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“Just when I was coping with the idea that I’d necked with a werewolf,” she muttered. “Just when I was beginning to flirt with the idea of possibly… possibly inviting sex with a werewolf. I’m trying to imagine how I would tell this story to my best friend. I think it would go something like this: See, I’ve never seen him in daylight. He’s just this werewolf guy.” Beside her, he had stiffened. Very quietly, he said, “Sex?”

“She paused and unexpectedly stroked her fingers down the feathers of his neck. He froze. She couldn't know how intimate that seemed, or how sensitive he was to her touch even through the sleek covering of eagle feathers. Pleasure at being petted ran down his spine. He should say something or step away. He did neither. Instead, ever so slightly, he leaned into her touch. It was wrong of him, but his wrong button seemed to be broken, and he didn't care.”

“I don’t know,” she lied. “I need a few days to think it over.” Even as she said it, she knew she was going to take the offer. Hell, she might even escape from whatever dark menace haunted her rune readings lately, along with the owner of that predatory, handsome face. Or if she went, she could be running right toward it. Toward him. Ah, well. You’ can’t fix stupid. And you can’t heal crazy.”