It was a shaky smile, but one that hit him in the gut.

“Mom has some news,” Ryan said as Bowman at last picked up his fork.

Bowman skimmed the tines through the thick stew. He’d use a spoon later, to slurp the last of the juices.

Only, today, he wasn’t sure he could eat. He didn’t want to hear any news—he still hadn’t processed the last piece of news Kenzie had given him.

“Later,” he said curtly. He dug into his jeans pocket and drew out the silver charm. “What do you make of that?”

He slid the charm to Kenzie, and Ryan looked at it with interest.

Kenzie lost her artificial smile. “It’s Fae.”

“No shit,” Bowman said. “So what do you make of it?”

“Old.” Kenzie turned it around in her hands, her food forgotten. She lifted the charm to catch the light. “Looks like it has some runes scratched on it, but I can’t read Fae. Pierce might be able to.”

“What about your uncle? Could he read it?”

Kenzie pursed her lips, a pucker that made him want to leap across the table and nibble on her mouth. “Doubt it. Uncle Cris loathes everything Fae. He only puts up with the Guardian’s sword because it’s necessary. But don’t ask him to read the runes on it.”

“I’ll learn Fae,” Ryan broke in. To Bowman’s frown he said, “We should know as much about them as we can, right? The Fae bastards are plotting to drag us back to them to fight their battles again. I don’t think they’ll stop trying anytime soon, even if they lose out on controlling us through our Collars.”

Bowman stared at his son, feeling shock. Had he been that perceptive at twelve years old? Bowman couldn’t remember, and he doubted it. He’d only wanted to run and hunt—who cared about pack problems? Ryan, on the other hand, was already thinking like a leader.

Ryan reached for the charm, and Kenzie handed it to him. Ryan examined it as Kenzie had, but shook his head. “Not enough information to form a definitive conclusion.”

“Who have you been hanging out with?” Bowman demanded as Ryan handed the charm back to his mother. “To be talking like that?”

Ryan shrugged. “Uncle Cris. And Pierce. They know a lot. And Mom. She’s pretty smart.”

“Well, warn me before you start using words like that again,” Bowman growled. He picked up his fork once more and this time shoveled stew into his mouth. It was good, and spicy enough to make his eyes water.

“Yes,” Kenzie said. “Your father will need time to look them up.”

She gave him a look so sly, so Kenzie-like, that Bowman dropped his fork. He wanted her with all the intensity mating frenzy brought, wanted her now, and here they sat at the dinner table with their son. Ryan ate happily, uncaring that Bowman burned for his mate.

“I bet Gil would know what the words on the silver say,” Ryan said after a time. “If we could find him and figure out who he really is.”

Bowman’s rising appetite encountered a wash of chill. “What do you mean, who he really is?”

“Mom found out he doesn’t exist. At least, that Gil isn’t his name, and he’s not a human cop. Or maybe not even a human at all.”

Bowman’s glare sliced across the table at Kenzie. “Tell me what the f—” He slapped the word aside. “Tell me what the . . . what he’s talking about.”

Kenzie sent a severe look at Ryan—Bowman bet that she’d told Ryan to keep his mouth shut. Good for Ryan. He knew better than to obey that kind of order.

Kenzie then launched into a tale that made Bowman forget about food, and almost about mating. “We need to find him,” Bowman said when she finished. “Why the hell are we having stew instead of hunting for him?”

“Because you haven’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours, and you haven’t slept much either,” Kenzie said. “If Gil doesn’t realize we’re onto him, he might contact me again, answering the twenty messages I left for him.”

“You’re saying we should sit here and wait to see if he calls?” Bowman scraped back his chair and got to his feet. He swayed, exhaustion catching up to him. “Not after he came here and f— messed with me, and fed you that bullsh— bull crap about the mate bond. I’m going to make him pay for that.”

“We don’t know what he is,” Kenzie said calmly. “He might be powerful. We need to find out more about him before we hunt him.”

“Yeah,” Ryan said. “He might be a zombie.”

“There are no zombies,” Bowman said, struggling to hang on to his patience. “There’s no such thing as the walking dead.”

Ryan raised his brows. “Uncle Cris says vampires are real.”

“They are,” Kenzie answered in a serene tone. “But they’re not dead. They have to drink blood to survive, but they’re as alive as we are. I met a couple in Romania.”

“Will you two stop talking about vampires and the walking dead?” Bowman shouted. “You’re trying to distract me. Don’t tell me you’re not.”

Kenzie picked up a glass of water and touched it to her lips. “Do you want me to tranq you instead? I can.”

“Tranq . . .” Bowman broke off and stared at the stew as she gave him a knowing smile. “Kenzie, you did not put tranquilizer in my bowl of stew.”

“No,” Kenzie said. “But I could have. I stuck a needle into your thigh as I served you the food. You were busy looking at my chest as I bent over you. It’s a slow-acting tranq, and you have a lot of body weight. It should be taking effect right about now, though.”

Bowman’s rage flared as warm relaxation flowed through him. “Kenzie, damn you . . .”

A breeze rushed past as he started to fall, and he was out before he hit the floor.

* * *

Bowman.

Bowman woke, or thought he did. Everything was hazy, and a faint breeze blew in the open window of the kitchen. It was warm, summer, but the stew was still on the table. Ryan was gone, off to play with his friends probably. That was the beauty of Shiftertown. Ryan could run anywhere he wanted, do anything he wanted within its confines, and they never had to worry for his safety.

These were happy days, and Bowman would do anything to hang on to them.

“Hey, Bowman.”