We follow the flashing police cruiser to the scene, Carlos driving us in a black SUV.

There was no way I wasn't going to come.

True, I was in the middle of storming out of Clayton's mansion and ready to go home, but after hearing that the police had found a body, my plans changed.

Clayton's first question to the officer had been, "Who is it?" But the response was just an unhelpful, "It's too early to tell."

Sitting in the back seat of the SUV as we speed across campus through the rain, I'm not sure what I'd prefer the answer to be.

I want the missing girl to be found, but not like this. I want her to still be alive. But not getting an answer to what happened to her might be just as painful for everyone. And it would leave me forever questioning whether I was involved.

We don't go far and after getting to a wooded section at the perimeter of the campus, Carlos stops at a roadblock.

There are police everywhere along with a coroner's van.

"Stay here," Clayton says to me as he unbuckles his seatbelt, but I have no intention of listening.

"Don't worry. I'm not made of sugar so I won't melt," I snap back at him as I throw open the back door and step out into the rain.

I think I hear him mumble, "Suit yourself," but he doesn't stop me, instead following the officer who had knocked on his door.

After weaving through the flashing police cruisers stopped criss-crossed across the road, we duck under a line of yellow police tape. Behind it, two people in rain dusters are huddled over something on the ground. Next to them is a body covered with a white sheet.

I've only seen crime scenes in movies and now I'm not so sure that I should be here. But going back to the car isn't an option unless I want to look like a fool.

"Tell me everything you know, Captain," Clayton says to the officers picking through the wet leaves on the ground before one of them turns toward us.

"Dean Ward. Thanks for coming so quickly," she says, standing. "We don't have much yet, but I thought you should be aware of the developments."

"You thought right," Clayton says before nodding with his chin towards the body. "So who's this?"

I inhale a deep breath and prepare for the worst. But instead of answering, the police woman in charge bends down and pulls the sheet partly off.

"Maybe you could tell me," she says.

Clayton remains silent as he studies the corpse's features in the dim of the flashlight while I cover my mouth in shock.

It's not Jules! There's no mistaking it. This unfortunate soul has masculine features and dark, curly hair, and the relief I feel now is only surpassed by the guilt for my happiness.

"No idea," Clayton says, motioning for the sheet to be replaced. "And I don't understand why you think I would know."

"Standard procedure," says the captain, and I'm beginning to sense a bit of tension in the air.

But why? Has the police connected this victim to Clayton Ward and they're just not revealing it? Is that why he was called here so quickly after the discovery?

"Investigating deaths is your job, not mine. So if you've got nothing then you're wasting my time," Clayton says, now obviously annoyed as he makes a move to leave.

"So you'd rather have me make an initial statement to President Calhoun?" asks the police captain.

Clayton stops as though that name was his kryptonite.

"Talk," he says after turning toward us again.

"Black male, mid- to late twenties, no obvious signs of trauma. There are no matching missing persons reports from the area--"

"Wait," I interrupt. "No trauma? So how did he die?"

I can feel Clayton glaring at me, but I don't care. If I can rule out an animal attack, then I'll be absolutely certain that even though this isn't Jules, I also did not attack this man during the full moon.

"Manner of death will be determined by the medical examiner, but there are no bullet wounds, cuts nor any blood for that matter as far as we can tell," she says. "I guess we're just lucky at all that there were some volunteers still searching for that girl otherwise it could have been days or even weeks before we found him."

"So he hasn't been dead long?" Clayton asks.

"Probably less than twenty four hours, but don't quote me on that."

Wiping water from his face, Clayton nods. "Thank you, captain. Keep me updated, will you?"

"Sure thing," she says. "And you try to keep the community calm. First a missing person and now a possible murder . . . another incident and this powderkeg is going to erupt."

"Just find out who this was and how he died, and leave the rest to me."

The two shake hands and we head back towards the road, while the police captain confers with her colleague.

"It wasn't Jules," I say when we're likely out of earshot. "You had me thinking that I could have been responsible--"

Clayton stops abruptly. "One of these things may or may not have anything to do with the other, and honestly, I'm kind of hoping that the two aren't connected because I cannot be dealing with a serial whatever right now," he says with an exasperated wave of his arm.

Soaked through, cold, and still under suspicion, I took have had enough. But my anger is directly aimed at the man in front of me.

"You can't be dealing with? YOU?!" I raise my voice over the tip-tapping of the rain around us. "What about me, Clayton? Ever since I--"

"Ssh," he cuts me off and grabs me by the arm, gently dragging me towards the idling SUV where Carlos was smart enough to stay dry. "Not so loud."

Opening the back door for me, Clayton nudges me inside and, to my surprise, climbs in after me.

"Give us a minute, will you?" he addresses Carlos before the butler silently exits the vehicle. Then Clayton turns back to me. "You may proceed."

Being told when and where I can have a temper tantrum makes me livid enough, but getting permission to speak is just next level. It's so unexpected, in fact, that I have trouble actually forming sentences.

"I . . . when . . . you . . . aargh," I finally scream in frustration, but Clayton is unfazed.

Maybe it's the educator in him or maybe it's the pack leader, but it seems he can handle a meltdown because he remains calm, cool, and collected. In fact, he may be trying to hold back a smile.

"Do you think this is funny?" I ask, finding a lead to follow. "I'm so glad that I can amuse you, Dean Ward. Because you are the cause of everything wrong with my life right now."

Clayton makes a small effort to look concerned, his forehead creasing ever so slightly.

"Oh, no. How so, Dr. Milligan?" he asks, addressing me just as formally and sounding similarly insincere in the process.

But I don't care. This is my chance to finally unload on him and I'm going to do it.

"For your information, ever since I got here, I have been on edge. First with being forced to hunt during the full moon, which you have admitted to orchestrating and then with being convinced--by you--that I may have attacked Jules and caused her disappearance."

Clayton nods throughout my rant and when I pause to take a breath, he says, "Anything else?"

If I had the nerve, I'd smack him, but instead, I just ball my fist so tightly that my nails dig into my palm.

"As a matter of fact, yes," I say. "Because there's also having been forced to join the pack--again, by you--even when I had refused. And last, but not least not having a say in whether I even want my car replaced. Do you know how awful it feels to be indebted to you for such a lavish gift?"

For the first time since I started on my tirade, Clayton looks truly surprised.

"I . . . I'm sorry, Barlow. That wasn't my intent. And you shouldn't feel like you owe anything in return. Truly. You've seen that I can afford it--heck, I could afford a dozen and still not notice--but if the car is really causing you so much grief, I can ask Carlos to see if the junkyard hasn't scrapped your previous vehicle," he says with a hint of mischief.

I can't resist both the apology and the adorable way it was delivered, so I laugh.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. I don't think we have to resort to such drastic measures," I say, playing it up now. "I wanted you to know that I would have preferred to be consulted. No one said anything about giving things back."

Clayton laughs along with me.

"All right then. As long as we're clear on that, case closed," he says.

"Case closed," I echo, noticing how the space between us has narrowed. Sitting in the back seat, our knees are touching and we're both leaning towards each other.

The situation doesn't escape Clayton's attention either as he also quiets and turns more serious. Sitting still, we look into each other's eyes, both waiting for the other to make a move. But when Clayton reaches up and touches my cheek, I'm still caught off-guard.

"Your wound healed nicely," he says, softly stroking the spot where Gemma's claws had left their mark.

The sensation of his skin against mine is electrifying, sending a pulse of warmth directly into my core. It takes my full attention to keep from literally swooning, much less to attempt a reply.

"Thanks for reminding me of another thing I'm mad at you for," I whisper even though anger is currently the last thing I feel for this man.

Clayton's hand stops, but his fingertips stay in touch with my cheek as he looks into my eyes. "On my life, I will never allow you to be hurt again," he says, and the same bolt of electricity that ran through me before, just a hundred times stronger, now rushes through my veins because no matter how cheesy or cliche the words may sound, I believe him.

I also believe that he's about to kiss me as our faces linger just inches from each other, his hand now cupping my cheek. And as I take a breath and close my eyes . . . my phone rings.

We jump apart, Clayton raking his fingers through his hair and I searching my pocket for my cell. It's my sister and since we've been playing phone tag all week, no matter how much I want to, I can't ignore her.

"I have to take this," I say apologetically to Clayton and he nods.

Opening the car door, he's already half way out before he says, "I'll give you some privacy. Take your time."

Waiting another ring to try to calm my heart rate, I finally answer. "Lark, hey. Good to finally hear from you, but this isn't the best—"

"I'm actually in a car that's almost on your campus. What's your address again? We need to talk," she says and although finally things were looking up, my night just got worse again.