Page 36 of Howl Will I Know

I spend the next morning in the woods because shifting usually clears my head. Four legs, cold air, miles of forest. No conversation, no town, no reason to think about anything except terrain and scent and the next place my paws land.

Today, I make it less than a mile before Nora follows me.

Not literally. Her scent. There are traces of her everywhere. Along the path she took into town yesterday. Near the low stone wall where she stopped to talk to Marjorie. On the bench beside the creek, where she must have sat long enough for the wood to hold the faintest trace of vanilla, soap, and warm skin.

The wolf finds every one of them.

I drag us away from the creek, and he circles back. I snarl into the empty trees, which would be more effective if I weren’t arguing with myself.

Kissing Nora a second time was a mistake.

Kissing her because I wanted to was worse.

There’s no excuse left after that. No way to tell myself she caught me off guard, or that the wolf took over, or that years of nothing made me react harder than I should have. I crossed the grass, put my hand on her neck, and kissed her until she was gripping the front of my shirt and making soft, breathless sounds that have been replaying in my head ever since.

That was all me.

By the time I shift behind the house, I’m muddy, irritated, and hard again. I pull on the clothes I left there earlier and tell myself a shower, coffee, and several hours of not looking toward number fourteen might restore some basic fucking sanity.

Then I look anyway.

Nora is sitting at her kitchen table, laptop open in front of her and a headset covering one ear. Her hair is twisted into a messy knot with a pen shoved through it, and a mug sits beside her elbow. She must be working, which is something I know she does mostly from home but haven’t actually seen before.

As if she feels me watching, she glances toward the window. Our eyes meet. Nora lifts one finger, then points sternly at the laptop screen as if I’m likely to come over and interrupt whatever meeting she’s in.

I wasn’t planning to. The wolf apparently was.

A smile pulls at her mouth before she turns back to the screen. I stay there for another few seconds, watching her listen to whoever is talking. This is a side of her I haven’t seen yet. Nora concentrating. Nora working. Nora building the life she came to Screaming Woods to find.

I like that thought more than I should. I make myself go inside before I can examine it too closely. Staring through Nora’s kitchen window while she works probably crosses a line even I can identify, and I’ve already crossed enough of those where she’s concerned.

After showering, I make coffee, carry it to the table, and sit with my back to the window. A few seconds later, I hear movement as someone crosses the gap between our houses. By the time Nora reaches my back step, I’m already opening the door.

She stops with a plate held in both hands. Her gaze travels over me—damp hair, bare feet, a T-shirt I dragged on without bothering to dry properly—and heat enters her eyes. “You answered the door.”

“You weren’t going to leave.”

“No.” She lifts the plate, which holds two cinnamon rolls.

“Bribery?”

“Breakfast.”

“It’s nearly noon.”

She shrugs. “Late breakfast.”

I take the plate because refusing it will only keep her standing there longer. Nora looks past my shoulder into the kitchen, and I step aside. Her scent fills the kitchen before she reaches the table.

I close the door and take a second longer than necessary before turning around, giving my body time to remember basic decency. It doesn’t work particularly well.

Nora sets the plate beside my mug and glances back at me. “You shifted this morning.”

“You’ve been here for two weeks, and you’re already nosy.”

“I prefer observant.” She takes the mug of coffee I pour her and leans one hip against the counter. “Good run?”

“Usually is.”