"The man you met in the warehouse."
"He's a werewolf?" It would certainly explain the anger she'd sensed in him. And her own, somewhat surprising, attraction to a man she couldn't even see. Werewolves were sexually alluring when the full moon was rising. "So why didn't I sense that? I thought he was a shifter."
"He is."
"Well, I suppose if you're going to get technical — "
Gwen laughed softly. "No, I mean there're two types — those who are born and those who are bitten."
She raised her eyebrows. "Really? I didn't know." Mainly because they'd never actually come across any werewolves in their travels for the Circle. A couple of wolf shifters was as close as they'd ever gotten.
"Those who are bitten are the ones responsible for all the bad press werewolves get." Gwen rose, her movements stiff as she hobbled over to the kettle. "They're usually bitten well after puberty and haven't the experience or knowledge to control the sexual and emotional turmoil the rising moon causes. And of course, the physical change makes most quite mad."
"And those that are born?"
Gwen filled the kettle and plugged it in, then grabbed three cups and spooned instant coffee into them. "The werewolf born can generally control the worst of his urges. And they can generally shift shape any time they want."
"Does the moon still force the change?"
"Always. That's part of the legacy that can never be escaped."
Like the weakness and headaches she got after using her abilities to the fullest. Like the arthritis ravaging her grandmother's body. "So why is he coming here?"
"He's one of the cops on the special task force. And his niece is one of the missing kids."
"Oh, great." A werewolf seeking vengeance was not what they needed to deal with right now. The kettle's shrill whistle sounded. She put the herbal pack on the coffee table and swung off the sofa. "And you didn't answer my original question."
"No." Gwen hesitated. "He comes here because he thinks we know more than what we are saying — "
"Which we do." She grabbed the kettle and poured the water into the three cups.
"Does he take milk?"
Her grandmother shook her head. "Three sugars."
"Black syrup. Yuck."
Gwen smiled and continued, "And because he's desperate for a miracle and willing to chase the most remote lead."
She nodded. Had their positions been reversed, she'd be doing the same thing.
"So, what's the plan?"
"I think we need to keep your wolf on a very tight leash."
"He's not my anything, so quit it." She stirred some sugar into the second coffee then handed it to her grandmother. "You don't have to try to set me up with every eligible male that comes within sniffing distance."
"Someone has to. You're doing a somewhat foul job of it yourself."
Kat rolled her eyes. "I thought gray-haired grannies were supposed to warn their granddaughters against the evils of casual sex, not sit down and plot ways of getting them into the sack with some guy."
"My dear, you're so much easier to deal with when you've been laid."
"Gran!"
Gwen's green eyes twinkled. "Well, it's the truth, isn't it?"
"Maybe," she muttered. A good night of sex certainly did have a way of easing tension — but she didn't have the time for that sort of thing. Not with this case.