I nodded. “Not that I know of. We’ve certainly never caught his scent around here.”

She exhaled heavily, a rare glimpse of defeat shadowing her blue eyes. “I think it might be time to get your property grids. How much land do you have here, anyway?”

“Twenty acres, all unfenced. Half of it wooded.” I followed Robyn up the stairs and through the guesthouse, my gaze focused on the jacket she still held, while I tried not to notice the sway of her hips. Or think about her hand, warm in mine in the dish water.

Why would Morris shred my jacket?

In the main house, I headed for my office, then turned to ask Robyn a question, but she was gone. She was getting really good at stealth. “Robyn?”

“In here!”

I followed the sound of her voice to the utility room, where I found her standing over an overturned basket of unwashed clothes. “Did you stop for an emergency rinse cycle?”

Robyn knelt and lifted a gray workout shirt by its collar. I could see the far wall through the huge rips in the material. “I assume this is yours? And this?” In her spare hand, she pulled the matching pair of equally shredded running shorts from the basket.

“Yeah. You think he came in the house just to tear up more of my clothes?”

“That’s what it looks like.” She stood, my shredded clothing still dangling from her grip. “Why would he do that, Titus?”

“I don’t know.” I took the clothes from her and dropped them onto the pile, then tugged her up by one hand, glad for a legitimate excuse to touch her. “But he’s angry, and he may still be in the house. I want you to stay here while I search—”

Her eyes widened. “I think I know where he is!” She stepped past me and took off down the hall, and I had to jog to catch up with her.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

“He’s destroying things that smell like you. He’s probably in your room.”

“Shit.” I overtook her on the stairs and raced past half a dozen doors to my suite at the end of the hall, on the right. But then I stood in front of the double doors for a minute, listening.

I heard nothing. No scratching. No growling. If Morris was in there, he wasn’t actively damaging anything.

As Robyn stopped at my side, I inhaled deeply through my nose, but with the doors closed, all I could smell was her, and I found her scent very distracting, in the best—and worst—way.

“Step away,” I whispered. But Robyn didn’t move, and I was starting to understand that she wouldn’t move unless I moved her.

Instead, I opened the door.

Corey Morris sat on the floor at the end of my bed, naked and wet, and dripping on the hardwood. He smelled like my shampoo and fresh water, and he held one of my shirts in his lap. His eyes were shiny with tears, but his jaw was clenched in anger.

The door to my bathroom stood open, and a series of wet footprints showed his path across the room to where he sat.

What the hell…?

“Corey?” Robyn spoke softly, like one might speak to a spooked horse, but she didn’t try to enter the room. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

Morris’s focus locked on me, as if he hadn’t even heard her. “Why would you bring me here? Why pretend to help me?”

“I’m not pretending.” As I watched, a drop of water fell from his hair onto his arm, then rolled onto the floor. “I truly want to help you. We all do.”

“You’re lying!” Morris shouted, and Robyn flinched. I stepped in front of her, instinctively shielding her.

Traumatized or not, Corey Morris needed a reality check. “I don’t know why you would say that, and I don’t know why you’re in my room right now.” Or why he’d obviously showered in my bathroom. I took one firm step over the threshold. “We need to get you back to bed, so Spencer can examine you. It sounds like your fever’s back.” I could think of no other explanation for his certainty that though we’d treated his illness and I’d talked him through his first shift, I was only pretending to care about him.

“You’re everywhere.” Morris didn’t seem to notice that I’d entered the room. He lifted my shirt to his face and inhaled, then threw it across the floor. “No matter where I go, I smell you. You’re all over me, and I can’t wash you off!”

On the edge of my vision, Robyn turned to me, and though I couldn’t see her expression, I was sure it reflected my own horror. I’d never touched Corey Morris, yet he seemed to believe he was somehow covered in my scent. As if he’d been wearing my clothes or rolling around in my bed.

His strange delusion made my skin crawl.

“It could be transference,” Robyn whispered as she stepped up to my side. “Like, a misapplication of emotion or aggression. There was some discussion after my trial theorizing that I had ‘transferred’ my hostility toward the cat who accidentally infected me onto the human men I killed. That was total bullshit. My hostility toward those murdering bastards was aimed right where it belonged. But it could be a legitimate problem here.”

“Why?” I studied Morris, trying to understand. “How?”

“Maybe you did your job too well? I know you were trying to bond with him, but if he smelled too much of your scent too early and began to associate it with the pain of shifting—or with his fever—he could be subconsciously blaming you for what happened to him.”

I shook my head slowly. “Nothing like that has ever happened before. And this doesn’t look very subconscious.” In fact, it looked bizarrely, inappropriately conscious.

“Corey?” Robyn turned to the stray. “What happened to you wasn’t Titus’s fault. He’s trying to help you. He’s your Alpha now, and that’s what they do.”

I glanced at her in surprise. Her previous statements about Alphas hadn’t been anywhere near as flattering.

Robyn sank onto her knees and sat on her heels, putting herself at the same height as Morris. “We all want to help you. We’ve all been where you are. Do you remember me telling you about how I was infected?”

Morris nodded, and more water fell from his hair. “You killed the men responsible.”

“Yes, and Titus and his men are going to find the shifter who did this to you. He will be dealt with.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Morris’s frown looked almost coherent. As if Robyn were the one not making sense. “Is this some kind of sick game? Why would you people bring me here? To him?” His tortured focus found me again, and it felt accusatory.