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They sprawl as one until their breathing slows, until Sascha says, “You’re gonna get a sunburn,” and Avery says, “I think your jizz has crusted our pubes together.”

He’s not wrong about thestuffbetween them, so Sascha gets a good hold on Avery and dumps them both in the water to clean up, laughing at Avery’s surprised squeak. Returning to the rock, they dry off in the sun, holding hands and talking, talking, talking. About nothing and about things Sascha normally has no one interested in hearing, about bits of Avery’s past leading him to a work farm for werecreatures in a microscopic township.

Sascha mumbles, in a brain-fried sort of way, that it all seems terribly unfair. Avery laughs and laughs at the idea of fairness, not stopping until Sascha threatens to push him back into the lake.

There’s a lot more kissing, but eventually clothes come back on and suddenly they’re standing by the car, smiling awkwardly. The paper-white moon slips from behind a cloud, a distant threat in the muddled sky.

“I’ll pick you up before eight Sunday night,” Sascha murmurs as if they might be overheard. He pushes wayward curls off Avery’s forehead, then kisses it. “We’ll come back here. There’s a cave further down the water where you’ll be safe for the night.”

“Okay,” Avery says, wobbly on his feet. His phone pings, and he pulls it out to glance at the notification on the screen.

Sascha is surprised to see the screen badly shattered. “What happened to your phone?”

Avery grimaces. “Just some assholes fucking with me on the farm. I’ll deal with it.”

A surge of protective anger heats Sascha’s organs to boiling. “I’ll kill them,” he says, fangs dropping on instinct.

Avery only looks amused. He pats Sascha’s cheek. “That won’t be necessary, tough guy. Have you ever killed anyone in your life?”

Sascha falters before answering honestly: “No, but I would. For you.”

The smile falls from Avery’s face, leaving him small and scared in the creeping moonlight. “Why?”

“Because you deserve to be protected for once.”

When they climb into the car, Sascha pretends not to notice how choked up Avery becomes after his declaration. Every time he tries to speak, his fist ends up pressed against his mouth, seaglass eyes glittering. But no tears fall, and eventually he chokes out a thanks to Sascha for taking him to his “so-called” forgotten lake.

Sascha can only toss him a brief grin, forced for Avery’s sake, though he doesn’t think Avery buys it.

Sunday. Four days. Three and a half, really.

And it arrives before he can blink.

CHAPTER

NINE

Avery

Avery should have prepared for this. Celeste said she wasn’t giving up on roping him into her pack, and she hasn’t.

That must be why Beryl has been watching him like prey. Unlike the rest of the werecreatures, they don’t do any work on the farm. They simply hover, just far enough away to preserve plausible deniability, and stare at him with yellow eyes that barely blink.

The shifter supervisors haven’t bothered Beryl, either, which shocked him. Every time Avery sent a panicked look at one of them, afraid of being punished for Beryl’s antagonism, the supervisors averted their eyes. During work hours, the farm is overseen with vicious efficiency. Any conflict that could interfere with productivity is punished harshly. Off hours, squabbles between the werecreatures are inevitable, but as long as they don’t escalate to full-out fights, the shifters only nudge each other and laugh while they watch.

Getting put back in one’s place by a shifter is humiliating, but even they don’t get too rowdy because they aren’t at the top of the chain. No, the highest level of command lies withthe humans and their big fuckoff guns, primed to open fire on anyone who becomes a threat—werecreatureorshifter.

The lack of PCC presence in Bliss is odd compared to the bigger cities where they patrol endlessly. Avery doesn’t mind. Being riddled with bullets by a redneck with a superiority complex sounds like a faster death than the ominous unknown of a PCC arrest.

It wasn’t until evening the second day that Avery figured it out. He was on his way to the main office to grab something from his locker and caught sight of Celeste talking to Beryl outside. Celeste had claimed her pack was well-established around Wilderness Park; she must have some connection with Farmer Dennings for her subordinate to be allowed to lurk around intimidating one of the workers.

Avery’s suspicions are confirmed when Beryl slides onto the bench across from him during breakfast the day before the full moon. They keep their eyes down while eating silently, but as soon as Avery drops his gaze to his own plate, he feels their dangerous yellow eyes fixed on him.

“What the fuck do you want?” he finally demands, slamming his plastic spork to the worn table.

Beryl leans forward onto their elbows, a smirk shaping their lips. “You’re smart, Avery,” they say in a mocking lilt. “What do you think I want?”

“What your alpha wants?” he guesses.