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“Don’t worry.It’s healingquickly.”

“Okay.Good. Well, if you need anyhelp…”

“Stephen. I know.”

“Right.”I’d been about to offer my own help. That would’ve beensilly.

“Okay,”he said. After a moment of a staring at each other, he asked, “Is there somethingelse?”

“Carry on,”I said, and he turned back to the saw and started it up again. I went back inside, feeling like afool.

Stephen stoodat attention in the foyer. “Everything alright, sir?” heasked.

Irubbed my head.“Stephen? I need adrink.”

* * *

Isatin the downstairs study with a laptop and a glass of whiskey, and stared blankly at the spreadsheet on the screen. It was data from the last clan census, but it just looked like a big jumble of numbers to me. I couldn’t concentrate. All I could think about was the man working out in the main hall. I could hear the buzz of the power drill as he worked, obviously way more capable than he’d made himself out tobe.

After an hourof unproductive staring at my computer screen, I shut the laptop and went to the kitchen to make food. I didn’t need to make food, we had top skilled chefs who could do a far better job than I, but I decided that I wanted to make lunch for Mason. I made sure that Arthur wasn’t around—I knew he would never stop giving me a hard time if he discovered I was cooking forMason.

Each one ofus brothers had received some sort of kitchen training during pre-academy, as was customary of a highborn wolf. Surprisingly, Arthur was the best out of all of us, with Loch coming in second, me third, and Vander the leastskilled.

Idecidedto make simple grilled sandwiches, easy to eat while on the job. I had my own special recipe, and I often made them for myself when I was working. I bustled around the kitchen, whipping together everything and putting them on a skillet. Last minute, I decided to make a homemade soup, too. I put everything on a tray, enough for both of us, and brought the foodout.

Mason was still shirtless,but now he looked considerably more frazzled and tired. He lugged the new door up and rested it against the frame as sweat dripped down his cheek onto his chest. He frowned and wiped his face with the back of his hand, and leaned to inspect the doorframe.

“Shit,”he muttered. He let go of the door to get a closer look at a hole cut into the wall where a jumble of wires was exposed. The door teetered and began to fall. He turned and saw it, and dived onto the ground to grab it before it hit the floor. He winced in pain, and I realized that he’d caught it with his injuredhand.

Ihurriedover and set the tray of food on the ground, and moved the door off of him. “Hounds of Hell,” I muttered. “Are youokay?”

He grittedhis teeth and nodded. “Fine.”

Isawthere was a growing spot of red on his bandage. I grabbed his hand. “You’re not. You’rebleeding.”

He tugged his hand away.“I’mfine.”

“Let me see it,”I said, taking his hand again. I took my phone out and called Stephen to bring a first aidkit.

“Itold you,I’m fine,dammit.”

He triedto pull away again, but my grip was stronger than his and I held him firmly. “You’re under my roof, it’s my responsibility to keep you safe,” I said. “So, shut up. Let me take care ofyou.”

Icould seethat he wanted to protest, but he shut his mouth and looked away. Stephen arrived with a first aid kit and then quietly disappeared again, leaving us alone. Slowly, I removed the bandage from Mason’s hand. It was an old bandage, a bit dirty and now gritted up with sawdust and shavings of metal from working on the door. I put it aside and inspected his bare hand. A deep gash traveled down his palm. It was healing, but catching the door had caused it to partially open again. If this was the paw that matched the mark on my thigh, there was no evidence of it here in human form. I realized my pulse had started to race. I wished I could see his paw and put all of this to rest. But at the same time, I was afraid of what I’d find—and what it’dmean.

“Didyou know that bears use their tongues to aid with healing wounds,” I said, out of nowhere, and immediately felt stupid. I was nervous, trying to makeconversation.

“Good thing we’re not bears,”hegrunted.

Itookout some healing salve from the first aid kit and spread it onto his wound. Mason growled and grabbed my wrist, his blue eyes flashing as they metmine.

“Ow,shit. You trying to hurtme?”

“Oh, please. Don’t cry.”

He looked away again.I wished he hadn’t. I wanted to keep looking into hiseyes.

Itookout a fresh bandage and carefully wrapped his hand, making sure to keep it tight. “Done,” I said, relinquishing his hand and immediately missing the feel of it in mypalm.