Page 91 of A Wolf After My Own Heart
“High stress threshold. Comes from having an eventful adolescence.”
I’ll bet.He was torn: on one hand, he was dying to know what Lila had lived through that left her ready to rescue cubs, face down werewolves, prep for anything from natural disasters to arson, casually pack heat depending on the occasion, and fly to an Iowa field in the company of a werebear and the aforementioned werewolf, all while demonstrating an unshakeable calm.
On the other hand, he was sure the answers would infuriate him and make him want to track down and grievously injure anyone who had ever messed with theKamato hisRupa.
Except she wasn’t. Because Annette had been annoyingandright: Lila Kai was not the physical and spiritual embodiment of his fondest desire that his soul cried out for so they could be together for all eternity. Even thinking about it made it sound
(true)
ridiculous.
“Garsea told me werebears are rare bears. She said it jus’ like that, like a chant, almost. But I gotta say, for a rare subspecies—that’s what you call ’em, right?—there are a lot of ’em.”
“Four is not a lot.”
“Obviouslythere’s more than four. I’m just sayin’.”
“It’s actually kind of ironic.” He finished his Coke and reached down for another one, moving the thermos of run to one side. The half-empty thermos of rum. Add something new to Lila’s list of attributes: she could put it away like a lumberjack. “Lots of Shifters go their whole lives without meeting another werebear, but you saw one your first night here. Bad luck.”
She shrugged. “Or good. Depends on who you’re talking to. But listen—since meeting you guys, I’ve been thinking about history.”
“Me, too,” he admitted.
“So, for instance, were the Salem burnings about witches or Shifters? Because I can see some poor werepossum or whatever being accused and then getting burned up.”
“There have been…misunderstandings.”Gah. Stop being cryptic.“And there’s no such thing as werepossums. I’m pretty sure.” Werecoyotes, yep. Wereroos, check. Werewolverines, yup. Werepossums, wereraccoons, werevoles, nope.
“Yeah, well. Misunderstandings can happen to anybody.”
Oz took a breath and plunged. “How long were you homeless?”
She just looked at him with those blue eyes. She’d left the glasses at home. He wasn’t sure if that meant she was starting to trust him or was just tired of wearing them. Her mouth moved, almost like she was tasting her response. “Thirteen months, seventeen days.”
“After the fire.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why? Did you set the fire?”
“No. But I’ll be happy to track and crack the person who did.”
“Then you’ll have to crack me, Oz.” At his stunned silence, she added, “The tracking part you’ve already got down.”
Chapter 36
“Oh, boy. The look on your face.”
“My face is fine.”
“Yeah, it is,” Lila muttered. “Annoyingly so. Look, I can see you’re about to burst with questions, so here’s the CliffsNotes version. I never knew my dad, but given my mom’s terrible taste, I can only assume he was an asshole. My mom worked shit jobs to support us and in her spare time—and there wasn’t much of it—was a hoarder. You probably didn’t know that someone who doesn’t make much money can also be a hoarder, but I’m here to tell you they can.”
She’s sharing intimate details with me!“Okay.”Calm down. Be cool. Don’t smile.
“It was March and we were living in a little house in North Dakota. Up by the border, y’know? Bottineau. Home of the Winter Park and Tommy the Turtle.”
“Seriously?”
