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Werewolves were so sensitive about dog jokes.

Instead I just called, “Great job!” and walked over to her. I placed a bathrobe at the foot of the ramp and turned my back so she could have some privacy while she changed into her human form, allowing myself a moment to bask in the glow of satisfaction at another success. I still got a thrill every time I helped someone reach their goals—even if that goal was something as simple as remembering which way their joints bent when they were wearing their human skin.

A few moments later there was a low growl, a series of popping, cracking noises that I did my best not to think too hard about, and then Chelsea let out an excited squeal and said, “Oh my god, I actually did it!”

I turned to congratulate her—and saw that the robe was hanging off one shoulder despite the cool temperatures, the moonlight gleaming off her pale skin and highlighting the curves of her body. I knew werewolves ran hot, but I got the feeling that wasn’t the reason Chelsea hadn’t covered up properly, and my suspicions were confirmed when she flashed me a seductive smile and prowled toward me, a glint in her eye.

Oh Jesus. Not this again.

She grabbed the front of my shirt and pressed her body against mine. “How can I ever repay you, Hunter?” she purred.

“Oh, um. Venmo is fine, just like normal,” I said, taking a rapid step back.

“Oh? You’re sure there’s nothing else I can offer you?” she said, running the tip of her tongue along her lower lip just in case I’d misunderstood, even though her intentions could be seen from space. She really was pretty, with wide brown eyes, a scattering of freckles across her upturned nose, and chestnut hair that glistened in the moonlight, but I was one hundred percent not interested, for multiple reasons.

I put my hands on her shoulders and steered her away from me until she was at arm’s length. “I’m flattered and you’re gorgeous, but I don’t get involved with my clients.” I wanted to let her down gently—and not just because she was capable of ripping my arms off and beating me to death with them. Call me a soft touch, but I didn’t like hurting people’s feelings.

Her lips turned down in a pout. “But I passed the course, so technically, I’m not your client anymore.”

I let out a sigh. “Like I said, I’m flattered. But no thanks.”

She narrowed her gaze, and her voice held a dangerous note when she said, “Do you have something against shifters? Are we not good enough for you?”

“It’s not that,” I said quickly, my heart pounding as my body kicked into fight or flight mode—not that I’d win against a werewolf in either of those scenarios. “It’s—I’m gay, Chel. When I say you’re not my type, I mean you’re really not my type.”

Her eyes widened and there was a tense moment. Then she gave a resigned sigh. I let out the breath I’d been holding and released my grip on her, and she stepped back, pulling her robe tighter. “Wow. I never would have guessed from looking at you.”

I shrugged. “And I never would have guessed that you turn into a giant wolf, so that makes two of us.”

She laughed, her voice rich and warm. “Fair. I had to try, though. I mean, have you seen you? You’re pretty hot.”

“Thanks.” I flashed her a smile and the knot of tension in my gut eased further. This wasn’t the first time I’d been propositioned by a client, and it wasn’t like any of them had ever gotten nasty or threatened me for turning them down. But there was always a first time, and survival instinct was a hell of a thing.

We walked over to the nearby public bathrooms so Chelsea could get properly dressed, and once she emerged I handed her a bottle of Gatorade. We sat together on a nearby park bench, the stars sparkling like tiny diamonds and the moon large and luminous in the clear night sky. The light filtered through the trees and made soft silhouettes that danced across the shoreline of the cove. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the scent of the ocean and listening to the crash of the waves against the rocky shore while Chelsea drained her drink.

We sat there in companionable silence, the sea breeze cool against my skin, and after a while she asked, “So, how did you find out about shifters anyway?”

I snorted. “I mean, I’d like to say that I found out through my keen observational skills and attention to detail, but honestly? It was an accident. I made a stupid joke, and my roommate panicked and spilled the beans.”

“Well, now you have to tell me more,” she said. “Who was the roommate?”

“You know Dylan Cameron?” I asked.

“The foot guy?”

“The podiatrist at the health center, yeah. We used to work together over in Bar Harbor, and I had a spare room and high rent, so I asked him to move in with me. Got on pretty well too. And sure, he did tend to disappear every full moon, but I didn’t think anything of it, you know? Why would I?”

Chelsea snorted.

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, it’s obvious now, but back then I just figured, if he disappears for a night now and then and comes back looking like he’s been dragged through a hedge backward, what business is that of mine? Maybe he was hooking up. Maybe his girlfriend liked to play hard. No kink shaming, right?”

“Right,” Chelsea said, eyes bright. “So how did you figure it out?”

“Like I said, a dumb joke. Dylan disappeared for a three-day weekend, and when he came home he was totally wrecked, even worse than usual. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, and he smelled like wet dog. And because I’m the kind of idiot who thinks he’s funny, I took one look at him and said, ‘Wow. The full moon really did a number on you this month, huh?’”

“Oh no,” Chelsea said, one hand flying up to cover her mouth.

“Yeah. Oh no is right. He tensed up, snarled, and next thing his eyes were glowing gold, he had a wicked set of claws, and he was growling, ‘Who told you?’ Which was right about when I figured out that my friend Dylan, the same guy who builds Lego models, makes a mean lasagna, and binge-watches Kitchen Nightmares, was actually a freaking werewolf.”