I marched into my living room. “Jim?”
No answer.
The scent was hot and alive. He was still here, or he had been here just a second ago.
“Jim? It’s not funny.”
Nothing.
Fine. I followed the scent, moving softly on my toes. Living room, hallway, bathroom, bedroom. The scent sparked here. He was in my bedroom.
Oh my gods. What if I walked in and he was na**d on my bed?
I would lose it. I would lose it right there and never get it back, whatever “it” was.
Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip. I padded into the bedroom.
Jim slumped against the wall on the floor. His eyes were closed. He wore black jeans and a black turtleneck, a couple of shades darker than his skin. His black hair was cut short. His leather jacket lay on the floor in a heap. Asleep.
I tiptoed into the room and crouched by him.
He looked so peaceful here. Usually Jim scowled, just to remind people that he was Serious and Important and would Kick Your Ass if Necessary. But right now, with his head tilted back and his face relaxed, he was beautiful. I wanted to sit on the floor next to him and snuggle up into the crook of his arm. It looked like the perfect spot for me. Instead, I sighed and touched his forehead with my finger. “Hey, you. Wake up.”
He didn’t move.
Odd. Usually Jim woke up if a pin dropped half a mile away. Most shapeshifters did, but Jim especially. He oversaw security for the Pack and he exhibited paranoid tendencies. The only time he would pass out like this was when he was injured or exhausted from changing too many times and Lyc-V shut his brain down to conserve resources and make repairs. I smelled no blood and Jim’s clothes were still on. But if he had passed out after shifting, he’d be on my floor … na**d. I closed my eyes and gave myself a mental shake.
Something was wrong.
I grabbed his shoulder and shook him. “Jim! Wake up. Wake. Up.”
His eyes snapped open. His dark hand grabbed my wrist. “Was I asleep?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck.”
He surged off the floor, dark eyes pissed off. “You were gone. Dali Harimau, where were you?”
I stood up and crossed my arms over my chest. It wasn’t much of a chest, so crossing my arms was easy. “I was out. You’re not my daddy, Jim. I don’t have to check in with you before I leave my house.”
A green sheen rolled over Jim’s eyes. “Dali, where were you?”
He had pulled the alpha card. You didn’t argue when his eyes lit up. “I was racing on Buzzard. There. Happy now?”
He exhaled. “Good.”
Good? Since when was my racing good? “You’re not making any sense.”
“You didn’t check your messages?”
“No, I just got home.”
“So you didn’t go to the house?”
“What house? I told you I just got home.”
Jim’s eyes dimmed. He rubbed his face with his hand, as if trying to wipe something off. “I need your help.”