Page 11 of Wrong Number, Right Panther

“There’s only one thing for you to do.” He peered into the fridge and took out leftovers.

“Tell him about shifters?”

“No, go study photography, and in a couple of years you can come back and show him your portfolio, wow him with stories of you in the wild when you were almost eaten by a lion.” He sniggered and put the food in the microwave.

I wasn’t getting any help from my brother, and I’d have to shift and run and clear my head.

“The solution isn’t difficult. You said it yourself. Tell him the truth.”

I threw up my hands. “And he’ll run and probably call a reporter and say he’s got the story of the century. They’ll go on all the talk shows and make millions, and we’ll be put in cages and studied.”

“Wow, and I thought I was a mess.” He tapped my brow. “What’s going on in there, Bro?”

I braced myself against the kitchen island. “Not sure, but meeting Bronson has befuddled me. I can’t think straight.”

Dale put a hand on my shoulder. “This is your fated mate, Linc. You want to be with him, don’t you?”

“More than anything.”

“There’s no way around it.”

He suggested I find a shifter mated to a human and ask how they broached the subject. But I didn’t know anyone that fit that category—Ron didn’t count—and it would take too long to suss one out. I could be in jail or on the run by then.

“Even if you bluffed your way through the whole you’re-a-professional-photographer issue, you can’t start a life with someone when it’s built on a lie.”

When did my little brother get so smart?

“And if he reports me anyway?”

Dale smirked, and I prepared for a smartass answer. “I’ll bake a file in a cake and bring it to you in prison.” He giggled. “But you will have tried to tell him who you really are.”

The microwave dinged.

“I guess you’re right.” I gave him a noogie, and he shoved me away.

“I was going to thank you for rescuing me from Mike.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I knew he was wrong and probably a cheater, but I was lonely and needed a good fuck.”

Ewww. I didn’t want to hear that, and I put my hands over my ears. But Dale removed one and added, “But I didn’t. We didn’t.”

But he’d put that image in my head which had temporarily removed the ones of Bronson. Gross.

Dale picked at the leftovers and grabbed a bottle of water. “Now we’ve solved your dilemma, can I go back to bed, please?”

“Yeah, and thanks.”

It sounded easy. Tell Bronson, shift in front of him, and I wouldn’t be in danger of going to prison. And if he stuck around after the history and biology lesson and reveal, maybe we could date.

One text to set up a meeting would be the first step. That was the easy part. But what if Dale was wrong? I scrolled through photography classes, looking for the shortest one.

Tell him before we lose him, my panther begged.

6

BRONSON

When I left the coffee shop that day, I was a ball of confusion. On one hand, I felt like I’d just had a first date, and on the other, like I’d been played. Nothing about any of this made sense.

It didn’t help that I was unable to separate my feelings from the actual reason we’d gotten together in the first place. Knowing that at the end of the day, it didn’t matter how good-looking he was or how much I liked being around him, he still sent me that picture.