"You really think it's simply a coincidence that I ended up at a university where my boss is another wolf?" I ask, wondering how this is my life right now.

Stumped by which flavor of syrup to choose for his pancakes, Clayton shrugs. "It's certainly possible." Picking blueberry, he continues. "Listen. We needed an anthropologist, which you are. And you needed a job. I looked at all of the hiring documents and everything appears to have gone through the same process it always does. So is this situation unlikely? Yes. But is it impossible? Obviously not."

Having nothing else to go on, I must agree. At least for now. But there's something else.

"You must have had your suspicions, though. Otherwise why make that odd comment at our meeting yesterday about wanting to confirm something?" I ask, hoping to get clarity on the remark that has nagged at me since.

"I did wonder what type of person would specifically ask for a house with a contained basement," he says. "Plus you were a bit too keen to be moved in before the full moon. But as soon as I stepped into my office in your presence, I knew".

So I pretty much outed myself as a wolf even before getting here. Great.

"Was us running together last night also part of your plan?" I ask, slowly losing my appetite at these revelations.

Still chewing, he nods.

"How could you be sure that I would go with you instead of ripping apart one of my neighbors, huh? Since you made sure that I couldn't stay safely out of the moonlight, that is. You probably tinkered with my car, as well."

Clayton puts down his fork and wipes his mouth with the napkin before putting up his hand, palm facing me.

"Now there's no need for hysterics so please don't blow things out of proportion. And while I may have made a suggestion to Audra about which house to assign you, I promise there was no malice involved."

I can feel my blood pressure rising by the second.

"No malice?" I ask through gritted teeth. "My chains were in the inoperable car I had to leave in front of your building and all I had was an inside bathroom to lock myself in. Do you know what could have happened if you hadn't distracted me or if I chose not to follow you?"

He laughs. But when I don't join in, his expression falls. "You're being serious? Does that mean you're not in control when you hunt?"

"I never hunt. Period."

His eyes widen. "What? How is that possible?"

"My parents didn't allow it," I say sheepishly, only now realizing that this was probably not the norm.

"But what about the rest of your pack? Didn't they teach you? Look out for you?"

"I didn't have anyone else," I say. "They were my pack."

"I've never heard of such a thing. Wolves need strong social bonds. And we need to hunt," he says, incredulous at my admission. "Why would anyone ignore their most basic instincts?"

I don't have an answer for him. Not one that I'd willingly share with a practical stranger, that is. Because no matter how handsome or rich he may be, this man's assumptions about what I should or should not be doing are starting to annoy me.

"Thank you for your hospitality, but I think it's time for me to go," I say, balling up my napkin and throwing it on the table next to my half empty plate. I hadn't even gotten around to the fresh mango and blackberries.

But Clayton grabs my hand before I get up. His touch is hot, his demeanor assertive, but not demanding.

"No, wait. I'm sorry. I had no right to be so judgmental. Please stay and finish breakfast," he says, his tone also completely changed.

I sigh. "No more games?" I ask even though I've already made my decision.

He puts up three fingers in salute. "Scout's honor."

Placing my napkin back in my lap, I quietly dig into the food on my plate. We eat in silence for several minutes, letting the air between us clear of the prior unpleasantries. Clayton is once again the first to speak.

"Forgive me, but I must ask you about your name. With every other Zoomer being called Emma, Bella or Ella, it's refreshing to hear something so unusual," he says.

I scoff at his condescension until I remember that two of my old sorority sisters were Stella and Isabel, which are practically the same thing.

"Well, my mom was a big Take That fan back in the nineties. You know with Gary Barlow. He's one of the singers. British, I think. Or maybe Irish. Anyway, that doesn't matter. My dad also wanted a boy, so I guess the name was a compromise," I say before reaching for more fruit.

"Ah, I see. And did he ever get a boy?"

"No. I have a sister," I say before adding, "But she is adopted so I guess he didn't care about gender that much, after all "

"I guess not," he agrees.

"Do you have any siblings?" I ask, not wanting to be the only one answering twenty questions here.

He takes a sip of coffee. "A brother," he says. "And before you ask: we are nothing alike. Well, almost nothing." He chuckles at what I can only assume was some sort of unspoken wolf joke.

I look around. "Does he live here, too? You certainly have the space."

"I do, but he does not. Wants to make his own way in the world or something to that effect," he says before diving back into his omelette. "But enough about me. Remind me where you're from again?"

I don't get a chance to tell him because we're interrupted by the sound of footsteps. But not just any footsteps, rather the unmistakeable clickety-clack of high heels echo towards us.

Clayton's head turns to one of the two entries and my gaze follows. The steps slow and Carlos almost makes it into the room first, but he's overtaken by an auburn goddess.

Calling her supermodel beautiful would be an understatement. Lanky and rail thin everywhere except in the bust area, she's wearing a pantsuit and enough jewelry to stock a small Cartier store.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Ward-" says the butler between ragged breaths, as though he's been running just to keep up with the woman, but she cuts him off.

"Oh, Carlos. You're acting like there's something to hide," she says as clutches her handbag that probably costs more than my annual salary before her eyes fall on me. "Who the hell are you?"

"Gemma!" Clayton rises from his seat and exclaims as though he's scolding a child to remember her manners. "You're the one who came to my home unannounced so I'd ask that you treat my guest with more respect."

The woman clenches her jaws, the muscles at their joints tightening under her flawless makeup. But as quickly as her annoyance at my presence materialized, the fast it also disappears. Replacing her scowl with a bright smile flashing her impeccably perfect teeth, she casually swipes her hair off her shoulder and walks closer.

"You're so right, darling. Forgive me, won't you?" she coos to Clayton as though he's the one who she just insulted. Slipping her arm around his back, she pulls him to her side and finally looks at me again.

Looks down at me, to be more precise, because with this unexpected interruption, I am still sitting at the breakfast table clutching my fork. Realizing this, I drop it on the table, but it slips over the edge and tumbles to the floor with a clank.

Gemma-the ethereal beauty who obviously has her sights set on Clayton and whom I hate already-chuckles and extends her hand.

"Let's start over, shall we? I'm Gemma Calhoun, Clayton's fiancée. What was your name again?"