material doesn’t tear, but there are a few holes sprinkled throughout it.
When he sees me looking at them, he says, “Rats.”
Rats chewed holes in his blanket? I think he’s joking so I smile, but when his lips don’t lift, I reply, “Seriously?”
He shrugs and sits cross-legged casually on the ground.
I spread out the second blanket beside him, letting the edges overlap to hopefully keep the sand off. The breeze picks up, and a chill brushes over my skin like a soft kiss. It’s still warm, and the night shouldn’t be that cold, but it will probably dip into the sixties. I rub my bare arms and drop to the ground beside him but am careful to keep at least a foot of distance between us.
Once settled, I ask, “Where did you encounter rats?”
He leans back on his hands. Veins pop on his forearms. “Sewers.”
“Sewers as in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles sewers?”
He chuckles again, and I realize I like that sound way more than I should. “Not quite that bad. The rats I encountered were still normal sized.”
“What were you doing in a sewer?”
“Sleeping there.”
My eyes bulge. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.”
I settle back, too, realizing we have a long time to wait for a fully dark sky. “Why would you sleep in a sewer?”
“It was the safest place for me. The SF is good at finding rogues, but the SF didn’t realize how desperate I was to stay free. The sewer was one of the places I’d managed to avoid detection.”
I scrunch my nose up. “That must have been interesting.”
He laughs. “I can’t say I liked it.”
Since he’s laughing and joking about such an abhorrent way to live, I’m struck again by how tough this man is. He’s completely alone in the world. He has no money or resources, yet he’s managed to survive on nothing but his own wits. The little I know of his upbringing sounds charming and privileged. I can’t imagine he suffered any then what he is now.
“How have you done it?”
He cocks his head. “What do you mean?”
I bend my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. The temperature is steadily dropping. “Well, you grew up in a small town, right? With your family and friends. You had money, food, and a house, yet now…” I shake my head. “You’ve been living for months on absolutely nothing. How does someone who went from having everything to not even one dollar do it?”
A groove appears between his eyes. “I suppose I was determined to prove that I could.” He shakes his head. “But I was an arrogant prick. I thought I could show everyone that I didn’t need them, but in the end, I was no different than every other male who’s left his pack. My wolf turned into a beast, and here I am.” He raises a hand and gives me a crooked smile. Since he genuinely doesn’t seem upset talking about it, I decide to appease my curiosity.
“So how long do werewolves usually last on their own before they turn into a rogue?”
“It’s hard to say. I don’t have access to SF files, but rumors in the community have said your wolf can go rogue anywhere from a month to a year without a pack. But once rogue, most werewolves are caught by the SF within a few months. Some, however, have gone years before arrest. They’re the most dangerous ones.”
“A month? You can turn into a rogue in less than a month away from your pack?”
“Not usually. That particular wolf I’m thinking of wasn’t very dominant. His wolf changed sooner than most.”
“And when did your wolf change?”
“Around a year.”
I rub my hands up and down my shins. “So you’ve been dealing with your crazy wolf for the last eighteen months?”
“Yep.” He stretches his legs out and crosses his hands behind his head. Since he looks so comfortable, I do the same. I lie down on my side, my head cupped in my hand so I can look at him. Damn. He’s a fine male specimen. My gaze rakes up and down his long frame. His biceps bulge from how they’re bent. His abdomen is flat and toned, and his thighs are heavily muscled.
“Like what you see?”
His question makes my cheeks flush. I bite my lip and pick at a loose thread on the blanket.
“It’s okay, you know. You can look if you want.” The amusement in his tone has me rolling my eyes.