And then when she’d stabbed him . . . accident or not, it had snapped his remaining bit of control. The wolf in him had taken over and all Van could think about was marking her. And he did.

Christ, he hoped she didn’t suddenly think this changed anything. Like suddenly they were dating.

But clearly Van momentarily forgot whom he was dealing with.

“Are you done?”

The coldness in that voice hit him like thirty-below-zero weather when he’d just shifted from wolf to human.

He stepped away from her. “Yeah. I’m done.”

“Good.” She stepped away from the wall and walked to the sink. She rinsed his blood off her hands, calmly dried them with a paper towel, and adjusted her clothes. “I assume now I’m safe.”

“As safe as you can be as long as you don’t step on their territory or talk.”

“No. I won’t talk. I’ve kept the secret to myself all these years. I’m not going to change now.”

“I tried to explain that to Melinda Löwe, but she refused to listen.”

“Not surprising. She’s never liked me anyway.” She looked up at him and those ice-cold eyes said absolutely nothing. “Well . . . thank you for everything. I appreciate all your help in this matter.”

Van’s eyes narrowed. He felt a growing rage in his gut he didn’t much like. He especially didn’t like that a woman put that rage there. “You’re welcome,” he said as lightly as possible.

She took a step away but stopped and looked at him. “Do you mind if I borrow your sweatshirt? I’ll make sure it’s returned to you in the next day or two. At the moment, I’m simply not in the mood to discuss this with Jackie and the scent from your sweatshirt should keep her off my back for at least a little while.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Van reached back and gathered up some of the shirt, before pulling it over his head. He shook the hair out of his face and handed it to her. She stared at him for a moment but, once again, he couldn’t read anything from her.

“Thank you.”

She pulled the way-too-big red sweatshirt over her head but for a few seconds she seemed to lose her way and he stepped forward, helping her get her arms and head through all the appropriate holes.

“Thank you,” she said again. And it was something in her voice and the way she suddenly wouldn’t meet his eyes that caught Van off guard. Putting his fingers under her chin, he lifted her face so she had to look at him.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s definitely something. Tell me.”

She frowned in confusion. “Why . . . why did you do it?”

“Do what? Mark you?”

“Yes.”

Van shrugged. “Becauseit’ll keep you alive.”

“Is that the only reason?” Uh-oh. Just as Van feared, Irene seemed to be thinking this had more meaning than it really did. Time to dissuade her of that immediately.

“It’s the only reason.” He cleared his throat. “Irene, you know a lot about our people but all that stuff about marking mates and making them yours forever is all folklore. Fairy tales. I didn’t believe it when I was a kid and I don’t believe it now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.” God, he felt like shit. Maybe he could beat up on some puppies later, too. Maybe kick a kitten. He had to be breaking this poor woman’s heart....

“Whew!” She let out a gasp and, for the first time ever, smiled. “Thank the DOS gods for that.”

“What?”

“I thought you’d start hanging around my house like some stray dog I’d accidentally fed. But now I don’t have to worry. Correct?”

Van nodded, that rage he’d experienced only a few minutes before roaring back to life. “Yeah. That’s correct.”

“Good. Now I can relax.” She let out another deep, relieved breath. “Well . . . again, thank you for everything. Although I think I’ve been mauled enough to last me a lifetime.” She kind of, sort of chuckled. “Oh. And give your parents my best.”

Then she was walking away from him. Not even doing that backward-glance move. Without thinking, he followed her. She already had her backpack sitting beside the front door, ready to go.

“Are you leaving now?”

“Jackie’s waiting outside. Didn’t you see her car when you came in?”

“Must have missed it.”

“I told her to come in but you know you guys and territory.” She opened the front door and Van wondered how he could have missed that two-door, cherry-red Mercedes and the pretty woman sitting on top of the hood reading a book.

The She-jackal looked up and smiled. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.” Irene picked up her backpack and swung it onto one shoulder, wincing as the weight of it landed on her newest fang marks.

She looked at him over her shoulder and shrugged. “Well . . . goodbye.”

Van stood at his front door and watched Irene Conridge get into her friend’s car, placing her backpack in her lap like a small child, and then drive off.

He didn’t know how long he stood there before his sister came to his side.

“That was . . . really . . . odd,” she said softly.

“I know.”

“Are you okay?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. I’m fine. It’s over.”

“This is true, but—”