"You really should reconsider trying to turn. Your wolf form will make healing so much faster," Clayton says for the umpteenth time.

We've been sitting by the mangled wreckage of his sports car waiting for help for nearly two hours and other than him occasionally pestering me about this, we've both suffered in silence.

"I'm good, but you're still very welcome to go for it," I say, beyond annoyed and no longer as emotional in my response as the first several instances he's brought this up.

Sitting on the ground and with his back against a large rock, Clayton sighs.

"I saw that wobble in your step the last time you got up and you've thrown up at least twice," he says. "Plus with that cut on your head, it's pretty obvious that in the very least you have a concussion. So you definitely are not good."

I thought I had been doing an okay job of hiding my symptoms, but I guess nothing escapes his attention. Even when he's dealing with a dislocated shoulder.

"I just need some water and rest. But I have to keep this cut for as long as it takes it to naturally heal so that whoever ran us off the road or arranged for it can see that I'm not afraid of them."

"Why do you even think they'll see it?"

"I have a weird feeling that it's someone with strong ties to Packard. There's no—"

The appearance of headlights and the sound of tires crunching on gravel cut me off, and we both look up the embankment as a dark SUV comes into view.

"Finally," Clayton says, pushing himself up to a standing position.

By the time I get to my feet, the driver has exited the car. But instead of Carlos' balding head, I catch a glimpse of a full head of blonde hair.

"You two still alive down there?" Spencer calls down to us cheerfully as his dark silhouette navigates the uneven ground.

"You got the campus barkeep to save us?" I ask Clayton as he slowly moves forward. It's only when the two of them awkwardly hug that the shoe drops. "Oh."

I remember now that Clayton had mentioned having a brother, but I never thought it would be the happy-go-lucky guy running the Cock and Mamie watering hole. Oh, geez. I hope I didn't unknowingly say anything bad about Clayton to his brother the few times I visited the establishment!

"Barlow?"

Another familiar voice comes from above as the second person exits the SUV.

"Lark?" I call back, suddenly starting to not only believe Clayton about having a concussion, but also fearing that I'm now hallucinating and it might be even worse than either of us suspected. Because why else would my sister be here, too.

Clayton's more pragmatic. "Who's minding the pub?" he asks Spencer while nodding toward Lark. "I thought you were already short-staffed."

Although it's not very relevant to our situation, at least his statement confirms that Clayton knows about my sister and her continued presence on campus. The last thing I feel like doing right now is explain that messed up situation.

"I raised the hourly pay rate and voila, the applications started coming in again," Spencer says, slapping his older brother on the back. "But I doubt you called me to review P and L statements. Ready to get out of here? The tow truck's on the way, but there's no need to wait."

"Let's go," Clayton says, taking Spencer's arm to help him up the incline.

Lark does the same for me and soon we're on the road, the two guys up front and us girls in the back seat.

"I'm glad you're here, but honestly, I was a little surprised to see you," I say so only my sister hears. My head is leaning on her shoulder and while it's not really comfortable, having her near is definitely comforting.

She grins and looks at Spencer who's having a separate conversation with Clayton. I've seen this twinkle in her eyes before and it has always meant trouble.

"Oh, no, no, no," I say, straightening up. "Do not tell me you've got a thing for your boss-slash-landlord. You've barely been in town for a week."

The smile drops from Lark's face. "Why do you have to be like that, huh? I'm young and single, and so is he. What's the big deal?"

I take a deep breath and roll my eyes, forcing myself to not get into an argument about my sister's bad choices right here and now.

"Never mind," I say, leaning back into the leather seat and closing my eyes, regretting letting her stay.

The car hits a pothole and Clayton yelps in pain.

"You know you could—"

"Yes, thank you," Clayton cuts off his brother who was definitely going to suggest brining out his wolf to help with the healing. "We've had the discussion already—"

"Several times." This time, I interrupt him.

"Yes, several times, but Dr. Condemnation back there refuses," Clayton says, thumbing towards me.

"Oh, we're resorting to name calling now, huh?" I begin ask, but Spencer is faster.

"So you're doing the same thing out of . . . what? Solidarity?" he asks Clayton.

"More like pride," I answer instead, which finally makes Clayton turn in his seat.

"What do you even know about me, huh? Don't go putting words in my mouth," he says, angrier than he's ever been with me.

Lark's eyes widen at his tone, but I'm so tired and so miserable overall that I really don't care about Clayton Ward's feelings.

"Boo-hoo," I say mockingly before realizing that I sound like a silly five year-old.

Clayton's nostrils flare, but Spencer's laugh draws his attention back to the front.

"Wow, big brother. I have to say, you've gotten Barlow to hate you much faster than it usually takes most people. Bravo," Spencer says.

I'm expecting an even more aggressive response from Clayton, but for some reason, he holds back. This leaves me to spend the next few miles trying to convince myself that I really do hate him and it's totally fine if he doesn't care. But I must fall asleep before I truly believe either because at some point later, I jolt awake out of a nightmare.

"Who was he?" I ask out of the blue, breaking the silence.

At first, no one answers. Spencer is busy checking the GPS and Lark has her head leaned against the window and eyes closed.

"Who was who?" Clayton finally asks in return.

I lean forward in my seat to close most of the gap between us. Although he must be exhausted and in pain, he's still so darned attractive that it's unfair.

"The dead guy in the forest," I clarify. "You said you'd had a look at his identification before the police tossed it. What did it say?"

"Oh, that," he begins before pausing for a few very long seconds as though he's considering how much he should tell me. "Uhm . . . just some guy from Long Island."

His elusiveness doesn't escape me and I press further. "What was his name?"

"I don't know. It was something weird. Cosmo, maybe?"

Lark lets out a small squeak and I turn to her.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

She blinks a couple of times and swallows. "Yeah. Just . . . hiccups."

I face Clayton again. "That's it? Nothing about what he was doing here? Or how he died?"

He shakes his head. "Not yet. But the police are working on it."

"Okay," I say, wondering if the police are working on it the same way they destroyed the one piece of valuable evidence.

"So we're almost home and I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving," Spencer says as we pass the sign for the Woodhurst city limits.

I haven't thought about food in hours, but my stomach now grumbles as I realize that the last thing I ate were the sweets with afternoon tea earlier today.

"Do you want to stop at the Cock?" Clayton asks, using an eyebrow raising shortened version of the pub's name.

"Eh, I've had my fill of fried stuff with cheese lately," Spencer says, rubbing his chin as though he's giving the issue serious thought. "But I could go for a home cooked meal. How about a late supper with good old mommy dearest?"

Clayton slaps his brother on the shoulder with his good hand and then motions towards us in the back seat.

"We can't with them," he says somewhat cryptically, piquing my curiosity.

Spencer shrugs. "Why not? Meeting mom might be just the thing Barlow could use to truly understand you, brother."

Well, now I'm completely intrigued, but I am definitely in no state to meet Mrs. Ward after everything that's happened today. My sister, however, has no such qualms.

"I'd love to meet your mom," Lark says, practically bouncing in her seat with excitement.

Spencer smiles. "There you go. It's all decided. Go on and call Mrs. Adelaide and ask her to set the table for five. We'll be there in fifteen minutes."