was that Cecily was now entirely enamored with Gray, babbling happily whenever he was near, uppy hands starting the instant her shining dark eyes landed on his huge form, as they did now.

“How are the people at the back of the room supposed to see the moon, hmm?” he questioned Vanessa, lifting the baby from her high chair as she squealed, ignoring their mother’s protest, holding her with his arms fully extended, as far away from his body as he could. “How is my future assistant today? You are just sticky and disgusting, aren’t you? And you need a diaper change. And we don’t do that.” Grayson darted in for a kiss to Cecily’s mango-covered forehead and one to Sandi’s cheek, before passing his niece back as fast as he could, turning to the sink with his hands still extended as if he needed immediate decontamination.

Trapp could hear Victoria muttering from the next room, swallowing down his laughter.

“The point is it’s a fucking moon ceremony, Nessa. Everyone needs to see the moon. The whole ceremony is built around it! We may as well just save ourselves the trouble and get married at the elementary school playground otherwise.”

Trapp knew something was wrong the moment Gray returned to the table, taking the seat beside him rather than jockeying for space near their father, conspicuously placing his own Beanery to-go cup on the table. Several seats away, Jackson and their father were interrupting each other as Owen listened, fingers steepled against his lips. No one else was watching them.

Grayson knew Trapp better than anyone else in the world, and in return, Trapp knew Gray’s every expression and gesture as well as he knew his own hand. His brother had set the coffee cup down too deliberately, too slowly, turning the cup ever-so-slightly. Trapp understood immediately.

I was at the coffee shop this morning and you were the topic of conversation.

“You forgot to bring in the centerpiece to show your mom!” Vanessa tsked, shaking her head as if she couldn’t take Gray anywhere. “Trapp, will you please help him? The past twenty-four hours have taught us that your brother is a lummox, no matter the form.”

Trapp was up and out of his seat practically before Vanessa finished speaking. His future sister-in-law fully understood the role she was signing up for, in a way Julia never had.

Grayson was slower, studied casualness, pausing to make a face at Cecily as they left the kitchen, sending her into a fit of giggles.

They were both quiet until the moment the door clicked shut behind them.

“What, and I cannot stress this part enough, the fuck happened? Why did I hear three different conversations about you in the span of fifteen minutes in line? None of them good, in case you were wondering.”

Trapp felt the tremor move through him, cortisol levels spiking, his fight-or-flight response kicking into high gear. He wanted to do both. Run away from this and split his knuckles against the side of someone’s head.

“Why don’t you tell me what you heard first?”

Grayson laughed, incredulously. “Trapp, how the fuck did you go from ‘I convinced my girlfriend to break up because I’m a selfless simp for community heroism,’ all the way to ‘shady manwhore who probably got kicked out of school and shouldn’t work with the public’ in the space of a week?”

His hands bunched into fists as his brother snorted. The notion that he was the morning gossip made him sick. That and the fact that he was already two days behind it did not inspire confidence that this was a problem he could get in front of.

“Let’s see,” Grayson went on, still chuckling. “I heard that you left the Man-o-War with someone named Lyla, left her in the parking lot without so much as a tissue to clean herself up with, and then purposely spent the night with her archnemesis.”

“How would I have known that?!”

“Then we overheard the two geezers who argue over the crossword every morning bemoaning how disappointing it is to hear that you’ve been so unchivalrous this week — that’s sixteen across, by the way. That poor, sweet human probably left town in shame, probably caught you in bed with one of the other teachers.”

“What?!”

“Also, how did I not know that you used to get so worked up over failing exams in school that you would angry-cry at the front of the lecture hall? Evidently, you punched a professor for not giving you a passing grade. That’s the reason you came home, because you probably flunked out and the family was too ashamed to admit it.”

“I was at the top of my class!” He was breathing hard, shouting, he realized, when the brooding reptilian next door peered over the hedges suspiciously, the iguana he was walking poking its head through for good measure.

Grayson was still laughing. “So I repeat — what the fuck happened? What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything! This is all because of that bitch at the clinic,” he raged. “Fucking Adriana, from med school. Who your friend hired, by the way. Next time I see Shay, I’m kneecapping him in the fucking parking lot. She was in the coffee shop talking about me to Xenna. None of that is true! Not that it matters. Xenna did this, you know she can’t keep anything to herself.”

“But it’s not not true, Trapp.” Grayson shook his head derisively. “Have you learned literally nothing from me all these years? You get one fuck up at a time, and they need to be pretty well-spaced fuck-ups at that. You’re going to wreck shop on your personal life? Things had better be immaculate professionally. Problems at work? You’d better be making everyone at home happy. Your girlfriend dumped you. Boo fucking hoo. You didn’t need to go out and fuck half the town in seventy-two hours. You did that all on your own, champ. Now you’ve got some ghost of your past kicking skeletons out of your closet, and, oh, that’s right, it sounds like you could have dealt with her before she even got the job.”

“You know my phone was—”

“Then you get it fixed,” Grayson interrupted, devoid of sympathy. “Act like a fucking adult and know what day of the week it is.”

He dragged his hands over his face in an effort to keep himself from taking a swing at Grayson’s jaw. “How do I fix this? You’re the family fixer. What do I do? Tell me how I fix this.”

Grayson’s rough laughter bounced across the wide, green front lawn. “You don’t, Trapp. There’s nothing to fix. Who the fuck cares? It’s just gossip; there will be someone new to talk about next week. This will go away on its own, as long as you don’t make it fucking worse. And it comes with the benefit of me getting to watch you squirm until it does. I, for one, am delighted by this turn of events.”

“You can’t fucking tell me there’s nothing I can do!” He was shouting again, but he didn’t care. The thought of having to endure thin smiles and hard eyes indefinitely was untenable. It wasn’t just gossip. This was his reputation on the line. He was Trapp, local hero, everyone’s friend. Who was he, if he was not the Hemming everyone liked?

The front door swung open, Owen’s head popping out, eyebrows raised. “Uh, everything okay out here? If you guys are fighting, let me grab my phone real quick.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Trapp grumbled, shouldering past his younger brother into the house, Grayson continuing to laugh behind him.

Brunch resumed once they took their seats, voices chattering across the table as a bottle of champagne was passed for mimosas, the conversation turning to the wedding.

“What about the muffin shop?” Jackson asked, consulting a checklist on his phone. Grayson’s spectacle of a wedding was distributing money around the entirety of the business district, every single shop on Main Street getting a piece of the pie, no matter how small.

“Ordered for the day-after brunch,” Vanessa confirmed.

At the end of the table, Trapp watched as their father’s attention was pulled by the silent buzz of a notification from his phone, where it rested face-down beside his plate. Jack turned the phone, simultaneously lifting his champagne flute to his lips, reading silently.

The conversation continued, Jackson and Grayson bickering over the running tally of business distribution, but Trapp was watching their father. The phone went back to the table, face down once more, champagne swallowed, Jack’s eyes meeting his.

“Fucking Tris,” he choked out, unable to hold the thought in. He already knew who the message was from, what it said, how it made him look. Tris Tatterswain was a parasite, at the scene of every crime, sticking his goaty nose into everyone’s business . . . but he was a parasite on the Hemming payroll.

Jackson broke off, eyebrows coming together, as Gray’s head whipped to their father, already a step ahead in the conversation.

“Sounds like you’ve had a busy week,” Jack said simply, filling his fork.

Grayson snorted, almost choking on his eggs Benedict.

“This is all because of that lying mongrel at the clinic,” Trapp growled through clenched teeth. “I didn’t do anything!”

Jack shrugged, holding Trapp’s eye. “It sounds like you did plenty.”

“What’s going on?” their mother asked, innocent concern furrowing her brows.

“What do you think about the reflecting pool, Sandi?” Vanessa cut in cleanly, directing the question to her future mother-in-law, saving Trapp twice in the space of thirty minutes. “Is it necessary? Or is your son being ridiculous?”

“Hey, will Cecily be walking by the ceremony?” Grayson mused, thankfully following Vanessa’s lead. “Kids walk by the time they’re two, right? Do we think she’ll be able to hold a basket? Because we haven’t matched up the wedding party yet, and I could do the funniest thing to Lowell.”

Their father rolled his eyes as Victoria huffed at Grayson and Owen laughed, the topic of conversation fully routed. Trapp breathed out slowly. Perhaps he wasn’t losing his person at all. He might even be gaining additional backup, he thought as Vanessa met his eye quickly with an almost imperceptible nod.

It was a relief to leave his parents’ house that day, a relief to climb into his own bed, telling himself if he slept, this might all turn out to be a bad dream.

. . . At least, until the following day, when the very first call of his shift, an elderly wolf with a bad hip was directed to the urgent care clinic.

“The patient is eighty-two,” he pushed back. “Are we sure Healers wouldn’t be better—”

“Are you arguing with me?” the dispatcher demanded, a dryad he’d known all his life.

Trapp swallowed hard, forcing himself to internalize Grayson’s words. You’re going to fuck up your personal life? Things had better be immaculate professionally. He had no idea which gossip thread had reached whose ears, and he couldn’t afford to squander any more goodwill.

“Of course not, Relinda. Orders received; we’re en route.”

Oleg, at least, seemed blissfully unaware there was anything amiss as they rolled the grumpy geriatric werewolf into the clinic. “I’m just saying, Hemming, if you don’t take the top waiver wire, we’re giving the season to the guys over at Station Two in Starling Heights,” the troll droned, guiding the wheels through the doorway, having spent the whole drive chattering away about a local fantasy ketterling draft Trapp couldn’t care less about.

She was there, because fucking of course she was there.

Trapp watched Adriana Brunelli stiffen as the automatic doors pulled open. It was annoying how good she looked. He’d found her pretty in med school, part of the reason he’d pursued her in the first place, but now . . . she seemed softer now, the hard brashness she’d led with the whole time they were in school buffed away. The emergency department will do that, probably. Her skin was paler than it had been, likely owing to years of long shifts and no sun, and the contrast between her moon-white neck and the thick waterfall of black hair she had pulled behind her was striking.

He was struck with the memory of her that very first night at the library, all darting eyes and soft gasps, her panic that they would be caught catching in her throat as her fingers tightened in his hair. He could almost still feel the trembling of her white thighs around his face as his tongue worked against her slick center, licking her cunt until she’d flooded his mouth, studying forgotten.

Her pale skin flushed with fire now, red moving over her cheeks, fists tightening at her sides as Trapp cleared his throat for Oleg to start the hand-off, shaking off any consideration for how lovely she was. That was still the moon talking, the scent of her having invaded his nose too close to the turn, both deliciously familiar and excitingly foreign, leaving him achingly hard as his body shifted, desperate to fuck with no outlet to do so.

Don’t forget she’s the source of your problems. Get your head in the fucking game.

He forced himself to pay attention to Oleg’s recitation of old man Rudolph’s injuries when the troll was interrupted.

“I can’t accept a hand-off with abbreviated vitals,” she snapped, and any warm feelings nostalgia may have been brewing were immediately extinguished.

“He wasn’t finished,” Trapp countered. “And I correct him.”

Her spine lengthened, shoulders rolling back, as if she were attempting to stretch herself to meet his height. “I’m the attending physician in this clinic.”

He barked out a laugh, a sneer instead of one of his script-approved smiles taking up residence on his face. “This is urgent care, Adi. There’s no attending here. You’re a shift employee, no different than the maintenance crew. The vitals have already been recorded in the chart, which you’re free to look at, at any point.”

She stepped closer, invading his space as she glowered, bringing with her the faint scent of rain and sun-warmed cotton. When she spoke, it was through clenched teeth. “What I care about is professional competency. If this is your trainee, have you bothered to instruct him in the proper hand-off procedure? Or were you too busy practicing your hair flip for the pin-up calendar?”

Oleg was gaping, his head swiveling between them as if it were on a stick. This was how she’d always been, Trapp remembered. Fiery, argumentative, striving to beat him any way she could.

“Is someone in this place going to help me take a piss?” the old wolf in the bed raged.

“Eighty-two, male, werewolf, unwitnessed mechanical fall in garage on a concrete floor at approximately eleven hundred hours. Patient spent approximately thirty minutes on the ground. Suspected hairline fracture of the femoral neck.” Trapp’s voice was a pitch-black growl as he relayed Mr. Rudolph’s vitals, watching the slow spread of scarlet temper across her cheeks. He’d forgotten that her grey eyes were haloed in gold, like an eclipse, and wondered how it could have slipped from his memory. “I didn’t push him into a standard traction splint because it’s an intracapsular injury, but if you want to yank on his heel and override my field stabilization without taking a single plain film first, be my guest, Doctor Brunelli. Because this is a contest, after all.”

The automatic doors slid open as he and Oleg returned to the ambulance, his heart hammering against his ribs. Trapp had a feeling this was probably what Grayson would have classified as making it worse.

By the time they made it back to the firehouse, the claustrophobia of the ambulance was suffocating. He wasn’t sure how Julia leaving him was suddenly the unexpected high point of his month. It was foolish to have been as upset as he was, upset for all the wrong reasons, realizing Gray had been right about that as well. He never should have reacted the way he did with the two-day bender and subsequent flings. He could, it turned out, handle being dumped.

This, on the other hand? This was the foundation of his entire life being chipped away with an ice pick. He had spent years scrubbing the failure of his medical residency off his name, replacing it with being the Hemming everyone admired, the sterling, unshakeable reputation of a wolf who saved lives and helped his neighbors and never, ever asked for anything in return.

Trapp pushed through the bay doors, for once needing the mindless distraction of cleaning the trucks.

In the dayroom, the television was blaring a ketterling match, but the assembled crew wasn’t watching it. Vinlop and Drig were huddled near the water cooler, and the second Trapp’s boots hit the linoleum, the conversation died. Vinlop looked everywhere but at Trapp’s face, suddenly fascinated by the label on his energy drink. So much for brothers in uniform.

“Hemming.” He turned, the voice of Rosh, the captain, making him stiffen. The demonborn’s features were uncomfortable. “Come sit for two minutes.”

“I’m good, Cap. Hosing down the box,” Trapp said, his voice tightening. He could feel his mask slipping, the polished, easygoing persona he affected day in and out fracturing at the edges.

“Cleaning can wait,” the captain said, gesturing to the office door. When Trapp didn’t move, he sighed. “Hemming, it wasn’t a request.”

His feet were made of lead as he shuffled into the small, even more claustrophobic office.

“Look, I just got off the phone with the clinic manager over at urgent care.”

A red mist settled over his eyes. “Cap—”

“A Dr. Brunelli filed an incident report regarding unprofessional conduct during your handoff this morning. She claims you were insubordinate, aggressive, and that you compromised patient care by arguing over the handoff in front of said patient.”

“That is bullshit,” Trapp snapped, his voice defensive and raw, no hint of everybody’s favorite fireman to be found. “She was the one who ignored the vitals! Oleg was trying to give her everything she needed. It’s not her place to chastise him. She’s just trying to pull rank because—”

“She’s the MD, Trapp,” Rosh interrupted, his voice firm. “She has rank. The medical director will review the run sheet. If your charting holds up, the protocol will back you up. What I care about, what the chief cares about, is the fact that she’s the MD, and you do not get to engage in a pissing contest with an attending physician in front of a civilian. Period.”

“She’s not an attending physician,” he spat, knowing the distinction meant nothing here, but for the captain to be saying it, Adriana had repeated the claim in her report against him. “She’s an urgent care employee. She’s not even the managing physician of the clinic!”

“I don’t really care what you want to call her, Trapp. She’s the doctor, and that means on that floor, she has the final say.” He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Go home. I’m relieving you of duty for the day. We can’t give you a pass just because of your name. If the chief disagrees, well, we’ll see you tomorrow. If he agrees with my call, we’ll see you for your next shift. From what I’ve heard, it sounds like you could use the time off to get your head on straight.”

He was on his feet before his brain could fully process the movement, hands still clenched in fists at his side. Trapp knew it was an aggressive posture, and he could tell from the way Rosh stiffened that he read that way as well.

“I’ve never asked for special treatment. I’ve never performed as if I expected it, either. I was under the impression I earned my position here, but I guess it’s good to know where I stand.” It’s called healthy boundaries, Trapp. You should try it sometime. They had been right about that as well.

He didn’t relax his posture when he stalked out of the firehouse, eyes trained ahead. Trapp was pretty sure adrenaline and muscle memory drove him home, for he had no memory of getting behind the wheel. Once he was in his own driveway, he barely had time to step from his truck before he heard the voices. His neighbor, a kitsune around his age, muttering with the gnoll from across the street.

Unlike Jackson and Gray, he hadn’t felt the need to build himself an edifice to block out the rest of the community. He’d purchased a modest home in one of the town’s oldest neighborhoods, close to the university, because he wasn’t concerned with reminding his neighbors of who he was, who his father was, didn’t need to put on airs or ensure space . . . and now his yard felt just as claustrophobic as the firehouse had, his neighbor too close.

He could see the gnoll’s frown, and a moment later, when his attention was caught by the mothperson delivering mail across the street, he was certain he detected a scowl in his direction.

“You know, Trapp, Lyla is a good friend of mine.”

He glared at the kitsune, and the absence of a smile on his face seemed to shock her. “Who?” he asked patronizingly, deciding it was too fucking late, there was no way to get in front of anything, and if his reputation was going down, he may as well drag it to hell.

The kitsune huffed a second before he slammed the front door, shutting them all out. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t be trapped indoors for the full four and a half days he would be off, and he was inevitably suspended for the entirety of his shift, so there would be no returning to the station in the morning.

He’d been back in Cambric Creek for a decade, ten years of devoting himself to the firehouse and the community center, ten years of being helpful and friendly, of showing up where he was needed, and never expecting to be treated differently. Ten years of being the Hemming everyone liked, and it had all been erased in the space of a week. Because of those fucking sheep at the coffee shop. Because of her. Fine. Give them what they want.

Grayson’s brows were drawn when he answered his door a short while later, confusion over why Trapp was out of uniform on the first day of his shift.

“Hi, Trapp,” he could hear Vanessa’s voice from inside the house, as Gray’s eyes narrowed, moving from Trapp’s face to the laundry basket of clothes and provisions he’d hastily packed, stepping aside a beat later to let him in.

“When do you play racquetball with Shay next?” he asked in a tight voice, as Grayson shut the door with finality, not even questioning what Trapp was doing.

“Shay doesn’t play racquetball. He golfs.”

“Perfect. Then why don’t you order us up a tee time? I think there are some things he needs to know about his new hire.”

Adriana

In the Emergency Department, the air smelled of ozone and burnt wire, the ubiquitous antiseptic smell of commercial cleaners and bleach wipes, all mingling with the arrival of blood and sick and the grime of the streets. Exhaust from the ambulances and alcohol from some of the patients, and the familiar interior smell of her PPE.

It was an electric smell. A dangerous, intoxicating stink that meant things were moving at eighty miles an hour and if she didn’t move at eighty-one, someone died.

Here at Healers Urgent Care, the air smelled of lemon-scented floor cleaner and Deneen’s perfume, even though Adriana had mentioned several times that she needed to be conscious of patient sensitivities and shouldn’t be wearing any. The sterile smell of antiseptic ointment and tongue depressors carried the same odor as the cotton swabs and sanitary paper that covered the exam tables. Everything that existed beyond the lobby was exactly the same, the olfactory version of a plain grey wall.

She hated it.

She hated the smell, hated the slowness of this place. She hated how the clinic staff — Shileen, in particular — looked at her when she gave an instruction, as if she were asking the goblin to go work on the plumbing or to change the oil in every car in the parking lot, and not reasonable, clear expectations, like taking patient vitals without the task necessitating conversation. The whole staff was like that. Every interaction was plodding, laced with endless niceties that had nothing to do with the patient’s reason for coming in, slowing down the schedule for everyone.

She had watched a middle-aged satyr chattering away with the receptionist as they’d checked in, discussing some children’s summer program at the community center. Then, once the satyr’s name was called, they’d stopped midway across the room, asking a troll who’d just come in about their knee replacement, the conversation transferring to Shileen as they moved into the interior hallway to be weighed, stretching as vitals were recorded, putting the appointment six minutes behind before a single thing had been entered on the chart for her to work with.

No one here moved with the hyper-focused, military precision she had spent years drilling into her own bones. They shuffled. They murmured about how a gnoll named Dr. Grigor used to do things before he retired to a beach down south, when the old clinic closed.

And the worst of it — they looked at her like she was the strange one, a dangerous scavenger that had slipped its cage and settled in their breakroom.

Adriana didn’t know what else to do. She’d been there for a full month, and things weren’t any different than they’d been her first week. She was as methodical and efficient as she’d always been, giving the staff plenty of time to acclimate to what was evidently a hitherto unknown pace, driving a sense of urgency in every patient interaction, but it didn’t seem to make a bit of difference.

Her nose twitched at the smell of something sweet as she entered the clinic that day, noting the already nearly full waiting area — homemade muffins. In the city, such a gift would have gone directly into the trash behind a closed door. Not to cause offense, but for safety reasons, given the risk of accepting food from an unknown and potentially unstable source. Here, though, in this town that looked like it had wandered off a movie set, the muffins sat on the counter, the basket already half-empty.

Adriana had watched movies featuring towns like this, keeping them on as background noise in the scant hours she was home — small town romances and murder mysteries set against a backdrop of cozy B&B’s, diners where everyone knew each other’s name and regular order, and the beloved town librarian, a surrogate grandmother to all with a murderous gleam in her eye, her prized zinnias trod on by the mailman one too many times for sanity.

She wondered what role she had been cast in, here in Cambric Creek. Here at the clinic? You’re the villain of the week. She snorted at the thought. Too fucking bad. She wasn’t going anywhere, and they would adjust eventually or die trying. Snagging a muffin as she passed the desk, she only hoped it wasn’t a mistake and that she wouldn’t wind up as a victim of the week instead.

“Dr. Brunelli?”

Adriana nearly choked on the bite of muffin she’d just taken as Eyla, the Orcish nurse, popped out from around the corner, her face settled into the mask of polite disapproval that Adriana had grown intimately familiar with since she’d started. The nurse was holding a tablet, her pen tucked behind an ear, lips pursed.

She sucked in a controlled breath once she’d swallowed, forcing her mouth into what she hoped was a friendly smile. “Yes?” The orc continued to purse her lips in what she could only assume was disapproval for several seconds, and Adriana felt a muscle jump beneath her eye.

“I just wanted to let you know there’s an ambulance on the way,” Eyla said at last. “Coming from the Stratos campus.”

Her exhalation was just as controlled, not allowing Eyla to see that the news affected her in any way, even as her pulse kicked up at the mere thought. She had not seen him since that day here at the clinic, the day he’d had the fucking audacity to argue with her in front of a patient.

She had been trembling in fury when the ambulance pulled away that day, and once they had the geriatric werewolf in for X-rays, she had marched to the office, thinking about the woman she’d met out on the street.

Don’t take anyone’s bullshit. You let the folks around here treat you like you’re lesser and they’ll never stop.

She had no intention of letting Trapp Hemming make her feel small. Not now, not here. As it was, she’d already let him get under her skin, invading her thoughts anytime she wasn’t with a patient, making her doubt herself!

After the very first time she’d been made unpleasantly aware of his presence in Cambric Creek, she’d gone back into the clinic determined to set things right with the elderly faun — blood work, imaging, everything he’d suggested, a treatment plan she did agree with . . . only to find the clinic didn’t have a CT machine. They could do basic X-rays and little more. Which he would fucking know. She’d written the orders to have the faun and her glaring daughter brought next door to the main hospital for imaging, her fists clenching again once a grinning mothman wheeled the old faun away.

She had no way of knowing what the fallout had been from her complaint against him, if there had been any fallout at all, which was unlikely. Once she had gotten her head out of her ass and started paying attention, Adriana realized Trapp Hemming wasn’t merely the golden boy antagonist from med school — the majority of those shining bronze plaques she had noticed all around downtown bore the Hemming name. Of all the fucking places in the world to move to.

“Oh, honey,” her giggling neighbor had said the night she’d been invited over by the bewhiskered catwoman. “His family runs this whole town! His brother is mayor now, and his father . . . well, Jack is in charge of everything. Everyone knows that.”

Jack. The Jack who’d paid for her lemonade? She’d helped herself to a tiny pickle from the cheeseboard the catwoman had put out as she considered it, allowing her glass of sangria to be topped off.

It had been exciting, being invited over to the neighbor’s townhouse, the notion of actually making friends leaving her giddy. Muffy lived in the unit directly to the left of her own, while Avrille, a curvaceous mothwoman with beautiful sunset-colored wings, lived across the street. Adriana didn’t like to admit that friendship was a bit of a loose concept with which she was only slightly familiar.

She’d been a lonely child, a bookish outcast in her pack, and loneliness had followed her through undergrad and medical school, residency and every city in between with the faithful consistency of a family pet.

In university, school had been all that mattered. She was there on an academic scholarship, and what that didn’t pay for was covered by a need-based grant, humiliating and alienating once she realized most of her classmates at Mercy had trust funds and took glamorous ski vacations. Once she’d entered her residency and afterward, when she was full-time in the emergency department, she didn’t have time for friends outside of work. Friends at work were just as tricky, for hospitals ran on bureaucracy and politicking, always who you knew and not how good you were, and making lasting friendships hadn’t seemed wise.

Loneliness wasn’t a stranger; never had been.

Being invited over for sangria and gossip shouldn’t have felt as thrilling or as exciting as being included in the coffee shop chatter, but there was nothing she could do about that.

“They’re all very good-looking, but Trapp is the most handsome.”

“Nope. Disagree,” Avrille cut in, drinking deeply from her oversized wineglass before continuing. “Trapp is technically the hottest one, but he’s too nice. I like the mean one. He looks like he could split you in two. It’s very unfair that invitations to his parties are so hard to get. I’ve been trying for years! My neighbor gets an invite, but he’s never once taken me, that goaty asshole.”

“You actually have to be able to run at those things, you know. I don’t think they’d let you just lie there with your legs open.”

“Well, now he’s getting married, so at this rate I’ll never find out!”

Both women hunched, lost in laughter again. Adriana had no idea who or what they were talking about, deciding that draining her glass would save her from feeling like the odd one out.

“Whatever, it’s nice finally having a handsome young mayor and not someone older than my grandfather. Okay, Adriana, clarify for us how you know Trapp? I couldn’t make heads or tails of what I heard at the coffee shop.”

Her cheeks had burned as the mothwoman ladled more sangria into both their glasses. She still hated the notion that strangers knew anything about her at all. “Wh-what did you hear?” Her head was swimming. She very rarely drank, and it was impossible to know what had gone into the sweet, fruity concoction in the punch bowl on the table.

“Oh, just that you knew Trapp from medical school and that he was terrible. I was so shocked! You must have known him very well . . .”

“Did you fuck him?” Avrille demanded, as Muffy wheezed, sloshing a bit of the dark red liquid from her cup. “He has a huge dick, right? He walks like that thing weighs five pounds. It’s a wonder he can even close his legs.”

She was scarlet by then, as red as the wine in her cup, and both women screeched in knowing. “You did! You have to tell us everything!”

When she woke the next morning, it had been with an agonized groan, and the light coming through her bedroom sheers was a physical assault. Adriana didn’t know what, exactly, she had told Muffy and Avrille, only that they had shrieked in laughter until the sangria was gone and the cheese board was reduced to crumbs. She’d gone stumbling back to her own townhouse, grateful that she was off the following day, dragging herself up the steps, the room spinning by the time she made it to the third floor, but by then, after a whole night of talking about him, she was too horny to even consider sleeping.

It was telling that the only dildo she owned was of a werewolf. Thick and veined, just as he had been, with a tapered tip and a fat knot. The silicone base was a suction cup, and she’d already been naked, pussy practically vibrating, before she’d realized her bedroom was carpeted, and she wouldn’t have enough room in the bathroom. She’d nearly fallen in her haste to get to the second floor, not even considering how humiliating it would be to fall and have him be the one to find her, his ambulance arriving to her in a naked, horny heap at the base of the steps.

She’d wasted no time getting down on her knees in the middle of the still-empty kitchen, sinking down on the tapered tip, the same way she’d done to his cock a million years earlier, in the campus library.

That was how it had started, all those years ago, at the library.

It hadn’t been a single hook-up, as she’d alluded to at the coffee shop. She and Trapp had immediately sniffed each other out as the best in their class, and he had been the one to suggest studying together, after weeks of gentle needling. He would show up at the edge of her table when she beat his score on a pathology test, giving her that brilliant, white-toothed smile, drop a coffee he’d probably bought with his father’s credit card in front of her, smirking down. Nice job, Adi. Guess you stayed up later than me this time. Three times a week at the library, reviewing notes, making flashcards, week after week, until the night he had begged off. The full moon was only days away, but they had pharmacology work to do, she’d insisted.

“I’m too horny for this tonight,” he announced that night at the library, up on the fifth floor, completely alone, the way they liked it.

Her jaw had dropped as he flipped his book closed. “But—”

“Sorry, Adi,” he’d laughed, pushing to his feet. “Unless you want to fuck, I’m not going to be able to focus on pharmacology.”

It hadn’t even mattered that he was a wolf.

She couldn’t remember who had made the first move. Only that her hand had landed on his belt, tracing the shape of his erection with her nails, drawing his thick shaft out and into her mouth. She’d sucked him until she’d felt his pulse beneath her tongue, squeaking when he’d pulled out abruptly, lifting her to the table as if she were a doll. She’d buried her face against his chest when he’d entered her the first time, his t-shirt swallowing the sound of her moan.

That was the first time she’d fucked Trapp Hemming, but it had only been the start.

After that, every time they studied together, either in the library or at his apartment, it always ended the same way — his fat cock inside her, fucking her hard against the unyielding library table; his tongue between her thighs, sucking her clit until she came undone; his cock down her throat, coming in her mouth.

She’d ridden the silicone stand-in for his cock that night in her shiny new townhouse in this life that still didn’t quite feel like hers, furious that he was here, that he was ruining everything, that her body still remembered the shape of him and how good he’d felt inside of her. When the memory of riding him the same way and the pressure of the weighted silicone within her made her climax, she’d screamed like a feral animal, sinking down onto the silicone knot, the one memory she didn’t have, body spasming around it, and the world had gone black.

She’d woken some hours later, slightly panicked as to why she was sprawled out naked on her kitchen floor in the middle of the night . . . until she’d felt the tug of the knot still inside her, realizing she’d passed out drunk and that it was, perhaps, the most humiliating moment of her life in the past decade.

The mothwoman across the street was correct in her assumption — he did have a big dick, but his ego was even bigger, and he’d broken her tender, inexperienced heart when they’d known each other the first time, snubbing her completely out of the blue. All because of a stupid test. But that doesn’t matter anymore. Who’s the doctor now, Trapp?

Adriana walked to the front of the clinic the next day with her heart thumping, fists already balled up. She was steeling herself for a fight, because undoubtedly a fight was what he’d still be spoiling for . . . but a fight wasn’t what entered the vestibule just a few minutes later.

Trapp was standing beside the stretcher, his posture so straight he looked like a statue carved of navy twill. He was wearing a uniform shirt that day instead of the snug station polo, but it was buttoned to the throat, not a hair out of place, his lips pressed in a flat line, his eyes so devoid of sparkle that they almost looked opaque.

He looked so good it was criminal. Avrille was wrong — he was the most handsome wolf in the world, let alone in this small town, and that only made Adriana angrier. Where does he get the fucking nerve, getting out of bed just looking like that? Such a prick.

The grey-skinned troll who’d been with him both times he’d previously come to the clinic hovered just behind Trapp, shuffling back and forth, as if he worried about stepping on an active landmine.

Something had come of her complaint after all, she thought, biting back a grin. Good. She felt smug for a whole three and a half seconds, before Trapp began to speak.

“Patient is male, ogre, 43 years old. Presenting with an isolated chemical keratoconjunctivitis to the left eye following an industrial catalyst splash. Exposure occurred 11:15, approximately twenty-two minutes ago. Patient has a history of chronic hypertension.” He spat out the ogre’s blood pressure and oxygen levels as if he meant to hit her with them. “We’ve initiated continuous low-pressure irrigation in the field using a Milgrup lens and one liter of normal saline. Last checked pH of the ocular sac was eight point five.”

His voice was a monotone bark, delivering the status without so much as taking a breath. It was a textbook, residency-level presentation, nothing she could find fault with. This was the first time he had been the one to relay the patient’s status, she realized, the wide-eyed troll having done so at his prompting both times before. “Shouldn’t the trainee be the one giving the history?”

He didn’t respond, staring straight ahead, his eyes fixed on a point several inches above her head.

“Fine,” she ground out. “Eyla, we need a full toxicological profile on the specific chemical compound before we continue irrigation. Let’s find the specialized Milgrup lens pump and get him into bed one. Have Shileen call next door for the ophthalmology consult.”

“Your signature is required first, Doctor.”

She flinched at the stoniness of his voice, her cheeks heating when she realized he’d moved in the brief instant she’d turned back to address her nurse. Trapp now stood between her and the stretcher, blocking her from the patient.

“I’m not signing off on a chemical burn protocol until we’ve identified the specific safety data sheet for that compound. Move him into the room, Medic.”

“Tri-County Emergency Medical Services Regulation 402, Paragraph C requires your signature on the intake liability form prior to patient offload so my partner can retrieve the specific industrial neutralizing agent the engineering facility keeps on file. We can’t release the patient until the document is executed, Doctor.” His face was a hard mask, devoid of expression, as harsh as his tone. He stood between her and the ogre on the stretcher like a boulder. “If you refuse to sign, I’m required by protocol to contact the shift supervisor at the facility of origin and document a refusal of care.”

Behind the discharge desk, Deneen’s keyboard had gone silent. Eyla was staring open-mouthed at Trapp, shocked by the cold efficiency of the wolf she’d probably known since he was in diapers.

Adriana felt a hot wave of fury surge through her veins. He was weaponizing the very thing she prided herself on — unyielding adherence to clinical protocol. And he was doing it in front of her staff, again.

“Give me the chart,” she hissed, clicking through the requisite screens until she reached the signature he was requesting. “Put him in the room.”

By the time the lights of the ambulance were pulling away, her hands were shaking so hard she had to shove them back into her coat pockets to hide them from Eyla.

It was a set-up, she realized, a warning of what the rest of the day would look like.

There had been a birthday party a few days earlier, she learned, listening to Shileen chat unendingly with a troll who was there with her elementary school-aged daughter. A party that every child in the upcoming third-grade class had been invited to, a super spreader event that had their waiting room bursting at the seams for the first time since she’d started at the clinic.

Adriana was fuming. They had the nerve to be busy when she had vengeance on her mind. “I need assistance in here,” she called down the hallway after a green-skinned girl with pigtails and the teeth of a piranha nearly bit her. The little girl’s mother protested when a silicone wedge was fit between her daughter’s jaws, forcing them to stay open, but Adriana intended to end her shift with all her fingers intact, regardless of the little girl’s tears.

“Open,” she told a six-year-old Wulvern boy, her eye still twitching as she jammed a wooden tongue depressor into his mouth, the hard bark of Trapp’s voice reverberating around her skull. “Swab . . . and done. Shileen, run the rapid test.”

The boy’s mother squinted with a look of deep irritation. “Is he going to need an antibiotic? Can we make sure it’s the one from Hastings-Durning? All of those human drugs give him a stomachache. Dr. Grigor used to—”

“Dr. Grigor is retired,” Adriana snapped, not looking up as she tapped on the tablet. “If it’s viral, antibiotics won’t do anything but ruin his gut flora. Which we won’t know until the test is done. Wait in the lobby, please.” She didn’t wait to see the woman’s reaction.

Trapp thought he was the only one who could weaponize a policy manual? He thought just because he had an important name and a big dick, just because he was connected and charming, that he’d be able to twist protocol around her like a boa constrictor? She would show him how wrong he was. She had spent years navigating the most cutthroat emergency department in the Northeast. She knew how to find a loophole in a hospital charter that could dismantle a chief resident’s entire scheduling rotation before they came back from lunch.

He thinks he can tie your hands with red tape? We’ll see if he enjoys it as much. The notion of tying his hands with anything made her blush; the image in her head not one that was safe for work.

For the next week, every minute she wasn’t at the clinic, Adriana was dissecting every line of the Tri-County Emergency Medical Services manual, paying fifty dollars to download the full, unredacted PDF of the county operational guidelines from the state database. To trap him in his own game? Fucking worth it.

“Eyla, I want you to pull up the run sheet for every ambulance drop-off from the last thirty days.” The grin that crossed her face was probably a bit unhinged, but she was past the point of caring. “Specifically, any patient dropped off at this facility by Unit 43. I want a full audit done.”

The orc looked up from the computer she sat in front of at the central desk, her expression instantly guarded, eyebrows shooting up. “That’s Trapp’s . . . an audit? Dr. Grigor never ordered an audit for any of the—”

“Dr. Grigor is gone,” Adriana interrupted. “And per section 9-B of the Tri-County Medical Oversight Charter, which I have read very thoroughly, the director of the receiving facility has the right to review all pre-admission charting for diagnostic alignment. I want to see if the field diagnostics match our diagnoses. If there’s a discrepancy greater than five percent, I am required to flag it for the regional medical board.”

Eyla’s mouth opened slightly, a flush of dark green rising on her neck. “Trapp’s charts are always clean, Dr. Brunelli. He’s very thorough.”

“Then he has nothing to worry about.” Adriana offered a tight, razor-sharp smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s get it done today.”

She didn’t wait for Eyla to protest. She turned and walked into exam room three to prep for her first patient. The trap was set. Now, she just had to wait for him to slide into it.

Trapp

He had decided, upon returning to the fire station after his suspension, that the transition from being someone who was well-liked and admired to . . . whatever it was he’d become, required a complete personal realignment. An attitude adjustment, something his father had been telling him he’d needed since he was nine years old.

It was jarring not to be the recipient of smiles everywhere he went. Instead, the owner of the hardware store who’d known him his whole life had shaken his head reproachfully when Trapp had come in for copper fittings for the station, mumbling under his breath about some people always expecting to get their way in life. His favorite bartender at Gildersnood had barely paused her conversation to glance up at him as she rang him out when he picked up lunch, and the singular time he’d been back to the coffee shop since that first morning, Xenna had been friendly, but she hadn’t stopped the line to chat with him, treating him no differently than any other patron in the shop.

He wasn’t asking for special treatment. But it was impossible to not notice the difference.

Eighteen holes of golf had not been enough to convince Shay Marsh that the doctor running his urgent care clinic needed to pack up her shoddy little bag and get out of town.

“It sounds to me like you’re both being ridiculous,” the shifter had unhelpfully offered, as Grayson grumbled about how long a round of golf took.

“When can’t you start playing squash like a normal person?”

Shay ignored both Hemmings for a moment, taking his swing, turning back to them with a dramatic eye roll. “You’re both whiny bitches. Are you aware of that? When I agreed to be in this wedding party, I thought I was going to be taken on luxury golf weekends, maybe a party bus, a night away from the kids. Something glamorous. I didn’t realize I was signing up to play Hemming family therapist on the back nine.”

“It would take a lot of fucking golf for that.”

Trapp had scowled as his brother and his friend laughed.

“What are you saying?” Trapp demanded, fists tightening around his driver. “So the doctors at your facility can just go off on their own, absent of oversight, causing trouble with whatever independent agency in town they feel like picking on?”

Shay had only rolled his eyes again. “I don’t like that any sort of complaint was placed with emergency services without my prior knowledge, and I will be following up on that. But as for the rest of it . . . you have an existing personal relationship with her, Trapp. One that’s coloring your interactions. I think it’s fair to say that’s true on both sides of the equation.”

“Why didn’t you mention this is someone you were involved with?” Grayson demanded for the tenth time since Trapp’s telling of his checkered history with Adriana Brunelli, clearly put out that he hadn’t known every detail of the story before the golf outing with his friend.

“She used me,” Trapp clarified for Shay’s benefit, just in case the shifter had been more focused on chipping up to the green than the details of his narrative. “And you’re okay with having someone like that working for you?!”

“It’s not like you’d be the first sap to be used by a pretty girl in school,” Shay shrugged. “And if moral character was that important to me, I wouldn’t be friends with this asshole. I don’t know what else you want me to say, Trapp. I will be having a conversation with my employee, but I don’t think your supervisor handled it any differently than I might have done.”

“You shouldn’t work with people you’re fucking,” Grayson agreed, taking his place at the tee as Trapp sputtered indignantly and Shay laughed.

“You are the biggest fucking hypocrite! How the fuck do you find your way to your office every day for as delusional as you are? You know what? I hope this whole engagement is one big, long fuck you honeytrap Vanessa has been planning since the day you took that other girl on vacation. Non-refundable deposits, custom water feature, all the businesses in town . . . she’s out to ruin you, and it’s what you fucking deserve. I can’t wait for us to be all lined up in the moon temple, you stuffed into your custom suit like the baboon ballsack you are, and then nothing. She’s halfway to Tijuana with all your money. And I’m not fucking anyone!”

“That’s certainly not what I’ve heard,” Shay laughed, climbing back into the cart. “But I’m listening to you, Trapp. I’m sorry that you’ve had such a bad interaction with the new clinic doctor since she started. My professional advice is to stop trying to have a pissing match with her every time you walk through the doors. It sounds to me like you both have the exact same sort of vendetta against each other, and it’s not going to get better unless you’re willing to call a truce. Let me think on it for a few days. My personal advice is answer your godsdamn phone when someone calls you for a reference, because this could’ve all been avoided.”

Fine.

His head had been a mess since that very first day the ambulance had pulled up to the urgent care clinic. It was hard to reconcile that he’d been upset about a break-up only a few short weeks ago, because now his thoughts were firmly mired in the long-ago past.

He hated her, and it made his cock hard. Trapp couldn’t reconcile it. He was furious with himself for squandering his slutty forty-eight hours on his break-up with Julia, for he’d never needed his cock sucked as badly as he did that day he’d pulled the ambulance away from the clinic, after arguing with her, after smelling her, his balls vibrating with need. He wanted nothing more than to take himself in hand as Adriana knelt before him and slap the sneer off her face with its length before filling her mouth.

He’d never before been so angry to have an erection.

He had no one in his corner, and that meant he needed to be above reproach. He would be immaculate in both performance and comportment, his field diagnostics to the letter of protocol. He would do his job to the best of his ability, regardless of how much being back on the road day in and day out wore him down, regardless of how many times a week it would require seeing her, regardless of how many times a day it required jerking off. His charts would be perfect. Let them find something to complain about then.

It was with that mindset that he returned to work.

The fire station, he repeated to himself, leaving his brother’s house. Not the firehouse. The latter implied a home, internal propaganda that was meant to foster unity and camaraderie, essential when one relied on their co-workers to not fuck up on the job and get one killed. But on the job was the point. It’s called healthy boundaries, Trapp.

He didn’t need to leave forty minutes early for his shift, ensuring that he had the time to stop at the coffee shop and pick up the to-go carafes for the station, something he’d been doing for years, an account he himself had set up with Xavier. Trapp would text ahead of his arrival, and the fire station’s order would be ready for him when he arrived, superseding the other patrons waiting in line.

There was an elaborate coffee machine on his brother’s countertop, one that involved grinding the expensive, imported beans he located in a vacuum-sealed canister and foaming his own milk, but the result was just as good as the fanciest latte on the Beanery’s menu.

When he arrived at the station that morning, his coffee secure in the stainless-steel bottle he’d found in Grayson’s cupboard, several of his co-workers were already standing around, mugs in hand, befuddled by the absence of a carafe box on the counter.

“Trapp, is the coffee coming soon?” The minotaur who asked looked a bit nervous to hear the answer, taking in Trapp’s starched shirt, collar buttoned to the very top, his boots buffed to a shine.

“Sorry. I didn’t stop at the coffee shop today.”

“But . . .” The rebuttal hung there, his stationmates staring in unison, as if their slack jaws would voice what had been left unspoken. But you always bring in coffee. “But it’s vanilla nut day,” the minotaur finished weakly.

He shrugged again, not waiting to hear their complaints. After all, picking up coffee wasn’t an entry on the official chore rotation. He didn’t ask for special treatment from the station brass, didn’t expect it. And you don’t need to give special treatment to anyone else.

He’d barely taken a sip of his own coffee when their first call came in.

Trapp paused on his way out of the station house, rolling his eyes before the kitchen. Four grown fucking adults, defeated by a percolator. He wasn’t going to the Beanery, but he didn’t need to fully punish his co-workers, he reminded himself, assembling the basket and stem himself, shaking his head on his way out the door as Billups exclaimed in dismay over the smell of the grounds from a bag the station had purchased back before Trapp had taken the fire exam.

“Let’s get out of here, Oleg. Before they realize I didn’t bring in any groceries, either.”

He could tell it would be a DOA as the ambulance approached the scene of the accident, only just called in, but clear that the car had been there for a while. The early morning hour was still hazy with indistinct light, and the road steamed. The car had been there long enough that it was no longer steaming, and the steel utility pole it had hit had nearly severed the front end of the chassis. You still have a job to do.

Trapp was in the vehicle, checking for any signs of life within, when he heard Oleg retching into the grass, realizing this was likely his trainee’s first brush with the unfortunate reality of their job.

“Get it out of your system before LE pulls up,” he murmured to the troll, already able to see the flash of blue lights in the distance. “Lividity has already set in. Injuries incompatible with life,” he relayed to the officer once they’d arrived, ensuring Oleg was close enough to witness the report and transfer of custody.

He poured the troll a cup from his own thermos once they were back in the ambulance. “I’m going to tell you what no one bothered telling me a decade ago.” They’d been driving in silence for several minutes, but Trapp knew it was only a matter of time before the radio crackled to life. “If there’s something else you’re good at, you should do it. If you have another job opportunity, take it. Because this will bleed you dry. Mental health emergencies that will break your faith in the system. Domestics that’ll make you sick. You’re going to be first on the scene to accidents you won’t ever be able to stop seeing in your head, families and kids—” Trapp broke off, swallowing hard. “There’s a reason Vinlop and I both took the fire exam. Because I’d rather deal with a burning building every day of the week than the shit you’ll see every day in the box before lunch. If you think you won’t wind up with PTSD from this job, I’m here to be the bearer of bad news.”

Oleg laughed weakly. “Yeah, I’m starting to see that. Thanks, I guess. That doctor at the clinic . . . thanks for trying to defend me. I wanted to say something to the captain—”

“No, don’t,” Trapp cut in. “That was on me. Rosh wasn’t wrong; I shouldn’t have argued with her. She and I have a personal history and I let that get in the way, but you don’t ever do that. That’s the other thing you need to get used to. The doctors are going to treat you like shit. Make friends with the nurses and learn to hold your tongue.”

“Why did you leave? I mean, that’s what you were in school for, right? To be a doctor? Why did you drop out?”

Trapp blew out an aggrieved breath. “I didn’t drop out! I was at the top of my class! The next bit of very important information you need to internalize before this fucking light changes is that you can only believe an eighth of whatever story you hear at the bar or at the coffee shop. The rest of it is bullshit that changes depending on who’s telling it.”

Oleg laughed as Trapp considered how he wanted to proceed.

“I finished medical school,” he went on after a moment. “I did two years of my residency. Then I dropped out. I hated it. That was it; there’s no big secret reason. I didn’t punch my attending. I didn’t start crying because I screwed something up, or whatever the fuck Xenna and her crew are spreading around. I hated the hospital I matched into, that was a big part of it. I hated all of the politicking and bureaucracy. Half the attendings I worked under spent more time trying to backstab each other and influence their way up the ladder than they did actually helping patients.”

Trapp trailed off, the memory of his residency closer to the surface these days, stirred up from the bottom of the pot by Adriana’s arrival in town. What he didn’t disclose to Oleg was how easy it would have been for him to ascend in the hospital ecosystem. How much weight the Hemming name carried in certain circles; how a well-timed round of golf with the right hospital board member could change his fate, having nothing to do with his skills or lack thereof on the hospital floor, and perhaps worse — how good he was in particular at exploiting that advantage. His easy smile, his always on-script delivery . . . politicians by birth, if not by profession, the whole lot of them.

Trapp hated it. He knew it was a system that he’d benefitted from starting the moment he was born, but he’d had a front row seat to the uglier, internal side of that easy privilege as well. He didn’t want to play the same games Jackson and Gray plotted their lives around. He didn’t want to be like his father. He hated the thought of ever being anything like his grandfather, and that on its own had nearly been enough for him to quit the system that was all too eager to hoist him up. Hating the hospital had been a bonus.

“When you come from a family like mine, you know firsthand how all of that shreds folks from the inside out,” he finished half-heartedly, not clarifying his words for Oleg. Luckily, the troll didn’t ask. “I hated being in a human-centric city, that was like 90 percent of our patients and no one gave a shit about the other 10 percent. That’s not what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I just figured it out a few years too late.”

“But you wanted to do this?” Oleg’s voice was laced with disbelief, making Trapp laugh again.

“Believe it or not, yes. I wanted to help people. I mean, not this specifically, because I’m not joking. You will wind up with serious psychological damage doing this job for more than a few years.”

The radio crackled at last, an orc with lower abdominal pain, too strong for him to drive himself to the hospital. “All bays at Healers are currently full. Proceed to the urgent care facility,” the dispatch instructed.

Perfect. He’d not seen her since his first day back, the day they’d picked up the ogre from the same engineering campus where Owen worked. His cock jumped against his leg, thickening at the mere thought of seeing her long, dark hair, remembering the way it had tickled his chest as he’d fucked her from behind, thinking of the way she’d moaned beneath him, making his wolf howl . . .

He’d already given her the first taste of the new status quo. Those four days of his suspension had given him plenty of time to revisit the procedural manual, for if having Jackson and Grayson as siblings had taught him nothing else in life, it was that compliance could be malicious. He just needed to get through the handoff without coming in his pants.

“I don’t think I like that face you’re making,” Oleg laughed nervously.

“Don’t worry, Oleg,” Trapp told the troll with a sharp-edged grin. “This will be completely by the book . . . Copy that, dispatch. We’re en route.”

Adriana

She was standing at the central desk when the automatic doors slid open, the ambulance’s flashing red lights casting a brilliant gleam on the clinic’s windows.

Trapp looked exactly as he had the last time she’d seen him — immaculate, rigid, his uniform shirt buttoned to the throat despite the stifling humidity outside, like an advertisement for public safety, the navy-blue fabric stretched over his biceps in a way that tested every single thread.

The troll recited the patient’s status and vitals in a practiced, robotic tone, doing his best to emulate his ride-along mentor, and Adriana was forced to admit it was already a marked improvement from the very first day the ambulance had pulled up to their doors. An orc with acute lower abdominal pain. Shileen was already pushing another cot for the transfer, but Adriana held up a hand, stopping her.

“Before I accept the transfer of this patient, I require a physical demonstration of your field diagnostic verification.”

His eyes locked on hers, fury trembling his jaw when he arrived at the meaning of her words. It was the first time he’d looked her fully in the eye since before she’d filed her complaint against him, and the fire she saw there thrilled her.

“Patient is presenting with acute lower quadrant abdominal pain, suspected appendicitis. Core vitals are stable. The data is on the electronic run sheet, Doctor.”

“I see the run sheet.” Adriana kept her hands plunged into the pockets of the lab coat so that he wouldn’t see the way she trembled. “What I don’t see is the documented confirmation of a negative Swillup’s sign to rule out cholecystitis. Your report lists a generalized abdominal assessment. Per Tri-County protocol Section 14, assessment must be performed and verbally verified in front of the receiving physician for all non-traumatic abdominal distress cases.”

A weak huff of incredulous laughter escaped the troll at Trapp’s side, the young EMT taking a small, seemingly involuntary step back towards the glass doors.

“I performed the assessment in the field, Doctor,” Trapp said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that vibrated with barely-suppressed fury. “The abdomen is rigid in the lower right quadrant. It’s the appendix.”

“Your verbal claim is not a clinical verification, Medic.” She took a step closer, if only to let the smell of him invade her fully. Pine and black pepper, spicy on her tongue, cut with something bright, like a juicy orange. Her mouth watered, and she hoped he was not able to tell that her knees were shaking. “Palpate the right upper quadrant. Right now, let’s verify it together. Unless, of course, you’re unsure of the anatomical boundaries for a localized gallbladder assessment.”

It was an insult to his medical knowledge, his training, especially galling as she knew for a fact he had the same medical education she did . . . but that wasn’t the fucking point. He wasn’t the doctor on this floor. He wasn’t going to come into this clinic over and over again and try to humiliate her.

His knuckles were white around the metal rail of the stretcher, tendons raised on his sinewy forearm, showing her how tightly he was holding himself. Trapp turned back to the patient slowly, deliberately, his huge hand hovering over the orc’s upper right abdomen.

“Take a deep breath in, Gil.” The orc inhaled sharply, holding it without any sudden catch or pain. “Negative Swillup’s sign.”

His eyes met hers once more, gleaming with an unadulterated hatred that caused a rush of heat between her thighs, her own breath catching instead. The air between them felt pressurized, as if all it would take was a single spark to ignite.

“Differential diagnosis confirmed. Are you satisfied with my anatomical boundaries, or do you need me to recite the vascular supply to the biliary system next?”

Her heart hammered against her ribs, the sheer physical proximity of him making the entryway feel suffocatingly hot. Had he always been this big, this muscular? No, she decided, chest heaving. He’d always been athletic and toned, but hitting the gym hard had clearly been a priority in the intervening decade since she’d seen him last. If she thought he’d been able to lift her like a doll then, it would be nothing compared to the way he could manhandle her now.

She was able to sense the growl of his wolf and the snap of his jaws. A whimper from within, but whether it was in fear or in need, Adriana couldn’t be sure. The anger radiating off him was intoxicating, a venomous cocktail of wounded pride and competitive adrenaline that she found herself leaning into, wanting to taste his skin. What is wrong with you?!

“The assessment is acceptable,” she choked out, her voice tight, sucking in a rasping breath when he stepped back, breaking the moment between them. “But he’s going to need a CT scan, which we can’t do, and a surgical consult. Why wasn’t he brought next door in the first place?!”

“Because they’re currently on a three-hour throughput,” he snapped. “All bays are full. The appendix hasn’t ruptured yet. If you get him into the system and call for an emergency pick-up—”

“—He’ll be seen by someone before the appendix ruptures in triage,” she finished, swallowing hard. That was the point of the clinic, Dr. Marsh had told her. To ease the burden on the busy hospital next door and give non-critical patients the opportunity to be seen for minor maladies without waiting weeks for an appointment upstairs. Are you working together for the greater good? Is that what this is?

Adriana nodded, sucking in a stabilizing breath. “Transfer of custody is accepted. Take him to exam three.” She stepped back as he and the troll wheeled the orc past her, but not far enough, and the fabric of his uniform sleeve brushed against the hand she had wrapped around the cot Shileen had been wheeling.

It was brief and accidental, but it felt like an electric shock, one that went straight to her core, and her clit throbbed. Is this what you like, Adi? I want you to come on my tongue before we get back to work. She was able to perfectly envision his heavy-lidded eyes sparkling up at her from where he knelt on the library floor, his cocky grin, the stroke of his tongue making her whole body shake. Adriana shook her head, forcing the memory of the past away.

The ambulance was long gone by the time she left the exam room, leaving Sora to deal with the bulk of the strep-infected third graders still coming in every day.

He hadn’t cracked. He hadn’t thrown a fit, had met her play for play, and it was clear from the way he looked at her that he hated her, hated every molecule of her entire being. Adriana didn’t know why the thought thrilled her so much.

It would be better to let this go, to petition for another doctor to be hired . . .

She closed the office door, needing three minutes alone to clear her head, to push him from her thoughts. An impossibility, for he’d occupied every inch of her brain space that wasn’t devoted to work since that very first day his ambulance had pulled up to the doors. Now, she could do nothing but replay the past.

What she had neglected to mention at both the coffee shop and over those oversized glasses of sangria was that once upon a time, she’d had the type of crush on Trapp Hemming that took her breath away when she thought about him, which was every minute she wasn’t studying.

She would try to imagine what it would be like to be in a relationship with someone like him. Someone who’d never wanted for anything, someone who came from a life of abundance, the type of people who buy all their furniture at the same time, her Aunt Rita would have said.

It wasn’t long before “someone like him” wasn’t good enough, once he’d approached her to study together, for there wasn’t anyone like him, not that she’d ever met. Adriana found it impossible to believe that there was anyone else in the world as smart as him, as funny and as charming, who shared his sparkling eyes and bright smile, someone as warm and kind as he had been.

She’d had a persistent daydream, one that involved them matching into the same residency program, relocating together across the Unification, far away from her life and anyone else she knew. It wouldn’t matter where she was from, once the hospital wiped everyone’s slate clean. It wouldn’t make a difference when she was intubating a patient that the only generational asset she possessed was trauma, wouldn’t matter that there was a portrait of his great-uncle hanging in the Mercycrest library when they were both working back-to-back twelve-hour shifts. It wouldn’t matter who they’d been — only the doctors they were becoming and the life they shared together. He would bring her coffee, and she would ensure there was a plate waiting for him when he came trudging home at 7 a.m., bleary-eyed and exhausted.

And then after that one fucking exam everything had changed. He was cold, ignored her when he could and was antagonistic when they were forced together. She couldn’t imagine where he’d learned such professional meanness, but he’d employed it at every opportunity. They spent that last year of medical school hating each other, and by the end, he and his equally mean girlfriend were living together, planning the life together that she had first claimed.

She needed to let this go.

She needed to put the past back in the past and focus on who she’d become since then. And who is that? A burnt-out, anxious wreck? Someone who had to run away from the last decade of her life? She needed to focus on herself, her new future here. Needed to put all thought of Trapp Hemming out of her mind for good.

Eyla had forwarded over the reports she’d requested. The digital footprint he left behind every single time his ambulance had pulled up to these doors. It was almost disappointing to remember that she hadn’t even been there for thirty days, and the list was short. Eleven runs. Still. It gave her somewhere to start. Eleven opportunities to find a single, tiny flaw in Trapp Hemming’s perfect record.

He hated her, and that was fine. He could go on hating her. And if she found something, anything on these sheets, it would be a way to force him under her authority, and maybe she’d get to smell his fury and see that angry gleam in his eyes up close one more time.

Trapp

The mattress beneath his hand was firm enough to give purchase as he supported himself against a single flattened palm, his hips moving in a steady cadence, seeking a singular aim — come hard enough to put Adriana Brunelli out of his mind long enough to get back to work with a clear head.

He hated this. Hated her. Especially hated the way the smell of her was doing something to his brain, rewiring him, ensuring that every time his nose caught the scent of her, an electrical impulse was sent straight to his cock, like a code three emergency dropping at the station. Lights and sirens, fully erect, on the double. Every time they sparred over a patient intake, he would go back to his rig throbbing, the inside of his boxer briefs sticky with precum from arguing with her, heedless that he was edging ever closer to professional ruin in doing so. Edging in more ways than one.

She infuriated him, had him stiff twenty-four hours a day, and there was no relief in sight. That his memories had no shortage of personal, first-hand knowledge of how she felt beneath him, astride him, only made it worse.

Her skin had been like silk. Soft and pale with a sallow undertone that sometimes made her look a bit sickly, only ever emphasized by her darting, untrusting eyes. Pale skin and thick, dark hair, heavy in his hands. He could still feel the way she’d arched herself beneath him, small and soft, but bucking back against him, unwilling to present herself to him as a pliant bitch, her small teeth snapping at his neck anytime he leaned too close. The smell of her was all at once strange and foreign and familiar, confusing his wolf, making it jump within his skin.

Trapp closed his eyes against the spinning of the room, tightening his grip around his swollen shaft. His knot was only just beginning to make its presence known this close to the turn — the start of a hot bulb, feverish to the touch, and it would only increase in size and heat.

The first time he’d brought her home to his apartment, after one of those aborted study sessions, Adriana had acted as though it was her first time indoors. She’d seemed afraid to touch anything, as if the sheets on his bed were made of fine porcelain that she might damage, but it hadn’t mattered once he was climbing over her, her nails raking down his chest.

The sheets had still smelled like her several days later, the taste of her cunt clinging to them, only increasing his infatuation as they continued to meet three times a week.

He increased his speed, pumping into his hand, irritated that she was not there beneath him now, hot and tight, wrapped around him like a glove, urging him to make her come.

Trapp could still feel the way her body tightened around his cock, the little whimpers she made as her muscles spasmed rhythmically, the way she’d arched beneath him again when he pulled out, filling that dip in her back with ropes of white.

He groaned as he came, the release of the pressure he’d carried all afternoon nearly making him black out, coating his own hand instead of her soft, pale skin.

It was ridiculous. Ridiculous and unhealthy, and he knew that. Humiliating, if he were being honest with himself, because across town, Adriana Brunelli was doing nothing but plotting to make his life miserable. And here you are, like a fucking simp, jerking your cock to thoughts of her three times a day.

It was a ridiculous waste of his lunch break, Trapp thought to himself rancorously, cleaning himself off, glaring into the mirror of the oversized bathroom he’d selected in his brother’s house. Particularly when you have work to do. He rearmed the security panel at the door, feeling as though he were leaving five pounds lighter than he’d arrived, but he couldn’t exactly go to the Food Gryphon with a bulge in his pants bigger than the one that was there naturally, not unless he wanted to pour gasoline on the fire of the gossip engine.

He was in the aisle of the grocery store when his phone buzzed. Trapp half-expected it to be from Grayson, calling him out on returning home for lunch to jerk off while he thought of his nemesis, but — thankfully! — it was a number he didn’t know.

Where are you?

Trapp glanced down at the unfamiliar number, brows coming together. He had no idea who was demanding his whereabouts, but saw no point in lying, assuming it was someone from the station with a new number.

At the grocery store?

When there was no immediate answer, he shrugged, continuing down the aisle. As he turned the corner, Trapp immediately noticed the two selkies. Their long, stable hair swung down their backs, their luminous eyes peered at him, one ducking her head quickly to whisper to the other.

He couldn’t remember if either of them had been at the festival that night on Main Street. At the very least, he knew neither of them was the one he’d gone home with. He moved past them with his basket, mouth hovering between the flat line it had been in and what might’ve been a smile. It was an unthinkable situation, or at least, it would have been only a few weeks earlier. Trapp Hemming, not knowing his line, without a smile at the ready.

The moon was approaching and already his senses had begun sharpening, the keen instincts of his other form snuffling to the surface. He was able to smell the selkies — clean and watery, a hint of apple blossom and lily — and he was able to hear them.

"Sila got lucky only spending one night with him. Can you even imagine?! Having to run into him all these years later?"

Their conversation grew indistinct as they continued up the aisle, but the words at the library! made him spin, eyes narrowing.

What had they heard? What was being talked about now?

He was out of the loop entirely.

If he couldn’t get in front of the problem, Trapp had decided, he would simply remove himself as a target, hoping that an out-of-sight, out-of-mind approach would speed up the duration of the city-wide assassination of his character.

Avoiding the coffee shop had been easy with Grayson’s ridiculous home setup, and they had stayed in the night they usually went to the Pickled Pig, his brother not even mentioning the Thursday night tradition. Instead, Gray had suggested going for a run.

Trapp had scowled. “You don’t run. You can’t run, we’ve both seen you try. I’m pretty sure if you had to run across the yard, your ankles would shatter on impact.”

“I’ve never skipped leg day a week in my life.”

“I didn’t say anything about your legs, dipshit,” Trapp had laughed. “But your ankle bones are functionally unaware of how big the rest of you is. You’re going to get married in a permanent walking cast. Why don’t you call your girlfriend if you’re bored.” Vanessa still stayed at the apartment she and Grayson shared in the city for the majority of the week, Grayson joining her there when his own work took him out of his Cambric Creek office.

“Jackson and Owen go running.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?! Do you think we’ve missed out on a core bonding experience or something? I’m not convinced Owen could lift a bag of flour over his head, so I don’t think our differing fitness objectives should be a point of competition.”

In the end, Grayson had left the house determinedly without a backward glance, confident that Trapp would follow, as he’d followed their whole lives.

Sure enough, they’d barely made it off the long, snaking street before Grayson was claiming he was going to die.

“Anyone who thinks this is a fun hobby is a fucking idiot,” he’d snarled, heedless of the pair of sylvans running together, passing them at the curb. “Starting with Jackson.”

“Shhhhh! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Trapp, you still don’t get it. Who the fuck cares. I can’t do this; we need to go home. You’re right, my ankle is about to snap like a twig. You’re going to have to carry me.”

He’d flung his arms around Trapp’s neck two yards later, attempting to force himself on Trapp’s back, dragging them both down to the lawn belonging to a gaping moth couple, as evidenced by the way they came to the front door in concern, once they heard two noisy werewolves rolling around on their grass.

“What kind of fireman are you? What if this was a burning building? Are you just leaving me to die?”

“I wouldn’t need to, because your big fucking mouth would put out the blaze with all of its bullshit. Who needs a hose when there’s a lawyer around?”

Rolling around on the neighbor’s lawn and becoming a different kind of spectacle hadn’t been what he’d expected from the night, but it was still better than the stares he would have earned at the Pig, and he was grateful for the momentary distraction from his life, once they were home. Now he had no choice but to be back in public, and wished he was still dragging Grayson home.

Why aren’t you at the field?!

The second text wasn’t any clearer than the first had been, and he’d been about to swipe it away when his phone vibrated again.

The game is THIS weekend Hemming

You haven’t been to a single practice!

Coach. Trapp rolled his eyes. The PE coach from the high school, the Chamber of Commerce charity game. He waited for another text to come through, and when it didn’t, Trapp muted the conversation, swiping it away into obscurity forever. He didn’t sit on the Chamber of Commerce, and there were more than enough employees at City Hall to populate a team.

Daronda eyed him warily as she rang him out, the entire interaction silent. Who was he, if not the Hemming everyone liked? Trapp had no idea. Contemplating it gave him a headache. He held his smartwatch to the credit card reader before the troll could say his total, turning away before his receipt had printed, negating speaking at all. His lips had never so much as quirked.

The silence followed him as he entered the station, keeping his eyes fixed on the bags he carried until he was in the kitchen, alone. If Vinlop and Margus noticed, they didn’t follow.

His day to cook at the station usually meant a recipe from his mother’s book.

The recipe book she had stolen when she had left her pack, taken from the shelf in her uncle’s office in the tavern he owned, the uncle with whom he shared a name. Trapp’s Place.

Lowell whined about being the invisible middle child, complained about Liam being the spoiled baby, but there was a salient fact that Lowell always overlooked whenever he groused about his position in the family. Trapp had been the baby, once. For six long years, he had been the beneficiary of being his mother’s youngest, an easy baby, she’d always said, especially after the nightmare that Grayson had been. A sweet baby, always happy. There were a million and one photos of the three eldest as children, and Trapp could attest — he had been an adorable child, always smiling, toothy grins, eyes always sparkling.

In those short, traumatic years that their grandfather had lived with them, his mother was often in the kitchen. Always making something from her book, to keep herself busy, to keep herself out of the way, to emphasize her value as a wife to Cambric Creek’s first son. Keep busy, keep moving, keep smiling. She was always in the kitchen, and Trapp had always been with her.

When he’d started the station, he’d painstakingly photocopied every page from his mother’s book, careful not to bend any of the pages, grateful for the easy spiral binding. The firehouse had benefited from those years spent in the kitchen at his mother’s side. Deep dish lasagna, chicken cacciatore, the best bolognese in Cambric Creek. The first time he had made the Trapp’s Place Clams Casino, the chief himself had come to dinner, and Magruh proclaimed it the best meal that had ever been prepared beneath the station’s roof.

He genuinely liked to cook, and had long ago internalized that feeding people was a way of showing the depth of his care. He never minded being on kitchen duty at the station, and there had been more than a few rotations behind the stove traded to him, which he gladly accepted.

“Hemming’s night in the kitchen” was always an event. Trapp knew they would be expecting pasta that night, something elaborate . . . but no one else ever made a special trip for organic garlic and fresh pasta. No one else had ever toiled over homemade garlic bread or perfect chicken cutlets in lemon caper sauce, and while he didn’t intend to shirk his duties or let his station mates go hungry, Trapp didn’t see why he had to do so either.

Several jars of store-brand pasta sauce and frozen meatballs would be good enough, he thought, boiling the water for the dried pasta and sliding the frozen garlic bread into the oven. And if they didn’t want it, they didn’t have to eat it.

When Rosh, the demonborn captain who’d suspended him, came into the dining area that evening, he stopped short in the doorway, nearly causing a pile-up behind him. His citrine eyes narrowed, squinting at the generic repast, then moving to Trapp, his brow furrowed.

“Food’s done,” Trapp announced casually, waiting until the rest of the house had shuffled into the room before exiting the way they’d come in.

“Hemming, aren’t you eating?”

Trapp stopped, turning slowly with a shake of his head. “I’m not hungry, Captain.”

“Hemming—”

“I’m just waiting for the tone to drop, Cap.”

He didn’t wait to hear more. They ate together. Being hungry or not wasn’t the point, and he and every other member of the fire station knew it, but he wasn’t about to let himself care. Trapp turned away, trudging up the steps and dropping into his bunk, closing his eyes.

The absence of a smile on his face was what seemed to shock people the most, as he’d gone about town. Walking unsmiling past the goblin who’d been struggling to pull a cart from the parking lot corral, ignoring the small fender bender that had happened in the community center parking lot once he noted that no one was hurt.

“Trapp, the community center pancake breakfast is coming up. I’ve got you down for the midnight griddle shift, but do you think you’d be able to run logistics on the set-up? You’re always so good at giving direction on where the tables need to go.”

He was good at giving direction on the set-up because he’d been doing it for the full decade since he’d returned to Cambric Creek. “I don’t think so, Marva. And I won’t be able to work the griddles this year. You’ll have to find someone else.”

The goblin had swayed, mouth open, her eyes huge behind her glasses. “But . . . but you always do the—”

“How many folks come out to the pancake breakfast?”

“Well . . . well, everyone! That’s why I need you on the—”

“Then it seems like there should be no shortage in the volunteer pool. Have a good day, Marva.”

Trapp had walked away from the conversation with the goblin outside the community center that morning, Oleg practically running to keep up behind him, feeling as though he had a mouthful of ash. Who was he, if not the Hemming everyone liked? Trapp with his easy smile and ready yes, always willing to lend a hand? He wasn’t any closer to an answer.

He kept his eyes closed, listening intently for the tone to drop, the sound that might free him from the suffocation of the station.

Healthy boundaries, Trapp. You should try it sometime. He wasn’t an expert and couldn’t pretend to be, so he didn’t know if healthy boundaries were meant to feel this rotten.

Adriana

She was in Exam One with a trollish teenager when it happened.

“Ice it twenty minutes at a time for the next forty-eight hours, and keep it elevated. If you’re still unable to bear weight on it after that point, I’d like you back here for repeat imaging. Assuming it’s only a sprain, you’ll still need to rest it for a minimum of three weeks. You’ll need to make your coach aware.”

“Three weeks?! But our season just started!”

Adriana gave the teen a sympathetic smile as she pulled the door open. “RICE it. Rest, ice, compression, and elevation.” If it were indeed fractured, the troll could be looking at a much longer recovery.

“So, are we headed to the state championship next year?”

Adriana jumped at the deep voice behind her, catching her completely unaware as she gave her final instructions to the teenage troll and her mother. “Dr. Marsh.” Adriana hoped that her voice hadn’t actually cracked over his name. Maybe that was just in your head. It took her a moment to realize his words were directed at the teen on the exam table, his stance relaxed and his smile jovial, leaning on the door jamb, preventing her escape.

“Not if I’m going to be out doing physical therapy,” the young troll moaned.

“Well, you’re in excellent hands here. Hopefully there’s no occult fracture and you’re only looking at resting a mild sprain.”

Adriana listened as he conversed with the troll and her mother, knowing far too much about high school athletics, she thought. The handsome shifter wasn’t that much older than she was herself, maybe only five or six years, a galling thought. And he’s a partner in a cushy private practice. Him and that blabbermouth orc. Guarantee they’ve never eaten a microwaved hot dog in the ambulance bay at 3 a.m. with vomit on their shoes just to get some peace and quiet.

One thing was certain — Dr. Marsh fit in here effortlessly, conversing easily with the troll and her mother, the same way he did with her support staff, with Deneen and Sora, right down to the gnome who came in each night to vacuum. She, by contrast, still didn’t.

Adriana felt invisible in the corner of the room, shrinking smaller and smaller, startling again when the shifter said her name.

“As Dr. Brunelli said, let’s make sure we ice and elevate. Rest now, play later.”

When the hobbling teenager and her mother had left the exam room — smiling, she noted sourly — he turned to Adriana with the same disarming smile.

“Mind if I steal two minutes of your day?”

She felt as though she were being marched to the gallows as she followed him up the short hallway to the tiny office she shared with Sora. The shifter pulled out a chair, indicating that she should do the same, giving her another warm smile. So much for only stealing two minutes.

“How have things been?” His voice was light, but his eyes were searching, and she remembered the intensity with which he’d watched her during both of her interviews.

Adriana cleared her throat. Breathe. She couldn’t sit straighter than she already was, pushing her shoulders back in an effort to stretch her neck, clearing her throat. This, at least, she knew how to do. “It’s going well. The pathology is straightforward. So far, it’s been typical low-acuity patients. I’m ensuring that follow-up with the office upstairs is mentioned whenever warranted. The biggest adjustment for everyone has been the pace, but I think we’re managing as well as we can.” She didn’t want to admit to him that every single staff member she’d inherited from the practice upstairs moved so slowly they were in danger of going backward.

“The pace,” he echoed with a squint, a slight furrow between his brows as she moved the topic back to the clinic. “Yes, Shileen mentioned that you’ve been very focused on . . . pace. I know this environment is not what you’re used to, but the majority of folks coming in probably expect a bit more face time than they’ve been receiving, if only to feel that they know who you are.”

She shifted, hands tightening around the tablet she still carried. It was hard not to feel as though she were a green resident again, standing before her attending on her very first shift, being forced to explain and justify her every decision, if only to make sure that she could.

“As I said, every case has been low-acuity. Rhinitis doesn’t require more than an eight-minute—”

“I’ve no doubt in my mind that you’re providing more than adequate care, Dr. Brunelli,” he interrupted, tempering his reproach with another warm smile, but she had already stiffened. There was no way to receive his words as anything but a reproach. “I looked at your charts before I came over. They’re excellent. Thorough and concise. Your treatment plans are exactly what I’d expect. But we’ve had several complaints from the last week over perceived . . . brusqueness, let’s say.” Dr. Marsh held up what she was sure was meant to be a placating hand. “I know it says ‘urgent care’ above the door, and I do appreciate the urgency you’re bringing to the role, but this is still family medicine. The patients here are patients upstairs. They don’t understand the difference between the offices.”

“It’s our job to teach them,” she bit out, hackles raised, feeling a growl building within her. “I appreciate that these are the same patients you see in the offices upstairs, but we shouldn’t be training the community out of understanding what urgent implies. If crucial minutes are being taken up by chatting about tomatoes at the farmer’s market—”

“I was under the impression you came to us to get out of the emergency department?”

Her heart thumped, heat creeping up her neck. The overhead lights were suddenly too bright, the room around them pitching. He had watched her too closely during her interviews, had seen through her careful answers. They can all probably tell that you’re one bad day from shaking apart.

“Adriana, do you know why I hired you?”

Dr. Marsh interrupted her thoughts before she could give them voice, grateful her hands clutched the tablet instead of clenching into fists at her sides. He paused, but Adriana only shook her head, afraid of what she might say if her voice reignited. Her temper had gotten her into trouble before, and she couldn’t allow that to happen now.

“I wasn’t just looking for someone who could diagnose cellulitis or close lacerations. Every physician who walks through this building can do those things. But you’ve spent the last decade making life-and-death decisions in one of the busiest emergency departments in the Midwest, one with an unusually high number of nonhuman patients, and I wanted that judgment in this clinic. We are at a critical time in nonhuman care. Our partners next door are dealing with a record number of patients because the gap between the care they receive in human-run hospitals and our own has never been greater. So if an orc walks through these doors having a myocardial infarction instead of the heartburn the human doctor in the city told them they had three days ago, the heartburn they think they’re coming in for, I already know I’m going to sleep better knowing you’re here. They’re going to get the care they deserve.”

He leaned forward, bracing himself on his elbows as he contemplated her.

“So I’m here to find out what the hell is going down here. Because I already know you’re an excellent doctor. But what I can’t figure out is why you’re letting a personal vendetta with one of our paramedics cloud your professional judgment so thoroughly.”

The tablet fell from her grasp, her fists balling. Fucking Trapp Hemming. “My judgment has never been compromised—”

“Then explain to me why three of the patient complaints came from mothers here with children you saw immediately after an EMS drop-off?”

Her mouth opened, jaw moving, but her voice had fled.

“I am assuming you were familiar with a procedural chain of command at your last department?” Dr. Marsh went on, his voice having lost a fraction of its warmth. “Why, then, did I find out an incident report had been filed against the paramedic in question from this building without my knowledge? What is the purpose of you auditing the EMS run sheets? Is there not enough to do? Because my suggestion would be to start spending more time with your patients if you’re having trouble filling the hours of your day.”

She was unable to draw breath. Eyla must have said something about the report she’d had the nurse run. Patients were unhappy with her bedside manner. This was supposed to be a new start, a real home.

“Look.” Dr. Marsh sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Trapp last week. And in the spirit of transparency, yes, I did see him. No, I don’t have a personal relationship with him, but I am close friends with his brother. This is a personal vendetta. You’re both behaving childishly, and now it’s compromising patient care under my roof. And it ends today. You’re a good doctor, Adriana. Don’t get fired for something so stupid.”

The silence between them stretched for too long, but she was unable to make her voice work without the threat of tears heating her face. “Now what?” she scraped out at last, expecting a formal reprimand. You’re still brand new. Probation, if you’re lucky. An expensive townhouse you won’t be able to afford if you’re not. Shouldn’t have spent so much money on that stupid goose.

Dr. Marsh grinned, sharp and without humor. “I’ve been thinking on it. My main concern, Adriana, is that if you bring an emergency department mentality to this building, you’re not going to find relief from the burnout that led you to apply for this position in the first place. You’ll never be happy here if you recreate the same stressors, and you won't stay. I’m looking out for my own interests.” He shrugged unapologetically. “Your success is the practice’s success. I want a minimum forty-minute throughput for every patient. Ask one more question than you feel is medically necessary for treatment.”

She blinked rapidly, waiting for the rest of the imprecise directive, squirming when it seemed the rest would not be forthcoming. She disliked instructions for which there was no established policy, and “ask one more question” occupied an irritating middle ground between crunchy philosophy and hospital protocol. What question? There was no billing code for it, no clinical guideline she could follow, no measurable outcome by which she could judge whether or not she’d succeeded.

“As far as you and Paramedic Hemming . . .”

She sucked in a breath, teeth pressing into a flat line. Her hands had refound the tablet on her lap, clenching around it.

“You’re going to complete a forty-eight-hour field rotation. A clinical ride-along. We have a new CNP from upstairs starting down here next week, so there will be enough slack in the schedule.”

She was shaking her head before he’d even finished. “No. That-that’s a direct conflict of interest. He and I . . . We have an established personal rela—”

“You have a personal war,” Dr. Marsh cut her off, all traces of warmth gone. “And I’m ending it. The two of you are treating intake like a hostile border crossing, and it’s finished. A forty-eight-hour clinical ride-along. And if the two of you can’t figure out how to get along by then, we’ll have to readdress the issue. But I should warn you, Adriana — I will personally document your lack of institutional cooperation for the state licensing board. I don’t want that to be our outcome, but I won’t jeopardize patient care.”

She stayed in the office long after Dr. Marsh left.

She was furious. She was chastened. She was going to sit in an ambulance with Trapp Hemming, seeing him, smelling him, twisting in his presence every single day, and getting along with him was now a direct job requirement.

And all the while, the moon grew ever fuller.

Part 3

Trapp

The doors of Medic Forty-three didn’t slam shut. Instead, they sealed with a heavy, pressurized hiss, muting the snare drum of raindrops outside the bay and amplifying the sound against the fiberglass roof within.

Trapp didn’t jump out into the rain to offer her a hand up into the rig, nor did he help her pull the heavy door shut, all things he would have done just a month prior without a second thought. He didn’t adjust the AC vent that was currently blowing a steady stream of air directly at her collarbone, and he didn’t remove his water bottle from the second cup holder, necessitating that she clutch her own between her knees.

But neither did he have her stretched out on the patient cot in the back, legs wrapped around him as her nails scored his shoulders, his knot sealing them together while she moaned in his ear so . . . all things considered, Trapp felt certain this was the safest possible outcome.

“Are you sure you don’t want me in the back?”

Her voice was smaller than he was expecting, completely absent of her normal brash aggression. Trapp gave her a sidelong look. Adriana looked undersized in the rig; a station polo over her own navy blue chinos and a crisp, water-resistant utility jacket with the station’s logo, albeit one that smelled aggressively of warehouse storage. Gone was her perfect white lab coat. There was no stethoscope hanging like a medal of accomplishment around her neck. She was quiet and tense, her fingers curled around the nylon strap of a tactical trauma pack, as they had been since her arrival at the station.

He was going to put Shay Marsh in the fucking ground the next time he saw the shifter’s smug, oily smile.

“Hemming,” Magruh had barked out, only minutes before Trapp’s last shift, several days ago. “Office.”

Here we fuckin’ go.

It was a mistake to be testing him with a lecture at the end of his shift. A middle-of-the-night mental health crisis had him and Oleg chasing a naked goblin up and down the street like a loose chicken, followed shortly thereafter by a cardiac arrest in the flex developments, necessitating him pulling on a pair of waders in the back of the ambulance as Oleg careened through traffic to reach the coding amphibious patient. He was damp, tired, cranky, his wolf was shifting restlessly in his bones, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to his brother’s house, inhale some stupidly overpriced takeout from Grayson’s refrigerator, take a scalding hot shower, and masturbate until he was unconscious.

“Close the door,” the grizzled orc growled, and Trapp had sighed, reminding himself that he had a trust fund and would be fine if he walked out of this office unemployed.

It’s not too late for a third career. He could get a job with the third-party contractor that exclusively staffed for in-flight medical care if he had to. His mother, however, would be devastated. It was with her and her alone in mind that he took the seat Magruh indicated.

“Why won’t you take the lieutenant bars, Trapp?”

He blinked in surprise. This wasn’t the conversation he’d expected to have with the chief. “Because I don’t want it. There are plenty of others who do. Give it to one of them.”

“I wasn’t asking your permission, Hemming. I said why. This is the third time you’ve refused. Why don’t you want it?”

He shook his head soundlessly for a long moment, unsure how to verbalize his reasoning. He didn’t need to hear that the rank was more special treatment. He didn’t need to be another Hemming in Cambric Creek climbing as high as he could go.

“I don’t like paperwork.”

The chief snorted. “You’re full of shit. You know, you’re exactly like your old man. You look more like him than any of your brothers do, and you act like him. The apple fell straight down with you.” Magruh leaned back, folding his hands over his thick middle. “What’s this mess with you and the new doctor over at the urgent care clinic? Explain why I had to come back from a trip out of town to see my grandkids to find my most stalwart, dependable employee arguing with his captain, not eating with his crew, and with an official complaint in his file. Are you quiet quitting on me, Hemming?”

“I guess that depends, Chief. Are you quiet firing me?”

The big orc blew out an exasperated breath, shaking his head. “Just like him. No, Trapp. I’m not firing you. I’m not putting you on probation, even though your shit attitude probably warrants it. Not yet, at least. I’m telling you to knock it off. You walk into that clinic as a representative of this department, not your ego. You want to have a dick-measuring contest? Do it on your own time, out of uniform. But if you choose to continue this, don’t think I won’t personally contact the state licensing board about your unprofessional on-the-job behavior. It’s a good thing you can get a job at City Hall, because I can promise you won’t be working for any EMS in-state.”

He nodded stiffly. So much for your third career plan as a flight medic. The dressing down was earned, and if this was the worst coming to him, Trapp knew he was getting off easy.

“Now,” Magruh continued with a rough scrap of laughter. “On that note, I’m here to notify you of your assignment for the next shift. You’re going to have a ride-along”

His hands tightened around the arms of his chair, breath hitching. His wolf growled in warning, crouching low within him, tail swishing. All of a sudden, the office seemed too small, the lights too bright. They wouldn’t fucking dare.

“I had a phone call yesterday from a Dr. Marsh, over at Healers. This is his idea, so if you want to throw a little temper tantrum about it, go piss in the right direction. She’s going to be riding with you on your next forty-eight.”

Trapp opened his mouth to protest, but Magruh held up a thick finger, stopping him before he could draw breath. “Shut it. I don’t want to hear it. You’re not exactly in a position to be arguing, Hemming.”

He closed his eyes, wolf bristling, feeling as though he might spontaneously turn right then and there.

“But here’s what I will tell you,” the orc continued, tapping the same thick finger on the desk for emphasis. “You run your shift the same way you would without her there, understand? I don’t need to tell you to do things by the book, because I know you already do. Trapp, do not give her a reason to file another complaint against you. I’m not joking. I won’t have a private practice facility thinking it can treat my crew like its staff. They’re more than welcome to contract a private ambulance service for that. In the meantime . . . keep it by the book and toe the line. Now go home and get some sleep.”

The intervening days off had been poorly spent. He’d slept, but it had been fitful. Tossing and turning, his nose twitching as if she were there, soft and sweet like clean rain.

At one point, he’d had a panicked moment in the shower, thick gobs of cum pooling atop the drain, not going down right away. If he backed up one of Grayson’s showers from jerking off too much, his brother would never, ever let him live it down. There would be a slideshow at the wedding, a step-by-step commemoration of the plumber’s work, the photographic evidence of his leavings, probably shown on a loop during the cocktail hour.

The heap of semen swirled down the drain a moment later, but Trapp wasn’t willing to leave anything to chance, making a wet-haired trip to the pharmacy for a box of Deliquesce. He wasn’t a ‘taur, but he’d been coming like one. Not taking any chances. Not with the way your luck has been.

When he’d woken, hours later, groggy and unrested, it was to a text from Owen.

I have updates, if you want them

Trapp pinched the bridge of his nose, deciding to relocate to the pool before responding to his younger brother. You can always just roll off the float and drown. He’d helped himself to a pack of the jelly eye patches from Vanessa’s little refrigerator atop the pool bar, finding it full of skin care products, opened one of Grayson’s Elvish spritzers, and dropped into his brother’s floating lounger before tapping open his phone screen.

Don’t shoot the messenger, okay?

Apparently Julia was here to finish emptying her place and turn in the key

She had lunch with a few teachers from her old grade, Tabi was sitting behind them

I guess she told them she was “tired of your commitment issues”

But she DID say she wanted to be closer to her family, so not all bad

Then they talked shit about her replacement. They were totally done with you

It pains me to say it, but Gray is right. Who cares?

Anyway, I think it’s all blowing over

Now he was back at work, having barely rested, having barely done anything other than think of her and the moment she’d be climbing into his rig . . . and now she was here.

Do you want her in the back? Or here, right under your nose, distracting you until you accidentally drive this box off a cliff?

“Oleg? Your call.”

The troll chuckled from the bench in the patient bay. “Yeah, no. I’m good.”

Trapp breathed out slowly, attempting to force his pulse to slow. He couldn’t be antagonistic with her. Especially not when everything that happened inside the box was recorded. Not when he was trapped so close to her for so long, her smell invading his senses. And particularly not when he already felt an uncomfortable pressure thickening against his thigh. If he picked a fight with her now, here, in such close confines, this close to the moon, his cock would be in control. He would blow a hot, sticky load in his pants and be trapped with it, cooling against his skin as she inevitably noticed the dark stain against the blue fabric, probably smug in the knowledge of what her nearness had done. It’s going to be a long fucking shift.

“Alright then. Mornings are usually busy. Buckle up, Doc.”

***

“Is there going to be an actual patient at any point?” she asked at length, annoyance coloring her voice. She wasn’t sitting as stiffly anymore, although her hand still rested over the trauma pack like it was a comfort stuffie she was afraid to let go of.

Trapp gave her another sidelong look, his mouth wanting to twitch, forcing his face to remain impassive. It had been several hours since their mutual prison sentence had begun, several hours of bullshit calls, which, she was learning, were the vast majority of the calls made to emergency services.

“We don’t actually wish for that,” he said shortly, just before the next tone came through.

Medical required, to an address that had him rolling his eyes with its familiarity.

“This guy, again,” Oleg huffed from the back as Trapp relayed his copy to dispatch. “What is this, the third time this month?”

“Frequent flyer,” Trapp said shortly, addressing her furrowed brow. “There’s more than a few of them.”

She straightened in her seat, spine lengthening, her dark brows remaining together. Trapp recognized the look on her face. She was about to correct him, correct him with the confidence of someone who had already studied the test material front to back, entirely certain she was right. That was another reason he had pursued her in school. When she thought she was right, which was always, her confidence was unshakable. There was nothing that could make her falter from her course, with a dogged steadfastness that made sense for a coyote, and there were few things in the world more attractive.

“We shouldn’t be forming preconceived notions about our patients before arrival. How can you give the same quality of care if you’re already disparaging them for calling?”

Trapp chuckled, shaking his head, but said nothing.

From the back, Oleg snorted. “You’ll see, Doc.”

The house was in the flex developments. The patient was standing at his front door, as they knew he would be, as he was every single time he called EMS, several times a month, always claiming some grievous injury.

“Five dollars he stubbed his toe this time,” Trapp muttered, leaning over his shoulder to the back of the ambulance where Oleg was already climbing down. “You got this one. Shout if he’s actually hurt.”

From the passenger seat, Adriana glowered, shaking her head in disgust before shoving open the heavy door, sliding from the rig determinedly, hand curled around her trauma pack. He snorted. Fine. Have fun playing doctor.

Only a minute or two passed before he heard raised voices, his head snapping up. Seriously? Trapp stepped from the ambulance to find the familiar mothman on his porch clutching his elbow with one hand and jabbing a long finger in Adriana and Oleg’s direction with the other.

“I want her off my property immediately! She’s the one who told me there was nothing wrong with me! I’m probably going to lose my arm now!” The moth was gesticulating wildly with the same arm he would allegedly be losing, momentarily forgetting to hold it. “Gone! I want her gone!”

“You bumped your funny bone!” Her voice was incredulous and indignant. “There was no clinical diagnosis for—”

“Back in the rig, Doctor,” Trapp interrupted, keeping his voice stern, swallowing his laughter. “Oleg, why don’t you finish up with the patient?”

She was fuming by the time he climbed back into the driver’s seat. “There was nothing wrong with his arm! And if there is now, it’s a completely new injury that he obtained after—”

“There’s nothing wrong with his arm now. Just like there was nothing wrong with his hip last month, or his eye the month before that,” Trapp cut in. “But we can’t deny him care. If we were to stop coming out every time he bumps his elbow on the door and thinks he’s dying, we’d be liable when eventually something is wrong. Like I said — a frequent flyer. I know this might be hard for you to believe, Adi, but patient care actually is my priority.”

Her cheeks flushed red, like delicate rose petals, full lips pressing together in a tight line as she sat back against the seat. Rose petals? What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re going to be waxing poetic about her hair being like a raven’s wing next.

“I thought you were a firefighter,” she demanded at the next red light.

“And where did you hear that?” Trapp turned, taking advantage of the light to glower at her, unable to help himself. “Let me guess? When you were running your mouth at the coffee shop?”

The dull spread of crimson up to the tips of her ears told him he was right. The smell of her was driving him crazy, especially now that she had relaxed a bit, the bitter taste of tension in the air ebbing away, leaving nothing but her.

They were too close to the moon to be confined like this, and it was impossible not to smell the heat just beginning to warm her core, the sweet taste of her making his mouth flood. Just a few more days and her blood would be simmering with it, despite the chemical taste of her suppressant, which his nose could also pick out. He forced himself to keep his hands at ten and two, a death grip on the wheel, when all he wanted to do was bury his face between her thighs and coat his nose in her slick.

“It’s not like I said anything that wasn’t true,” she spat.

From the back of the rig, Oleg laughed nervously. “Come on now. We got a long shift ahead of us.”

The tone dropped with almost comical timing, radio crackling to life, saving them from whatever he might have said next. Collision on the highway, several injuries reported, noncritical. Trapp swallowed hard. Good. This would at least eat up an hour or two of their shift.

When they arrived on scene, the first thing he — and it was clear, Adriana — noticed was the sylvan teenager sitting in one of the wrecked cars, door open, her legs in the road, bleeding from a head wound. Adriana had her door open the instant the ambulance rolled to a complete stop.

“Wait!”

She didn’t listen; she and her trauma pack hopping down from the rig and striding toward the patient, emergency department instinct kicking in without a single thought for field triage.

“Adi, wait!”

Her arm was reaching for the crumpled car door, aiming to pull it open fully by the time he reached her. Trapp swung an arm around her middle, dragging her back several paces, flattening her against the side of the rescue vehicle.

The nearness almost undid his composure. He felt her gasp against him, her hands going to his arm, tightening for the briefest instant, scorching his skin, before she was pushing him off. He wanted to kiss the sneer off her face, and then get into a fistfight with himself for even thinking that in the first place. C’mon, get your head in the fucking game!

“BSI! Look at your hands! Look at the ground!” He gestured to the shattered glass littering the scene, the motor oil streaking across the wet, rain-soaked pavement. “This isn’t a sterile triage! We can’t just rush in without ensuring the scene is secure. We don’t touch the patient until we protect our skin. And you don’t touch the patient at all!”

Her chest was heaving as he pulled a pair of nitrile gloves from his own kit. He expected her to argue. He expected her to straighten up, for that familiar look to cross her face. Instead, she nodded jerkily, fingertips grazing his wrist the briefest instant as she took the gloves. It was an electric shock, stiffening his spine. Not just your spine.

“Copy that . . . Thanks.”

He was standing too close. That was why her hand brushed his forearm as she put on the gloves; a heavy, dragging friction that felt like a brand against his skin, a vibration that moved straight to the tip of his cock. You’re going to come in your pants. That’s what’s going to be on the evening news stream. Paramedic ejaculates on the side of I-12 instead of helping bleeding teenagers, more on our CrowdJournal page.

“I’ll stay out of the way,” she muttered, her face crimson as she ducked around him. “You can get back to work.”

After that call, the rest of the day became a silent, watchful dance.

Trapp found his eyes constantly dragging toward the passenger seat, every time she moved, her thick braid shifting over her shoulder or her white hands tightening around the strap of the trauma kit.

She was watching him, too. He could feel the weight of her gaze resting on him every time his eyes focused on the road, her glance turning away each time he moved his head, the flush up her creamy neck the only indication she’d been watching him at all.

With each successive call — a satyr fainting at the gas station, two successive trips to the senior care facility, another highway accident — Adriana crept nearer and nearer, shadowing him until his hands were trembling from the smell of her. At one point, Trapp turned quickly, not expecting her to be right there, his erection scraping against her trauma pack, leaving him wheezing.

After that particular incident, she sat in a huddled ball in the passenger seat, turned slightly away from him, head down.

“I’m gonna die if I don’t eat something,” Oleg moaned from the back.

Adriana’s head lifted, listening as Trapp and the troll debated whether it was worth making the trip back to the station to eat. “I don’t trust Margus’s cooking,” Trapp argued when Oleg questioned who was on kitchen duty. “Plus, we’re halfway to Bridgeton right now. By the time we get back to the station, we’re only going to have to leave again.”

Trapp pulled out his phone, thumbing open the app for a mom-and-pop pizzeria he liked, his mother’s favorite, the place they’d always ordered from growing up. “You’re doing great out there today, kid. Dinner’s on me tonight.”

Her dark eyebrows came together once they’d arrived and Trapp had returned to the rig, pizza box in hand with paper plates and napkins.

“There’s nowhere to sit in there,” he grumbled, shaking the rain from his hair. “I didn’t get triple anchovy, if that’s what you were hoping for, Oleg. Help yourselves.”

Adriana scrambled to fish a little wristlet out of the backpack at her feet. “How-how much do I owe you?”

He wanted to snidely tell her to get her own food. Wanted to direct her back out into the rain, towards the pizzeria’s doors, or else find herself something else in the vicinity, but nothing in his upbringing would have allowed it. Trapp was certain his mother would have felt the shiver run down her spine from across town if he did, and besides, it wouldn’t have made him feel good, and he didn’t want her to go hungry.

“Nothing. That’s not the way this works.”

She straightened in her seat, that familiar look crossing her face, the one that telegraphed to the entire world that she was about to argue with him. “No, that’s not right. I should pay my own—”

“That’s not the way we do things,” Trapp snapped, cutting her off again, heat blooming across his chest in aggravation. She was so irritating. His wolf was close to the surface, snapping, growling at the smaller beast in her, wanting to do nothing more than jump up and pin her to the ground. Right before you roll her over and fuck her into the dirt. “We work as a team. It’s not tit-for-tat. You don’t want to be here and I don’t especially want you here, but today, you’re a part of this team. So shut up and eat, because I can promise you, we’ve only got a few minutes.”

In the back of the ambulance, Oleg slapped his palms down to his bony knees. “Welp. I’m gonna get some fresh air. Thanks for dinner, Trapp.”

Only once the troll had clambered down from the ambulance, leaving the back bay doors open, his stack of pizza resting inside and out of the rain, did Adriana slowly return her little wristlet to her backpack, pink spots of color warming her face.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, taking the plate he handed her without further argument.

Trapp was glad he was watching when she took her first bite. Her eyes fluttered shut, the thick fringe of black lashes casting a shadow on her cheekbone like a bruise. “Oh my gods!”

“I know, right?” He chuckled in spite of himself. “This is the only place we ever ordered from growing up. Everything else in town is a pale imitation of what pizza should taste like. My mom used to say the grease is how you know it’s actually good.”

“She’s right,” Adriana choked out around a mouthful of cheese. “I used to think the same thing, anytime I moved somewhere new and tried to find pizza that was worth eating. This tastes like home.”

They were each quiet for a moment, chewing. It wasn’t what Trapp would’ve called a companionable silence, but it was at least not actively antagonistic. “You’ve moved a lot?”

She stiffened slightly, and he could tell that she immediately regretted the tiny confidence. Fucking ironic since she had no problem telling perfect strangers all about us while she waited for her medium house roast.

“A few times,” she allowed at length, her voice careful. “I stayed on at the place I did residency with until their whole hospital system imploded. After that it was a few years until I found someplace that stuck.”

Trapp said nothing. He didn’t want to pry into her hospital work history. He didn’t care. He didn’t miss the life he’d walked away from, despite what everyone seemed to think.

“Did you . . . When did you leave? How many years after residency did you—”

“I didn’t finish residency.” There was no point in lying. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t find out the truth with even a minor amount of digging. Probably wouldn’t even need to dig if people are still talking about you.

In the passenger seat, her mouth hung open, her pizza slice frozen midair a few inches from her lips, the action aborted at his words, her eyes wide. “But . . . why?! You were at the top of our cohort! You could have matched into any program you wanted!”

“Yeah, well. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. I didn’t. I didn’t like the program I matched into, and it didn’t take long to realize I wouldn’t be any happier someplace else. It was a bad fit, the whole career. A bad fit for my temper. A bad fit for what I wanted for my life. Just think, you were second in our class for nothing. All that scheming and you got beat by a dropout.”

Her eyes darkened, face screwing up.

The smell of her anger was spicy, a drop of hot chili oil in the sweet, clean rain smell of her neck. Trapp raised a single finger, pointing to the dashcam. Adriana leaned in close, obviously intuiting his meaning.

“You know how you said to me that some things never change?” Her voice was a furious whisper, low for his ears only, and Trapp knew that the steady drumbeat of rain on the roof would prevent the recording from picking it up. “You’re right. Because you’re still a fucking asshole. A cocky, full-of-himself asshole. And that’s never going to change, is it?”

“As long as you’re here to be the same argumentative, backstabbing know-it-all you’ve always been? I guess not.”

They were both leaning into each other, hissing over the center console, faces growing closer with each word they spat, until contact was made. Trapp had no idea which of them leaned into the kiss first, only that as soon as the tip of his tongue touched hers, they both abandoned all pretense of control.

She gasped against his mouth, her nails dragging over his forearm until he knew she’d drawn blood. He could taste her anger as their tongues slid against each other, teeth clacking, biting at his lips, a furious kiss, fueled by hatred as much as lust. His cock was throbbing, and he could smell her slick, could almost taste it on his tongue . . .

He should have been expecting the next tone drop, for there was never a time when they didn’t interrupt. One could never make a personal call, finish a meal, or use the restroom uninterrupted, and now Trapp could add “hate-kissing one’s enemy” to that list.

“Attention all units, stand by for MCI dispatch. Stations Two and Twelve, Rescue Five, Medic Forty-one, Medic Forty-three, Medic One-eighteen, and Battalion Two. Respond to Code Three on Interstate-12 westbound, mile marker one-sixteen. Multi-vehicle collision with heavy entrapment and multiple critical patients. Requesting all ALS units. Air Care One and Two remain on standby.”

“What the fuuuuck. Why can’t anything ever just be on fire?!” Trapp beat on the steering column for a brief, frustrated moment before throwing the driver’s side door open. “Oleg, where the fuck are you?”

Adriana gasped when he surged to his feet right there in the cab, dropping the pizza box into her arms, stepping over the center console and through the narrow partition door to the back of the rig. She shrieked in surprise when Oleg threw himself into the front seat beside her.

“C’mon, let’s go, lights and sirens.”

The troll was already doing so as the words left Trapp’s mouth, pulling out of the pizzeria parking lot and putting his foot down on the accelerator.

“We’re not going back towards the city?” she questioned, the stretch of highway between Bridgeton and Cambric Creek having been the scene of every other highway call of the day.

“This is in Greenbridge Glen,” Trapp answered tersely. It was clear from her blank expression that his words meant nothing. “Between Cambric Creek and Starling Heights. It’s a lot more rural. Flat, one straight line, there’s usually not too many accidents over there, but this rain has everyone driving like it’s their first time out of the house.”

He quickly ensured that his field bag had everything necessary for advanced life support, picking through the supplies from the ambulance and tossing them into the bag before kicking off his boots. Trapp could feel her eyes on him the entire time he undressed, peeling off his uniform pants and shirt, down to his boxer briefs, catching sight of her slack jaw as he pulled his flightsuit off the shelf. He had no doubt she was able to see the thick, curved bar of his erection standing in relief, in danger of escaping his waistband. It twitched under the weight of her stare, and he was positive he heard her whimper.

“What are you doing?” she gasped out at last, his hard-on finally out of sight as he zipped up the suit. “I thought this was Medic Forty-three?”

She didn’t bother turning back in her seat as he grabbed a T-shirt from his bag, pulling the snug cotton down over his chest, slipping his arms into the flight suit, zipping it to the top.

“It is. But I’m Air Two.”

Oleg laid on the horn, silencing them both, cursing at the amount of traffic that wasn’t moving over to let them pass.

“I thought air-medic services are operated by private facilities?”

“They are,” Trapp agreed. “Everywhere else. The hospital in Bridgeton and the hospital in Starling Heights both use the same air-med dispatch. But they won’t service nonhumans. Healers bought their own chopper two years ago, hired their own pilots. They’ve got two of us at the station and two ICU nurses licensed for flight care. Oleg, if they pull me, you bring her back to the station with the rig, understand?”

Instantly, Adriana straightened in her seat, her hands closing over the strap of her trauma bag once more. “What?! No! I’m a doctor! I can be of service—”

“The only thing you’ll be out there is a liability. You’re here as an observer, Adi. That’s it. You want him to drop you off at your clinic so you can unlock the doors for intake; be my guest. That’s your job on the line, not mine. But this is my rig. I’m the attending here.”

Trapp glanced back only once, once they arrived on scene.

She was still in the ambulance, at least following that direction. Her face was practically pressed to the glass, palm flat against the window, watching him go. He had to force his feet to move, turning away from her to face the wreckage beyond. He wanted to kiss her again, taste her fury, but right now, he had a job to do.

Some other time, Trapp thought, wondering if the opportunity would ever arise.

***

He stepped out of the hospital into the ambulance bay hours later, his flight suit unzipped to the waist, the arms swinging loose around his knees. Trapp dropped his head back, sucking in a deep lungful of air. The night was cool, but it held no hint of further rain; a relief after the evening storm and harrowing transfers.

He did a double take at the vehicle just across the lot once he opened his eyes.

Across from the ambulance bay, at the edge of the back lot, sat his own truck, Adriana behind the wheel. She looked relieved when she saw him, opening the driver’s door as he crossed the bay, gravel crunching beneath his feet once he reached a broken patch of pavement.

“Did you steal my fucking truck?!”

She flushed. Her hair was down, pinned back from her face, her thick waves even curlier from being confined in a braid all day, and all he wanted to do was gather it up in his hands, testing its weight to compare to his memory. Her cheeks flushed crimson, but that did nothing to diminish her defiant look.

“I didn’t know how you were going to get home! I just thought . . .”

He laughed incredulously. “I’m still on the clock! I’m not going home for another twenty-four hours! I have to wait for Oleg to pick me up and bring me back to the station, and then maybe I can sleep for an hour or two before the next call.”

“Oh. Well, I didn’t know that, did I?”

“You stole my truck! This is grand theft auto!”

“Oh, shut up. I did not. I rescued your bag from the rig; you’re welcome, by the way. And I just happened to find your keys inside. Stealing wasn’t required.”

Trapp was still laughing. “And now you rifled through my things! Unbelievable!” She tensed when he walked around the front of the truck, opening the door to the passenger seat, retrieving the water bottle he knew was in the cup holder, and draining it in a single long gulp. “Well, I appreciate the thought, but you’re going to need to drive this back. Make sure you park it in the same spot; I don’t want any of these rookies thinking they can take my spot. You should go home for a few hours, try to get some sleep yourself.”

“I did when we got back to the station. After we did the hospital run.” She looked smug, practically crowing in her seat. “They needed an ambulance for the transport, and they let me ride with the patient since Oleg was by himself. Noncritical.” The last was said with a roll of her eyes. “I told you I wouldn’t be a liability. I can’t believe they let you all take off in that weather. Did . . . did the little girl make it?”

Trapp turned, facing the empty parking lot, sucking in the crisp predawn air. “She made it through the transport. That’s all I know. And we didn’t crash getting her there, so the weather didn’t matter. And if we had? I can’t think of a better way to go.”

Trapp closed his eyes, breathing in again deeply and holding it. It had been the worst transfer in which he’d ever participated. The steady rain that had held the whole region in a wet bubble all week finally broke up in a line of storms that began to kick up just as they were transferring out the extracted patients. The small orc he took off with was in bad shape, and he didn’t have time even to consider that he might roll right out of the helicopter as they struggled through the wind and around lightning.

Trapp jumped when Adriana was suddenly right before him, having slipped from the cab of the truck, coming around the front without his notice.

“I’m glad. That she made it through transport.”

He had seen two eclipses in his lifetime, the most recent being just a year or so earlier. Cambric Creek had nearly been in the path of totality, the moon passing over the sun just over Main Street, leaving a brilliant golden ring as darkness swallowed the town. Her eyes resembled that solar eclipse so entirely, Trapp couldn’t imagine ever looking at anything else as he stared down at her.

Her hand had landed on the zipper of his flight suit, drawing it down, down, low enough that it would have been in danger of dropping to the ground if the back was not pinned behind his body.

“What are you—”

His words cut off on a hiss when her palm landed on the hot shape of him, his cock immediately hardening again. Her fingers moved slowly, dragging up and down his length as his shaft swelled with blood, thickening against the heat of her hand. Her nails tracked down until they grazed his knot. It wasn’t swollen yet, but it would be soon, especially if she kept this up.

“I hate you here,” she murmured, drawing down his waistband and easing him out. “Why did you have to be here, Trapp? This was supposed to be my new start. How the fuck am I supposed to do that if you’re here?”

He couldn’t answer. His eyes fluttered shut, mouth going slack, his head dropping back as she licked a hot stripe up his length, her tongue teasing at his tip before sucking him into the hot cavern of her mouth. For what felt like a small, intensely pleasurable eternity, he was unable to speak at all. His hands found their way into her thick curtain of hair, scraping lightly over her scalp as her head bobbed, sucking him in deeper than anyone ever had. He gathered her hair up, at long last, testing its weight, finding it just as heavy in his hand as he remembered.

“Of all the fucking hospitals, of all the towns . . . why did you have to come here, Adi? This is my life. My home. And you’re ruining it already.”

A small moan broke from his throat when her hand raised to grip his sac, once he’d begun to lightly thrust against her. It was a good thing he was leaning against his passenger seat, for there was no way he’d be able to stand on his own. His legs were half-jellied by then, trembling, her knuckle pressing into his un-sunned perineum as she squeezed his balls. Trapp tightened the hand that still held her hair when he came, groaning as she milked him through it, his cock spurting up every drop of the last twenty-four hours’ worth of frustration.

Perfect timing. He raised his head hazily, seeing the ambulance pulling onto the street in the near distance, just as she released him, spent and slack in the cool air.

Adriana grabbed hold of the handgrip inside the door as he tucked himself away, pulling herself up until she was face-to-face with him. It was a bad idea to lean into her kiss, but he’d been on a bender of bad ideas for the last month, and one more couldn’t hurt, he thought, opening his mouth to meet hers roughly.

She spat the mouthful of semen against his tongue, filling his mouth, pulling back seconds before the ambulance pulled into the bay.

“This doesn’t change anything, Trapp.”

He staggered when she climbed over him, seating herself behind the wheel of his truck as he zipped the flightsuit back up to his waist, stumbling a bit as he spun on his heel, spitting the mouthful of cum out, furious that he’d already emptied his water bottle. She was pulling away the instant he stepped back, allowing the vehicle’s forward momentum to slam the passenger door shut; was already at the corner by the time he’d reached the ambulance, pulling the side door open, startling Oleg inside.

“Ope! Where’d you even come from?!”

He watched the brake lights flare just before she turned off the street, still dazed. She was going to be his ruin. Had already started doing so, and he had no script for this. No practiced smile, no central casting note, no studio audience cheering him on. Who was he, if not Trapp Hemming, friend to all, author of his own narrative?

He had no fucking idea.

Adriana

“You asked before — I have four years on fire . . . five? Almost five. Took the test to get off the road.”

Her head lifted, brows turning down in confusion for the space of a few seconds before she remembered that she had asked him about being a firefighter the previous day. Adriana looked around the ambulance, eyes narrowing as she gestured to the road beyond the dashboard, as if Trapp were imagining it to be something different.

“. . . Aren’t we on the road now?”

He blew out a huff of air through his nose, the corner of his mouth pulling up slightly, the sound so entirely familiar that for an instant, she was twenty-three years old, awkward and anxious and somehow entertaining the most handsome, popular member of their cohort. He could have sat anywhere, talked to anyone, but he’d chosen her table, and even now, a decade and a half later, Adriana still didn’t understand why.

“I’m the senior shift paramedic, so I train with all the incoming EMTs. I’ll be back on a hybrid fire rotation next month.”

“But why? At least if you’re on the street as a medic, you’re using your training, all of your education. Why would you be willing to just—”

“Because this job is a lot.” His voice held a sharp edge that silenced her. An edge she understood, Adriana thought. For a long, weighted moment, the quiet was a shadow, sitting between them, crowding the center console until Trapp broke it.

“Why did you leave the ED? That’s all you wanted in school.”

She stiffened at the loaded question, shocked that he was directly acknowledging their shared past at all. Forcing herself to stay impassive, she contemplated her answer. Because I was drowning. Because it was killing me. Because some days it felt like it would be easier never to wake up again than to go back in. “Because that job is a lot.” Her voice was soft, barely a whisper.

He nodded, not needing further explanation. Of course he understood.

Neither of them had acknowledged what had happened in the hospital lot.

She didn’t know why she’d done what she did, only knew that she’d been thinking of it most of the day. It would have been different if she didn’t already know how his cock felt in her mouth, if she didn’t already know the weight of it on her tongue . . . and then she’d watched him strip his clothes off in the back of the ambulance. He’d looked outsized in the cramped space, curling to sit on the edge of the narrow bench as he stripped down to his underwear, as if he were trying to make her crazy, doing it intentionally! Her hands, curled around the edge of her seat, had kept her in the cab, gawking at his exposed flesh. His straining erection was barely contained, but by then, he’d had nothing on his mind except the accident they were rushing towards, and her control had nearly snapped.

And then she’d watched the helicopter he was in pitch to the side seconds after take-off, nearly rolling in the air as the storm pushed in, and she was convinced she’d never see him again.

It should have been a cheerful thought.

After all, hadn’t she been cursing his name since her very first night in town? Hadn’t he been the thorn in her paw since the first time his ambulance had pulled up to the doors of her clinic? Wasn’t he the reason she was in trouble, her job on the line?

Instead, she’d shrieked, her heart in her throat as they disappeared into the storm.

She’d been glad for a distraction when they’d needed the ambulance, arguing with the captain on scene for only a minute before she was given a waiver to sign, assuming liability for the noncritical patient that was loaded into the rig as Oleg sped them back to Healers. After that, she’d had nothing to do but wait and think, trapped by her own spiraling anxiety.

With Trapp off the road, his rookie was as well, the lanky troll taking advantage of the break to sleep. She’d gone home, but sleep was impossible. It occurred to her at length that he would be stuck at the hospital, his ambulance back at the station, Oleg asleep, and that it made complete sense for her to return to the station, rifle through his bag until she found his keys, and take his truck.

That she’d managed to ignore the intrusive thought suggesting she use the keys to explore his home while she waited was a win.

And then he was there, alive, looking no worse for wear as he strode through the ambulance bay, laughing indignantly over her minor GTA, and sucking his cock had felt like a natural and necessary progression of the shift.

She still hated him. He was still ruining what was meant to be her new start. She could never become someone brand new if shards of her past popped up several times a week . . . but the notion that she’d not see him again, now that she knew he existed here, had left her frantic.

Afterward, she’d returned to the station in his borrowed truck, ensuring it was returned to his space, fleeing in her own vehicle before the ambulance returned, but she was too keyed up to even think of resting. Her townhouse was too empty, her little sloping street silent, and the quiet was intolerable. Upon her arrival back at the fire station in the morning, she’d been told Trapp was asleep and to make herself comfortable in the dayroom.

Adriana had the distinct feeling the demonborn captain’s smile was a fraction away from being a sneer. The tiny handful of firefighters awake in the station gave her a wide berth, as if she were a dangerous animal, their heads coming together once they were far enough away, the topic of their whispers clear.

She understood that, too, even as she felt herself shrinking. She was the outsider, the one who got him in trouble. Of course they all knew. Everyone knows everything in this fucking town. Why did you think this would be any different? It was a relief when Oleg had come through the doors, shoveling food in his mouth from a styrofoam takeout container.

“He’s trying to get some sleep while he can, but we’ll get something soon. Morning rush-hour is always a mess.”

For the next twenty-eight minutes, she listened to the troll chatter about his fiancée, who was from Cambric Creek, the small town he’d left that had been nothing but dairy farms, and the fermented fish roll from the dim sum take-out joint on Main Street that she should avoid at all costs. All the while, her imagination was working overtime, trying to picture him just upstairs, his face soft in sleep.

Trapp’s boots thudded down the concrete steps only minutes before the call came through, putting them back on the road. He didn’t look as if he’d slept a wink, but she kept it to herself.

They’d barely spoken since. Until now.

“The ED has the highest rate of burnout,” she laughed weakly, trying to force her face into her practiced coffee shop smile and failing utterly. “I’m just keeping to statistics, I guess.”

He snorted. “Yeah, tell me about it. Our burnout numbers aren’t as high, but that’s only because most EMTs can’t afford to quit. Our rate of PTSD is almost double. Moving to fire meant a better paycheck and better job security. Departments love it when you’re cross-certified; that’s one less paycheck on the roster. That’s why you’re going to knuckle down and start your medic training ASAP,” Trapp directed into the rearview mirror, his words meant for the troll in the back. “And then don’t fuck around prepping for the fire test . . . anyway, fire doesn’t see half the shit we do on the road.”

“Oh, you have no idea what we would deal with in the ED.”

She felt her hackles rise when he snorted derisively, turning his head just long enough to scowl. They were too close to the moon for her to deal with his shitty looks, and she would bite him the instant she had the chance if he wasn’t careful. You should have bitten his dick when you had the chance. Care for a mid-shift circumcision, Trapp?

“Why am I not surprised you’ve got to make it a competition?”

“I’m serious,” she shot back, seething at his expression. “The most gruesome things would come through our doors, foreign objects, accidents with kids, and I would only have a few minutes to—”

“Yeah, and who do you think scraped those gruesome cases off the street to deliver to you? We get the same shit, fresh, as it’s happening. No guardrails, no security. If your scene isn’t secure, you might wind up with a dirty needle stick or a bullet through your gut. You think you’re traumatized seeing the kids coming in on stretchers? Try being first on the scene.”

“Maybe,” Oleg’s disembodied voice came from the rear, “we can all agree that dead bodies suck, no matter the circumstances.”

Trapp snorted again but said nothing more, letting the troll’s sentiment be the final word.

“Do you get the ‘what’s the worst thing?’ question?” she asked after a moment. “It makes me crazy.”

“Oh, the first fucking thing anyone asks,” Trapp agreed. “The second they find out you’re EMS, they’re asking you to relive the most traumatic scene you’ve ever witnessed for their amusement, like it’s a fun little story. That’s why I don’t tell anyone I’m a medic anymore. I’m a fireman, the end. Go bother someone else with your ghoulish questions.”

“Great,” Oleg mumbled. “Something to look forward to.”

“Sorry,” Adriana laughed, “but yeah, you do.” It was an odd camaraderie, but she didn’t have a better name for it.

“You need to get ready for that, Rookie,” Trapp directed to the back. “And when they ask, which they will, you tell them it was the time you fucked their mother. That usually shuts them up.”

Adriana nearly choked on the sip of lukewarm station coffee she’d just taken, gasping as it went down the wrong way, her shoulder shaking in laughter. “You do not say that.”

“Oh, I absolutely do. Try me.”

“I need to remember that one. I can’t ever think of zingers like that in the moment,” Oleg huffed, chuckling.

“With my older brothers, I didn’t have a choice. You learn to roast or be roasted. No other options.”

“You were roasted by the mayor?!” the troll gasped, incredulous, and Adriana nearly expired, laughing so hard she was no longer producing sound, wheezing against the door. Once she’d regained her composure, they drove in what almost felt like companionable silence down the long stretch of highway to the city.

“It was an accident,” she murmured, taking another sip of the disgusting coffee. “Like the one you had last night. An eight-car collision, piled up on each other. I had three pediatric arrests come through in twenty minutes. I ran it exactly by the book. Every compression was depth-verified by the monitor. We pushed all the right meds. I did everything right. And they all died anyway.”

She leaned her head back against the vinyl padding of the seat, her jaw trembling. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen more than anyone’s fair share of death and disaster in the course of her career in emergency medicine, but that particular night had been gutting. She’d never shared that story with anyone. She didn’t have anyone to share it with, even if she’d wanted to . . . and that didn’t seem like a good enough reason to share it with him, yet she had anyway.

The ambulance was silent as Trapp took the exit. Welcome to Cambric Creek. Silent, until they reached the first intersection.

“It was a call for an accident, further up the highway than we were last night. Well into Greenbridge Glenn, past the resort. It was technically Station Two’s, in Starling Heights, but we were called for the assist. But then another call came through, just outside their city limits, still pretty deep country. Dispatch had me go around the pile-up on the highway and get to this domestic, multiple minors involved. I was first on scene. Wait for LE to secure; they call us in a minute later. No active danger . . . because there were no survivors. Later, I found out it was a custody dispute. I’ll never stop seeing that scene in my head.”

For the rest of the shift, she shadowed close behind him, staying well enough out of his way that she didn’t need to be told, assisting at his elbow, handing over supplies from his bag when he allowed it, taking note of the way he conversed with patients of every species.

He was friendly. He was charming. He set people at ease with his bright smile and sparkling eyes, distracted the elderly with stories only someone who’d lived in Cambric Creek his whole life would know, and was aggravatingly just as proficient chatting with the two children they encountered through the course of the shift. All the while, his charting was impeccable, his field triage quick and clean, making the job look easy to untrained eyes.

She knew better. Adriana knew how hard it was to make this sort of work look effortless, and to do so while keeping up an easy patter of conversation and no sterile field? She knew without question that he would have been an excellent doctor. It made that far-off daydream she’d had about them seem cruel in retrospect. Cruel because it could have come true, in a different reality. Maybe if you’d been someone different. Maybe somewhere else, in some other reality, the different versions of you made it work.

***

She’d been blindfolded. It was the first and last time Adriana had ever found herself in such a position — blindfolded, pressed against the wall, her arms extended and loosely tied, her legs pushed open until her knees bumped the concrete on either side of her body.

“You’re stalling, Adi.” His voice had been a hum at her ear, one of his flashcards scraping lightly over her skin, down through the valley between her breasts, stopping once it reached her navel. “We’ve been on the pathology of the bundle branches for forty minutes. If you can’t recite the conduction block parameters, you’re going to bomb the morning rotation, and I’ll be forced to find a study partner who can keep up.” The last was a hot whisper at her collarbone, his lips grazing her skin, making her whimper.

“I’m not stalling,” she’d snapped, her voice falling into the defensive petulance that she only ever displayed with him, when she felt that chasm between their bank accounts was too wide to contemplate. “I’m only making sure that—”

Her voice died, her head lolling when she felt his teeth grazing her clavicle, his tongue dipping into the hollow at her throat. Her hands shook in their bonds, desperately wanting to touch him.

“I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to concentrate,” she gritted out, breath pitching when he pulled back.

She should never have agreed to it in the first place. He was quizzing her on the cardiac conduction system. For every right answer, he removed a piece of her clothing. When she had pointed out that she never made him strip study, Trapp had countered that he took his clothes off for free, and besides, he knew everything that would be on the exam.

His arrogance had been enough to make her agree, fists balled, until he had stretched her arms out, loosely tying her hands. Now he was tracing the alphabet at the soaked gusset of her panties as he waited for her answer, making her spine ripple every time he bumped her clit.

“Originates in the . . . sinoatrial node,” she’d panted, her voice tight, the clinical terms coming out in a rapid, breathless cadence. “Traverses the interatrial septum.” She cut off on a wheeze, her back arching when what could only be his nose brushed against the damp cotton, pulling back when she stopped.

“And?”

“It . . . it ensures synchronized atrial contraction.”

He inhaled against her, tongue replacing his finger, tracing over her cotton-covered clit. “Your heat is coming. Do you want me to fuck you through it?”

Adriana whimpered, startled at the sound, jumping when she realized she was lying against the blue vinyl seat of the ambulance. She had fallen asleep. That’s a hell of a dream to be having a foot away from him. That night still lived in her memory as one of the most erotic encounters of her life, but it didn’t do any good to daydream about it now.

Something was wrong.

She realized it as she shifted in her seat, the ambulance interior pitching, vertigo making her spin. Adriana whimpered, cramps seizing her, deep and aching, twisting her insides until she was panting. She felt soaked. She was too hot; her pulse was too fast. Are you dying? Is this a heart attack? Her mind raced through the symptoms. Peritonitis, appendicitis, severe ischemic pancreatitis. Or something else . . . She had been on the verge of her heat that long-ago night with him, just before the moon, and it was just before the moon again, she realized in stricken horror.

She had been on heat suppressants all her life. The instant puberty struck, she was on that foul-tasting little pill, her and every other girl she knew. There were already too many mouths to feed in the pack. It wouldn’t do to go bringing another unwanted one into the picture.

She was having a breakthrough heat, and it was because of him. His nearness, his wolf, the mouthwatering way he smelled. It had been a mistake to put them in such close quarters these last forty-two hours with the moon nearly upon them. That’s what you get for letting a fucking shifter and an orc make decisions.

She swallowed hard, reaching out blindly for the water bottle she’d finally been allowed to put in the cup holder beside her. Trapp took it, holding it out to her.

“What’s wrong—”

His eyes were locked on her face, too intense, squinting slightly as he took her in. He had to be able to smell her. In the back, Oleg lounged in the medic’s chair, playing a game on his phone, completely oblivious.

She held her breath as Trapp leaned in closer, over the console between them, ever closer, until he was able to sniff her neck. His eyes were black, blown out like a shark’s, and she whimpered again.

“Oleg, why don’t you go grab us a box from OhDoh?” Trapp’s voice was controlled, but he didn’t take his eyes off her as he called back to the troll. “Actually, why don’t you get a box for the station, too. You know the chief loves those fry cakes.”

In the passenger bay, Oleg perked up immediately. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. Any requests?”

“Whatever you think sounds good. Just make sure it’s fresh. No doughnuts from the case.”

She watched through heavy-lidded eyes as he passed the troll a handful of bills. She held her breath until Oleg clambered down from the rig, jumping when Trapp’s big hand landed on her wrist.

“C’mon. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Adriana realized how bad off she was when she tried to stand and immediately lost her balance, the cab spinning. Trapp caught her by the shoulders and eased her back down into her seat before exiting the ambulance. She panted as the passenger-side door opened, Trapp catching her again.

This can’t be real, she thought, allowing herself to be led to the back doors. She had to still be dreaming. There was no way he had triggered a breakthrough heat in her, despite her suppressant, no fucking way. But it was real enough when he lifted her easily into the back of the ambulance, settling her onto the stretcher. Just like a doll.

Her head lolled as she watched him rifle through the small cabinet, coming out with a vial. Adriana was wheezing by the time he had pulled a sterile, wrapped syringe from his jump bag and a rubber tourniquet to tie around her arm.

“We keep Suppresene in the rig,” he murmured, measuring a dose from the vial, tapping the side of it to ensure there were no air bubbles in the syringe.

Her mouth dropped open, fingers flexing. This was how he was helping her. Professional, courteous, respectful. Absolutely the right call; it showed that he was, indeed, the better medical professional, even after all these years. But it was not what she fucking needed from him.

“Oh. Oh, okay, I-I thought you were going to . . .”

Trapp paused, looking at her intently. She felt heat in his gaze, squeezing her thighs together. “You thought what, Adi? You thought I was going to what? Is this what you want?”

He lowered himself to the medic’s chair, just beside her. Her eyes fluttered shut, anticipating the sting of the needle, but instead, Trapp’s lips brushed the shell of her ear, sending a ripple down her spine.

“Tell me what you need from me. Do you need this? Or do you want me to fuck you through it?”

She whimpered, her voice failing, her fingers curling over his wrist. “Your knot,” she gasped, crying out when he pulled back.

“That’s a dangerous thing to beg for, smelling the way you do. But we don’t have time for that. We’ve got like twenty minutes, tops.”

She wanted to sob in frustration when he picked the vial back up, feeding the syringe into the neck. Fire was licking up her insides by now. She was able to smell his wolf, smell it jumping in eagerness, was able to smell his cock, knew he was already hard, already dripping. She knew without question that he was able to smell her cunt, her heat, and he was still pushing the fucking suppressant.

“I’m going to push two units just to take the edge off. You need to be able to get home.”

“Please.” Her voice was a ragged whisper. Tomorrow she would be horrified that she had begged him and been rebuffed. She would never be able to show her face again outside the townhouse that she wouldn’t be able to afford once she lost her job. But that was tomorrow’s problem. “Please, Trapp.”

“I said I was pushing two to get you home,” he growled into her hair. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to fuck you. That’s the least I can do, after last night.”

She hated him, Adriana reminded herself, but there was nothing in the world she wanted more than his knot just then. She wheezed as he undid the front of her pants, his huge hand down front of her panties before she could fully process the movement, but the first touch of his thick fingers to her heated flesh practically had her convulsing.

She’d always been horny the week of the moon. Once, when she’d had time for such things, before she’d been buried alive beneath the weight of her job, the constant stress, the constant anxiety that left her feeling like an unraveling sweater, one pulled thread too many. Random hook-ups usually satisfied the itch, occasionally even with co-workers here and there, cooling her blood and satisfying her lunar desire until the following week when she’d be back to normal.

That was nothing like this. This was the sort of heat she’d not experienced in years, in a decade or more, not since . . .

Trapp sank a thick finger into her, dragging through her moon-slick folds, rubbing circles against her clit, and coating his hand in her wetness. “Poor baby,” he murmured, making her arch against him.

. . . Since the last time she’d been with him, maybe. “Please,” she begged, not caring how shameless she sounded. Her insides felt braided together, the burning arousal beginning to cramp. “I need you inside me. Now!”

Trapp dropped over with a quickness that made her yelp, caging his arms around her, his face an inch from hers, their noses practically bumping.

“You are not in charge here, Doctor Brunelli. I’m not your fucking resident. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

He added a second finger, stroking her insides in a come-hither motion that nearly sent her to the ceiling. She panted as his corded forearm began to move like a piston. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what she needed. She needed his weight upon her, needed to be stretched open by his girth, needed to feel his knot within her, sealing them together, but as he began to rub her clit, the friction against it and the pressure within her was enough, and she broke, clenching around his fingers with a gasp, arching off the stretcher.

The radio crackled at that moment, Oleg’s voice coming through.

“So, I can get what’s in the case now. She said it’ll be at least twenty minutes if we want her to drop a fresh batch for the chief.”

Trapp pushed up from his knee, almost falling over the partition in his haste to lean into the cab to respond. “Copy that. Twenty minutes is fine. If we get tones before then, tell her we’ll come back for it.”

Twenty minutes wasn’t long enough for him to knot her, even if that was what she desperately needed, but it was enough to satisfy the burning in her core, long enough to fill her with his cock. Trapp came to the same conclusion, pulling open his belt as he turned back to her, his black eyes shining.

Her heat couldn’t have struck in a worse place, for the back of the ambulance was cramped and tight. He was unable to stand up without ducking his head, the side bench too shallow to position himself comfortably, but neither of that mattered when he flipped her on the stretcher, pulling her up to her knees, dragging her panties down as he did.

“Please. I need you inside me.”

“I could get used to hearing you beg for me,” he hissed in her ear, his teeth grazing the outer shell. “I’ve fucked you like this before, Adi. Do you remember?”

The first press of his head into her made her keen, stretching her walls, thick and familiar. She was able to smell the heat of his knot, already swelling, could hear the erratic thump of his heartbeat, just as excited as she was. Just as eager to bury himself within her as she was to be filled by him.

“We were studying system blocks. I think you begged me then, too. You barely made it through the morning rotation. And then we didn’t get out of bed the rest of the day.”

She nearly sobbed in relief when he began to move, solid thrusts into her that made the whole stretcher shift. There was no time to reacclimate herself to his size, not now and certainly not from this position, but her body remembered him, opening for him easily, crying out when the jolt of him made her see stars.

“That was before I knew what a self-serving, back-stabbing bitch you are.” Trapp groaned into her hair, lifting her by the thighs as he thrust upward, making her cry out. “You smell so fucking good. Is this what you need, Adriana? Is my cock what you need to feel better?”

She hated herself for the way she moaned in pleasure, the interior of the ambulance spinning around like one of those rides from that long-ago carnival. She hated him. Hated how good he felt, how good he’d always felt inside her. The ambulance was probably rocking from the street, and she could only hope that Oleg was far enough away to not notice. She could feel Trapp’s knot, hot and swollen, bumping against her on every thrust, kissing her lips, threatening to pop into place and cool the ache in her blood for good. “Yes,” she gasped. “I need your cock. I need your knot. Please—”

She never got the chance to finish. His fingers had begun to move over her swollen clit in tight, precise circles, exactly the way she liked it. His other arm wrapped around her middle, lifting her higher so that he could brace their weight on the bench, and the changed angle was enough to nearly make her black out. Trapp groaned when she came around him, her core clenching, her spine stiffening, lower extremities shaking like she’d been electrocuted.

When he pulled out of her, she felt the absence of him like a hole punched into her very being, soothed only by his lips at her temple, the kiss softer than anything she’d expected, his breath hot in her hair.

“Just close your eyes, Adi. You’ll be home soon.”

Her head fell back when she was gently laid out on the stretcher, her body empty, her arm lifted and the needle sliding into her vein before she could protest, Trapp tightening the tourniquet with his teeth. It was like an ice-cold pitcher of water being poured over her in an endless deluge, the heat receding from her belly, cramps subsiding almost immediately. Adriana moaned. This was what she’d needed. But this isn’t what you want.

The world was still spinning when the ambulance lurched away from the curb. She had no idea how much time had passed. The suppressant he’d pushed was already cooling her blood, clearing her head, but it came with the unfortunate side effect of making her groggy. Trapp had closed the partition door, leaving her isolated and dizzy in the back of the rig. Adriana vaguely remembered Oleg pulling the door open, asking for her address, the smell of fried dough and crystallized sugar filling the air.

You hate him. Don’t forget that. Don’t forget how cruel you know he’s capable of being. This doesn’t mean anything. She didn’t know how she could possibly start over again when he was here, when his presence would be a daily reminder of how good he felt inside her. How was she ever supposed to meet someone else, when they would inevitably be compared to him? When his nearness forced her to think of him, to see him, to smell him, to think about how fucking good he felt inside her? This town wasn’t big enough for them both, and she didn’t have anywhere else to go.

How are you supposed to be someone brand new when he’s here to constantly remind you of the past? She didn’t have an answer and wasn’t likely to find one soon, Adriana thought, as the world went black.

* * *

She was shivering when the doorbell rang, hours later.

Adriana didn’t remember how she’d gotten back into her townhouse, didn’t remember the ambulance dropping her off, as it must have. She’d somehow found her way up to her bed, her blue chinos neatly folded over the antique trunk she’d found for the foot of her bed, blankets pulled up to her chin. She was still wearing the borrowed station polo, her bra and panties in place. Only her pants and her socks had been removed. She was glad that she had possessed the state of mind to kick them off in her fevered state, because nothing made her skin crawl more than being under the covers with socks on. When her eyes had fluttered open, hours later, she’d felt carefully tucked in, knowing that was ridiculous.

Suppresene is a hell of a drug.

Even so, Trapp had only pushed two units, and the piddly amount was burning through her system. She was curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a quilt her aunt Rita had made her, her skin cold and clammy to the touch as fire curled in her belly, licking up her insides, threatening to reduce her to soot and ash. If only you knew a firefighter.

The unexpected sound of the doorbell made her jump; the very first time she was home when it chimed, she realized. Her legs shook like a newborn colt, trembling all the way down the stairs.

It was just after dawn. Barely, she realized, opening the door with a trembling hand. The first light of day had only just begun to break over the horizon, thready golden fingers pushing through the gloom, promising an afternoon of sunshine after a week’s worth of rain.

Trapp stood on her stoop, the expression on his face unfathomable.

“I rescued your bag from the rig. You’re welcome. And since your keys were in it, I thought I’d bring your car home before it got towed.”

She could see it there, out on the street, parallel parked in front of one of the neighbors’ cars. She knew the ambulance must’ve brought her home last night, but it hadn’t fully penetrated until that moment that Trapp had been the one to do it.

“Pretty sure that’s grand theft auto . . . Thanks.” Adriana bit her lip, head still reeling, realizing she needed to eat something and was likely dehydrated. “Did you . . . did you put me to bed last night?”

He looked away, staring down the sloping hill of her street for a moment, giving her a good, long look at his striking profile, his sharp jawline and high cheekbones, his thick black eyelashes curling back like a fucking giraffe’s. It wasn’t fair for him to look the way he did, to be smart and come from money. It wasn’t fair at all.

“Yeah. Don’t worry. I told Oleg that the shift must’ve been too much for you.”

She snorted, unable to help herself. Long, overnight back-to-back shifts were hardly out of her wheelhouse.

Trapp’s mouth twitched. “Well, it was a big adjustment for him in the beginning, so fortunately, he believed it. Yeah, I helped you get in. You were fine to walk, but this place has a lot of fucking steps.”

At that, she did laugh. He wasn’t wrong. He’d put her to bed, tucked her in, peeled off her socks, fully knowing how she felt about wearing them under the covers.

He held out the keys to her car. Adriana knew this was the point she was meant to take them, to say goodbye, let him leave. Let him leave for good, leave forever. She would have to see him occasionally at the clinic, but they could be professional. They were both professionals, after all. She’d had forty-eight hours to see that for herself. Her fingers brushed his as she took the keys from his outstretched hand, like an electric shock.

“And I got you a bottle of Suppresene.” He shook the bottle, twenty-five coated tablets rattling around like a mini maraca. “It’s not as strong as the stuff we have on the truck, obviously, but it should help . . . I just wanted to let you know, I didn’t report that on my run sheet. I didn’t have to; I didn’t pull a full two units. They give us a tiny bit of slack for aspiration waste on non-narcotics. I didn’t . . .” He trailed off. “Anyway, I thought you might still need—”

“I do.” She knew that he knew that. Knew he could smell the heat still making her shake, burning her from the inside out, leaving her clammy and feverish.

Thank you. Goodbye. “Do you want to . . .”

His eyes were locked on hers, holding her captive in their dark depths as his head nodded.

“Yeah.”

Adriana didn’t look back as he followed her into her townhouse, closing the door behind him, turning the lock with a click.

She ignored him when he murmured something about her needing a security system, not slowing as her shaking legs carried her up the first flight of steps, moving past her living room and kitchen, continuing up to the bedroom. There was no point in pretending there was another reason for him to be here. No point in acting out niceties when the fire within her was too impatient to bear. She was trembling, facing the bed, able to smell him just behind her, his wolf huge and looming.

His hand at her back made her jump, whirling to face him at last, and then he was right there, mouth crashing into hers, lifting her up, the quilt around her falling away.

Adriana didn’t know why she had thought there was a chance to pretend he didn’t exist, to peaceably go on with their lives, ignoring each other on opposite sides of town. When he pushed her down on the bed, she made no move to scramble away, opening her legs willingly as he climbed over her.

She wasn’t expecting the heat of his mouth to reignite the inferno within her so thoroughly. She didn’t want his kiss. She didn’t want him to kiss her, to be tender with her. She wanted his teeth and his wolf and his knot; wanted to be ravaged by him until he sated the aching hunger within her, a fire he had started with his nearness, and then she wanted him to leave her alone forever.

But kiss her he did, and there was no pulling away from it. His mouth was hot, moving from her lips to her jaw, down her neck, pausing to suck the jumping pulse in the hollow of her throat. “Why do you smell so fucking good, Adi?” His voice was a dark growl against her skin, his hands pulling her sweat-soaked polo over her head as she unhooked her bra, doing her part to speed things up.

It was because of her heat. That’s what she would tell herself later, Adriana promised herself. The heat was to blame, and he was to blame for the heat.

She would ignore the fact that the drug he’d administered had taken the burning, painful edge out of the fire that engulfed her, the only reason she was even able to make it downstairs to open the door. It had taken the edge off enough for her to get through the next two days completely on her own, if need be, but that wasn’t what she was going to remember.

Trapp’s mouth moved over her clavicle, the hot trail of his tongue making her shiver as he cupped her breasts, full and heavy in his hands. When his mouth closed over a nipple, already painfully tight from the shallow heat simmering in her veins, sucking hard, it was as if he sucked the moan that came from her throat as well. It hurt, but the pain went straight to her cunt, and she tightened her hands around him until he did it again, giving the other breast the same treatment.

“You’re not in charge right now, Doctor.” He kissed his way down her body, the opposite of what she wanted, worshiping her skin until she was panting, her breath hard and labored.

“I thought you were going to fuck me through it,” she rasped, hardly able to get the words out, fisting the covers in frustration.

His laughter was low and throaty, hot against her skin. “Oh, I am. But I want to hear you beg for it again, first. And I want to see if this pussy is still as sweet as I remember.”

He stopped to inhale against the soft swell of her stomach, teeth dragging over her skin, biting her gently, over her hips, his tongue tracing the lines of her stretch marks, biting the tops of her thighs until he’d nosed them open. His forearms came down over her legs, holding them open, spreading her open to his mouth like a feast.

They had spent the rest of the day in bed, that heat a million years ago, when they were different people, when she still daydreamed about him, fantasizing about an impossible future. Wolves like Trapp Hemming weren’t interested in scavenger mutts like her. She didn’t know why he’d picked her as a study partner, would never understand why he had played with her heart as cruelly as he had, but no one else she had met before or since him could ever do this to her nearly as well.

The first stroke of his hot tongue made her cry out, strangled and desperate. Adriana buried fingers in his thick hair, forty-eight hours of rain and sweat making it curl, dragging her fingers over his scalp as he lapped at her cunt. This wasn’t what she wanted from him, but that didn’t stop her hips from rolling up, trying to meet his mouth, the weight of his forearms keeping her in place. His full lips fastened around her clit, sucking, licking, making her spine unwind.

“I hate you,” she wheezed, trying and failing again to thrust upwards. “Why did you have to be here, Trapp? Why couldn’t you just stay a fucking memory?”

He had settled into a rhythm, moving his tongue like a hummingbird’s wing, friction in just the right spot, his lips providing suction, devouring her until she broke.

Trapp groaned when she came against his tongue, flooding his mouth. “Sweet like honey,” he murmured, continuing to lick until she pushed him away.

He hadn’t come the night before. She would still be dripping with his hot seed if he had, and the thought of doing so now made her shiver. She needed him out of his clothes now, needed him on top of her, needed to be filled with his cock and sealed with his knot.

“Tell me what you need, Adi,” he whispered into her hair, once he had her kneeling at the center of the bed. “Tell me what you want.”

She gasped as he pushed her face to the mattress, holding her there, her ass high, presented to him like the bitch in heat she was. The first press of his cockhead had her hands fisting in the covers again, but that first press was as far as he went, slipping out a second later to push through her slick folds, bumping her clit, slapping into it from beneath.

“No, I don’t think so,” he chuckled. Another bump of his glans to her clit, making her whimper. “You need to beg for it,” he reminded her, his hand still at the back of her head, holding her down. Adriana saw red. It would have been easier to do as he asked, easier to beg and get what she needed, but she’d never been a fan of doing things the easy way, and she wasn’t about to give in, especially not to him.

“I fucking hate you,” she ground out, tightening her grip on the bedspread, fire churning through her as he laughed against her shoulder, humorless and dark.

“Good,” Trapp spat. “The feeling is mutual. Now tell me what you want from me before I go home.”

She twisted out from under him, kneeling to face him on the bed, her fury almost overtaking the lunar estrus rippling through her. “Fine. I want your big cock.” She wrapped her hands around his stiff shaft, jutting out at an angle between them. He was still pent up from the night before, his skin hot to the touch, veins standing out angrily, denied satisfaction for too long. Trapp grunted as she twisted her way up to his head, hand over hand, stroking him from root to tip until she was able to tap her fingertip against his winking slit, a thread of pre-cum connecting them when she pulled away. “Because that’s all you’re fucking good for.”

His laugh was ugly when he pushed her down, flattening her against the pillows. Adriana kept a firm grip on the base of his shaft, leading his cock head to the mouth of her sex, eager to feel him slide home.

“You know, I used to think fucking you was the only way to keep you interested.” His eyes fluttered shut, words failing as he pushed into her, groaning.

Adriana keened as he spread her open. Now that she was no longer thrashing with her heat, she was able to feel every thick, delicious inch of him, filling her entirely. His knot was a hot, swollen pressure against her, as desperate to bury itself in her as she was to be filled with it. Trapp wasted no time beginning to move, rolling his hips in short snaps, making her cry out.

“Now I realize it’s the only way to shut you up.”

Interested in what? She didn’t have time to dwell on his words, as he began to fuck her with a single-minded focus. Hard and deep, each thrust making her jolt. His nearness had reignited the fire within her, the heat of his knot making her twist in desperation, making her whine. Trapp spread her legs wide, knees to the bed, his own legs spreading out to pin hers down, the solid thump of his hips sending up a flare of sparks behind her eyes.

“What do you need, Adi?”

She didn’t answer, the room spinning once more, as it had the night before in the ambulance, so close to tipping over the edge . . . when he pulled out abruptly, pushing up on his knees and retreating to the end of the bed. Adriana gasped, the absence of him painful as her body cramped in desperation.

“I can just jerk off.” He shrugged, doing exactly that, making her twist. Her eyes followed the movement of his hand, wringing up his curved length, twisting over his head, committing the act to memory. “You need to tell me—”

“You,” she snarled, beating her fists ineffectually against the pillows. “I need you, you smug asshole. I need you to knot me, Trapp. Please.”

Adriana shuddered when he climbed over her again, relieved that he wasn’t going to continue this torture. She cried out when he pressed into her once more, sliding home. He immediately re-established his previous rhythm, his hips snapping, balls slapping into her, and the percussive strike of it combined with the wet squelch of her slick was overloud in the otherwise silent room.

“I can’t fucking stand you,” she raged against his shoulder, gasping, biting at his skin. “You always have to prove that you’re better than—”

She cut off on a yelp when his teeth nipped at the delicate skin of her throat, hard enough to thrill her. That’s what his wolf would do. Throw you around like a ragdoll, fuck you into the dirt, and then claim you with his teeth.

“Why did you have to come here, Adriana? Why the fuck couldn’t you stay a mistake from my past? You’re here one fucking month, and you’re already ruining my reputation—”

“If it could be ruined that easily, I don’t think it was that good to start with,” she snarled back at him. “You fucking wolves and your precious territory. Go piss on a tree somewhere else, Trapp. This is my home now, too.”

His dark rumble of laughter thrilled her, pulling her legs up, hooking her knees over his elbows until she moaned, the new angle liquefying her center. When his thumb began to rub over her clit, she was lost. “Oh, that’s fucking rich. Of course it’s a competition with you.”

“Just shut up, Trapp.”

“Everything is fucking competition, and you always have to win, Adi, no matter what you ruin in the process.”

“Shut up and give me your fucking knot!”

“It didn’t make a difference how good we were together. It never did. Did it?”

His anger had that same peppery bite, the flare of it heating down his back. The smell of it was intoxicating, and at the first furious silver flash of his eyes, her control broke like a tidal wave, and she was lost. Her throat opened as her head dropped back, cresting atop that wave, lost in the blinding surf as her back arched, a wheezing moan pulling from her as her body clenched around him.

She felt the moment he came, his spine rippling, flooding her with heat. His hips never stopped, his knot pushing, pushing, breaching her . . . Adriana could feel her belly swell, rope after rope of his hot seed filling her, putting out the fire that had been raging within.

When his knot popped into place at last, the whole world exploded in light. Her back arched beneath him, so violently she thought she might have snapped her spine, turning spontaneously. She shook in his arms, gasping, unable to catch her breath until the smell of him and his wolf overwhelmed her, and she dropped. Slack, spent, sated, the world narrowing, slowing . . . until it disappeared.

***

When her eyes opened again, she was floating on a warm cloud, her limbs heavy, feeling languid and replete. Not a cloud.

Trapp had rolled them to prevent crushing her while they were tied, the bulbous pressure of his knot sealing them together until it shrank, which it had. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep. Sunlight flooded the windows. Her face was pressed to his chest, her body splayed over his, boneless, his arm draped across her, and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her rocked her like the tide.

It was the safest she’d ever felt in her life. Which is just stupid. That’s the moon talking.

The fire within her was gone. Just like the shot of suppressant he’d given her the night before, the relief she felt from achieving what she’d needed had been instantaneous. Him. Adriana scowled at the thought. The last forty-eight hours with him had been the longest of her life, a roller coaster of helter-skelter emotions, and she was exhausted.

It didn’t make a difference how good we were together.

His words ran through her mind as she rested against him, his steady breathing beneath her the only thing keeping her from getting up to pace around the room. She disliked the way it seemed as if he were able to peek into her thoughts, divining that long-ago daydream. He sure as fuck isn’t going to co-opt it, not after the way he treated you. She was at war with herself, simultaneously wanting to close her eyes and breathe him in, snuggled against him, and low-key wanting to slap his dick while she had the opportunity to make it hurt.

When he stirred beneath her, Adriana held her breath, trying to freeze entirely, but it was no good. They were too close to the moon now, everything right at the surface, and there was no hiding her scent from his nose. His shoulder flexed, hips shifting, rocking her against him before his eyes fluttered open.

“What time is it?” His voice was rough. They both needed water; she needed to eat . . . And he needs to leave.

“I’m not sure.” Adriana slid from him, crawling sideways off the mattress, averting her eyes from the wet spot on her bedspread. She couldn’t even remember how or when they’d peeled off their clothing that morning, dropped all over the bedroom floor, deciding it would be more expedient to simply put on something fresh. Her hands shook as she pulled on a tank top from her dresser and stepped into a pair of shorts.

Trapp took his time sitting up, dragging a hand over his face and rubbing his eyes.

“Did you want to . . .”

“I’m probably going to go into the clinic today,” she blurted, cutting him off, not wanting to hear whatever he had to say next. No, she didn’t want to. Yes, you do. “They have a new CNP starting this week, and I should just make sure that they’re okay.”

They both knew it was bullshit. She was on probation, in spirit if not formally. She didn’t need to go into the clinic, but she did need him out of her house. Before you crawl back into bed with him and ask him to stay forever. Adriana shook her head. That was still the moon talking.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Of course you do. Sure.” A hard scrape of laughter as he pushed himself from the bed, gathering up his own clothes from the floor, redressing quickly. “I don’t know why I thought anything would be different. You already said it wouldn’t be.”

Her hackles raised, jaws snapping. He needed to be careful. His wolf may have been bigger than her, but she would bite back. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Trapp shrugged, still shaking his head. “It means what it means, Adriana. I’m tired of trying to chase you. It blew up in my face once before. I don’t know why I would be stupid enough to think this time would be different. You’re right, you should definitely go into your clinic today,” he said sardonically, making it clear they both knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

Her fists clenched, heat bubbling in her belly. “No, really. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? By chase me, you mean, what? Chase me out of my job, Trapp? Because I’m not going anywhere; I already told you that. Do you think you’re going to try to bully me out of town the way you tried to bully me out of school?”

He laughed incredulously. “Wow, that is one fantastic revision. You are unbelievable.”

“No, really,” she snapped, unwilling to entertain any of his perfect Trapp Hemming bullshit. “Because I have no idea what you’re talking about. You spent an entire year turning everyone against me, cutting me down every chance you got. Do you think that’s going to work now? Because let me remind you, I am the doctor in charge of the clinic. If you think—”

“You can stop,” he said flatly, interrupting her before she could even formulate the rest of her empty threat. “I said I’m done. I don’t actually like chasing. I know that seems counterintuitive to the whole wolf thing, but I don’t. I didn’t then. I really don’t know why I tried for so long. I like it even less now. So, yeah. We don’t need to do this. Just stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours, I guess. Let’s pretend the last twenty-four didn’t happen.”

He was down the first flight of steps before she shook herself from her enraged stupor to follow. Once again, she knew she should have left it alone, should have let him leave, but giving fucking Trapp Hemming the last word wasn’t a situation she could abide.

“Why did you have to pick me, Trapp? You could have sat anywhere. You could have studied with anyone. Why did you have to drag me into your ego trip like it was a fun little side quest for you?”

He whirled in fury. “Are you being serious? I asked you out like four different times! I tried to include you in things, introduce you to people, but you were completely oblivious to everything but the fucking chip on your shoulder. I’m shocked you managed to get it through the lab door.”

Her face heated. He’d never asked her out. Never once. She was sure of it. He was too popular, too privileged to notice anyone outside of his circle of similarly privileged legacies. Not until she’d proven that she was just as good as him.

“We were partners the whole fucking year, Adi. I spent weeks working on system blocks with you. And what did I get for it? You altered the aortic dissection parameters on my rotation. You changed it just enough for me to not notice the inconsistency, just enough to bomb it. Just as a fuck you for caring about you, I guess.”

She froze. She had altered a set of packet parameters. Several packets, in fact. There were too many people like Trapp in their cohort. Like him, but not as smart, not as quick, not as good. There because their fathers and grandfathers had gone to Mercy, regardless of whether they’d even passed basic biology in undergrad. They all wanted to share notes and pool resources once they’d realized she deserved to be there. She wasn’t willing to give a single one of them an inch, not when she’d had to claw her way to be there while they had family names on the pediatric pavilion.

“I never gave you—”

“You did. And you watched me study it for weeks.”

He kept walking, clearing her living room, descending the second set of steps again.

“You know what, who the fuck cares? I don’t. It was one rotation, Trapp. I grew up in a two-room trailer. My mother cleaned hotel rooms, and my father didn’t show up for my high school graduation because he was in the drunk tank for the night. I earned my way to Mercy, and I did what I had to do for my placement. I scored higher than you on one rotation—”

“It wasn’t about the score, Adi!” He whirled to face her again, radiating fury. The pitch-black scent of his wolf was so close to the surface now, a building growl that vibrated against her. “It was never about the score! I couldn’t trust you, Adriana. And I liked you. I thought we had something real together. And you showed me how wrong I was.”

She was shaking in fury. And remorse? She wasn’t sure, but she sure as fuck wasn’t going to soften enough to contemplate it with him. She’d choke before she apologized for staying one step ahead. “You went out of your way to poison people against me! All you had to do was crack a joke, and you had the attendings eating out of your hand. And you made sure they all hated me.”

“Guess what, Adi. You’re not all that likable. It didn’t take much.”

He was already through the front door, jogging down her front steps. She hated herself for the furious tears that burned their way into existence. Avrille was outside across the street, talking to her neighbor, a smartly dressed satyr, their mouths open as they watched perfect Trapp Hemming storm out of her house.

“You are a horrible person, Trapp.”

“I guess that’s another thing we have in common, then,” he spat back at her, just before she slammed the door, shutting him out, sinking to the floor as the sobs overtook her.

Trapp

The smell of the Black Sheep Beanery was familiar, one he could pick out with his eyes closed, regardless of the situation.

He’d not been back to the coffee shop since that disastrous morning when the first crack in his smiling, outward mask appeared. Grayson’s house had been a refuge, a good place to hide and lick his wounds, and he had given the expensive coffee machine on his brother’s pristine countertops a workout over the course of his stay.

He didn’t especially want to be back at the Beanery now, but when he’d stormed out of Adriana’s townhouse, Trapp hadn’t remembered until the door slammed behind him that he would be navigating the world on foot, unless he wanted to stand at the corner of her street, a spectacle fifty yards from her front door, and wait for the trolley like the pathetic loser he was.

Instead, he’d let his adrenaline carry him, practically stomping his way up the steep hill, remembering too late that Owen lived in the same development and had likely not yet left for work. By the time he’d reached the center of town, the throbbing behind his eye had become a liability and was only going to get worse the longer he went out without caffeine to soothe it.

He was a fucking fool for thinking anything with her would be different this time around. He was every bit as idiotic as Grayson often claimed for wanting it to be different. This is what you get for being so gullible. Fool you once, shame on her. Fool you twice, almost twenty years later, shame on her again for being the same back-stabbing bitch, but double shame on you for still being hot for it. Shame on you, shame on your wolf. A whimpering whine came from within. Yeah, you. Fucking idiot.

Trapp braced himself for the hard looks and tight eyes that would greet him in a place where he’d once received nothing but warmth and smiles; for heavy, awkward silence and the cautious, tiptoeing whispers of a town that loved nothing more than gossiping about the Hemming family. He didn’t bother softening his expression, knowing his scowl was the polar opposite of what was expected from him, that he was completely off-script now, but with the way he felt, he didn’t really care.

“Trapp, oh my stars! I was so worried about you! We haven’t seen you in so long, and then I heard all about that terrible accident! The helicopters went right over our house! And in that weather?!”

He blinked. Xenna was off and running, exclaiming to the goblin on the line beside her to get him a hot coffee, regardless of the orders stacked up in front of them. Her smile was warm, her eyes full of affection, as if he’d stepped into a rerun, an episode of the Trapp Show from the previous month. He might have been a gullible simp, but not that gullible.

Trapp did not approach the counter as he might have once, remaining in line, silent. He didn’t need anyone’s special treatment, holding out the cup of house roast the goblin had scurried around the corner to deliver as though it might bite him.

“Plus, you know.” Xenna rolled her eyes, shaking her head, continuing the conversation over the heads of the troll and minotaur ahead of him. “Everything going on with this doctor at the clinic. I feel horrible that you’ve gotten mixed up in her whole mess.”

Trapp froze at the mention of her, his heart thumping. His jaw clenched, his shoulders going rigid, a cold prickle flaring across the back of his neck.

“What are you talking about?”

The sheepwoman’s smile faltered at his flat tone, a missed line, their scripted universe tipping for the space of a second, recovering a moment later.

“Well. Apparently she did a lot of dishing over drinks with Muffy, and you know Muffy can’t keep a secret to save her life. Whatever happened between the two of you is beside the point; I just think it’s classless to kiss and tell that way. And then Nif was chatting with one of the moms from the playgroup who said she has a terrible bedside manner. It’s just a lot of stories with a common denominator; that’s all I’m saying. I just hope your chief sees through it as the work of a troublemaker. I can’t believe she’d try to audit you, as if you’re not doing things completely by the book!”

His eye twitched. Xenna had turned her attention to the minotaur by then, giving Trapp a chance to absorb her rapid-fire disclosures.

“Rourke, what are you bringing to the firefly picnic? Don’t think you can get out of it.”

“Oh, you’re going to acknowledge my presence now? Sexy fireman time is over?”

Trapp couldn’t hear them. There was a rushing in his ears, his wolf whining, whimpering, curling low. He had won. It was a total, unmitigated victory. Adriana had made the rookie mistake of trusting the residents of Cambric Creek, like a fool. Her neighbors, her co-workers — she had trusted them to simply let her exist without dissection. She had told a story to the wrong person, and had evidently had several stories told about her in return.

Stories were engines; they breathed with life of their own. People repeated stories because they enjoyed inhabiting them, and with each retelling, the story changed shape, grew uglier, turning a good doctor just trying to do her job and fit into her new town into a pariah, simply because one of the crybaby mothers at the community center play group didn’t like seeing little Gillie-Beth crying from a shot. The gossip engine that fueled Cambric Creek had completed an Uno reverse on Adi with the exact same savage, unthinking speed it had used on him.

He could slip back into his role with ease, Trapp realized.

All he had to do was deliver the right line, the right smile, always landing his mark, slide right back into that rerun and let the past month slide off his back, revise itself, the same way he’d done to his break-up.

Instead, a white-hot rage shivered up his spine, a red mist spotting before his eyes.

They didn’t know her. They didn’t know the odds she’d overcome, putting that two-room trailer she’d so furiously recounted behind her. They didn’t know the lion’s den she had entered at Mercycrest, surrounded by vicious wolves like him, who hadn’t hesitated to use the power of his name and his easy charm as weapons against her.

She’d hurt him, had broken his heart and shattered his trust, but he could survive a break-up. What he’d done to her had been far more insidious. He was no different than his grandfather, after all. A cruel bully, acting in ego and pride.

They didn’t know the daily trauma of emergency medicine, the same horrific scenes that played on a loop behind his eyes when his brain wasn’t otherwise occupied, the same tragedies, just in a different setting for her. It was a terrible thing to be the first on the scene, but Trapp couldn’t pretend that being the one to call time of death over and over again wasn’t surely just as bad.

His wolf was vibrating beneath his skin, threatening to push through his chest, split his bones and spontaneously turn right there in the middle of the coffee shop.

“How dare you.”

The conversation playing out in front of him went silent at his sudden interruption, Xenna’s head raising, eyes going wide as the minotaur glanced back.

“Trapp?”

“How dare you!” he repeated, feeling as though he had gasoline in his veins. “She’s brand new here! She doesn’t know who to trust. Why is it classless behavior for Dr. Brunelli, but not for Muffy? You’re right, we all know you shouldn’t trust Muffy as far as you can throw her. Doesn’t that reflect more on Muffy for being a sewer mouth than the person who was naïve enough to not expect her confidence would make its way around town like the number three bus?”

“Trapp, that’s not fair. I’m just telling you what I heard!”

“And what was that?” He scowled, his face twisted up in an expression that had never before appeared on script. “Gossip you treated as facts? If the mothers in the playgroup want gentle pediatrics, they ought to stop using the urgent care clinic to avoid canceling their nail appointments. And if my charts are being audited, it’s because professional accountability is what keeps you all alive when you drive like idiots or stub your fucking toes. I’m not worried about it. Why are you?”

Xenna’s mouth dropped open. Nif gasped from behind the espresso machine.

“And what does it say about the rest of you?!” He gestured to the counter, to Nif, who’d been glaring since he’d entered, and the wide-eyed goblin between her and Xenna. “You were real eager to listen to stories about me just the other week, Xenna.” Trapp stepped out of line, shaking his head, his fingers trembling in anger. “You’re all unbelievable. She’s brand new in town and you’re trying to ruin her reputation before she even fully unpacks. Anyone who says anything above a whisper under this roof really ought to know what they’re risking.”

He turned to the door, realizing there was a full line of gaping customers behind him. Trapp dropped the still-full cup of coffee into the trash near the door, missed, hearing the cup bounce off the rim and go splashing to the floor. He didn’t look back. He didn’t care about his reputation anymore.

Adriana was right — if it had been so easily soiled, it wasn’t that clean to start with. He didn’t need to be a hero to the same neighbors who would turn on him on a dime . . . But if this town wanted someone to hate, he was willing to give it to them.

***

Jackson: Hey, I’m here already. Are you inside?

Grayson: Where the fuck are you?

Owen: Hey, did you need me to pick you up from the station?

Grayson: TRAPP

Jackson: For your sake, I hope you’re unconscious in a burning building right now

Owen: Trapp, wake up

Lowell: I don’t know what’s going on but I’m enjoying it

Grayson: You do understand that you’re entirely replaceable, right?

Grayson: I can just as easily have Lowell step up

Grayson: At this point, I might prefer it

Lowell: YES, I ACCEPT

When he woke, hours later, his head throbbing, it was to find a line of missed calls on his phone screen, punctuated with text messages from his brothers.

Trapp blinked blearily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, head pounding. His mouth tasted like he’d licked the pavement, throat sticking. It wasn’t until he had staggered to the kitchen, filling his glass with cucumber-and-mint-infused water from Grayson’s refrigerator that he remembered.

The tailor.

He dropped his aching skull against the refrigerator door, groaning.

The bespoke dresses and suits for the wedding that Grayson was paying for, for the entire bridal party. All they’d needed to do was show up. The appointment for the groomsmen had been made around his schedule. The appointment that had been on his calendar for several months.

He couldn’t contemplate Grayson’s anger when his eye was pulsing. Trapp rifled through cupboards until he located something to take for his headache, took double, deciding chasing it with one of the imported beers in the refrigerator wouldn’t actually be the worst thing he’d done that day, and went back to bed.

The sky was already dark by the time Grayson came home that night.

Trapp had woken an hour or two earlier, his headache only slightly improved. He had left the house to go to the pharmacy, not wanting to completely empty his brother’s medicine cabinet, seeking an OTC remedy and food. And alcohol. We’re going to need a lot of fucking alcohol. Vanessa was in the city, and there was no one to witness him sliding deeper into what he admitted to himself was a pool of self-pity and regret, for which there seemed to be no bottom.

He was sitting in front of the actual pool when Grayson crossed the deck. It was a long, heavy moment before he spoke, and Trapp knew from long experience that he needed to head it off.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “I slept right through it. This shift was . . . it was rough; I didn’t get any sleep at the station. It’s my fault for even telling you to schedule the appointment on my first day off.”

“It’s fine.” Grayson’s voice was deceptively calm. “You can go this week and have your measurements taken. It was probably easier to choose the fabric and cut without another opinion anyway.”

Trapp nodded silently, reaching blindly for another bottle.

“It’s Thursday. Did you want to go to the Pig?”

He shook his head, wincing at the movement. “No.”

“Well, what is your plan, exactly? Because I don’t know if using my house as an avoidance tactic for the fucking mess you’ve made of your life is a long-term strategy, Trapp. If you still don’t have one, then you’ve learned nothing these last few weeks, and this is exactly why you wound up here in the first place. Lowell is flying in, so, you’re about to have a roommate. You know he can’t be alone for five minutes.”

“Great, a megaphone to amplify my every bad decision.”

Trapp glared into the wavering water of the pool, the reflection of the lights from the house making the surface gleam, trying to decide why this particular conversation was making him feel worse. Grayson was reliably an asshole, and by rights should have come stomping in to berate Trapp for missing the appointment, but he hadn’t. He was tiptoeing around Trapp in the most un-Grayson-like way. Pity. That’s it. His stomach twisted. He hadn’t come here for pity. He knew better. To be eliciting it now was a bad sign.

The argument with her should have been a catharsis, a final chapter slamming the book shut for good. She’d made that clear. Instead, he felt as poorly over it as he’d felt all those years ago. He was tired of Grayson’s attempts at making him feel better. He didn’t want to feel better. He wanted to wallow, and his brother’s best half-assed efforts over the last several weeks hadn’t done anything to assuage the gnawing sensation in his chest.

It was smart that he had decided to do his drinking here. After the coffee shop, his fingers had itched with the desire to pick a fight, and he knew that if he were to allow himself to mingle with the general populace of Cambric Creek right now, he would be a fucking menace. The instant he detected even a whisper about her, that would be it. Mugshot in the paper, a suspension from work, if they didn’t fire him outright. Drunk and disorderly, felonious assault, there was no question about any of it.

But, he still wanted to pick a fight with someone. Far better to do it here. And unfortunately for Grayson, Trapp knew the precise location of all of his buttons, having placed a few of them there himself. Inciting Gray to violence was no easy feat, for the magnanimous bastard had an excellent poker face. Angering him wouldn’t work.

Insecurities, on the other hand . . .

He chuckled darkly, interrupting. “I guess that’s Lowell’s problem to figure out when he gets here, isn’t it? You know what’s kind of funny? I was thinking about this the other day. When Liam graduates—” he continued to laugh, already anticipating Grayson’s fist connecting with the side of his jaw and his dive-tackle response, the bloodshed he was craving above all else “—you and Lowell will be the only two in the family without STEM-adjacent degrees. Birds of a feather, really.”

Grayson scoffed, his own laughter a pitch-black scrape, a Grayson special, absent of pity, at last. Trapp could tell that Gray could see exactly what he was being led into. But will he take the bait?

“You’re cute. Right? You think you’re cute. You think any of this is dignified? I heard the brass at your station hauled you in for a formal reprimand. Over someone you haven’t seen in twenty years? I think I’m starting to see why your human left, to be honest. You’ve only been here a few weeks and I’m fucking exhausted from your constant need for ego stroking. You think fighting with me, being an asshole with me, is going to make you feel better?”

Trapp glowered. He wanted to punch something, wanted to bleed. He didn’t want another fucking lecture.

Grayson shook his head, continuing to snicker blackly, muttering under his breath, his eyes also trained on the water. Until the moment they weren’t.

Trapp dove off his chaise longue, not expecting Grayson to kick a sun chair at him, launching it like a fucking cannon and obliging him to roll across the deck to avoid being clipped.

“Why don’t you get the fuck out of my house, Trapp. I don’t want to see you until after the moon. If you want to wallow in all of your failure and inadequacy and be a miserable piece of shit, go do it somewhere else. I’m tired of looking at you. I’m tired of smelling you. I’m tired of pretending that it’s not pathetic you couldn’t close the deal with a fucking human. Now you’ve got some coyote bitch making you the bitch. Frankly, I’m rooting for her. I might not know every sixty-two year old socialite on the East Coast, but I’m also not sitting here jerking off in the dark and crying over the one I fucked.”

Trapp cursed himself, unsure of what he thought he was going to achieve. Grayson couldn’t be baited that easily, especially not when his opponent was miserable and drunk. He should have known better, Trapp lamented too late, for Gray knew all of his buttons as well.

Grayson pantomimed tears, rubbing at his eyes, making an indistinct blubbering sound before snapping again. “Grow the fuck up. If you want to go cry somewhere, go cry to Mom. Because no one else wants to put up with your entitled, woe-is-me bullshit. And we all know that running away is what you’re good at.”

Trapp pushed himself to his feet. He was missing a shoe, but he wasn’t going to deign to go hunting around for it now. He didn’t especially want to leave his case of alcohol behind, but that, too, would have required bending over, which he knew without question Grayson would use to his advantage to either flip him into the pool or sink a fist into his gut. Kicking off his remaining flip-flop as soon as his feet touched the grass, he attempted to walk as steadily as he could to the gate. He was in no condition to drive, but fortunately he didn’t live far.

“Run away, Trapp. It’s what you do best.”

He was on the other side of the gate now, having shut his brother out, unsure of what he would do next, realizing too late that walking home without shoes wasn’t an option either. Pathetic loser at the trolley stop it is.

“Don’t forget next time,” Grayson’s disembodied voice echoed across the water, carrying to him easily, rising in volume and irritation as Trapp walked shakily down the driveway. “My degree is in hurting people’s fucking feelings.”

Adriana

It was the second moon she’d spent in her little yard in Cambric Creek, and she was furious that he’d even ruined that for her.

The turn itself was always the same. Breaking bones, shattering, splintering, new growth sprouting from the shards, longer, leaner, her organs displacing as the new shape grew around them. Her nails split, black claws pushing up like weeds, her curtain of dark hair replaced with short fur of mottled grey. Amber would subsume the hazel of her eyes, leaving her blinking and disoriented at first. Her jaw extended with a sickening crunch, her teeth sharpening and growing long, crowding her mouth until her gums bled.

And then, the worst of it, at least, for her — her human mind receded, shoved into the passenger seat of her own consciousness, the beast who shared her skin taking over. Instead of growing into something powerful, Adriana felt herself shrinking every month, condensing into a tight, fierce ball of muscle and instinct with memories that were hazy to her upon the sun’s return to the sky.

She had grown up learning to fear the moon. Its bright white light promised danger if she did not stay hidden, if she did not stay low and invisible. The wolves would run, wind in their ears, dirt moving beneath their feet, but the wolves moved in packs, were large and aggressive, and viciously territorial.

Unlike every moon of her childhood and beyond, her little yard promised safety, a private space of her own, and she was free to exist beneath the moon’s brilliant rays in peace. The first moon, shortly after she moved in, had been a novelty. A secluded space, safety, like nothing she had ever known before. She had prowled around every square foot of the small enclosure, back and forth, digging, rolling, snuffling through the bushes. At one point she’d curled up atop the little patio table she’d purchased, and took a nap. The twelve-foot square of patchy grass was hemmed in by a high wooden privacy fence, backed up by a tidy row of tiny, round shrubs. To a normal human, it was a cozy patio.

For her, that night, at least, it was a cage.

There was a gnawing in her belly, a premonition of danger, one only made worse by the weather. It had been a brilliantly sunny morning, flat white clouds moving in by late afternoon, dulling the sun’s rays, and by late evening, those clouds had turned gray and ominous. Now the sky was the color of a bruised plum, the thick cloud cover almost hiding the moon completely, and she cowered in her little bushes, feeling oddly exposed.

The storm rolled in shortly after. Thunder began to rumble from the horizon, long rolls that echoed through the hills. Wherever the lightning strikes were, they were too far away to see, but the air was filled with the smell of ozone. She tucked into the wall behind the shrubs, hoping to be buffeted from the rain that would be starting soon when a gust of cold wind blew in another scent, one that was not unfamiliar to her nose.

Black pine pitch, earthy and strong. Black pepper, spicy on the back of her tongue, burning her gullet, and through the middle of it, a sparkling streak of something bright, like a juicy clementine. The familiarity of it should have been comforting, but it only made her clench in fear. Her hackles went rigid and she crouched low, belly to the ground, trying to disappear into the landscaping of the tiny yard as another roll of thunder shook the windows in their casements.

That was how he found her.

The sound of the wooden gate creaking open was lost to another crack of thunder, and a dark shadow fell over the yard. The hole of the open gate was like a gaping maw in the darkness, and through it stepped a monster.

Overhead, the moon had fled, and she was alone.

Trapp’s wolf didn’t belong in this tidy suburban neighborhood of narrow rowhouses. He was colossal, a terrifying mountain of midnight-black fur that seemed to absorb every bit of light the night possessed, his glinting white canines several inches long. His molten gold eyes still held the unyielding fury of the argument they’d had in their upright bones, one she could barely make out the memory of in this form. Rage and betrayal. Heartache and despair. Her coyote didn’t know the details; only the smell of what lingered.

She cowered, flattening herself further, but she would not go down without a fight. The lightning struck at last, splitting the sky as a high-pitched warning snarl ripped from her throat. Don’t even fucking try it.

As he began to circle her, her yard, her perfect little sanctuary, became an inescapable trap. A cage of his making.

Trapp’s wolf moved with a terrifying, fluid grace, huge paws leaving craters in the wet ground. His eyes were locked on her, telegraphing without words how easy it would be to overpower her. His ears were pinned back, a rumbling vibration building in his chest, a warning to her. He wanted her to tuck tail and submit. She would rather die.

You don’t belong here, her jaws snapped, moving to the center of the yard. He had brute strength, but she was faster. As he circled her, she pivoted with him, never looking away, her teeth exposed in a snarl.

Another lightning strike, and he lunged. His jaws snapped inches from her ear, the sound cracking like a whip; a warning of what he could do to her. It was a mistake to threaten her, for she wasn’t going to give him the opportunity.

What she lacked in mass, she made up for in blinding speed. Ducking beneath his massive chest, her small, lithe body slipped through the mud like an eel, her teeth sinking into the thick, coarse fur of his foreleg. He let out a furious snarl, one massive paw striking her, sending her skidding into the mud.

That was the end of the warnings.

For the next several minutes, they lunged and snapped, him rolling her easily, using his weight and size to overpower her, but never going in for a true bite. By contrast, she fought dirty. Her low center of gravity helped her weave through his legs, slashing at his hocks, biting whenever she could. When her teeth made contact with his heavy sac, the big wolf yelped, batting her away like a gnat, sending her crashing into the wooden fence.

She lunged again and again, using her speed to wear him down, until Trapp had enough. She dove for his throat, but he didn’t move, letting her sink her teeth into the muscle and sinew of his shoulder, using her closeness to pin her at last.

The sheer weight of him crushed her into the earth. Adriana yelped, gasped, struggled to break free, but it was no use. A huge paw came down beside her head as she thrashed, long hooked claws raking the earth, teeth snapping before her neck.

Yield. Submit to me.

She twisted, still fighting, jaws still snapping, refusing to give in. Never.

She would have continued to fight and thrash forever, or at least, until the sun resumed its place in the sky, but she never got the chance.

Lightning split the sky with a furious crack that seemed to shift the foundation of her townhouse, followed almost immediately by the agonized split of a tree. They heard the slow crack of the branch as it fell somewhere behind the yard; smelled the burnt wood and ozone in the air. She yelped when the sky opened, and the rain began sheeting down.

Adriana slipped from him with ease, realizing he had let her go. Back to her place in the bushes, pressed to the wall of the house, but it was no good. The rain was blowing sideways, gusting with a sharp wind as thunder rumbled overhead. She was trembling, darting beneath the little table. It did nothing to block the wind or the rain.

The wolf had retreated, already on the other side of the small yard, just before the open gate, when he stopped. Their eyes locked for an interminable moment. Resentment and anger, an argument that had taken place in a different life, in a different form, still echoed in their bones. Another lightning crack, the wind whistled, sending the rain sideways like daggers. The little coyote whimpered again, her ears pinned flat.

Suddenly, the big wolf was before her, slinking down beneath the table, circling her, enfolding her in his body, bushy tail covering her shivering flanks, his thick, corded neck shielding her small head. Above them, the storm raged on, lightning painting the night sky. Tomorrow they would belong to those different forms, but right then they belonged to nothing but the wind and the storm overhead.

The moon was nowhere to be found, and she had never felt quite so safe.

Trapp

At the very least, Trapp had thought that, with Grayson and Vanessa’s wedding still practically an entire calendar year away, he was marked safe from having to perform carefree wedding frivolity when he felt as though his life was imploding.

He should have known the universe was having too much fun at his expense.

The impossible is happening this weekend — everyone is here! We would love for all of you to join us for a cocktail hour so that everyone can meet before the wedding itself!

He read the text from his sister-in-law-to-be through bleary eyes, groaning. It was informal, hastily planned, in town. They weren’t even shutting down the business of the trendy wine bar, simply commandeering it.

He could wriggle out of it, Trapp told himself from his nest of blankets. He’d certainly not be missed. He’d not seen Grayson since the night he’d left his brother’s house with his dignity lost in the grass with his missing flip-flop, but if he skipped this event, if he couldn’t put his own self-pity and misery on the shelf for one night and be the old Trapp, smiling, charming, friend to all, he risked fracturing his relationship with his brother, and that wasn’t something he was willing to risk.

Trapp didn’t know what it said about his own character that Grayson, abrasive and conniving, mercurial Grayson, was his most favorite person in the world, and he didn’t care.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he’d been performing all week. The benefit of the full moon taking place almost immediately after his forty-eight-hour shift was that those two days did not count towards his mandatory ninety-six, and feeling sorry for himself had been all he’d done.

It had been another wet, stormy full moon, which on its own would have been irritating enough. That he had woken in a pile of spiky sweetgum pods — the same sort of tree that was planted in front of the townhomes in Adriana’s development — was one he could not explain. He had no idea what his wolf had gotten up to beneath the storm, deciding he didn’t want to know.

He had been spared the indignity of facing his family after his coffee shop outburst, as their monthly post-moon brunch was aborted thanks to the same storm. Under normal circumstances, Trapp would have been first on site, bringing his own chainsaw to clear the tree limb that had come down on the roof, going through the kitchen windows, cleaning up glass, and having half the work done before the repair crew even pulled up. But on that morning, his body had ached, his temple throbbed, and he’d opted to rot in bed instead, after the early morning group text from their father.

But now he had to prepare himself for a live studio audience, Trapp thought decisively, grimacing at the thought. He was going to smile. He was going to laugh and joke, set people at ease with his bright eyes and easy-going nature. He was his brother’s best man, and he was going to be the local hero who’d been missing in action; the best Trapp Hemming Cambric Creek had seen in years.

The wine bar was packed. Their party had spilled out onto the patio, where a long table had been set up with small plates that the staff kept full and a selection of wine. It was a noisy churn of bodies, a nonstop din of laughter and voices, and it was easy to lose himself in it, keeping his megawatt smile in place, laughing and nodding on cue, not really participating in any of the half-dozen different conversations he drifted through.

Trapp felt his smile turn slightly feral when Shay Marsh approached him, laughing with Harmond Hastings. Breathe. Harmond was one of Grayson’s closest university friends and the heir to Hastings-Durning Pharma. Losing his cool in front of these well-heeled guests would be the definition of bad optics, but Dr. Marsh needed to tread carefully. He needn’t have worried. Harmond was in the middle of retelling a fraternity story, and all Trapp needed to do was smile, nod, laugh on cue. Keep to the script. You’ve been doing this your whole life.

When Lowell appeared at his elbow, he exhaled in relief, instantly feeling slightly less in the spotlight. The errant Hemming sibling had arrived that morning. His girlfriend had come home for a family event of her own, a girls’ weekend with her cousins, which meant Cambric Creek was at the mercy of its most chaotic son.

“I love it when you get in trouble,” he crowed to Trapp, once they had turned away from the existing conversation. “I’m the number one now, bitch boy. You have to answer to me. It’s not been made official yet, but I think we both know I’ll be taking over best man duties.”

“Lowell, we’ve had this conversation before.” Grayson’s voice came from behind Trapp, already laughing. He doesn’t sound mad anymore. Of course, Grayson was also good at sticking to a script. “You’re not the best, and you’re barely a man. I’m going to make you whatever the wedding equivalent of a court jester is.” Trapp accepted the shot Grayson handed him, as Lowell threw up his hands in offense.

“Owen said you got in trouble at work?” Lowell hissed, once Grayson’s attention was redirected. “Everything okay?”

His smile was hard. He wasn’t surprised that they all knew. With Jackson at City Hall now, it was no surprise that civil service matters filtered through his office. “Never better.”

Grayson had entered the story Harmond was telling, increasing the volume and pulling the rest of the party in. Lowell was sucked into the orbit of belonging, drifting away from Trapp as if he were floating, leaving him alone for the moment. Good. Maybe you can let your mouth rest for thirty seconds. He hadn’t realized how exhausting smiling actually was.

“Have a good turn?”

Trapp jolted violently at the unexpected voice at his elbow, sloshing the contents of his wine glass over his knuckles.

Tris Tatterswain always had a smug look on his face, a knowing little smirk. A dangerous smirk, because he did, in fact, know everything. Tris was the silent eyes and ears of the whole town, and had been working for their father for years, keeping Jack abreast of civil unrest, gossip from the business owners, and problems around the neighborhoods. Underestimating Tris was a mistake, not one any of his family made. That’s why he’s on the payroll.

It was unsurprising to find Tris there that night. He wasn’t in the wedding party, but he was so deeply enmeshed with the Cambric Creek elite that not inviting him wasn’t a consideration.

Trapp shrugged, forcing his smile to stay in place. “I suppose so. Woke up in one piece. That’s always the best indication. I’ll be looking forward to the end of this rainy season, though.”

Tris hummed in agreement, sipping from his wine glass. “I was working late on a project for the heritage museum that night. I thought I saw the most curious shadow moving through the yards . . . I’m over on Finchmere, you know, on the hill? Same development as your brother. Closer to the front end. That was quite an exit you made the other day.”

He had an entire lifetime of practice being Trapp Hemming, and if Tris Tatterswain thought the disclosure would break his mask, well, Tris hadn’t grown up with Jack Hemming as a father.

Outwardly, he beamed, eyes twinkling, laughing lightly as if Tris had made a joke, never breaking. Inwardly, though, his lungs had frozen. Trapp wasn’t sure how long he could go without breathing, but he supposed he was about to find out. Adriana was on Finchmere, on the hill. The same development that Owen lived in, on the front end. If Tris had witnessed his furious exit from her townhouse, then it was safe to assume Tris already knew everything. But what does he mean by curious shadow?

He’d woken in his own familiar space, the same spot his wolf returned to every month, surrounded by those annoying, prickly little pods, as if his fur had been full of them in his other form. The same tree in Adriana’s yard.

He never found out what Tris might have said next.

In the open doorway of the wine bar's patio, unaffiliated with their group, the werewolf who owned the gym near the Commerce Parkway was laughing loudly with another wolf Trapp recognized from the hardware store on Main Street, next to Muffy’s little muffin shop. Their laughter was raucous, over-loud, out of place in an establishment like this. They would’ve been better off taking their obvious inebriation to the Man-o-War, he thought.

“Well, that’s not surprising to hear. I’ve heard she’s got a stick up her ass, but you know how those pack bitches are.”

Trapp turned away from Tris Tatterswain, his head snapping up. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Grayson had done the same, just a few steps away. Maybe it was because the family was deeply involved in a halfway house charity for wolvish women escaping their packs, the same organization their father had donated the historic Hemming house to, right there in town. Perhaps they were simply oversensitive about their mother’s origins. Regardless of the reason, none of Sandi Hemming’s sons tolerated that sort of talk in their hearing.

“She’s not going to last long at that clinic, but I should shoot my shot while I have the chance. I should go ask Hemming. He’s the one that’s been with her, according to Muffy. I’m telling you, you can do anything to a pack bitch.”

Perhaps if he’d slept better, he would have kept control. Perhaps if the moon hadn’t been so soggy and miserable. Perhaps if he’d abstained that evening, already having drunk more in the past month than he normally ever did for any reason. Perhaps if Grayson had been closer, Trapp might have been persuaded to ask questions first and strike later, but if there was one thing true about him that every member of his family would verify, it was that he had a terrible temper and had never shied away from a fight a day in his life.

His fist was sinking into the jaw of the wolf who’d spoken before he even had conscious thought of moving his feet. They were talking about her. Pack bitch. If the residents of Cambric Creek were going to learn nothing else from Trapp Hemming’s fall from grace, it was going to be to keep Adriana’s name out of their fucking mouths, lest their mouths be filled with his fists.

He and the other werewolf went to ground together, his fist connecting with the other man’s face over and over, the element of surprise giving him a momentary advantage.

His advantage was, unsurprisingly, short-lived, as the hardware store wolf and the third member of their party on the other side of the table immediately jumped to action.

“Go on,” Trapp spat in the other wolf’s face. “Say her fucking name. Give me a reason.”

Bodies bumped, pushed, a harpy shrieked. He was vaguely aware that other people were involved in the fight now, the fight that he had started. A wide circle had formed around them, the way they always seemed to in bar fights like this — rubberneckers too respectable to get pulled into it, but too nosy to walk away entirely.

There was an arm around his middle, pulling him up, pulling him back, the other wolf being pulled to his feet by his own friends, instantly trying to go back in to attack.

“Enough! Trapp, you’re done!”

But he wasn’t fucking done. He wasn’t going to be done until every single busybody in town, every single business owner, every fucking wolf in this whole miserable city understood that if they so much as whispered her name, he would be there with a boot in their ass.

“Trapp!”

He was able to shrug out of the arm around him, clipping his captor in the face with his elbow, hard enough that he was able to break free, lunging back at the wolf who’d started this. His focus was too single-minded, his vision completely tunneled, and he never saw the other fist coming, never saw it connect to the side of his head until the ground was rushing up to meet him and darkness swallowed him entirely.

Adriana

Squeak squeak squeak

Her eye twitched at the sound of her rubber clog squeaking against the linoleum hallway. She was positive her shoe hadn’t squeaked before her forty-eight-hour ridealong, but its development since then was fucking typical.

Squeak squeak squeak

She paused in the doorway of the exam room, gulping from the water bottle she had in the basket of the rolling cart. Her mouth tasted of bright citrus, black pepper, and sweat, as if Trapp Hemming had lodged in her throat and refused to be evicted. She hadn’t yet decided if she wanted to order one of those fermented fish rolls to evict him forever or keep him there, a secret she tasted constantly.

Bad enough that they had done what they did. Worse still that she felt utterly crushed by all of it, as if she was that naïve med student all over again, her heart shredded anew. And then, the morning after the turn, Adriana woke in her little backyard beneath the table, stretched, feeling oddly complacent. Strange, considering the weather, but on its own, not a troubling thing. But there was an imprint around her on the ground, a crescent-shaped depression, flattening the grass into the mud, clearly something heavy and substantial. And it had been tucked around her.

The thought made her quiver. She’d spent the day after the turn alternating between crying in bed and crying in her bathtub, furious with herself for crying over him at all, and then starting all over again.

Her return to the Cambric Creek Urgent Care clinic had been less than auspicious.

It was clear that the new CNP had brought with her tales from the upstairs office, gossip her staff had been previously uninfected with, and now, like a virus ripping through all of them, they couldn’t get enough. Adriana felt eyes follow her as she crossed the reception area, walked in on Shileen and the new nurse whispering furtively, and watched the little goblin straighten up so quickly and so obviously, guilt written all over her face, that Adriana would have been foolish to assume they were talking about anything but her. Eyla’s disapproving looks had degraded to borderline hostility. Deneen was the only one who seemed to be sympathetic, and Adriana wanted her pity about as much as she wanted the rest of it.

She found herself trembling each morning as she got ready for work, the same crushing, breathless anxiety that had made her flee the emergency department, a twist in her guts and a whimper deep inside her. And it broke her heart to think that he had done this to her. Again. You’re a fool for being surprised.

She took another swallow of water before opening the door to exam room three, where the patient who had refused to be seen by either of the nurse practitioners waited, having insisted on Adriana alone.

The man inside was a mountain. Huge shoulders, long, thick legs, everything about him was big and hard and honed. His back rippled with muscle, his cheekbones were sharp and his expression was glacial. Dark eyes dragged up from her feet, taking her in slowly, not even hiding that he was doing so, his eyes narrowed slightly. The sleeves of his button-down shirt were folded back, revealing tanned skin and sinewy forearms, the knuckles on his right hand wrapped in bloody gauze, and an ugly red laceration sliced across the corner of his mouth. Adriana swallowed hard. Roid rage, maybe.

Worst of all — he looked like Trapp. Harder, bigger, much colder . . . but he was unmistakably related. Fucking typical. How many of them are there?!

Sure enough, when she tapped over the tablet, checking his chart, the confirmation she sought was right there. Not that she was going to let on that the name meant anything to her.

“Mr. Hemming? What seems to be the problem?”

The smile he gave her was slow and considering, his lips tight, as if he were sizing up an opponent and found her amusing. If Trapp’s family thinks they can intimidate you, they picked the wrong fucking one.

“It would seem that I split my knuckles. Doctor . . . ?”

“Dr. Brunelli. Well.” She gave him a tight smile of her own, pulling over the rolling stool. “Let’s take a look at that hand.”

His knuckles were split across his metacarpals, almost down to the bone. The swelling of the injury was likely hiding fractures to the delicate phalanges, but Adriana knew from experience there was nothing to do about that. She would offer to tape his fingers, but the next turn would take care of it.

“Looks like you hit something pretty hard here.”

“Mhm. The side of my brother’s thick head. Like a brick wall.”

Adriana swallowed again, deciding it would be more professional to simply not acknowledge his words. “Well, you’re definitely going to need stitches on these metacarpals. You probably have some finger sprains, potentially even some fractures, but the swelling of this injury—”

“I’ve broken my fingers before,” he interrupted with a little shrug. “They’ll be fine after the next turn.”

It was her turn to give him another tight smile. “Exactly.”

He said nothing as she cleaned the wound. She could tell it was hours old from the way the blood had crested to the gauze. Adriana wanted to ask why he hadn’t permitted either the nurse practitioners to see him, or even Shileen to clean his hand, but her coyote crouched low within her, staying small, staying hidden. She recognized a predator when she saw one. It was better not to speak.

“We had a cocktail hour for members of my wedding party last night,” the man said conversationally, as Adriana lined up what she would need to suture the wound. “My kid brother has always been a hothead, especially when we were young. But he’s usually pretty good at controlling himself here in town. Gotta keep up appearances at all that.”

It was a struggle to keep her face impassive. Keeping up appearances. Always who you know, and not how good you are.

“But there were these two wolves; you could tell they’d already had too much. Started discussing a woman in less-than-polite terms. And my brother, ever the hero, went sailing in to defend her honor. Even though she wasn’t even there. Even though she’s had him over a barrel at work the last month. Even though he claims he can’t stand her. All because these wolves we barely know called her a pack bitch. Why do you think he would do that, Dr. Brunelli?”

Adriana flinched instinctively at his words, drawing back. His expression was unreadable, his eyes fixed on hers, head slightly tilted.

“Who are you?”

At that, he laughed, seeming genuinely amused as he leaned in over the small table separating them.

“Sweetheart, you’d better figure it out, real fuckin’ quick.”

Her hands bunched into fists, lungs tightening, but his next words brought her up short.

“Why would Trapp do that? For you?”

His words caught her under the ribs, making her hunch against their force. Trapp. He’d hit someone? Because of you?

“You’re his brother?”

“Mhm. Can you do that teddy bear stitch?”

Her mind was reeling, barely able to keep up. She blinked rapidly, forcing herself to stay in control of the situation. Trapp. She wanted to know if his wolf sniffed her out during the moon. Wanted to know if he had been thinking of her since the day he’d stormed out of her house the way she had thought of nothing but him. She could not be someone new when he was here. She hated him. There was no one like him. She wanted to tell him she was sorry for her long-ago crime against him. She would rather die than grovel for his forgiveness. You contain multitudes. And that’s okay.

“Teddy bear stitch? I-I don’t know—”

“I don’t know what it’s called. I just know they use it on teddy bears. I don’t want to risk a scar.”

This was his brother. Her mind quickly caught up, kicking aside her confusion, refusing to allow herself to be talked down to by this obnoxious asshole of a wolf. This was Trapp’s brother. He had specifically come to the clinic to have his hand sewn up, and would only see her. And he’d hit Trapp?!

“You mean a running subcuticular closure. It’s called a ladder stitch in lay terms.”

“Sure. I’m not the doctor, am I?”

A burst of laughter escaped her throat, not expecting the over-the-top level of snideness. Something changed after that. The huge man sat back in his chair, her head still cocked, the corners of his lips slightly turned up. “What did you do to him?”

She stiffened slightly, shaking it off a breath later. “I can’t do a ladder stitch on your knuckles, unfortunately. This will require basic straight suture for movement. But it shouldn’t scar. We’ll keep it nice and straight; the turn should take care of the rest. And I don’t know what you mean. Paramedic Hemming and I—”

“I don’t mean now,” he cut her off. “What did you do to him in school? Because I’ve never seen him so . . . not himself. You’re a thorn in his paw he can’t shake off. What did you do?”

“I wonder why you automatically assume that I did something? Maybe your brother—”

“Cut the crap. We both know Trapp isn’t capable of hurting a fly, unless that fly takes a pretty good chomp out of his ass first.”

She grinned in spite of herself, a genuine smile. This wasn’t a professional conversation, but then again, he wasn’t exactly a very professional patient. He wants to know? Fine.

“I went to Mercycrest with Trapp. I was there on an academic scholarship and a needs-based grant. I earned my place there.” She paused, waiting for his look of surprise.

Instead, he made a gesture of impatience with his other hand, giving her a one-shouldered shrug. “You want a medal for that or something?”

She blew out a breath of exasperation. “The majority of our cohort were legacies. Right from the beginning, Trapp and I were at the top of the ranking. He asked me to be a study partner pretty early on. And it made sense, because we were at the top. Why would we want to work with anyone else? And once people realized that I’d earned my way to the top, they wanted my help. To share resources. To study together.”

He didn’t flinch when the needle went into his skin, delivering a local anesthetic.

“I made an altered set of notes. Just in case any of them tried to take my work.”

“Of course.”

That brought her up short. Adriana sat back, eyebrows raised. “What do you mean, ‘Of course?’”

Another shrug, his expression still inscrutable. “It’s a competitive program. Your entire future depends on your rank. Of course you protect that. No matter what.”

“Right?! Thank you!” She forced herself to breathe, realizing her outburst was, again, not exactly professional. Someone gets it, though! “Trapp . . . I don’t know how he got one of my altered packets. I genuinely do not remember ever giving it to him. He might’ve picked it up from my bag, or . . . I don’t know. I never meant for him to have it. But I’m not going to apologize for it. My family name isn’t on any benches or statues. My grandfather didn’t have a painting of himself in his own house, let alone a university library. I had to do what I had to do to take care of myself, because no one in life is going to do that for me. Places like Mercy, places like this town . . . everything is about who you know. And I don’t know anyone. So no, I’m not sorry. I’m sorry he got caught up in it and that he was hurt, but there’s nothing I can do about that now.”

They were both quiet then, as she stitched his hand closed, keeping her sutures meticulous.

“Why did you hit him?”

“To stop the fight. He was out of control. He has been on quite a tear across town. All for you, it would seem. So what happens next?”

She could feel heat burning up her neck. “I-I don’t know what you—”

“Yes, you do. Let’s do each other the courtesy of knocking off the bullshit. If you’re not planning on fixing things with him, I’m going to need you to make it a clean break. And end it for good. What’s done is done.”

“And here I thought Trapp was an adult,” she shot back, matching his snideness. “Do you fix all his problems?”

“Yes,” the big wolf said bluntly. “I’m the family fixer. That’s what I do; I fix the problems. And you have become a problem for me, Dr. Brunelli. I need you to stop being a pain in my ass. If you’re not interested in fixing things, you need to let him go.”

“And what if I want to fix things?” She didn’t know where the question came from. She didn’t want to fix things with Trapp Hemming. Do you?

“Then hurry up and do it before he breaks someone else’s jaw. I kept him out of jail once. I can’t promise either of you I can do it again.”

She was tying off the last stitch when a knock came at the door; Dr. Marsh peeking his head in without waiting for her response. His eyes were wide as he slipped into the room. “Dr. Brunelli. Is everything all right?”

“What is that?” Trapp’s brother snapped, eyeing the coffee cup and Dr. Marsh’s hand. “Is that from the Beanery?” Adriana watched in amazement as he reached out with a huge hand, his arm stretching across the small room, snatched the coffee from her boss, and pitched it into the wastebasket in the corner. “No. Absolutely not. We are on a strict ban, Shay. They will be apologizing to my brother, or I’m going to make sure this whole fucking town starts drinking tea.”

“I just got that!”

The big wolf rolled his eyes, examining his stitches critically. “Shay, why are your nurses down here so aggressive? I’m detecting a hostile work environment. How do you expect her to focus on patient care when they’re so busy whispering about her out there they can’t even raise their heads? You need to get on that. Maybe worry less about buying coffee and run your staff a little tighter.”

Adriana gaped, her eyes moving back and forth between the two men.

“I don’t like hearing that at all. We will be discussing this, Dr. Brunelli. So you’re on babysitting duty, or what?”

Trapp’s brother blew out a hard breath. “He refused to be left at home. Is he causing trouble out there?”

“You left a child unattended?” she demanded, no longer feeling cowed by this particular Hemming. “That’s so irresponsible!”

“It is irresponsible,” Dr. Marsh agreed. “But it’s not a child. It’s a Lowell, and that might be worse.” He took a half step closer, ducking around as if he expected Shileen to be hiding under his arm. “What happened?” he hissed, glancing over his shoulder to ensure that the door was closed. “Did they just let you all out?”

Trapp’s brother shrugged casually as if he had no idea what the shifter was talking about. “Of course they let us out. Six different witnesses all saw that guy throw the first punch. Harmond is the one who called the police. What were you expecting?”

Dr. Marsh blew out a hard breath, shaking his head with a choked laugh. “I’m so glad we’re friends, Grayson. Because I sure as hell wouldn’t want you as an enemy.”

“Exactly,” the big wolf said with a pointed, glinting smile at Adriana. “Pleasure meeting you, Dr. Brunelli. Now you know someone. For what it’s worth, I’m the only wolf in town worth knowing. Make a choice. Quickly. Either I’ll see you at my wedding, or I never want to see you again.”

***

She didn’t know what she was doing.

She didn’t know what she was doing there, standing on his front steps. She had no idea what to say. She didn’t even know if she wanted to fix things with Trapp Hemming. He was arrogant, overprivileged, skated through life too easily, and he had made her life hell.

But the thought of walking away felt untenable. She couldn’t be someone new if he was here. She didn’t have anywhere else to go, and even if she did, the thought of leaving, of leaving things as they were, made her sick.

Maybe he’ll tell you to go. Maybe he’ll yell at you, slam the door, call you a horrible person. Maybe that’s what you deserve. Maybe so, but she still wasn’t apologizing. If Trapp wanted to let her in, he was going to do it on her terms, accept what she could give, and if he couldn’t, well, that was his call.

He broke someone’s jaw because of you.

She and Dr. Marsh had walked Trapp’s brother back to the waiting area, and unsurprisingly, they once again walked in on Shileen and the new nurse with heads bent. It was gratifying to see the shifter’s narrowed eyes.

“Come on, Lowell. I’ll buy you an ice cream cone on the way home if you’re good.”

It wasn’t a child he was talking to. It was another wolf, another brother, a grown-ass man of at least thirty, with Trapp’s sparkling smile and bright eyes, one of them blackened. Did they all get into a fight?!

“I know you think you’re being slick, but that sounds awesome. I want one of those milkshakes with little chocolate confetti bits inside. Wait, is that her?” Fire had flooded her face as he gawked, like she was an animal at the zoo, pulled along by his huge, intimidating brother. “I mean, at least she’s pretty!”

He’d broken someone’s jaw for her. Had started a fight because of her. Defended her honor when she’d not even been there, when there had been no reason for him to do so.

She wasn’t going to say she was sorry. She wasn’t going to grovel. But neither could she walk away without knowing.

It took forever for him to open the door. He looked like shit. Handsome shit, ridiculously handsome, and the day-old stubble on his jaw was very attractive, but like shit nonetheless. His eyes were bloodshot, with dark circles beneath. His left eye was swollen and bruised, greenish-purple extending back to his ear. Considering the size of his brother, he was lucky his head was still on his shoulders.

“Hi,” she mumbled as he leaned against the side of the door, squinting at her. His house was nothing that she’d expected. It was normal. Average-sized, tidy, his giant pickup truck in the driveway and the shades on the windows drawn. “I-I heard you got hit in the head. I just thought I’d check on you. If you think you might have a temporal fracture or—”

“Just a concussion. I have a hard head.”

“Yeah.”

She didn’t know what to say. Well, say something! Say something before he closes the door! You going to stand here picking your nails looking at the ground until he gives up and——

“Did you want to . . .?”

She raised her head, breath catching, meeting his eyes, nodding. “Yeah.”

Trapp stood back to let her in. She wasn’t going to grovel. She wasn’t going to apologize. She didn’t expect him to either. Maybe neither of you needs to. Maybe you can just let the past stay in the past and let it go for good.

Part 4

Trapp

The tones dropped that morning with a clatter, cutting through his sleep as instinct kicked in, cortisol surging, startling him to alertness. When it turned out to be nothing but the buzz of his cell phone rattling across the nightstand, amplified by the empty glass on the table, he almost flung both across the room.

He reached out, hand scrabbling on the nightstand until it closed around the phone, and then rolled to his back with a wince. Beside him, Adriana shifted and yawned, repositioning herself against him, her little nose nudging until his arm lifted and settled around her with her cheek pressed to his side.

Office. This morning.

Trapp closed his eyes, letting the phone drop. It was always a bad sign when his father used punctuation in a text message.

He twisted in bed, stretching, groaning again when his back popped. He had been in countless fights over the years and had always bounced back just fine. Not this time. His whole body hurt. There was a bruise on the side of his chest where one of the other wolf’s fists had connected with his ribs, and now stretching was painful. His jaw ached, his knees ached, his back ached, his hands felt as though they’d been run over, and his head throbbed with a pain that radiated down his neck. Fucking Grayson.

And worst of all — it was an entire month until the next moon. He would have to suffer through these pedestrian injuries in his man skin like a human. Pathetic. If this was what he had to look forward to on the other side of forty, rolling out of a helicopter might be preferable. Picking another fight would not be a mistake he’d make again. Not that anyone else needs to know that.

He didn’t especially think he should have to get out of bed. His body hurt, he needed rest, and technically, he wasn’t supposed to be driving. The concussion Grayson had given him had him off for another forty-eight hours. He had more than enough PTO accrued and had worked extra shifts every single cold and flu season when the latest bug inevitably fouled his co-workers with children. None of them would give him a hard time about needing to recover. He should be staying home.

A pretty thought, but Trapp knew better. A summons from on high was ignored at his peril. He kept his eyes closed, deciding to enjoy the weight of her against him for a little longer.

She had shown up on his doorstep the previous evening. Trapp still wasn’t sure why he’d invited her in. Perhaps the concussion was worse than he’d thought.

“All things considered, it looks like you walked away pretty clean,” Adriana had murmured. She was seated opposite him, anxiously fidgeting on the edge of an armchair in his living room as he carefully lowered himself to the sofa. “No broken nose, no busted lip. Not bad, considering I heard the other guy has a broken jaw.”

“The trick is to go early on your attack. That, and have a bad enough week that getting your ass kicked doesn’t seem like the worst possible outcome.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never actually been in a fight.” She pushed up from the chair, moving into his kitchen without permission. “The wolves — I grew up at the edge of a wolf pack. Did I ever tell you that? They fought. All the time. With each other. With us, if we got too close.” She disappeared behind the freezer door, returning after a moment with a bag of frozen stir-fry vegetables. “You should keep something cold on that,” she murmured, wrapping the frozen water chestnuts and snow peas in the towel from his counter, carefully pressing it to the side of his head, where Grayson had nearly punched a hole into his brain. It was hardly sterile, but field triage was his specialty, not hers. “Anyway, we never fought the way the wolves did. It wasn’t wise to draw attention to our pack. Safer to just lay low.”

“You never did,” he had mumbled, as she perched on the arm of the sofa. “Tell me that you lived near a wolf pack, I mean.” The sweet, clean rain smell of her invaded his nostrils as she held the cold vegetable compress to his head, obliterating the smell of blood that he had been choking on since the previous evening. With her other hand, Adriana carefully pushed through his thick hair, checking for hidden lacerations with a careful eye.

“Why?”

Her voice was small, as it had been on the first day of her ridealong, sitting beside him in his rig. Trapp swallowed hard, wincing at the pain in his side.

“I’m pretty sure I bruised my ribs, too. Why, what?” He knew what she was asking, but he didn’t especially want to answer.

“Why did you do this, Trapp? I heard . . . I heard you made a big scene at the coffee shop, too. For me. Why? Why are you quite literally beating the shit out of people for me?”

Because no one is ever going to talk about you that way. Because you deserve better. Because I didn’t protect you when we were in school, and I should have. I should’ve protected you better from myself. He shrugged. “Well, I haven’t had much of a taste for coffee lately. And I didn’t like the look of that other wolf.”

She choked out a hard laugh, but her eyes were suddenly glossy. “That doesn’t explain why. I thought I was a backstabbing bitch?”

“You are a backstabbing bitch,” he agreed. “But no one else is going to call you that. Least of all the folks around here.”

One of her tears slipped free. He watched it move over the apple of her cheek, veering slightly towards her ear as it crested her cheekbone, when his fingertip caught it, wiping it away. He hated it. He had wanted her anger to return, the spicy heat of her fury, her beautiful, eclipsed eyes simmering in rage, not overflowing with tears. He hated being the cause of them.

“Were you having me audited?” He saw the brief stab of panic in those same widened eyes, leaving no doubt, and he scraped out a bark of painful laughter, knocking the bag of vegetables aside as he reached for his water bottle. “See what I mean?”

Immediately, Adriana’s eyes had narrowed, the competitive fire he knew so well flaring up in them for the briefest instant, tears forgotten. Thank gods.

“Did you go to my boss to get me fired?” she demanded, moving back into tit-for-tat mode like a switch being flipped.

Trapp choked on the sip of water he had just swallowed, yelping. He had definitely bruised his ribs, and it turned out choking was much worse than stretching. Fucking Shay. “Technically? No. I didn’t go to him to get you fired. I played eighteen holes of golf with him and my brother to get you fired. See the difference? That’s commitment. That’s follow-through. You were going to try to pin me down on a charting technicality, and all you had to do was print a file.”

Her shoulders had shaken with laughter as she pushed off him and reseated herself in the chair. Trapp watched the way her fingers knit together nervously after her laughter faded, picking at her cuticles. Silence sat between them for a long moment.

“I’m sorry that you got one of my altered study packets,” she blurted out, taking a deep breath. “I never meant for you to. And I know that doesn’t mean anything now, but I didn’t. I’m sorry that you felt betrayed by me.” Her eyes rose to meet his, that same fire jumping there. “But I’m not sorry I did it. Not at all. If I had to redo med school tomorrow, I would do it again. I had to protect my placement. I didn’t have a trust fund or family money to fall back on, not like the rest of you did. I had the clothes on my back, and a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make something of myself before the pack swallowed me whole, and that was it.” She shrugged unapologetically. “I can’t make you believe me, Trapp. But I’m not going to beg for your forgiveness, either.”

For several long, echoing moments, the only sound in the house was the drip of the faucet in the shower down the hall. Trapp shifted. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that she’d never intended for him to be part of her scheme. Are you being a gullible simp or is she telling the truth?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked at length. “That’s what hurt, you know. I didn’t know how to trust you after that because you didn’t tell me. I couldn’t have known you didn’t set me up deliberately because you never fucking told me about it, Adi. If you had told me, I would have known not to—”

“Because what would you have thought of me if I had?”

Her voice had a hard edge, but it was shaking with an emotion that made him want to punch someone all over again. Everyone who’d hurt her.

“‘Typical sneaky ‘yote?’ Do you know how many times I heard that growing up? ‘What would you expect from a scavenger?’” Her eyes were glossy again, but the fire of her anger remained. “‘Typical scheming pack bitch?’ And I guess it’s all true, because I did what I already knew how to do. Stay under the radar. I used the weapons I had in my arsenal, so I guess I am a sneaky coyote. But how could I have told you? Who does something like that?”

“A conniving schemer,” Trapp had answered easily. “Someone exactly like my brother. Fucking stars, Adi. My brother Grayson has been scheming since he could walk. And literally since I was born, I’ve been his number two. Schemes against our older brother, schemes against our parents, teachers, you name it. He has this insane vendetta against this shifter he used to work with that’s three years old, at least. Actively scheming right now, in his forties. He’s trying to buy enough stock in the parent corporation that owns the guy’s co-op to get a place on the board just so that he can evict him. He’s been combing through every single case the guy has ever blinked at to find a reason to get him disbarred. Scheming isn’t fucking new to me. If you had told me, we could have planted your bad notes together.”

Adriana looked stunned. He could tell she didn’t know what to do with that information. Trapp blew out a hard breath, knowing it was his turn.

“I’m sorry I turned people against you. I was hurt, but that doesn’t excuse what I did. And I hate how easily I was able to do it.” Trapp had trailed off, disliking the weight on his chest just considering that year of med school. “My grandfather used to be mayor here, did you know that? After he was forcibly retired, he lived with us for a few years when we were young, before my dad had put him in a care facility. He was such a bad person. Fucking terrible. He was cruel and abusive and a bully, and I promised myself I would never be anything like that . . . that’s part of why I left my residency. It was just so easy to manipulate people. To make them like me, to make space for myself wherever I went. I didn’t know who I was there, and I didn’t like who I could have become. I didn’t want to be anything like him. But then I wound up acting like him anyway.”

They were both quiet for a long while after that, as she returned the thawing bag of vegetables to the freezer. Returning to her chair, she kicked off her shoes and folded her legs beneath her. Trapp smiled softly. It was such an unconscious thing, absently making herself at home in his space, so different from Julia’s regimented routine of shoes at the door, keys on the table, coat on the hook, before even taking a breath. He liked that she made herself comfortable in his space.

“How long were you married?” Her expression was miserable. Trapp choked out a hard laugh, her eyes raising to his, narrowing almost immediately.

“Calm down. I was married for like ten minutes. It took twice as long to dissolve as the marriage lasted, I think.”

Her face had twisted up in a scowl, one that was so intimately familiar, it took his breath away. “You are so full of shit. You were together with her for like two years at school! Here I am, sincerely spilling my guts to you and—”

“Adi, I am not even joking,” he continued, laughing. “I almost got disowned over it. If you listen to the way my father tells it, every wrong turn my life has taken can be attributed to that relationship. Do you know I didn’t even go to my first residency pick because of us? I didn’t even go to my fucking third pick. We wound up at the only option that had a couples match program, and I hated everything about it. Human city, human hospital. We never saw each other. We were on opposite rotations the whole time. I suggested getting married because I thought . . . Honestly, I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. That it would give me a reason to stay? I was already half out the door; then I left the program, and overnight we had nothing in common, nothing to talk about. All of a sudden I was home when she was home, and we both hated that. When I say things fell apart immediately, I mean immediately. My dad wanted to kill me. My brother was living on the other side of the country, and he had to play mediator between us for like three months. I was sleeping on his couch before I came home.”

“Yeah, well . . . she was a mean cunt anyways. Your dad is probably right.”

He hunched against the pain, unable to stop his laughter, wheezing as he clutched his ribs. “I guess. If only I hadn’t been in that relationship.”

He had continued to laugh and moan, but Adriana had looked away, her face tight as his laughter faded and the quiet sat between them once more. After a moment, she relocated to the sofa again, unable to keep still, using the pretext of examining the abrasions on his knuckles as she did so.

“We never would have worked, Trapp.” That small voice again, barely a whisper, her eyes downcast. “We both know that. I do, at least. If he didn’t like perfect Leelee VanderCunt, imagine what your dad would have said when you brought home a pack bitch. A coyote. They would have pulled you out of school so fast, your family’s name would have fallen off the library atrium.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered.”

“Yes, it would have,” she insisted, her voice full of heat. “I know. I know the way people looked at me growing up, the way people treated us. The same way all of your rich friends treated me at Mercy. They didn’t know anything about me, but they knew I wasn’t one of you. Like being poor was a stink I couldn’t wash away. And that was enough. Wolves like you, like your dad, like your brother . . . you don’t end up with pack bitches like me. We both know that.”

He cupped her face in his hand, the pad of his thumb catching another one of her tears as it slid down her face. This was why she’d been so oblivious every single time he’d tried to get her attention in school, asking her to dinner, to parties, anything. He’d always hated chasing, but he’d chased her hard. She didn’t see anything beyond her assumptions, and other people proved her right often enough that she didn’t need to. The edge of his nail traced over the apple of her cheek, across her jaw, following the full curve of her lower lip, tilting her face up until her eyes met his.

“My mom is from a pack, Adriana.”

For a long moment, neither had said a thing. He continued to trace the angles of her face, watching the shock and misery dance in her eyes, wondering if she, too, was replaying that last year of school in her head and all of the years they had lost since. When he leaned down to reach her mouth, she didn’t pull away. Trapp realized this was the first time he’d kissed her in more than fifteen years that wasn’t tinged with anger or bitterness. It felt like coming home.

At least, until the pain in his head nearly paralyzed him, making him pull back sharply with a hiss. Fucking Grayson.

“You should lay down,” she said, immediately jumping back into doctor mode, easing his head back to the cushion, as if he were incapable of doing so without guidance. “In bed, I think. You don’t have enough neck support out here.”

Trapp let her help him up, let her lead him to the bedroom, as he directed the way. If he acted a bit more feeble than he actually felt, he decided it could be forgiven. As it was, it was hardly an act, his knees and ribs protesting the moment he stood. Are you beat up or just getting old? Who can tell? When she had carefully pulled back the covers on his bed, pushing him down to sit, he caught her hand.

“Stay?”

Her look was penetrating, searching his face as if she expected to see a hidden joke, waiting to become the punchline, nodding after a long moment. “But we’re not doing anything. Don’t get any funny ideas. You need rest.”

He had no complaints. When she climbed into the bed beside him, tucking under his arm, it was all he needed.

Now it was early morning, and his father was demanding his presence, when all he wanted to do was stay exactly where he was, with her, still snuggled under his arm.

He’d woken several times during the night, finding her in slightly different positions, always buried against him, her cheek pressed to his skin, snuggled beneath his arm, practically burrowed into his side. At one point, she had been crying. He’d remained still and kept his breathing steady, not disclosing that he was awake, listening to her tearful snuffles against his skin, feeling the trembling of her arms and the wetness on his chest. He never wanted to see her cry again.

He could slip out without waking her, he decided. Hop on the trolley and have it out with his father, and maybe be home before she’d even woken. And if his dad wanted a piece of his bad attitude, Trapp had no doubt he still had some to give.

* * *

The last thing he expected, as the elevator doors pulled open on his father’s floor in the Main Street office, was laughter. Bright, gleeful laughter from Jack’s longtime executive assistant, Rhonda, punctuated by the baritone rumble of his father’s chuckle.

“Trapp! Go on, sit down. I’m going to make you a vanilla hazelnut latte.” 

She seemed overjoyed at the prospect, and Trapp didn’t have the heart to tell her he wasn’t interested in anything from the Black Sheep Beanery. He’d bypassed the coffee shop entirely, getting off the empty trolley around the block from his father’s office, slipping through an alley between the buildings, the same cut through they’d taken as kids to cut through downtown without notice. He didn’t want to see anyone from the coffee shop, including its patrons, which meant he didn’t want to see anyone.

His father was sitting behind his desk, still chuckling, three separate coffee mugs sitting before him, as Trapp took his seat in one of the opposite chairs. When Rhonda came back into the office, just a few minutes later, she was giddy.

“Taste it,” she insisted, practically bouncing on her toes as she pushed the mug into his hands. Trapp took an obliging sip. It was the same vanilla hazelnut latte he had picked up in a giant carafe for the station every week for years. “It tastes exactly like the coffee shop, doesn’t it?” Rhonda demanded.

“Wait, it’s not from the coffee shop?”

He had known Rhonda all his life. Her eldest daughter had been older than him, between him and Grayson, the younger falling somewhere between Trapp and the twins, but in all that time, he had never once seen the she-wolf who had worked for his father since Trapp was in diapers throw her head back in what could only be called villainous laughter.

“It’s not! It’s from that machine your brother had delivered! I found the same brand of syrup the Beanery uses online. Jack, with the money we’re going to save on coffee, I think we should get one of those tabletop ice machines. You know, the kind that makes that good crunchy ice. Blinxieburger ice!”

“You do understand that the coffee budget isn’t something that prevents us from buying anything else, right? We don’t even have a budget! And the refrigerator has an ice machine, you know.”

Rhonda scowled. “Jack, I didn’t say we would keep it in here.”

She exited the office to the sound of his father’s laughter. “Send me the link! I’ll buy it right now!” 

He motioned for Trapp to close the door once Rhonda had disappeared, still chuckling. As he did so, Trapp could see the commandeered coffee machine out on the counter behind Rhonda’s desk. It was the same model from Grayson’s kitchen.

“He bought her a coffee machine?”

“Oh, he bought us all coffee machines,” Jack confirmed as Trapp retook his seat. “Jackson said his arrived yesterday. Evidently we are all on a strict Black Sheep Beanery boycott.”

Trapp said nothing. Grayson hadn’t said anything to him about the coffee shop. He was operating under the assumption that no one in the family knew about his little outburst, but he realized how naïve that was. Wasn’t that the point? Gossip moved faster than traffic in Cambric Creek. Tris Tatterswain had probably notified Jack that same afternoon, while Trapp was still stomping down the sidewalk.

“We are not to set foot inside or order delivery until Xavier and Xenna apologize to you.” Jack sat back in his chair, sipping from one of the coffee mugs. “You know how your brother is when he gets a bee in his bonnet about something.”

“They don’t need to apologize. They didn’t do anything to me. They just . . . did what they do.”

He had not said anything to Trapp, but that, too, was an entirely Grayson-like response. Having a conversation about it would’ve been too close to discussing emotions, and the only emotion his brother was ever comfortable expressing outwardly was disgust. Buying everyone in the family the same pricey, overly complicated coffee machine that sat on his own countertop and forbidding them from giving patronage to the business where the stories about Trapp had begun was a typical Grayson scheme. He wasn’t sure what his brother was hoping to accomplish, but Trapp knew that this was how Grayson showed his love.

“Why won’t you take the lieutenant test, Trapp?”

He choked on his coffee, burning his tongue and his fingers when he jumped, yelping from the lance of pain in his side. He just needed to stop attempting to drink anything unless he was alone in a locked room.

“That’s what you dragged me in for this morning? Really? After everything else?”

Jack cocked his head, his sharp eyes giving Trapp a penetrating look, but said nothing. Trapp blew out an exasperated breath, recognizing the pause for what it was. The apples all fell straight down in this fucking family.

“I already told the chief. I don’t like paperwork. That’s not why I do this job. And how did you even know about—”

“Because Magruh came to see me,” his father cut him off. “Thought I could talk some sense into you. He said you should be working up to taking the captain’s test by now. Said that everyone at the station respects you. You show leadership and don’t cut corners. That everyone knows without a doubt that you would lay your own life down to save one of theirs. You have the time in service and higher certifications than most of the house. He can’t understand why you’re not willing to—”

“Why do I have to?” Trapp demanded, heat moving up his neck, making his head throb. “What can’t anyone believe that I just want to do my fucking job? I want to help people. If everyone on the crew respects me already, why do I need a rank to hold over them?”

“Who said you had to lord over anyone?” Jack countered, without missing a beat, shrugging after a moment. “I was just asking, Trapp. You don’t need to bite my head off. It sounds like you’ve done quite enough of that lately, all over town.”

Trapp sat back, forcing himself to breathe calmly, not daring to risk another sip of the coffee. “What did you tell him?” He asked after a moment, irritation coloring his voice.

His father shrugged again. “I told him if you wanted to, you would. You’re a grown man. I can’t tell you what to do, nor would I try to. Then I thanked him for his service and told him to close the door on his way out.”

It was safer putting the coffee down, lest he make himself choke again. He could only imagine the big orc’s reaction to that conversation. “Everyone acts like I’m not living up to my name,” he blurted out after a moment, unable to hold the thought in. “Like I’m not doing enough. What more do they want from me? I’m literally . . . never mind,” he grumbled. “It doesn’t matter. Can we get on with this? You hauled me in to lecture me about my attitude. About saying no to the pancake breakfast. About the coffee shop. About the fight. My head hurts, Dad. Let’s get the fuck on with it so that I can go back to bed.”

“Well, you’re not going back to bed. You’re coming over for lunch. And no, that’s not optional. Everyone is in town, and Liam goes back to school in two days. That was really it. I called you in to make sure you were still alive, to be honest. Grayson said he flattened you like a sheet.”

A tiny chime caught his attention as his father’s eyes slid back to the poker game screen before him. Trapp waited, annoyed, carefully took another sip of the coffee, placing the mug on the desktop with a huff. “And?” His temple was throbbing. He needed to take some painkillers, should have done so before he’d left the house.

“And what, Trapp? What do you think I’m going to lecture you on? Saying no to getting up in the middle of the night to work a volunteer shift for the pancake breakfast? I’ve never even been to the pancake breakfast. I have pancakes at home, where I can eat them alone, which is what I prefer.”

“You literally have, every single year. Mom makes you.”

“Well, there you go. That’s how memorable it is.”

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. It’s called healthy boundaries, Trapp. If he wasn’t being held to account for ducking his volunteer expectations, he was sure it would be something.

“Do you think I’m going to lecture you about your job? About not living up to your name? Do you think you’re the first Hemming to be made to feel that you weren’t doing your part to live up to expectations? You’re not even the only Hemming in this room who can say that. Like I told your chief — if you wanted to, you would. Expectations belong to the people who hold them, not you. Don’t let other people’s belongings become your problem.”

“I understand where Grayson learned his hypocrisy, if nothing else.”

His father glared. “Trapp, I know you were young when your grandfather left office. I’m sure you don’t remember what it was like when I didn’t run to replace him. I didn’t care then, and I care even less now. Your brother is in that office because it’s what he chose for himself, not a role I thrust upon him. Being a Hemming in this town is burden enough. They don’t get to expect more from us.”

Jack paused, peering down at the collection of mugs before him, sniffing two of them before lifting one to take a sip. 

“Do you think I’m going to lecture you about the fight you started? Do you think I wouldn’t have done the same thing or worse if they were talking about your mother? Do you think I haven’t done worse in the past? Anyone who calls the woman I love a pack bitch is getting a piece of me, and if there’s one thing your grandfather ensured I could do, it’s take a punch. I really don’t think I’ve ever lectured you about your life choices the way you like to pretend I’ve done, Trapp.”

“Is that a joke? When Leelee and I split—”

“I was furious with you,” his father cut in, voice rising a fraction. “I still am. You got married without telling anyone. Without telling your mother. Without protecting your trust fund. Married to someone who, by your own admission, you didn’t have anything in common with after three years of school. Someone who could have taken you for half of everything you had to your name and probably would have if your brother hadn’t used intimidation tactics that could’ve gotten him disbarred. Let’s not pretend it was anything but your own stupidity I was upset with.”

Trapp said nothing. He knew better. For all of Lowell’s whinging that he didn’t get enough attention, Trapp knew that being the target of his father’s full attention was a far more perilous position to occupy.

“But since you clearly want to talk about it . . . what’s this all about? What has crawled up your ass in the past month? And if you think I’m not entitled to know, I’ll remind you that four of my six sons were sitting in jail twenty-four hours ago, and we both know the only reason Liam wasn’t with you is that he’s underage and wasn’t allowed into the party. I think I should understand where I went wrong, at the very least.”

Because I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be now. He had spent so many years being the easy-going one, everyone’s friend, that he didn’t quite know how to answer now.

“After Julia left . . .”

“Yes, I heard all about the aftermath of that.” His father shrugged. “You save people’s lives on the side of the road. I think you’re entitled to a little poor judgment now and then.”

His laughter caught in his throat, nearly choking him. “The new doctor from the clinic that reopened, she’s someone I knew from school. We were . . . I really loved her, then. But it ended badly. Someone at the coffee shop was talking with her about me and . . . my whole reputation, Dad, in just a matter of days. Gone.” 

His jaw moved, but his voice trailed off. He didn’t know how to explain the hurt he felt from the entire community. They were both quiet after that, the occasional chime from the computer screen the only sound.

“Do you remember what I used to tell the three of you when you were young, Trapp?”

“You told us if granddad was ever mean to Mommy to push him down the basement steps and call you.”

Jack choked out a hard bark of dark laughter. “Mm, I did tell you that. It almost happened once, didn’t it?”

“Grayson called you,” Trapp confirmed, easily thinking back to that long-ago day. He had been crying, clutching his mother’s leg as his grandfather raged in the study, smashing bottles and picture frames. Grayson had taken the phone and was hiding behind the couch, calling their father. “Jackson already had the basement door open.”

“That’s not actually what I was talking about.”

Trapp breathed hard through his nose, his fingers flexing around the arm of his chair. He did remember. He’d only assumed that by being everyone’s favorite Hemming, he would somehow be exempt from the lesson.

“You told us they would always be watching. No matter what we did. They would look to us to lead. They would take their cues from us when it suited them and blame us when it didn’t.”

His father leaned forward, fingers steepled beneath his chin as he waited for Trapp to finish the rest.

“And when we misstepped, they would be waiting with knives.”

Jack sat back, picking up his coffee mug and swirling it in a way that made Trapp think it contained something other than coffee. 

“Everyone loves a hero, Trapp. And you are that. But just as much, they love to watch their heroes fall. Stop giving them every bit of yourself. I’m glad you’re finally telling people no for a change.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” he bit out. “That’s easy for you to do. You’re Jack Hemming.”

“And you’re my son,” his father countered, leaning forward on his elbows, draining the mug that was almost certainly not coffee. “Act like it once in a while. Fuck this town and everyone in it. Except for your family, because they won’t abandon you when you are less-than-perfect. Perfect isn’t what we ever expect.”

He exhaled hard, wheezing, suddenly feeling as if the room were more oxygenated than it had been when he’d walked in. He didn’t like to admit that coming back to Cambric Creek without a white lab coat, stethoscope in his hand, had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, least of all to himself. He’d made the choice then that if he wasn’t returning as Doctor Hemming, he’d be the next best thing — everyone’s friend, a community hero, the Hemming everyone liked, immune to the oft-repeated lesson from his childhood.

He hated that his father had been right all along.

“You’re coming to lunch,” Jack went on, his attention already returning to his poker game. “That’s not optional. Your mother needs to see you all together every month. All of you being home is her Christmas, and you’ll not deprive her of that. Bring the girl.”

His head snapped up. “What?”

Jack rolled his eyes, switching to one of the other, actual coffee mugs with a scowl. “Trapp, your brothers spent the night in custody because of you. You all look like you were in a prison yard brawl. I think they’re entitled to know whose honor they bled for.”

“How do you know there is someone?” He demanded, cursing a moment later, realizing he already knew. Fucking Tris. His father had likely received a daily play-by-play since the morning he’d stormed out of Adriana’s townhouse. “You know she’s not a wolf, right?” he challenged, already knowing too well how his father had felt about his human girlfriend.

Jack only shrugged. “Did you know that coyotes are the most successfully integrated were-species? They’re in every single state in the Unification, in every city. Country, suburbs, it doesn’t matter. They’ve fully adapted no matter where they live, in a way few weres have been able to. And they’re just tiny wolves, aren’t they?”

He dropped his head back, wincing as he did so. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea . . .”

His father sighed, closing his screen and facing Trapp fully. “Grayson said you’d be working it out with her and that if you did, she’d be permanent. Was he wrong? And you know, just in case you’re not already aware of this, but every time you all let him magic away your problems, he gets stronger, like a wizard. If that’s not the case, and she’s not someone of consequence, Tris is prepared to run an exposé on the clinic, highlighting the new doctor’s inability to—”

“If Tris ever writes a single fucking word about her, I will put his horns up his own ass.”

His father smiled, spreading his hands. “Perfect. I’ll let your mother know the extra place setting is necessary. Lunch is at two. We’ll see you both then.”

Adriana

The house was massive. Adriana leaned forward, her fingers white-knuckled around the steering wheel of his truck, feeling her lungs hitch at the sight of the castle-like brick structure.

She’d dressed her best for the occasion . . . or, at least, the best she was able to manage. She had taken to heart the advice of the woman she’d met outside the leathergoods store, and had paid attention to the clothes worn by the trendy mothers who brought their children into the clinic. Copy until it’s natural. The poplin shirt dress she wore had the same architectural sleeves and eyelet detail she’d seen on several of those sleek sylvans and selkies, and it felt appropriate for the occasion.

The gold bracelet on her wrist was antique-looking, from the same thrift shop where she’d found her leather bag. Her flats were the same camel color as the bag, brand-new, uncreased and clean. Her nails were kept short because of work, but she’d painted them a neutral buff color that same morning, after Trapp had returned to his house, breaking the news that she was expected to be at his side at his parents’ house that same afternoon.

He’d laughed when she’d panicked, insisting she needed to go home to prepare, but she’d not been joking. She’d deep conditioned her hair with the expensive bottle of product purchased from the she-wolf’s recommended salon, shaved her legs and painted her nails, and then stared into the mirror for what felt like a small, panicked eternity, wondering if there was enough Xanax in the world that could calm her jangling nerves as she tried to transform herself into someone who might be worthy of perfect, handsome Trapp Hemming.

Every breath felt tight, trapped in her chest. Ahead, the driveway seemed to stretch on forever, a winding ribbon of concrete with a decorative trim, and the house beyond was like a fairytale fortress. Images of her own childhood home flashed unbidden behind her eyes — the rusted aluminum siding, the smell of damp particleboard every time it rained, and the way the whole structure shuddered whenever a heavy truck passed by. Adriana was well-acquainted with the sort of people who lived in homes like this one, and knew all too well what they thought of the people who’d grown up in homes like hers.

Beside her, Trapp looked completely at ease. The scrape on his jaw had begun to bruise, and the whole side of his face above his cheekbone was engulfed in sickly purple-green, but other than his outward injuries, he didn’t appear as if he were in danger of shaking apart in nerves over this meeting, which she found to be a bit of a betrayal. He didn’t understand the bone-deep shame of poverty, and he never would.

When she had woken alone in his bed that morning, it had taken her several panicked moments to remember that it was, in fact, his bed. She’d not been ghosted. She’d not been left alone, the victim of a cruel prank. She didn’t know where he’d gone, but it was reasonably safe to assume that he was not going to abandon his house, and that he would be coming back.

It gave her plenty of time to spiral in private.

What are you doing? You hate Trapp Hemming. You’ve hated him for fifteen years. Are you just going to pretend that never happened? Maybe so, she’d challenged her reflection in his bathroom mirror. After all, once, she’d been in love with Trapp Hemming, long before she’d ever hated him. She didn’t know if they would actually be able to make it work this time around and was certain she’d never risk her heart again with anyone else if it didn’t, but she was willing to try.

He doesn’t have any reason to trust you, either. You both need to let the past go. She’d apologized for her role in their past hurts, and he’d apologized to her. Neither had groveled. Neither had begged. They could start again on even footing, or not at all. Either I’ll see you at my wedding, or I never want to see you again. She’d never been to a fancy wedding, Adriana considered, but it might be fun to experience one. That is, if that’s what he wants. She hadn’t had to wait long to find out.

“You’re not supposed to be driving,” she had told him upon his arrival, before he had even stepped through his own front door. “And you know that! No operating heavy machinery!”

“Then it’s a good thing there’s a trolley stop right around the corner, isn’t it?”

He’d dropped to the sofa, his head falling back, eyes closing. For a long moment, she watched him lie there, memorizing the contours of his face. She wasn’t braced for his words.

“I think we need to talk.”

Her heart had fallen. Never in the history of conversations had a conversation ever gone well that was preceded by ‘We need to talk’. You should just leave now, while you can still save face.

His eyes opened. “Do you want to give us another try? I know that’s a complete one-eighty from three days ago. I feel silly even saying it out loud, to be honest. But . . . I feel like we need to be honest with each other from the get-go. So that we’re not bringing any more confusion into this. And I do. Want to try again, I mean.”

“Confusion . . .”

His eyes narrowed. “Confusion, Adi. You know, like the way I chased you for a whole semester in school and you never noticed? The way we spent all of our time together for an entire year, slept together, studied together, ate together, fucked every day, did everything together, but you thought we were just study partners? That kind of confusion.”

Her face screwed up in a scowl, hackles rising. Should have bit him on the balls when you had the chance. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. Let’s spell things out very clearly. Because obviously your version of ‘asking someone out’ isn’t rooted in anything that resembles straightforward conversations.”

He snorted, wincing as he did so. “Fine. Would you, Adriana Brunelli, be interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with me, Trapp Hemming? Blink twice for yes.”

He dodged the pillow she swung at him, chuckling, holding his side to support his bruised body. Moment of truth. She thought about her younger self, anxious, awkward, desperate for acceptance, to prove that she was worthy enough to be there, completely infatuated with Trapp Hemming. This wasn’t the tandem career daydream she’d harbored for so long . . . but maybe it was better.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I do.” Something moved through his eyes at her words, and she shivered in response. “Would you ever get married again?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in his voice. “Do you want to have kids?”

“Maybe? I’m not opposed to the idea, but I’m also not climbing the walls to get pregnant.”

Trapp nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Same. Not opposed. Not desperate.”

“Finances?” She swallowed hard, unsure of what even to ask. “I-I have a savings account and that’s it. Someone gave me the number of an investor here in town that I’m supposed to call, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Don’t. I wouldn’t trust anyone but my dad. Making money on money is one of his superpowers . . . but I will be disowned if I ever get married again without a prenup. I know I’m just a paramedic, but I’m also a trust fund baby. Just putting that out there. But whatever my brother and his fiancée worked out for theirs protects both of them very adequately.”

“I’d sign one,” she had assured him. “And if you ever cheated on me, I’d set you up in a scheme that would send you to prison for the rest of your life.”

Trapp burst out laughing, hunching in pain as his shoulders shook.

“C’mon. I want to see your ribs. It would be a joke if we just ran through an entire relationship’s worth of serious discussions in thirty seconds and you die tonight from an untreated pulmonary contusion.”

“I went to see my dad this morning,” he murmured, once he was on his back, T-shirt discarded, ignoring her protest that this was not a satisfactory way to check for damage. “Summoned. I was summoned by my dad this morning, I guess is more accurate.”

Adriana slid her hands up his side, carefully feeling along each rib. He was thick with muscle, every contour of his body bearing the evidence of time spent in the gym, and she wondered how many hours a week were required to look this good. “He can do that? Deep breath in for me.”

“He repeated something my brother told him, I guess,” he said, just before obliging, sucking in a breath.

She had never belonged to a gym in her life. She wasn’t toned; she wasn’t cut. She slept poorly and regularly ate food of questionable origin from sidewalk carts, up until recently. She had stretch marks and thighs that jiggled, and would be willing to sell him for a slice of the right cassata cake. Maybe you really will have to take up yoga. Who knows, maybe you’ll love it. Then again, he didn’t seem to care. “Now exhale.”

“My brother told him that if we work things out, you would be permanent.”

Her own breath hitched at his words. She didn’t know what to say. You’re supposed to agree. Validate that you’re not going anywhere, because this is all you wanted for so long before everything fell apart. “No evidence of a rib fracture. Just a deep bruise. That’s a relief.”

“Grayson knows me better than I know myself. So if he thinks this is permanent . . .”

She leaned forward, placing a kiss to the center of his chest, letting her lips follow the same path her fingers had just traced. She would never be good with words. She was good at intubation and performing cricothyrotomies, and she was certain that wasn’t the same as being able to come up with poetic words of validation in the moment, but she could kiss him. Over his ribs, down his side, a straight line up the center of his torso, kissing over his sternum until she had reached the base of his throat. She didn’t know what to say, but maybe she didn’t need to use her words just then.

When Trapp bucked his hips just enough to throw her forward, she squeaked in surprise, her hands scrabbling for purchase against him, allowing him to take over and capture her lips.

She had daydreamed about a nonexistent future with him for so long, so long ago. She was still able to see the outline of that daydream, like looking through a rainsoaked window to the past, but she wondered, as her legs dropped to either side of him, straddling his body as he pulled her shirt up and over her head, if the distance and separate lives had been necessary. She had been singularly focused back then. She still made no apology for it. She hadn’t lied — she’d had an opportunity to change her fate, and it wasn’t to be squandered. She had only ever felt inadequate with him then, even as she was pining for him.

Now, she was someone with a goose on her porch. Someone who’d had an entire career completely on her own, had lived what felt like several lifetimes in the emergency department, had battled chief residents and hospital administrators and surgeons who all had Trapp’s upbringing — and she’d done it on her own. She had a basket of blankets, a job with stable hours, and she lived in this nice town, and she’d done that on her own, as well. Perhaps she was finally someone who could be in a relationship with him. This is better than your daydream. You’re starting on even footing, and you don’t have to wonder what he wants.

His fingers had moved beneath the edge of her panties, stroking her steadily, catching her clit between his scraped knuckles. That he probably scraped on someone’s teeth, defending you. She didn’t like violence and wouldn’t encourage it, but she moaned against his mouth at the very thought. And now he’s wearing entirely too many clothes.

There was a reason being called a pack bitch was more than a common vulgarity. Everyone knew what packs were like — regardless of the were type, packs operated on a basis of coercion and control, a patriarchal hierarchy that put their menfolk at the top, leaving the women as pawns. More than that, though, pack living meant those first heats were fraught. No one stayed a virgin for long after the first heat hit, and suppressants were a lifeline. Without them, “I’m just helping you through your heat,” could be said by just about anyone, and it would be accepted. Pack girls often had sexual experiences earlier than their non-pack counterparts, and it was automatically expected by a certain type of asshole that they would be game for anything.

She’d not been immune to heat desperation and bad judgment as a teen, but she’d also been bookish and shy, and she didn’t have the experience most pack girls boasted. The wolf he’d hit likely would have been disappointed with her for all his trouble.

“I forgot,” he groaned, catching her nipple with his teeth once she’d stripped him entirely and kicked off her panties. “We have to go to lunch today.”

His erection was flush to his stomach, and Adriana rocked herself against it as his hands moved over her. Back and forth, the thick girth of it trapped between the lips of her sex, bumping her clit and making her shiver. With no heat rippling through her, the size of him made her stomach tremble.

“With my family. But it’ll be fine.”

She froze. “Your what? Trapp!”

Before she could move, he was pushing himself up from the mattress, supported on the tips of his fingers, meeting her lips once more.

“I promise, it’ll be fine. All of my brothers are in town, and seeing my mom is a nonnegotiable. They’ll all like you. Honestly, even if they didn’t, there are too many of us for it to matter. But I know you’ll be fine.”

He dropped back to the pillow, lacing his fingers with hers, rolling his hips upward, encouraging her to move again.

She could talk herself into being good enough for a relationship with Trapp, especially after forty-eight hours together in his ambulance, but his family was another matter. She closed her eyes, attempting to focus on the rub of his body beneath her, the slight pull of his foreskin as she rocked herself against him, his big hands pressing against hers.

“Who all is going to be there? You know, I hated you like twenty-four hours ago. What if I tell them that?!”

“I know,” he laughed. “We were still trying to get each other fired last week, I think.”

She added her laughter to his, breaking off on a gasp when he guided his cock into her. For several moments, that was as far as she took him. Rocking her hips back and forth, just his head inside her, until Trapp’s hands released hers, sliding down her body, landing on her hips.

“Everyone is going to be there, but you’re going to do great. Just like you’re doing right now.”

Adriana closed her eyes, letting the low hum of his voice ground her. She rocked herself lower, sliding down his shaft slowly. Without a heat rippling through her, he was a tight fit. Tight, but her body remembered him, opening in welcome. The girth of him spread her open, pressing against her inner walls, making her feel the drag of every inch of him. She remembered once feeling as though she were impaled on his cock, but she felt curiously in control just then.

“I’ll be there with you the whole time. I won’t ever leave you alone.” Her mouth dropped open as he pulled her hips down slowly. “Just like that. Nice and slow. Fuck, you’re so tight.”

They were far from the moon, and there was no knot impeding her ability to sit flush against him, the fullness of him inside her a heavy pressure that made her desperate to move. She flattened her palms against his skin, feeling his muscles quiver and jump beneath her. Trapp groaned when she began to rock, bracing herself against him.

“Who is everyone?” she ground out, gasping when he began to rock up into her, her spine quivering when his cock bumped that hidden, nerve-ending packed spot within her.

“My parents. My brothers. Their partners.” His voice was tense, his fingers tight against her skin. “You don’t need to be nervous. It’s too chaotic for any one person to stand out. Why do I feel like I haven’t come in a month? You’ve got me ready to explode.” 

Adriana whimpered. He’d begun rolling his thumb over her clit, her breath hitching. She knew exactly how he felt. “That’s probably for the best,” she gasped out. “Because I need to go home and get ready. And I don’t even know if you should be orgasming while concussed.”

He came inside her with a hot rush, filling her like a balloon, and the pressure of it broke her control. Adriana keened, tightening around him, pitching forward against his chest.

“I can’t believe you’re making me meet your family seventy-two hours after you called me a horrible person.”

She was laughing when he pushed her off him, his handsome face screwed up in a scowl.

“See, this is what I mean. Revisionist history. All of the schemers will be at lunch, so you’ll fit in great.”

Now he was directing her up the driveway to a castle, and she could barely breathe.

“Oh, park next to them there,” he directed, pointing to two identical black pickup trucks parked on the horseshoe drive.

“You all have matching trucks? I didn’t realize that was a thing rich people did.”

He was laughing before she’d even finished. “My mom came with me when I bought mine, and she liked it so much, we got them together. I probably should have mentioned this already, but I am a mama’s boy. No shame in that game; I know who loves me best, and it’s not my dad. But she’s amazing. I know she’s going to love you. Anyway, then Grayson got mad that we didn’t tell him we were going car shopping, so he bought one, and we all matched for like a week. But he never drove it, and he let our kid brother take it with him to school.” He turned, eyes meeting hers. “Just to prepare you, he goes to Mercy.”

“Of course he does.”

Fucking of course. Deep breath. You can do this. Fake it till you fucking make it.

She was in the process of stepping down from the tall truck when a petite, dark-haired woman popped out from behind the door, scaring her half to death.

“Hiii! I’m so glad you’re both here!”

Adriana yelped as the woman engulfed her, barely processing the sneak-attack greeting.

“I’m Vanessa, it’s so nice to meet you. I just know we’re going to be great friends!”

Trapp came around the front of the truck, scowling. “Vanessa, what the hell are you doing? Were you hiding in the bushes waiting for us?!”

Adriana trembled as the woman took a step back, giving her a chance to catch her breath. She was lovely — thick, swingy dark hair, perfect makeup, fashionably dressed. The dress she wore was not dissimilar to what Adriana herself had chosen, and she breathed a sigh of relief, glad she had copied the mothers from the office so well.

“Shut the fuck up, Trapp,” the woman hissed, all traces of her welcoming exuberance gone. “Yes, I was waiting for you. I’m not going to let Victoria get her first. She already got Tabitha. I cannot be without an ally in this family. And she’s going to need one too.” Her brilliant smile was back, twinkling at Adriana as she opened her arms wide, posing like she was announcing a game show prize, full jazz hands. “And it’s meee!”

Trapp snorted, shaking his head. “See? This is what I was talking about. Constant scheming. You’re going to fit right in here. Nessa, you really are just marrying your reflection.”

“Um, it’s . . . nice to meet you?”

She didn’t know what to do when the other woman, Vanessa, linked her arm through Adriana’s, practically dragging her to the front door.

She was braced for snooty silence. The quiet, terrifying dignity of old money and privilege, and she had readied herself for their stares and judgment. Instead, on the other side of the front door that Vanessa pushed open, chaos abounded.

Adriana instantly winced at the sheer volume of it all. 

The house was large, but the werewolves occupying it made it feel small with their numbers. Trapp’s brothers were all ridiculously handsome, virtually identical, like a small army of differently-aged clones. Handsome, identical, and loud. The huge man whose knuckles she had sewn up was standing over a marble kitchen island, seemingly in a shouting competition with the younger man who had been with him at the clinic the previous day, his black eye looking a bit worse. Lowell. That was his name.

Nearby, a baby in a high chair banged her spoon against the tray, delighted at the noise she was making. A third man entered the noisy kitchen island conversation, laughing — Cambric Creek’s mayor, Adriana realized. That’s his oldest brother. A dark-haired little boy was driving an RC truck in between people’s feet. A young man who looked to be only nineteen or twenty hopped up onto the island, adding his two cents to the conversation, which, in the span of seconds, turned into a vehement argument about him being allowed on the counter at all.

Beyond the open kitchen, a long, beautifully set table waited, dressed in a white tablecloth, and at it sat yet another sibling, one with a split lip, in conversation with who could only be Trapp’s father. Adriana could at once see the origin of all the Hemming good looks. Two wolvish women sat at the other side of the table in conversation, and through a doorway, on the other side of the big kitchen . . . came the woman she’d met on the street.

Adriana froze. Her lungs had petrified, the air in them turning to sand. It took the other woman several moments for her notice to penetrate the din of the house; her eyes shining and her smile grew huge when she saw Trapp . . . until her head turned, and the smile slid sideways from her face, her mouth opening in shock.

For an endless, yawning eternity, they both stood staring at each other, unmoving. Adriana had stopped breathing. There was no way. There was no way his fucking mother was from two slums over from her childhood home. No way. Not possible. This is just a visitor. She might’ve convinced herself of that if Trapp had not crossed the room, engulfing his mother in a huge hug.

“Mom, this is Adriana. We went to med school together. She’s a doctor at the new urgent care clinic that reopened.”

“. . . The doctor.” The she-wolf’s words were laced with understanding. 

His mother’s voice was impossible not to notice — it wasn’t the same even, sparkling tone she’d used in the shop, but neither was it tinged with an accent that would’ve told the whole world where she’d grown up. Somewhere in the middle. That feels a whole lot more attainable.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Adriana.” Her voice was careful, but her smile seemed genuine enough. “Looks like you found your feet in town with no problem.”

Lunch was a catered affair, with takeout trays from a local restaurant set out on the long marble island; everyone told to help themselves.

“There’s no point doing introductions until we’re sitting down,” Trapp murmured to her, as they joined his siblings around the food. “Don’t be nervous. I know it seems intimidating, but we’re all a bunch of clowns.”

His hand found hers, squeezing reassuringly, and that, she remembered — he had always been warm and kind, opening doors, carrying her things, until the moment they’d fractured. Well, shit. Maybe you really were in a relationship with him. 

Either way, she was certain his words were only meant to make her feel better, at least, until they sat down. Afterward, she was swiftly reminded of what he’d said to Oleg in the ambulance — with his brothers, it was roast or be roasted.

“I can’t believe I’m the only respectable member of this family.” His brother Jackson, the mayor, started in the instant they were all seated at the table, not even giving Trapp the opportunity to introduce her. “You all look like a bunch of criminals.”

“I’m pretty sure you were in the bathroom when the fight broke out,” the brother with the black eye said in disgust, shaking his head, as if it were the most shameful thing in the world that the mayor of the town had not participated in a barroom brawl with the rest of them. “You know. Like an old woman.”

“That’s Lowell,” Trapp cut in, pointing at the brother who had just spoken. “Owen has the split lip, and that’s his girlfriend Tabitha.”

She realized now, seeing them side-by-side, that Lowell and Owen were twins.

“I still can’t believe you were involved in all this.” The she-wolf beside the split-lip brother shook her head disapprovingly. Tabitha and Owen. “You have to go back to work like this tomorrow!”

“I know! I don’t know what happened; it was like my twin alarm was activated. I heard Lowell scream and I had to save him. Nice to meet you, by the way. Sorry we all look like criminals. I was just happy to be included.”

She had no idea why everyone laughed, forcing out her own awkward chuckle, hoping her smile didn’t resemble a grimace as Trapp continued the fast introductions.

“Jackson is at the end of the table; he’s the mayor. That’s Liam; he’s the baby. He’s the one who goes to Mercy. This is my sister-in-law Victoria, you already met Vanessa, and this is Grayson.”

“We’ve met,” his huge brother from the previous afternoon intoned, holding up his stitched hand. “What was that sound you made, Lowell?”

“You’ve already met my mom, Sandi,” Trapp went on, obviously choosing to pretend his brother hadn’t spoken at all. “And this is my dad, Jack. Everyone, this is Adriana.”

“What are you talking about? That was my battle cry!”

“You jumped on that guy’s back like a spider monkey,” the mayor-brother added. “That didn’t sound like a battle cry.”

“What do you mean, a battle cry?” his twin interrupted. “I thought you were dying! I thought someone stabbed you! You’re telling me I got punched for nothing?!”

“That was an ancient Wolvish war cry!” Lowell insisted, incensed. 

“I can’t believe you had a party I couldn’t go to!” the youngest brother added.

Adriana didn’t know if she was allowed to laugh as an outsider, but she wanted to. Are they all kind of ridiculous?

“Lowell, you sounded like a yodeler getting plowed by a centaur.”

“Grayson!”

“Mom, you weren’t there. You’re just going to have to take our word for it.”

“I still don’t understand why you had to hit me as hard as you did,” Trapp added, scowling at his brother. “I have a fucking concussion because of you.”

At the end of the table, the mayor was laughing in the most unmayoral way, she thought. “Trapp, he laid you the fuck out. I’ve never seen anyone go down so hard.”

“Lowell thought you were dead,” the split-lip brother announced, in a tone she thought could only be considered tattling. “He claimed your cabin before they had even picked you up.”

“This is a great preview of what my wedding is going to be like, isn’t it?” Vanessa sighed, eliciting the first laugh from their father.

“I had to knock you out or else you’d still be swinging. Look at my face, Trapp. I have to go to court like this later this week. Look at my fucking hand, that I have to deal with now for the whole month. And she couldn’t even do an invisible stitch.”

All eyes swung to her. Heat burned up her neck. “You can’t do a ladder stitch on knuckles! Your movement would be impeded, and it would tear!”

“Yeah, you were behind him in school, right? Well, he’s a dumbfuck, so . . .”

“Grayson!” Their mother’s voice was appalled. 

Beside her, she could feel Trapp shifting, tightening, getting ready to defend her. Say something! You can’t just sit here. Roast or be roasted.

“Look,” she blurted, finding Trapp’s hand beneath the table. “I know this is probably upsetting for you. You were both the perpetrator and the victim, so there was no ambulance for you to chase, and that manicure looked fresh.”

Vanessa burst out laughing, saving her from her own awkwardness. “It was fresh! Like, that morning!”

Her cheeks warmed when Trapp’s hand squeezed hers, laughter continuing at his brother’s expense.

“Okay, wait, this is serious,” Trapp interjected, waiting until he had everyone’s attention before continuing. “No vendetta against the coffee shop. I appreciate the support, but that’s going to make everything worse.”

“Fuck those sheep,” Lowell pounded a fist on the table. “I’m never stepping foot in that place again.”

“Well, that’s fine, because you live in Tokyo.”

“I can’t agree to that,” the huge brother, Grayson, shook his head. “Because at this point, it’s not even about you, Trapp. It’s the principle of it.”

“Rhonda is too giddy at the thought of sticking it to someone,” their father added, shrugging. “I can’t take that pleasure from her now.”

“Just for the record,” mayor-brother added, “I never agreed to boycott anything. I can’t do that. But I’m not giving back that coffee machine.”

“I’m on a crime spree now,” Lowell continued with far too much enthusiasm. “First the fight. Then I took the whole bowl of suckers from that doctor’s office. We should go rob the scoop truck next.”

“Are you bragging about literally taking candy from babies?” his twin asked, aghast.

“Okay, well, I don’t need an apology from anyone, and I don’t want anyone here insisting that I get it.” Trapp paused, making a face. “But why am I the only one who didn’t get a coffee machine?”

Grayson held up his hand. “The whole month, Trapp.”

“In fairness, you did bust your hand open on his head,” Jackson pointed out. “And to assign blame where it truly belongs—”

Adriana held her breath, wondering if he’d be bold enough to call her out as an outsider in front of them all. Of course he would. They haven’t stopped yelling since you got here.

“Who throws a party two days after the moon and invites a bunch of wolves? You should have known there was going to be a fight.”

She was unable to heed the direction that no one needed to help clean up. That wasn’t something that was done. Her new best friend Vanessa was deep in conversation with Trapp’s father, while the other two women clustered at the end of the table, and she couldn’t just sit there. Her Aunt Rita would have given her a smack if she’d have tried that at home, and she couldn’t do so now.

Several of the brothers had moved into the big room beyond the dining room, Trapp included. She left his side to use the restroom, and on her way back, she couldn’t help but stop at the long table, collecting some of the empty glasses, moving beyond the marble-topped island through the kitchen doorway to find a sink.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to do that.” 

She turned, heart thumping, alone with his mother for the first time since that day she’d accosted her on the sidewalk. Everything about her was still pristine, intentional, put-together and intimidating. Trapp claimed his mother would love her, but then again, Trapp was a spoiled rich kid from this town who’d grown up eating off a silver spoon. Adriana knew better. Especially since she knew where his mother was from. Especially after her next words.

“I could never have imagined that your next iteration would be fucking my favorite son.”

Adriana’s mouth fell open, her voice gone, lungs hitching. Heat flooded her face, and she knew she was as red as a tomato. “I . . . I mean, we . . .”

“Although, I shouldn’t be,” she went on. “Trapp is the most like me. An impulsive hothead. And he makes a pretty good scallopini.” She smiled then, a genuine, warm smile as she contemplated her son. “He was always the most feral of all my boys. And like is drawn to like.” Her eyes rose to Adriana.

Say something! She willed her voice to come out of hiding, even as her coyote flattened low, whimpering. Another predator. “I-I don’t think you’re supposed to have favorites.”

His mother burst out laughing, and the sound was achingly familiar. That immediate code switch again, defenses dropping. “Yeah, well, that’s probably true. And I love them all equally. But he’s the one who taught me how to be a mother.”

She pulled open the dishwasher Adriana would have never found, hidden as it was by the cupboard facings. She handed his mother the glasses one by one, silent teamwork.

“It’s funny,” Sandi said suddenly, hesitating, as though she were debating whether or not to continue. “I told the rest of them they didn’t need to do this in the beginning, too. And they took me at my word.”

At that, she laughed. “I could feel the phantom twist of my ear just thinking about it,” Adriana confessed. “It was hard enough coming empty-handed, but he insisted.”

His mother laughed again. The air felt warmer after that. “You’ve known him since school? I’ll warn you now, he’s a different person from who you met all those years ago. Sometimes, I worry about him. He’s got the biggest heart I’ve ever known, but he doesn’t let people in easily.”

“He has an ugly job,” Adriana offered. “So did I. It’s hard to bring that home. So, I understand that part of him at least.”

The glasses disappeared, one by one, and Adriana made a second trip.

“Did you have a safe turn? There was a coyote pack not far from us, growing up. Gravanis . . . You know, I have no idea what they did for the turn. They may as well have been human.”

She laughed again. “That’s not surprising. We stay low. It’s not safe for us during the turn. Especially around wolves.” She sucked in a sharp breath when his mother lifted her hand, reaching out to tuck a dark strand of hair behind Adriana’s ear.

“You’re part of a different sort of pack, now, sweetheart. There’s safety in that. You’ll see.”

* * *

Her heats were becoming a problem.

Heats for which she had no compass of experience to guide her. She felt foolish even admitting it. It was one thing to have uncontrolled heats as a teenager, as a university student. At almost forty years old, it was humiliating to admit that she was falling apart because of her hormones, because of what Trapp and his smell were doing to her, a little worse with each month that passed.

It was almost alarming how easily they settled into a routine — and worse yet, how natural it felt. She was alone for those forty-eight hours of his shift, and then again most of the third day, when he slept. Alone was what she was used to, and the time was well-spent. 

She was going room-by-room in her townhouse, buying silly little things that had no practical purpose other than making her inexplicably happy. A mirror in a gilt-edged frame of unicorns and squirrels for the long entryway. An oil painting portrait of a fox dressed as a general, and another of a kitten in a towering powdered wig. She found a medallion-style rug patterned with beautiful luna moths to sit in front of her sofa, and added to her plant collection, delighting the beetle sisters with her choices. She found a tiny clock tower attached to a little wooden bridge that sat at the edge of her desk, little streetlamps that fit neatly between the books on her shelf, making the whole wall glow, and a beautiful stained-glass lamp in watery greens and rich purples for the side table.

None of it was necessary. None of the items had any true value other than making her happy. Her mother would’ve disapproved heartily, and she herself would likely have disapproved of the unnecessary discretionary spending just a few months prior, but she was making this place a real home, and maybe healing her inner child a bit at the same time.

“It’s starting to feel like a storybook in here,” Trapp murmured into her neck the night he came over, the first night of his ninety-six hours off, once he’d gone home to sleep for most of the day. “I like it.”

On the nights they spent together, he slept in her townhouse when his nights off coincided with her days at the clinic. They cooked together in her kitchen, stretched out on her sofa, made love in her bed. He did most of the cooking, installed the awning she’d purchased for her patio, and always used a coaster. He bought her a beautiful telescope in a casing of midnight blue, etched in tiny gold stars, which Adriana was excited to take up to the roof, and was only slightly disappointed to learn he planned to put it in her living room window to spy on the neighbor across the street.

“Oh, but I’m the schemer? You’re so full of shit.”

Trapp had only laughed. “You should definitely make friends with him, because he’s not someone you want to snub, but don’t ever, ever trust him. About anything. Ever.”

“Yeah, that seems to be a common refrain, isn’t it?” she muttered darkly. Her sangria confessions to the cat and moth women she’d assumed would be friends had not been kept in the confidence she’d expected, and it didn’t take long until she was agreeing with Trapp’s chaotic younger brother — fuck those sheep. She was still friendly with both Muffy and Avrille, but now she knew to guard her tongue, which didn’t feel like friendship at all.

Trapp’s youngest brother had confirmed that medical school at Mercy was entirely digital these days. Emailed PDFs, zip files of pharmacology, and a flashcard app.

“That’s ridiculous. An app? For flashcards?! You know what, that actually makes a lot of sense now that you’re telling me this. Because some of these residents would come through our doors not knowing their ass from their elbow, and it’s probably because they never had to haul around twelve pounds of flashcards. That was character building.”

“Or stuff their lab coats with anatomy booklets,” Trapp agreed, laughing. “I hate to break it to you, Adi, but your schemes wouldn’t work today. We’re officially old.”

When his nights off coincided with hers, they stayed at his house.

The area around the university was beautiful. The streets tiered around steep hills like piped rings of frosting on a cake, full of uneven sidewalks and quirky little boutiques and taverns. Trapp seemed more at home in this little section of town than in the coolly sophisticated development she lived in, with its young professionals and the overzealous HOA that had given her a citation her very first night in town, for her trailer blocking several inches of the sidewalk. 

When they would walk hand-in-hand to the hole-in-the-wall restaurant down the street that served authentic amphibious cuisine, Adriana would watch their reflection in the glass of the shops, feeling as though she were looking through that rain-soaked alternate reality once more, happy that in this version, they’d wound up finding each other again.

Despite his brother’s impatience, the full moon was upon them in the blink of an eye. It was the first turn they were spending together, and she was terrified.

He had a cabin at some secluded lake, because fucking of course he did. It would be safe, he assured her. It was a huge tract of wooded property, the closest neighbors being the cabins that belonged to his older brothers. There would be no one — and no other wolves — around for miles. They could leave a day early, he’d suggested, enjoy the quiet of the woods together before the turn. 

She’d never been on vacation with anyone. She’d never been on vacation at all.

The turn was unsafe, and now she was going away with him for what was supposed to be a romantic weekend together, spending the moon together, the epitome of were passion. All she could do, however, was panic.

As the moon moved across the sky each month, it took her calm with it.

She had never been this way before. She focused on work, and work took every ounce of her focus, and even though every day was different, the emergency department was always the same. She knew what to expect — controlled chaos and sometimes outright mayhem, patients she would stabilize and never see again, patients she would lose, an unceasing wave of bodies through the door, punctuated by long hours and little sleep. 

Here, though . . . the clinic provided nothing for her brain to chew. Low-acuity patients who never coded in the middle of the waiting area, no one shouting for an assist, names she was expected to remember, one more question she was expected to ask. Too much time to overthink, and with the increased heat in her veins as the moon approached, Adriana felt like she was in a freefall.

It gave her too much time to think about Trapp. Think about him and stress over him, for surely something was going to go wrong. Either he would decide she was too much or too little, the reason everchanging in her imagination, or else she would discover something about him that she would not be able to overlook. Going away together, even for just a day, held the promise of amplifying that possibility, until the moon had her convinced it was inevitable.

When she left the clinic the day after Trapp had casually suggested the cabin plan, she wandered around the Food Gryphon as if it was the first time she had ever been grocery shopping in her life. What would they need? What would he want? Maybe this is moving too fast. You should stay home in your yard where you’ll be safe. After all, it had only been a month since that night at his house, when they’d agreed to give their relationship a second chance.

What if you get to the cabin and he does something disgusting? What if he cuts his toenails while you’re sitting on the sofa? What if he leaves wet towels on the bathroom floor? Are you willing to be in a relationship with a werewolf who doesn’t put his dirty underwear in the hamper? She didn’t know him anymore. His own mother had confirmed that. She didn’t know if Trapp did any of the above, and that was the point. There was no greater source of anxiety than the unknown.

She wandered around the store, thinking of one horrific scenario after the next, somehow finding herself at the checkout with several bottles of wine, a charcuterie board, and a decadent-looking brownie tray from the bakery. What if he can’t have chocolate?! It took her several panicking moments in front of the trollish cashier to remember that she, herself, was a caninae were and unaffected by chocolate in her upright bones.

Her anxiety crouched within her like a toad, silent and waiting in the darkness for an opportunity to begin croaking. By the time she got home, it was all she could hear.

He’d pulled into the townhouse’s short driveway only minutes after she had, not even giving her the chance to melt down privately. You knew he was coming over tonight. He literally texted you from the grocery store. Why are you acting like this is a sneak attack?! 

“Do you go up there often?” she asked, forcing herself to focus on the conversation they were in the midst of, him asking again if she wanted to leave the next day to go off to the woods.

Trapp shrugged, carrying the grocery bags upstairs to the kitchen. “Not as often as I’d like to. It’s hard with work. I don’t always want to make the drive the morning of the turn and then have to drive all the way back the next night. My ex and I would go up for a weekend here or there, but not often. My brother has used it more than I have in the past two years.”

Adriana turned from the counter, where she’d pulled out the wine. “Your ex?”

Trapp’s head raised from the bag he was emptying, his eyes wide. “I . . . my ex-girlfriend? Like I said, it’s been a while. My brother was the last one to use it, and that was like eight months ago.”

Of course he had an ex-girlfriend. Look at him. He probably has dozens of ex-girlfriends. “Oh. Yeah, sure. That makes sense. How-how long were you together?”

He was bent over, half in the refrigerator, putting things away. “A few years.”

She should have been helping him. At the very least, she could be pre-heating the oven for dinner. “How long ago did you break up?”

Trapp’s head raised again, his dark eyes still wide. “Um . . . not . . . not that long ago. She’s moved away already. I’ll probably never see her again.”

“What’s not long ago?”

“This conversation just got really painful, didn’t it?” he laughed uncomfortably. “Almost four months ago?”

“Four months?” Adriana squinted. This was her third full moon since she had moved for the job at the clinic. Her third full moon, and she had been in Cambric Creek for at least a few weeks before that first moon. “That’s . . . right around the time I moved here?”

“Sure, maybe? It was at the end of the school year. There was this festival on Main Street . . . we broke up that same night. So like, end of May?”

Adriana gasped. The heat that had just begun simmering in her veins didn’t just make her ache for him physically. It amplified all of her emotions, including the ones she took daily medication to control. “That was the night I moved to town! Are you . . . are you monkey-branching with me?! Oh, my gods, you are! Do you still talk to her? Wait, were you cheating on her? Are you even single now? How do I know you ever actually divorced VanderCunt?! I’ll bet you cut your toenails on the sofa too, don’t you? A bar of soap probably hasn’t seen your backside in a year!”

“What?!” Trapp was gaping at her, refrigerator door wide open, forgotten. “I don’t even know what monkey branching means. Did you . . . you think I have a dirty ass??”

“Well, I don’t know, Trapp! How could I know?!”

She was breathing hard, heat crawling up her cheeks, up her nose, across her forehead until she felt as though steam might start pouring out of her scalp. She felt itchy in her skin and uncomfortable in her bones. The refrigerator door began to beep, making her jump.

“Okay, let’s just sit down.” She didn’t want him to touch her, but her knees were shaking, she realized, allowing him to lead her to the sofa. “Baby, you are burning up. You need to drink something. Whatever suppressant you are taking, it is not strong enough.”

“It’s because of you! I’ve never had heats like this before, never once! I . . . I take medication for anxiety, but by this point in the month—”

“It’s already burned out of your system. It probably started burning off a week ago. Do you have that bottle of Suppresene I got you?”

She nodded, shakily. “It’s in the bathroom upstairs. But maybe I don’t need that? Maybe you just need to give me your—”

Trapp leaned in until he was able to capture her mouth, silencing her with a kiss, holding by the chin inspecting her eyes critically. “That’s not a good idea. You are shaking with fever, Adriana. Your eyes are already blown out. You weren’t even this bad on the rig! That’s kind of the definition of questionable consent, and I don’t do that.”

The smell of him was invading her lungs, pine and black pepper, making her eyes roll back. It was two full days to the moon. He was right — she needed a much stronger dosage. Either that, or you need him to commit fully to fucking you through this every month, since he’s the one causing it. She shivered. “Are you sure? Because I think that would be a really good idea. Did you take your girlfriend to the cabin for the change?”

Trapp didn’t answer until he had returned with a bottle of cold water. “My ex. My ex-girlfriend. Every once in a while. As I said, it wasn’t very often.”

“But she was a wolf? Did she let you knot her?”

“She was a human, and no, she didn’t.”

“What?!”

Trapp only shrugged, disappearing as he jogged up the steps to the bedroom. When he returned, he was shaking the little pill bottle. “Right now. Two of them. Before you ask me my body count next.”

“Do you know it?”

“No! I don’t! And I don’t care! I don’t care about yours, either!” He stopped, dropping his head back, eyes closed. “I think we need to table this conversation until later. I will tell you anything you want to know, Adriana, but not while you’re burning up with heat. I can’t believe you think I don’t wash my ass.”

The pills didn’t work as quickly as the shot, but they worked well enough. The grogginess was immediate. Trapp placed a cool rag on her forehead, kissing her gently. “Just close your eyes. This week you need to go up to the offices and have one of Shay’s doctors write you a stronger script.”

When her eyes opened, it was dark. She was sure she’d only closed them for a few minutes. You were further gone than you realized. Trapp sat cross-legged in the armchair across from her in a firehouse hoodie, his feet bare, black reading glasses perched on his nose, his laptop’s glow the only light in the room.

“And you wear slutty little glasses. How much more don’t I know?”

His chuckle was warm as he set the laptop aside, taking one last sip from his coffee cup before moving to where she lay. “How do you feel?”

He would have been an excellent doctor. The back of his hand checked her forehead, her neck, his index finger pressing lightly behind her ear before laying two fingers across her jumping pulse, calm, soft smile never leaving his face. The effortless bedside manner she had struggled with her whole career.

“Heart rate’s still a little high, but your fever’s come down.”

When her hands cupped his face to pull him in, he didn’t pull back, meeting her lips.

“Wait, that doesn’t taste like coffee.”

“That’s because it’s not. Spirulina, creatine, protein powder, almond milk. Do you think this body comes out of a coffee pot? And I only occasionally wear slutty little glasses this close to the turn, because I have a mild astigmatism that was not helped by being punched in the head. It’s getting worse as I get older. And my knees are going. I’m probably going to be feeble by the time I’m fifty, just so you’re aware.”

Adriana laughed, relief flooding her almost as thoroughly as the suppressant had. He hadn’t left, despite her panic. Trapp engulfed her in his arms, lifting and twisting, turning them until he was reclined on the couch and she was tucked against him, wrapped in his arms. Safe and secure.

“My girlfriend was a human. We were together not quite four years. I didn’t realize until after she was gone, but we never actually made it to that anniversary. Yes, it was right before you started at the clinic. No, I’m not monkey-hanging you, or whatever it’s called. This isn’t a rebound fling for me. I can tell you more about our breakup, but just to warn you in advance, it’s going to make me sound like a piece of shit.”

Adriana lifted her head. “You don’t have to, if it makes you uncomfortable.” When he sighed beneath her, she moved with him.

“Yes, I do. Because if you’re going to panic over things you don’t know, then—”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize, Adriana,” he cut her off, his voice a little harder. “You don’t have to apologize for assuming I’m going to do something to hurt you. It’s not like I’ve never shown you what I’m capable of.” He blew out a hard breath, his hand pushing into her hair. Her eyes fluttered shut at the weight of it, wanting to sink into him fully. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m keeping things from you intentionally. When she dumped me, and that’s what happened, I didn’t really care. Four years together, and I was more concerned with the optics of her leaving than with her leaving at all. That’s terrible. She left because she wanted more, and now I don’t blame her. The relationship was a very comfortable routine that I wasn’t invested in changing.”

“If she wanted more, then why didn’t she tell you that?” she argued against the front of his sweatshirt. His hand slid beneath the hem of her shirt, stroking up her back, the weight of his long fingers and warm palm anchoring her. “Why didn’t she fight to change things?”

Trapp shrugged, bobbing her again. “She wasn’t a fighter, I guess? She shouldn’t have had to.”

“Well, fuck that. I guess it’s my turn to break bad news, because I will fight with you seven days a week.”

His shoulders shook as he laughed, his chest vibrating beneath her, threatening to dislodge her. “I am also a fighter. Just so you know, I will pick fights for no reason at all.”

“If I have a bad day at the clinic, you will absolutely get a piece of it,” she agreed. “I guess it’s good if we know that going in, right?”

“What else?” He murmured into her hair, snuffling against her the way his wolf would. “What else do you want to know? I don’t know my body count. It’s high. I was a slut after my divorce. I guess slut is my natural state if I’m not involved with someone. But I’m always safe,” he added hurriedly. “I have to get a physical every six months for work, and STI screening is part of it. Just in case you were worried.”

She nodded, nuzzling against his chest, the weight of his arm over her feeling like a mooring line. “You’re a wolf. It’s what I expect, but I’m glad you get tested. And I was serious — if you ever cheat on me, you’re going away forever.”

“What else? Unless you actually think I have a dirty ass, I feel like there was more to all that earlier. And just so you know, none of Sandi’s sons have dirty asses. I’m going to pretend I’m not offended.”

She wondered if he was able to feel her heart rate kick up again. No, but he can probably hear it. Wolf, remember? “Are we doing this too fast?” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I-I don’t want to mess this up by moving too quickly. And I don’t know if we are.”

He was quiet, stroking her back, nodding after a moment. “Maybe we are. We can pull back. If you want me to—”

“I don’t,” she said quickly. “That’s the problem. I don’t want you to pull back. I don’t know what the right thing to do is.”

“I get it,” he murmured, a hum against her. “It’s just . . . I already know you. It’s hard to take things slow when I know you. Same temper. Same stubbornness. Same brilliance. But I’ll do whatever you want.”

“You’re not the same, Trapp.” Her voice was soft, but pointed. “You’re not the same person you were in school. You are, but you’ve had a whole life since then that wasn’t on our roadmap. I have too, but it’s what I’d always planned for. Yours isn’t. Even your mom said you’re not the same.”

Trapp laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “My family is like the rest of the town. They assume the majority of my job involves setting up an obstacle course for the preschool bike rodeo.”

Adriana was quiet, giving him space to think, pushing a hand beneath the hem of his sweatshirt, scraping her nails against his stomach.

“When I came back here, everyone expected me to be coming home as Dr. Hemming.” His voice was strained. “The fact that I wasn’t was a scandal. And obviously I don’t mean that like a headline news scandal; I’m not that conceited. But there’s nothing this town loves gossiping about more than my family. So one of the Hemming boys falling short of expectations did not go unnoticed. I got the EMT job because I felt like I still needed to be doing something with my degree. At least something medical. And I genuinely do want to help people.”

She tipped her head up, watching his face from her limited advantage. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes were stormy.

“And then it became something else entirely. That uniform is like armor. I wasn’t Trapp the dropout. I was Trapp the hero. And it wasn’t a uniform I ever needed to take off.”

“Every uniform needs to be washed once in a while.”

He laughed, and she was relieved that it sounded like him. “Is this you telling me I have a dirty ass again?”

“I don’t think I should be held responsible for anything I say while I am suffering from a heat that you caused.”

“Whatever. I’m going to call you next time I’m in the shower so you can watch. Anyway, you completely dismantled everything when you arrived, congratulations. All of a sudden, people remembered that I was Trapp the Dropout. Not actually that heroic. But I don’t think I care anymore. My brother was right. I can’t tiptoe around this place forever.”

“Who are you going to be now?” She asked the question lightly, meaning to be cheeky, but he winced as if the contemplation caused him pain.

“I still don’t know.”

Adriana closed her eyes and focused on the solid, steady thump of his heart. He was a good man. A good wolf. A good man with the ability to be horrible, but a good wolf just the same, and she hadn’t known many of those in her lifetime. It was a shame he didn’t see that.

“Maybe you can just be . . . Trapp?” She shrugged. “Okay, not to change the subject, but can I make a suggestion without you getting upset? Since we’re disclosing painful truths to each other.”

His head lifted, eyebrows coming together. “I’m not going to get upset with you. Whatever it is.”

“Maybe going to the cabin is a mistake,” she blurted, voicing what she’d been thinking for the past several weeks. “Maybe I should stay here, in my yard. You should do what you normally do. And I’ll stay in my yard, where it’s safe.”

Trapp sighed beneath her, squeezing the hand that was in her hair. “I don’t understand what you think is going to happen out there.”

“You . . . you don’t understand, Trapp. There’s no guarantee your wolf will know me. I’m small. I’m a liability out there. If your wolf sees me as a threat, or worse, as prey — you might kill me before you even realize who I am. You should just do what you do, and I’ll do what I do.”

He had gone very still beneath her. Adriana wasn’t sure if he was still breathing until his nails scraped over her scalp, once it was clear she was finished talking. “I would never hurt you.” His voice was a low rumble of thunder against her, pulling her tighter against his chest; his heavy arms settled securely around her. The warmth of him was like an inferno, and she gladly tucked against it. “And neither would my wolf.”

Adriana sighed against him. “Trapp—”

“And I don’t know if that’s necessarily true.” His words were slow, and when she craned her neck up, his brow was furrowed. “That-that my wolf won’t know you. I think . . . I think I might have gone to you last turn? I don’t know, I’ve never been good at parallel consciousness. But I woke up with those annoying little pods from your tree out front all around me, like they had been stuck in my fur.”

She stiffened at the connection. In the weeks since, she had convinced herself she was being foolish, letting wishful thinking take root in her consciousness and supplant reality. Surely, the depression in the grass was what she herself had done, shifting throughout the night as she hunkered down, trying to stay out of the biting rain. Hearing him say it, though . . .

“I think you’re right.” Her voice was barely a whisper, eyes closed, thinking back to that day, when she’d woken beneath the table and found the huge depression in the grass all around her, and how safe she’d felt. “You protected me from the rain.”

The heat simmering in her veins had cooled, but she didn’t need it as she dragged his shoulders down, nails digging into his sweatshirt until she was able to reach his mouth.

She was on top of him, in control. It took no maneuvering at all to shift herself until she was straddling his body.

“Thank you for not wearing hard pants. Make this a lot easier.” He was already stiff when she pulled him up over the waistband of his joggers, yanking them down his hips.

“Only psychopaths wear hard pants at home.”

Adriana backed up to the end of the sofa, giving herself room to stroke him. She remembered what he had done to himself that day on her bed. Twisting up his shaft, hand over hand, rubbing the flat of her palm over his slit until it was slick. Easing back his foreskin, she covered his head with her mouth, tightening her lips, twisting until he groaned.

“Wait,” Trapp gritted out. “I want a guarantee you’re not spitting in my mouth again. Maybe we should—”

“If I promise to swallow, will you shut the fuck up?”

The vibration of his laughter buzzed against her lips as she got to work. She was awkward and had no real relationship experience and probably needed to be on different, stronger anti-anxiety meds, but this . . . this she could do. You’re with a pack bitch now, rich boy. And I guarantee Leelee VanderCunt wouldn’t suck your cock like this. He was thick and long, but her gag reflex was minimal and she could open her throat.

“What the fuck, Adi. Am I just supposed to lie here like a slug? Can you at least turn around?” he demanded, nearly dislodging her from the sofa.

“We’re about to have our first fight,” she warned him, laughing as she stumbled off the sofa. “Why can’t I just suck your cock without it needing to be a contest?”

Trapp reached out, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her leggings, pulling them and her panties straight down. “If your pussy was on my mouth, I wouldn’t be arguing, would I? Why don’t you help me shut up?”

“This is not what this sofa was built for,” she laughed, climbing back over him unsteadily, squeaking when he pulled her by the hips until she was positioned over his face. Adriana reached around, rescuing his glasses before she was pulled onto his mouth.

“Trapp, this is not a minor astigmatism. This is the prescription of someone with a serious vision issue.”

“I’d say the better to see you with, but without them, I really can’t.”

The first stroke of his tongue against her made her eyes roll back and her thighs tremble around his face, nearly toppling off him. Long licks, his tongue wide and flat, she imagined this was what his wolf would do to her as well. When his lips closed around the pearl of her clit, sucking lightly, she rocked against him involuntarily, her breath hitching.

“I want to still be able to taste this perfect pussy during the change,” he groaned against her. “Ride my tongue and come on my mouth until I’m drowning.”

She was helpless to oblige.

She’d always thought that it wasn’t fair for him to be handsome and smart and rich, and now she could add this — it wasn’t fair that he was everything he was and could reduce her to a quivering heap atop him so easily. His tongue stroked back and forth, sliding through her folds, over and around her clit, his lips sucking until she bucked against him again, crying out. She could barely reach his cock from her position, stretching until her lips closed around his head.

His knot had begun to swell, and Adriana dragged her blunt, too-short nails over it. Soon enough, they would be black claws, and then she could scratch him. Trapp hitched beneath her when she gripped his scrotum, massaging his balls in time to the way his tongue worked against her. She was rocking against him, riding his mouth, tilting her hips at just the right angle that gave his tongue the most surface coverage over her, friction right where she needed it. Trapp groaned against her, the wordless encouragement she needed. She wanted his knot. She needed his knot. She needed to be filled by him, needed him to cool the heat in her blood and fill her till she was bursting with him, but first she needed to shake apart against his tongue.

Adriana jolted when he raised a hand to grip her ass, smacking her lightly, encouraging her to move the way she needed. She didn’t need to be told again. Her hips began to move steadily, his tongue rubbing her clit in a way that made her toes curl, heat bubbling in her veins, spreading through her core, and when he sucked again, hard, she broke.

Adriana wheezed, hips stuttering, pulsing against his tongue. Trapp never slowed, never stopped, worked her through it, his head not pulling back until she was slack atop him.

After that, he wasted no time reversing their positions.

She had no idea how he flipped them so easily in such a narrow space, pulling her up to her knees beneath him. 

“Do you need my knot?” 

His voice was a rumble in her ear, his cock pressing into her in one long, endless thrust, until her body was flush to his. He already knew the answer, for there was no doubt he could feel the way her breath was hitching, her heart thudding. 

“The smell of you is making me crazy,” he groaned. “But I need to know you want it, Adi. Do you want to take my knot?” 

His hips snapped, hard and deep, and the high-pitched sound that came out of her on each thrust reverberated around the high ceiling. She’d spent too many full moons seeking to cool her blood with random hook-ups that never quite satisfied, once with a surgeon who liked it rough, and she’d settled for his brand of pleasure for several months in an effort to appease her baser nature, but this . . . this was what she’d been missing. All those years of unsatisfying hook-ups because her body already knew the shape of him, knew that she was made for him, and maybe him alone. His knot kissed her entrance on every hard thrust, making her see stars.

“Please. Please, Trapp. Give it to me. I want it.”

The groan in her hair made her shiver. His speed increased, the hands he had splayed over hers tightening. His nose pushed against her hair, inhaling, pushing against her until he had access to her neck, teeth dragging over her skin. “I love hearing you beg for me.”

She was certain the nosy satyr across the street was able to hear the strangled sound that ripped from her throat when his knot popped into place within her, her body going rigid, the orgasm so deep it almost hurt. His teeth came down on her neck, groaning as he came, his hips jerking, and Adriana was certain she’d passed out, going limp beneath him.

When her eyes opened, her blood was cool, and she was flattened against the sofa beneath him.

“What were we thinking? There are three bedrooms in this place. Why the fuck are we on the couch?”

His laughter was a rumbling vibration against her, and she tried to control her own, for each tug of his knot within her made her wince. Somehow, Trapp slid them to the floor, curling her on her side, a little spoon tucked against him, tied to him.

Her head was heavy. She felt languid and loose, her eyes closing . . .

The windows shook in their casements as a rumble of thunder shook the house. Trapp groaned into her hair. “I am so sick of this fucking rain. Fine, you win. We can stay home in your yard. But tomorrow morning I’m putting up a fucking tarp.”

She sighed in contentment, her head pillowed on his arm, his fingers in her hair. It would have been childish to gloat, but there was nothing she wanted more than to stay here, where she knew she was safe. With him, where she knew she was safe. “That sounds perfect to me.”

Trapp

The lounge in Bridgeton glittered. Everything about the place shone and gleamed in gold — the low club-style chairs, the pedestal tables topped with smoked black glass, the low railings that separated the seating areas. It was wildly over the top and excessively expensive, judging from the clientele who laughed from tables as if the tab on their endless bottles of champagne were of no concern.

Trapp squeezed her hand reassuringly.

He’d begun to see the world through her eyes, those last few months. He knew he was privileged. Knew he was born privileged and had lived a privileged life every day he’d been alive, but knowing that and seeing it from a different vantage point were two very different things. Living in Cambric Creek sometimes kept him from having to consider that other worldview, but being in a relationship with someone who’d never had any of the above was eye-opening.

He tightened his grip on her, already knowing she was going to be intimidated. Glancing down, he saw that her eyes were wide, but she squeezed his hand in return in silent acknowledgment.

For as much of a fan of over-the-top access his brother was, this place was even a titch beyond even his tastes. Trapp had no doubt the only reason it had been chosen was the proximity to Grayson and Vanessa’s apartment in the city. The Templeton was one of the fanciest high-rises on the skyline, and the surrounding neighborhood reflected that income bracket.

Too rich for our blood. I’m happy at the Man-o-War.

They sat close to the bar, at one of the low tables, surrounded by a golden railing. Vanessa was perched on the side of Grayson’s chair, her purse lying abandoned on her own, whispering in his ear, her face brightening immediately when she saw them, waving.

If Adriana didn’t like Gray and Vanessa, she hid it well. She leaned in for a half hug and an air kiss from the future Mrs. Hemming before taking her seat beside Trapp and quickly finding his hand.

“This place is ridiculous.”

Grayson laughed, agreeing as he drained his glass. “It’s a King Midas bukkake fever dream. I give them six months.”

“This place changes owners at least every ten months,” Vanessa put in. “We like to make sure we come to every new business and get one of their glasses. I’ve got a whole little collection. It’s like a restaurant industry graveyard.”

“We have something very important to discuss with the two of you,” Gray started, and Vanessa slid back into place on the side of his chair, his arms snaking around her waist.

She nodded emphatically. “Very important.”

Trapp's brow furrowed. “Wedding related? And we had to discuss it in this Las Vegas showroom?”

“Speaking of Vegas, do you ever follow the World Series of Poker? You need to start. I’m convinced we’re going to find Dad randomly in the listings.”

At that image, Trapp barked out a laugh. “Just sitting in the corner with his aviators on, utterly destroying these twenty-five-year-old podcast suckers. Yeah, you’re probably right. He’s so bored now that Jackson is in office. And with Liam gone? You’d better be careful. He’s going to start planning your campaign any minute now.”

“Are-are you running for office?” Adriana’s voice was hesitant. She still tiptoed around conversations, especially with the domineering duo, but Trapp hoped it was getting easier for her.

“Eventually, but I’m a few years off from that. I had court today, which is why we are in the Bouillon Room, to answer your question.”

“Did you win? Are we celebrating?”

Grayson rolled his eyes, signaling to a server. “I don’t win anymore, Trapp. I go around in circles chasing the same fucking issue over and over again, in front of the same judges, with all the same fucking talking points. As long as we’re not dismissed outright, I have to call that career satisfaction. Anyway.”

They paused when the server arrived, taking their drink orders.

Adriana leaned close until he bent to her lips. “Do I look okay? This place is fancier than I was expecting. I feel like I should be showing more tit.”

Trapp grinned, teeth nipping at her neck. “You know I am never going to say no to that. But you look beautiful.”

She nodded, tugging on the hem of her black dress after accepting his kiss.

“Trapp, we have a real problem. I don’t know if you realize that.”

He straightened up, brow furrowing, waiting for Vanessa to continue.

“We need to know what’s going on with the two of you,” Grayson continued, sitting back, wrinkling his nose, as if Trapp and Adriana had presented themselves for inspection and were coming up lacking. “Every day, we are losing ground. You see that, don’t you? It is a perilous place to be.”

“What the fuck are the two of you going on about? Are you going to say something that makes sense at any point tonight?”

“You two need to make your relationship very official, real fucking fast. We are outnumbered, Trapp. Jackson and Owen have supplanted us. With Mom. With Dad. Everywhere. They are completely enmeshed at City Hall now; that’s their domain. Dad doesn’t even have the same pull. Jackson wears the baby in every day like a backpack and the whole building thinks he’s Superdad. That leaves the field wide open for Owen to pull his Owen bullshit. Open your eyes.”

He began to laugh, stopping when he realized his brother was serious, and then laughed harder. “Gray, you realize that’s fucking insane, right?”

Vanessa was shaking her head. “It’s not, Trapp. He’s right!” She and Grayson shared a fast look. “We think Owen and Tabitha are already married. If she comes to Christmas dinner and announces she’s pregnant, it’s done.”

Trapp leaned in, eyes narrowing. Now they had his attention.

“Wait, Owen, your brother? And his girlfriend? Why do you think that?”

Trapp slapped an open palm down on the table, making Adriana jump. “Motherfucker, you’re right," he choked out. "Dad told Lowell that Owen bought a ring, and that was like two years ago. That sneaky fuck!”

Grayson sat back, raising his hands. “I’m glad you’re caught up.”

“But why?” Adriana cut in. She had also leaned into the conversation, as if she were too interested in the Hemming Family telenovela to miss the next scene.

“Because that’s Owen’s MO. He’s a sneaky bastard; always has been. Like, since he and Lowell were kids. I cannot believe I am still getting grief for eloping.”

“Exactly.” Vanessa leaned in, finger going down on the glass-top table, a prosecutor going in for the kill. “And because you have already established the precedent within the family, it’s not going to be received as harshly. But because he’s seen how your parents reacted to you not telling anyone, he knows better. They’re keeping it under the radar until they can come to the negotiating table with a stronger position.”

“What’s that?” Adriana asked, her beautiful eclipse eyes like saucers.

“They’re waiting until she’s pregnant. I am telling you, Trapp. They learned from your mistakes.”

Trapp sat back, allowing the server to put fresh drinks on the table, twinkling up at her. He hadn’t forgotten how to be Trapp Hemming, after all. He still knew his lines. He just delivered them more sparingly these days.

That week he had made breaded veal with linguine at the firehouse on his night to cook. Adriana had made a freezer full of cheese-stuffed arancini a few nights earlier, to prove he wasn’t the only were in the relationship who knew their way around the kitchen, packing a tray for the firehouse.

His station mates had practically cheered.

The next day, they responded to a call at the community center — one of the seniors had fallen during class. Marva had been there, stapling up a flyer for the fall festival. “Trapp, I don’t suppose we could get your help hauling tables for this?”

He had given her one of his professional Trapp Hemming smiles, the one he reserved for the community center, for the elementary school, and the ice cream social. “I think we’ve got something going on that weekend, Marva. Sorry. But do you still need help with this?” He tapped the flyer a bit higher on the wall, the children’s carnival being set up in the library parking lot as a fundraiser for the play center.

“Oh, why, yes!”

He could have sworn the goblin shivered under the blinding light of his smile. “Perfect. Sign me up. I’ll be there.”

He had walked out of the community center whistling. Trapp Hemming, work in progress. It was the best he could do.

“Okay, wait a minute.” Trapp held his temples, shaking off his brother’s insane paranoia. “I don’t have to care about this. I don’t aspire to be dad’s favorite. That’s your game. I’m secure with mom.”

At that, Adriana almost choked, her face going red, recovering after a moment and hiding her laughter in the crook of her arm.

“And how long do you think that’s going to last?” Grayson asked far too seriously for the subject matter. “How long do you think you’ll be the favorite? You’re a single forty-year-old man with no kids. You’re a step away from eating Thanksgiving dinner at the diner, Trapp.”

Adriana was wheezing.

“Okay, now I know you two have been leaving your tightening clay masks on too long. Owen will never supplant me as Mom’s favorite.”

Grayson leaned in with a terrifying smile, Vanessa right there beside him. “You can’t compete with grandkids, Trapp. Have you seen Cecily? That kid is fucking adorable. And she’s a girl, so,” Grayson made another gesture as if his meaning was obvious.

“Not to mention,” Vanessa added, “we think it’s really shitty they used Cecily. That’s our name.”

“Are you having a baby?” Adriana gasped, excitement coloring her words, ready to offer her congratulations. “And they stole your name?!”

Vanessa wrinkled her nose. “Ew, no. But yes, they did steal our name!”

Trapp shook his head, pinching his nose. They were ridiculous. “If you’re not planning on having kids, which I know you’re not—”

“That’s a Grayson family name, Trapp!” Vanessa shot back, her long nail tapping on the glass table again. “And you know it. Why didn’t they take one of the Jackson family names, hmm? Where’s little Miranda?”

“I see what’s going on here. Did you go to the heritage museum, or something? Did Tris send you his project? You’re buying into the Henry hype. I’ve got terrible news for you, Nessa. You might be marrying a Grayson Henry Hemming, but you are not getting a Henry out of this deal.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Adriana poked him.

“Let’s cut the bullshit,” Grayson interrupted. “The two of you need to have a kid. That’s the bottom line. I guarantee you Owen and Tabitha are going to have a big announcement in the next few months, and ‘Oh, hey, by the fucking way, we got married a year ago.’ We can’t let the two of them gain that much ground.”

“This is like teams, then,” Adriana put in, finally understanding the level of ridiculousness that encapsulated his family. “Is that what this is? You’re on two different teams? You and your brothers? What about the one who stole all my suckers? Which team is he on?”

“Oh, Lowell belongs to us.”

“Yeah, why can’t Lowell and Moriah take one for the team? Why is this falling on our shoulders? I’m a firefighter. I’m a hero. You have high blood pressure from two decades of cocaine and a sixty-two year-old mistress. You don’t get to shoot orders at anyone.”

“Trapp.” Grayson dragged his hands down his face, rubbing his temples, as if Trapp were the one too foolish for comprehension. “Be serious. A Lowell baby will only count for half points. First, it has a fifty percent chance of being a clown. Second, it will live on the other side of the fucking world. How is Mom going to hold that?”

“I hate to say that this is all on the two of you,” Vanessa went on. “But it’s all on the two of you. Until Gray is ready to run, you have to pick up the slack. We need a kid. Expeditiously.”

“Do we win something?” Adriana demanded, her competitive streak flaring to life. “What does the winning team get?”

“Do we at least get a Grayson family name? There’s no Trapp in the history books; I’m one of a kind.”

Grayson raised his hand magnanimously. “You can have any name you want.”

“That’s real fucking generous of you, thank you so much. I sure hope you’re picking up the tab tonight. You know, the two of you are going to have the happiest marriage in history, because you’re marrying yourselves.” He turned to Adriana. “What did I tell you? You fit right in with this bunch.”

“I mean, we did say we were both okay with the idea of having kids,” Adriana pointed out. “Can we win something good? I’m okay if it’s just influence.”

“Yeah, she’s great. I like her. Best thing you’ve ever done in a lifetime of terrible decisions. You’ve got a fitting at the tailor this week. Do not be late. Do not sleep through it. I will punch you again, Trapp. And make sure you accept the calendar invite that went out today and clear your fucking schedule. I’m tired of hearing you cry that you can’t make it to something for the wedding because you were too busy judging Gorsha-Jean’s peach pie recipe for the county fair.” Grayson turned to Adriana. “If I come into your germ-covered clinic, can you give me an occipital nerve block? If you say yes, we will be unstoppable. You’ll just have to drag him along.”

You’re surrounded by schemers. This is your life, one scheme after the next.

Hours later, back in his bed, Adriana stretched across him, sweat cooling on their skin, and propped her head up.

“I didn’t understand half of what they were saying, but I am obsessed with learning. I've never been in a family with lore. Also, your family kind of makes me feel better about being poor.”

Trapp laughed, stroking her back. “Yeah, we all need therapy. Like, real bad. It is not a good idea to have a kid for a competition with my brothers. Learn from me. It is not worth it. Jackson and Grayson have been in a death match since infancy, and despite his outward performance, Jackson is just as bad. It’s never going to end. They just keep upping the ante. Gray is probably right, though, about Owen, that sneaky fuck. Doing what I did and not getting in trouble for it. Fucking typical."

Adriana hummed. “Well, I don’t think we need to have a baby tomorrow. I’m just saying, we did say we were open to the idea. If we could win a contest in the process . . .”

She got up to brush her teeth, and Trapp picked up his phone, ensuring his alarm was set for the next morning. The calendar invite from Gray was there in the corner.

Groomsmen anal sunning appointment - NON-NEGOTIABLE -Trapp’s idea

Trapp closed his eyes, smiling in the darkness. He hadn’t lost his person at all. He’d found her again and learned an important lesson.

It turned out he had a type of favorite person, and he was surrounded by them.

Adriana

She had lived in the city for years, and the nonstop sound of traffic and sirens was background noise to which she was completely immune.

Here, though, in Cambric Creek, that nonstop city churn didn’t exist. Here, she was able to hear the rush of water from the downtown falls, the buzzing of cicadas in the trees, the merry little bell of the trolley. That night the air was rent with the wail of sirens. Adriana might have slept through it, if it hadn’t gone on for so long. 

She could pick out the long, sonorous call of a hook and ladder, the more piercing wail of an ambulance, the sirens coming in an endless wave. Stations Two and Twelve. Battalion Two. Medic Forty-three. She’d never understood why civilians had police scanners, but now . . . She would’ve given anything to have known what units had been called in for whatever calamity was happening. All of them. You already know it’s all of them.

She paced around her townhouse, down one staircase, down the next, peering out her front door, walking all the way back up to the very top, deciding at length that she could not stay indoors for another second.

The air already carried the smell of smoke, and she hunched against it, twisting in agony. She had spent fifteen years hating Trapp Hemming, and only realized in the past several months that hatred was just love on a discordant frequency. And now, the thought of him in peril made her frantic.

She was a fool, she told herself as she slid behind the wheel of her small SUV. Foolish, but she knew herself. There was no way she could do anything but twist in agony until she knew he was safe. As she drove to the firehouse that night, she wondered if his mother was pacing the floors of her giant house at that moment, wondering the same.

It felt as though hours had passed before the vehicles began returning, one by one, in a silent, dark line. She was parked across the street from the station, in the same angled spot she’d parked in during their shift together. Her eyes scanned the ambulances, picking Oleg out almost immediately, but Trapp was not with him. He wasn’t in the next rig that pulled in, nor was he part of the crew piling out of the water tanker.

She swung around, facing the big garage where the two fire trucks had pulled in. Her feet were carrying her across the street before she could make the conscious decision to do so.

“Trapp?”

Her lungs were tight, unable to draw breath, and then — there he was. Already shrugged out of his heavy turnout coat, blue station T-shirt tight across his pectorals, his face smudged in black, hair sticking up haphazardly. Safe.

He did a double take upon seeing her, walking out of the garage with his hands up questioningly. “Adi?” His eyes slid down her body, and Adriana realized she was still wearing her pajama shorts and a thin tank top, with nothing over it but her ancient waffle-print robe, her feet stuffed into her rubber clogs. “What the hell are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night!”

“The sirens woke me up, and I just, I just had to know.” Her voice broke, and her mouth kept moving, sound already drying up, her breath hitching, heat rushing to her face. I was anxious about going to the cabin tomorrow, and I was spiraling, and I thought I had invited karma to do something terrible. “I just had to know that you were okay.”

His smile was blindingly white through the grime and sweat on his face. “Oh, baby, I can fight fires all day. This shit is easy compared to the box.”

She choked out a laugh, realizing that she was crying. “I just had to know.”

“I would pick you up and do some sort of sexy fireman carry like in the movies, but I’m literally contaminated right now, so, you know. BSI. You look adorable, though.”

She was still laughing, still crying, hugging herself as she nodded. “BSI. Copy that. I’ll see you at home.”

“I love you,” he called out, laughing.

He was safe. He was fine. “I love you too.” And tomorrow night, you’re going to turn with someone for the very first time, but it’ll be fine. You’ll be with him.

* * *

The forest, at night, was a revelation.

The smell was intoxicating. Wet loamy soil on the bank of the lapping water, the aromatic stickiness of pine pitch, and then the lake itself, tickling her nose. Her sharp, amber eyes could pick out so many tiny details that were lost to her eyes in her upright bones. She could see movement in the brush, the scurrying of tiny rodents. Heard the flapping of wings above her head — bats and owls and fluttering moths, a nocturnal symphony caught in the branches of the trees.

She hadn’t wanted to be here. She could not remember the conversation that had taken place earlier that day in her other skin, when they’d arrived, but she could still taste the fear she’d felt, the trepidation and self-consciousness. 

The cabin was larger than she’d expected, set back from a beautiful, private lake. There was a boat dock, several canoes in a little shed, peaceful and secluded, deep in the woods. Sunlight dappled through sugar maples and towering pines, making the water glitter on the lake’s placid surface.

Her heart was thumping in her slender, white throat as she took it all in. It looked like the set of a horror movie. And you’re the final girl.

“Seriously?” Trapp had given her a sour look when she voiced her opinion. “If you’re the final girl, what does that make me?”

Adriana shrugged as if it were obvious. “Clearly the terrifying werewolf, intent on devouring me. And I’m the fool who came out here to the middle of nowhere with no pepper spray.” 

That was a lie. She never went anywhere without her little pepper-spray keychain.

“And you’re sure there are no other wolves around? What if they wander in? There’s no fence in the forest.”

Trapp put a single finger beneath her chin, raising her face to meet his. “You’ll be safe with me. I beat the shit out of someone for you in this form. What do you think I’ll do to someone as a wolf? No one will hurt you.”

But she did not remember that conversation now, nor the way her heart had thumped. All that lingered were the emotional remains, and as she stepped into the wild for the first time, making no sound beneath the moonlight, she only wondered how she’d gone so long without experiencing it. It was beautiful. She was beautiful, she thought, looking at her reflection in the surface of the wavering water. Small and lithe, with quick eyes and glinting white fangs. 

It didn’t take long for him to find her.

She did not know where the black wolf was when she changed. She only knew that she’d gone a few yards into the clearing beyond the water before he was there. He was massive between the trees. His paws left craters in the wet soil, and the width of his chest seemed as broad as the front of the truck on the gravel drive.

The coyote instinctively lowered her head, her ears pinned back. She waited for the beast to strike, but he never did. He didn’t snap; he didn’t circle. Instead, he let out a low, rumbling chuff, closing the distance between them. She bared her teeth at his approach, her belly pressed to the earth, head low, ready to snap. But then he leaned into her, hot muzzle pressed into the side of her neck, his thick tail thumping.

She knew him, and he knew her. She curled into his warm flanks, remembering. He had found her on a different moon, had protected her from that cold rain, curled around her again the following month, but it wasn’t raining now. If she had been afraid of this forest in her other skin, she was so no longer. She would be safe with him, and she wanted to play.

Adriana slipped out from beneath him, her nimble paws making no sound on the carpet of pine needles. She crouched low to the ground, growling, her belly flat to the ground, grey tail swishing. Before the black wolf could process the shift in her behavior, she pounced with a yip, sinking her teeth into his foreleg before darting away, dropping low once she was out of striking distance.

His ears pinned back, teeth bared, a snarl building in his throat. 

She didn’t give him the chance to attack. Darting forward, she pounced again, nipping at his other leg before ducking around him. Leaping gracefully onto a stump, she threw her head back with a yipping trill. Catch me if you can. The little coyote didn’t wait for him to accept her challenge, bolting into the brush. He was huge and strong, but she was faster, disappearing like a silver streak. 

She didn’t know why she’d ever been afraid of the moon. 

The wind whistled in her ears as she ran, the ground soft and spongy underfoot, and when she saw a clearing ahead, fully illuminated in bright, white light, she couldn’t help herself.

The lack of cover was her undoing. She was fast, but he was canny, reminding her that they’d always been in step, regardless of their bones. He knew this forest better than she did, and when he went skidding into the clearing, knocking her off her feet, she knew she had been caught. But she wouldn’t give up that easily. Down on her belly, using her low center of gravity as an advantage, she snapped up, lunging for his hocks, the soft fur of his underbelly, anything she could bite. She would never submit. He had to work for it.

The black werewolf lunged, but she feinted to the side, evading him. He lunged again, and this time he caught her. Her jaws snapped, but he held her down, pinned in the dirt, the bright red of his cock exciting her blood as she bit him again. 

The rumble in his chest ripped free as a snarl. Are you finished?

She snapped again. Never. She yipped again when she wriggled free, circling him triumphantly. She didn’t know who they were in their other skins. Didn’t know if they were lovers or enemies, for they smelled like both. All she knew was that she loved fighting him beneath the moon, making him fight for her. Almost as much as she enjoyed letting him win.

When he flattened her to the dirt, filling her, the breath left her body. He rutted her into the ground, hard and driving, teeth at her neck. She yelped when his knot pushed into her, tying them, his huge paws on either side of her head, claws raking the soil. His teeth held her by the throat until her body slackened, melting to the forest floor, where he curled around her. She did not share the memories of her other skin, but here he was her mate, and she was safe.

Safe and secure and utterly free.

About the author

C.M. Nascosta is a USA TODAY bestselling author of Monster Romance and a professional procrastinator from Cleveland, Ohio. She’s always preferred beasts to boys, the macabre to the milquetoast, the unknown darkness in the shadows to the Chad next door. She lives in a crumbling old Victorian with a scaredy-cat dachshund, where she writes nontraditional romances featuring beastly boys with equal parts heart and heat, and is waiting for the Hallmark Channel to get with the program and start a paranormal lovers series.

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Also by CM NASCOSTA

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