“Why Mr. Connery, are you not up for the challenge? Perhaps I should assess werewolf mental acuity as well as endurance.”

Chuckling, he found his second wind as she continued her deliberate striptease. Stalking closer, he pulled his shirt off and flung it across the room. “Actually, that’s Dr. Connery.”

“Really?” Those watermelon pink lips curled up in the awestruck smile he’d been hoping for.

Astrid’s life plan was very simple.

1. Leave home. Check. Freedom tasted so much better than she’d even hoped.
2. College. Check. Maybe she’d do more of that in the next few years.
3. Find team. Check. They were a pretty great team at that, better than she had expected.
4. Invest in a home she loved. Check. It had taken years of searching, but she’d just bought the home in Seattle, but it was perfect. Amazing view, modern yet cozy, and easy distance to her teammates.
5. Fall in love.

When had she made it all the way through the first four steps? There was supposed to be years between steps four and five. Not a matter of weeks. She wasn’t ready.

Astrid parked on the stool in the corner of the kitchen out of pure spite, knowing Vann had his eye on the perch, then flashed him a daring eyebrow raise. She announced, “You know what, you can all head back home again. We’ll just call in the national guard to launch an air strike on the ferals so I won’t have to listen to all of your witty comments on my sex life.”

Lana grinned, “I believe he said love, not sex. But we can change the subject. Tell me, how is sex with the superbly built werewolf?”

Icing on the cake, Bodie strolled in, “F***ing spectacular.” He bit his lower lip in that ridiculously adorable way of his, adding a wink for Astrid. He filled his favorite mug that was waiting in front of the coffee pot and dropped into a chair at the kitchen table.

With a growl, she grabbed the beer and curled into the chair as the formality melted away. After a hell of a gulp, big enough to make Grammy nod in appreciation, Astrid scowled at him. “Speak.”

He bit his lip in amusement. “Not a weredog. Wolf. Less trainable.”

This time, a hint of humor flourished on her watermelon pink lips.

His eyebrows scrunched together as he realized just how much the outside world was clueless know about werewolves, even demon hunters. Maybe they should scale back on the secrecy a bit. “Lycanthropy isn’t contagious. We are all born from a demon-human hybrid and a human parent, just like you.”

“Wait a moment. You… I’m sorry. I just am trying to comprehend what you’re telling me. No one bit you?”

“Not lately, but it’s been a while since I’ve gotten laid.” He flashed her a wink and bit his lip impishly.

“Ha ha,” she surprised him by smiling rather than shifting her posture uncomfortably like a stereotypical priss would. There was hope for her yet.

“I’m a charming guy.”

“I believe we established charming is not the right term.”

“Hey, Prince Charming comes in many forms.” He leaned down and took her mouth with his.

Sweeping her tongue over his, she stepped it up. “I’m not a princess.” Too many had mistaken her for one, too many times.

One hand sprawled over her back, his other skimmed along her arm and took her hand. Swaying, he pulled her into a light waltz. “You’re so much more interesting.”