was like he was confessing to eating the last chocolate chip cookie. He must have seen the look of alarm on her face because he quickly added, “But it was only a little nick on the shoulder. It barely bled at all.”
Bree set down her fork on her plate with a clatter. “You got shot! Why are you sitting here and not in the hospital?”
Diego held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Bree, calm down. I’m fine. See?”
Unbuttoning two more buttons on his shirt, he pulled it to the side to expose his right shoulder. Bree gaped at the expanse of muscles on his upper chest and shoulder he treated her to, only to stare in disbelief the next second at the line of pink scar tissue there. Regardless of what he’d said about it being little more than a scratch, she was still surprised to see that the wound was closed up, like it was days—maybe even weeks—old.
“Werewolves heal faster than humans,” he said, slipping his shirt back over his shoulder and buttoning it. “I didn’t mention it to you last night because getting shot isn’t a big deal for us and I didn’t want you to freak out.”
Like she had a few minutes ago. But he was nice enough not to remind her.
Her head still spun at the thought of him healing from a gunshot wound in the space of a few hours. She didn’t know why she was having a hard time with this, especially since she’d bought the entire werewolf thing so easily. Then again, maybe all of the insanity was finally catching up to her.
Bree picked up her fork and absently pushed her pasta around on her plate. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to this world I’ve suddenly found myself in. Alphas and betas, fangs and claws, wounds that heal overnight. It’s a lot to take in.” She looked at him. “Was it like that for you in the beginning?”
He picked up his own fork with a shrug. “If you want to know the truth, you and Brandon are handling all of this way better than I did. I thought I was going insane and that the people who kept insisting they knew what was happening were crazy, too.”
“Were you already in SWAT when you turned into a werewolf?”
Diego ate a forkful of salad, considering her question. A vision of a werewolf à la Lon Chaney Jr. eating salad popped into her head, and she had a sudden urge to laugh. But didn’t.
“No,” he said, spearing a juicy cherry tomato. “Funny thing was, I talked to Hale about trying out for SWAT the night I got shot. He was already on the team, only I didn’t know he was a werewolf back then. He and the rest of the Pack took me under their wing and taught me what it meant to be a werewolf.”
She lifted a forkful of pasta to her mouth, and they both ate in silence for a while.
“What happened the night you were shot?” she asked softly, not sure it was something he wanted to talk about or even something she wanted to hear, but something told her it was important she did. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.”
He took a bite of garlic bread and chewed slowly. Bree had no idea why she liked watching him eat, but she did. His mouth was mesmerizing.
“You know those books that always start out with ‘It was a dark and stormy night?’” he said. “Well, that’s exactly what it was like when I got a call for a disturbance at a club down on Harry Hines.”
Diego paused, his beautiful eyes taking on a slightly distracted look as he pulled up the memories. Bree sat riveted, barely remembering to eat as he recounted the story about how he’d rescued a trio of women from some a-holes, getting shot three times and stabbed once. Tears stung her eyes as he told her how he felt like he’d failed the woman who’d been injured when he’d fallen to the floor and couldn’t get back up. When he’d told her about how Hale had growled at him, telling him to keep fighting, a few of those tears rolled down her cheeks.
She wiped them away with her fingers. “Was the girl okay?”
Diego set down his knife and fork on his empty plate with a nod. “Yeah. She was in the hospital for a while, but she was okay. She stills sends