Page 92 of Junkyard Dog

Easing his hands from his pockets, he crossed his arms over his chest, even the most veiled restraints on him feeling stifling. “Bounty hunter was a really loose explanation,” he said quietly.

She exhaled, mimicking his position. “Can you do it at will?” When she was met with silence, she lifted a brow. “Can you make it so Butch is right here, right now?”

Refusing to answer, he copied her expression, his mind replayed the various scenarios he’d been imagining for weeks.

Screaming.

Hysterics.

Disgust.

Fear.

She stared him down, her dark eyes clinical. “Alex.”

“You’ve kind of got me by the balls,” he finally stated, running his hand through his hair. “Either you’re going nuts, or I’m hauled into some Area 51–level nightmare. I care for you too much to feed the first option, and I value my own ass too much for the second.”

She nodded, her eyes narrowing as she considered his words.

The slight downturn of her lips didn’t escape his notice. “Hypothetically,” he said, digging his fingers into his ribs, “if we were to take insanity off the table, how likely would it be for me to find the FBI or wildlife officers pounding down my door at three a.m.?”

“Zero percent,” she replied, rubbing her elbow.

He glared at her arm. “That still bothering you?”

Charlotte dropped her hand. “Show me I’m not losing it.”

“Promise me you won’t scream,” he countered, his instincts howling in protest.

She crossed her heart. “I swear it.”

He pushed off the counter, nudging the sofa bed with his foot to tuck in the final few inches. “This is probably a huge mistake,” he said softly, turning his back to her as he pulled his shirt over his head. “If,when, you freak out and talk, I’m probably going to be hoofing it out of here empty-handed. End up sleeping on Ryan’s couch for the next few months and delivering pizza for five bucks an hour.” He chuckled humorlessly, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them off his hips. “What the fuck am I doing?”

He kicked off his jeans and boxers as he transformed, internally preparing for the scream while Charlotte drew in a deep breath. When it didn’t come, he placed his paws on the sofa, shuffling his hind legs awkwardly as he turned around in the tiny space before he dropped to all fours, his head bowed.

Time froze as he waited for her to react. He locked his eyes on the floor and inched back to give her room to run, her silence more terrifying for him than her screams. The longer the stillness stretched out, the tenser he became, his hackles rising when she took a step toward him and slowly lowered herself to the floor.

He risked a glance up at her, the scent of her lotion almost overwhelming him as her hand stretched out to him and she tentatively ran her thumb under his chin.

“Oh, wow,” she whispered, one hand covering her mouth.

He remained motionless as she examined him, tilting his head from side to side and lifting his ears.

“So this is why Butch never let me see his eyes,” she murmured, holding his muzzle steady. “Sneaky thing, aren’t you, boy?”

Ducking out of her grip, he sat back.

She squeezed her eyes shut, covering her face with her hands. “Not a dog,” she whispered to herself, pushing her hair back. “Okay. I… Okay. I have questions. And you…” She gestured toward him. “You need to be you.”

*

Alex emerged fromhis bedroom fully clothed, his eyes averted as Charlotte placed a filter into his coffeemaker and counted out the scoops.

“I suppose this is your way of saying you have a lot of questions,” he muttered, standing as far from her as he could in the tiny trailer.

She bent down to glare at the machine, tapping buttons until he reached over and flipped a small switch on the side. “Thanks,” she said, straightening up and sitting at the kitchen table. When he remained tucked tightly against his fridge, she sighed. “Does it hurt?”

He shook his head. “No.”

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