Page 1 of Someone Else's Wolf

CHAPTER ONE

"Stay away from my partner." She was five feet three of petite anger, glaring up at me as I tried to wrack my brain for what I could have done.

Sue Honeycutt, a graduate from the Shifter and Partners program, was our department's lucky cop: she had a wolf partner. It was pretty cool, and, yeah, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't sometimes a little bit jealous about not having qualified for the program myself. But what can I say? I just didn't have enough of whatever it took. Right now, it looked like it was mostly killer instinct — and it was aimed for me.

"I didn't do anything to your partner. What do you mean?"

"Just stop." She poked at my chest once, a fierce warning. "He's been through enough shit. Leave him alone." She gave me a look of disdain and walked away.

I stared in astonishment, wishing I could've defended myself better. Anger was slow to rise in me, and was just now beginning to simmer. It hurt to be misjudged. I didn't think anyone in the department had been picking on her partner, the buff wolf shifter named Peter Worth.

I certainly hadn't. I'd gone out of my way to be nice to him. In fact, I'd thought we were starting to become friends. Sure, he was shy, not quick to talk to anyone, but he was generally a nice guy. I hadn't seen him as a wolf, but no surprise there. I admit I was a little curious, but I'd certainly never suggested anything inappropriate or been nasty to him. It was a kick in the teeth for her to act like she had to defend him from me — or be a jerk about it.

I frowned after her tiny self. She looked too little and cute to be a cop, but she was as ruthless as they came. And I didn't deserve it aimed at me. I'd been getting a coffee, minding my own business, not expecting to be attacked by a perky blonde and her scowl. And her finger.Ow.I rubbed at my chest.

I knew there were some guys in the department who wouldn't have minded being the focus of her attention, even if she was angry. Unfortunately for me, I wasn't one of them. I was much more likely to be distracted by Lieutenant Jacobs' muscles. Or in an even worse-case scenario, get tongue-tied and forget what I was saying if he pulled off his shirt in front of me. I was trying to orchestrate my (rare) changing room visits so that never happened again. Jacobs seemed to have no clue how hot he was, and, fortunately, hadn't noticed my reaction.

It was especially awkward, as I had no intention of coming out. The precinct was a pretty "tough badasses only, no queers" environment, even if it was all undercurrents and attitude rather than anything official. Not that they could've made a rule like that, nor could a rule have changed the way the precinct was. I sure wasn't planning to be the test case opening up a new era of tolerance and inclusiveness — or to get hounded out of the department in my attempt.

That just wasn't who I was. I liked the closet just fine, thank you very much. I didn't even have to call it a closet. More like a tiny house. Yes, I was part of the tiny house movement of gayness. It was my business and nobody else's.

A tiny gay house on wheels, with purple siding and big yellow shutters so nobody could see inside. I had no patience for anything about coming out. My brother knew, my sister knew, and telling them had been hard enough. Oh, and any boyfriends I'd had, of course, not that there had been many who'd lasted more than a few months.

It wasn't so much the "coming out to everyone" issue that had chased them off, but my work schedule. Work a few twelve-hour shifts, or unexpected weekends, and it can piss off a romantic partner — especially if you can't turn it off when you're finally off the clock. It just isn't that easy; that stuff follows you around.

Anyway, I wasn't out, I saw no reason to be, and I certainly hadn't done anything to deserve Sue telling me off. Uneasily, I realized Peter probably knew I wasn't straight. Wolves could generally tell things like that, or so I'd read. But, so what? It was none of his business — or Sue's.

She'd better not be implying I was sexually harassing her partner. I wouldn't do that. I could control myself, obviously. He wasn't the hottest guy in the department, either. Not that I'd have sexually harassed anyone, even if they were impossibly hot. I had some standards. Some people would tell you I didn't have many, but what did they know? Nothing, that's what.

I was still in a foul mood about the accusation as I headed back to my desk, my coffee as darkly bitter as my mood. I slurped it and glared at the first person who met my gaze. It happened to be Andie, who looked down quickly, chastened, and I wished I'd kept my bad mood to myself. I didn't have much seniority in the department, but I shouldn't use what I did have to scowl at the rookie. Guiltily, I determined to keep my bad mood to myself from now on.

I gave her an apologetic grimace. Had I ever been so hopeful and excited about being a cop? Maybe my zest for the job had faded quite a bit, but there was no need to make anyone else's fade sooner than necessary.

I went back to typing up a report and was just getting into it when someone said softly, "Do you want some of this? I got extra."

I looked up at Peter, standing beside my desk. Now, he was a pretty guy; I'll give him that. You don't see that shade of bright green eyes every day.

He was tall, even for a cop, and rangy, muscular, with the slightly awkward air of a man who'd never quite grown into his body. Sometimes he hunched as if he was trying to make himself not tower over people. I'd never seen him without his shirt on, but it was pretty easy to tell he was extraordinarily fit — not like a bodybuilder or a weightlifter, but a man who worked with his muscles for a living, unselfconsciously fit and strong. He probably didn't think he was anything special, but he was handsome enough for anyone who let themselves notice.

I didn't. I didn't care what he looked like without a shirt on. He was a colleague, and to hell with noticing stuff like that. Sure, I couldn't help it with Lt. Jacobs, but that didn't mean I had to go around noticing all the time. I wasn't a walking prick.

I stared at Peter for a moment, uncomprehending, a slight scowl on my face. What did he want? Finally, I noticed the bag of donuts he was holding out and the nervous half-smile on his face. A guy his size shouldn't look so shy and awkward. I started to reach for the bag, then stopped. Just what had he told Sue about me?

"No, thanks. I'm not hungry."

"Oh. Okay." He sat on the edge of my desk and opened the bag. "Mm. Too bad. It's cinnamon and everything. Your favorite."

"That's not my favorite."

He pulled the donut out and held it up as if he were inspecting a jewel for its clarity and cut. "Hm. Too bad. I guess it'll go to waste." He mimed reaching for the trash can, moving slowly.

I wasn't playing this game. "You could offer it to Juan. I bet he'd eat your cinnamon crap."

"No, thank you," said Juan Guerrero, my nearest cop neighbor, from his desk. "I had a big breakfast." He raised his hands, apologetic. Damn it. Was everyone listening in?

Maybe they'd heard Sue chew me out, too. I wondered. Just what did she think I was doing? Maybe she wanted Peter to giveherdonuts. Damn it. He was sniffing it now. My stomach made a traitorous rumble.

"Bet you had a big breakfast, too, right?" Peter said, his voice innocent in the worst way. He brought the donut towards his mouth, eyes sparkling, knowing.