Shift Happens (A Carus Novel Book 1) by J. C. McKenzie

surprising me. I didn’t think he would get the reference. Then again, the wolf story was based on a true Werewolf. He should know it.
    The nightmare still clung to me like a silk bath robe after a shower. Those eyes haunted my sleep. If I closed my eyes again, I’d see them, crystal clear, as if they were real. Transported back to the hell I tried to forget, I looked into Wick’s deep brown safe eyes, dark portals in the dim light, and relaxed. Tension flowed from my body. Wick’s white teeth flashed in the dark in response.
    “What big teeth you have.” I chuckled.
    Wick’s grin grew. “I’m not sure you’re ready for me to reply to that.”
    Hot damn! I didn’t think I was ready, either. I needed to get this conversation on a different path before it rolled completely in the gutter. “Taking your guard duty a little far, don’t you think?” I waved a finger at his body next to mine.
    “I don’t trust you alone in the room.”
    Truth, but it seemed like a pretty lame reason to me. “The windows are locked,” I pointed out. “And Were-proof.”
    “Ah, but you’re not a Were. And locks can be broken or picked.”
    “That hadn’t occurred to me,” I said.
    Wick growled.
    “Aren’t you afraid I’ll smother you with a pillow?”
    “You could try.”
    Sighing, I flipped onto my back.
    “I would wake before you had a chance to do anything,” Wick continued. He was right.
    “I think I prefer dumb guards.”
    He chuckled, but then turned serious. “What was your nightmare about?” I didn’t need to see his face to sense his frown. I heard the concern in his voice and smelled his confusion in the air.
    “None of your business.”
    “If it keeps me awake, it will become my business.”
    “It’s nothing.”
    “It didn’t sound like nothing .” Was he mocking me? My voice couldn’t sound as bitchy or clipped as he just made out.
    “It’s in the past.”
    “Our past can come back to bite us.”
    Surprised at the irony, a laugh escaped my lips. “Interesting choice of words.”
    “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
    “You’re my captor, not my therapist,” I said, although his offer tempted a part of me.
    Wick snorted. “Have it your way. It’s an open invitation.”
    The silence stretched. “Good night.” I wished my voice sounded more final.
    “Good night.” His soft reply kissed my skin.

Chapter Eight
    “Fifteen two, fifteen four, fifteen six, fifteen eight, straight twelve and the jack make it thirteen.” I laid the cards down for all to see. Not the best hand, but not the worst either.
    Ryan groaned and leaned back in disgust. “Every time.”
    “One might think you cheated.” John glared. At least I think he did. His usual expression toward me was dark, so I struggled to tell the difference.
    “Who me?” Batting my eyelashes, I moved my peg fourteen notches instead of twelve. They didn’t notice.
    John put his hand down. “Eight,” he bit out.
    I hated when people didn’t count their points out. I watched him move the measly eight notches and suppressed a grin.
    “It’s ten,” I said when he finished. A growl escaped John’s throat as I moved my peg two more notches. In crib, if an opponent missed points in his or her own hand, another player could take them. Normally I didn’t steal points, but John brought out the worst in me.
    “Where?” John demanded.
    I took his hand, counted out the points and tried not to look smug.
    “Bitch,” John grumbled and sat back. I half expected him to throw his cards. He exploded into tantrums when he didn’t win. While healing, I’d come to know Wick’s inner circle quite well, and planned to sleuth information from them. My devious plot failed. Nobody would tell me a thing. Not why Lucien wanted me, or how the Werewolves connected to him or my hit on Clint. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
    “Mutt,” I replied. He snarled at me, but I ignored it. He knew his place.
    “Calm down,” Ryan said to John. “At least you win some