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Tess Janver should be home in bed this late at night. Or rather, early in the morning, since it was now after midnight. She’d thought by this time Wednesday morning, their patient would be awake.

She’d sat with him all Monday night until she had to go home and shower. Exhaustion had hit by lunch yesterday. She’d locked her office door and asked her assistant to not allow anyone to interrupt. She’d managed an hour of sleep that way, enough to keep her on her feet through the past evening, but she had to go home soon.

This visit would have to be short. She wouldn’t be able to function without a night of decent sleep, but she had so many questions for this shifter.

Standing next to unconscious John Doe, she studied the partially disfigured body retrieved from the failed food bank bust on Monday.

How could anyone, human or not, have survived being so close to that explosion?

John Doe was a wolf shifter, based on what the jackal shifters on staff said. After the initial intake, Tess had kept those jackals away from John Doe.

Some of the jackals working on staff for SCIS, Shifter Criminal Investigation Service, had been known to lose control around an injured shifter. They’d change shape and attack. Sometimes the agency’s powerful tranquilizer dart guns didn’t work quickly enough. That meant using deadly force to protect the wounded shifter, who was defenseless.

Even if they maintained control, she didn’t trust the jackal shifters on the SCIS payroll.

They treated her with respect, but instinct warned her not to end up alone with any of them. She’d researched all forms of shifters while gaining her master’s degree on the topic. One of the first to complete a program formed when mainstream universities scrambled to form viable think tanks, Tess had been in on the earliest stages of studying shifters. Once shifters were revealed as undeniably real, professors and institutions of higher learning reached out to available resources they would once have shunned as non-science.

Combining her existing law degree, her unusual credentials, and a buttload of hard work and determination, Tess earned her reputation as a top legal expert on shifters. That was how she’d landed this position investigating Black River Wolf Pack crimes committed in the southeastern district of SCIS.

She’d become the liaison between SCIS and all human law enforcement agencies.

Jackals working for SCIS weren’t her responsibility.

But John Doe was.

This guy was her best lead on finding the grizzly bear shifter responsible for the Nantahala Honeymoon Massacre, as that case had been nicknamed in the press. She still hadn’t figured out why the Black River wolf pack had a bear with them. Wolves particularly did not like other animals in their packs, but the Black River wolf pack’s calling card had been found near the murder scene.

Literally, a card, but oddly ... there was no scent.

She’d fought for this SCIS position so she could take down the Black River pack for their many crimes over the past seven years, including her mother’s death. Now that SCIS had captured one of their wolves, she had a real chance at making some headway.

Six years ago, SCIS had not existed as such. But the initial investigating agency, which later morphed into SCIS, was the one that handled her mother’s death.

Tess felt the sharp pang that accompanied any memory of her mom, a sweet, innocent human who had been caught in the middle of an early shifter battle over territory.

Already reeling from the disappearance of the man she’d expected to marry after college, Tess had gone numb when her mother died, barely managing to get through the days by simply going through the motions expected of a grieving daughter. But two weeks after burying her mom, Tess changed her career direction from focusing only on human law. She became a woman with a mission, determined to find answers once she had the background to go looking for them. That had taken longer than she’d thought. When she landed this position five months back, she’d started quietly digging.

And run into one wall after another.

The court case, with all its files, had been sealed and her powerful father refused to help, demanding she leave it be. That stung more than she’d like to admit, given that she’d followed him into law and would like to think he had some respect for what she’d accomplished..

She swung her attention back to the only case she could control right now.

John Doe, wolf shifter.

She took a step closer to the foot of his stretcher and her insides buzzed sharply with a sudden lurch of energy.

She knew that energy. She’d grown up accidentally disabling watch batteries and frying small electronics just by touching them. As a child, she’d found it amusing until she realized it was truly strange. Something that marked her a freak until she’d learned to hide it.

The buzzing energy hadn’t been this noticeable since she was nineteen, or more specifically, the night the man she loved abandoned her.

Gritting her teeth, she silently reprimanded herself for thinking about him.

He has no place in your life anymore, Tess.

Got it. Get John Doe healed so he can be interrogated.

Her gaze traveled over the still form of her burned captive. Yes, he was a captive and suspected to be part of the Black River pack, but it was hard to look at anyone burned and battered that way. She hoped the medicine they were giving him eased his pain.

Based on her background in shifter studies, she contended this man needed to shift to promote his own healing.

The medic working on this case had warned that would be a mistake. He claimed he’d never seen a shifter in such bad shape. He pointed out they had no idea how damaged John Doe’s wolf might be. If they used medicines to force this man to shift too soon and his wolf wasn’t up to the task, John Doe might end up stuck halfway through a shift.

If that happened, they’d have to perform a mercy killing.

She shuddered at the thought.

Even as a shifter, how had this man survived such a catastrophic injury? She’d reviewed cases of others who had died from far less damage. As preternatural humans, these people were practically bulletproof, but based on how close the bomb techs estimated he’d been to the detonation, it was mind-boggling that he still breathed.

She lifted John Doe’s medical chart and read it again. The list of injuries made her wince. She should have no sympathy for shifters who killed humans, especially after what happened to her mother.

But her mother had been the one to teach Tess respect for all forms of nature.

Her father preached the opposite. He believed shifters belonged in cages.

Sighing at the internal conflict she suffered every time she had that conversation with her father, she continued reviewing Mr. Doe.

She snorted. That sounded ridiculous.

Like he was a gender-confused deer.

Burns covered half of his body along the left side.

Her gaze ran down to where a narrow band of sheet hid his hips and private area. She blushed at the memory of medics checking his naked body for injuries, but at that moment they’d been trying to determine if he was alive or dead.

He hadn’t spoken a word.

She’d expected him to wake up by now, confused and shouting at everyone to explain what happened to him. Maybe start checking for body parts.

Some men would worry about their penis before a leg or arm.

John Doe would be glad to find his intact.

Not that she’d been checking him out. God, no. The sad fact was that she’d only ever been interested in ogling one man and he’d loved it. That had been a long time ago when she’d let an attractive face and sexy smile steal her heart.

That bastard had taught her how to guard against allowing anyone else in. He’d taught her not to trust men who professed to care about her and only her. Lies.

Tough lesson at nineteen, but one that had served her well.

Besides, this man was a shifter.

In spite of suffering so much physical damage, once he shifted and healed, he’d have a fit body with carved up muscle. All shifters seemed to be built like gorgeous Spartan warriors.

Not being very clinical, Tess.

With her professional mask back in place, she replayed what she knew for the tenth time. The more she turned the details over in her mind, the less sensational these events would become, and then she could pick out inconsistencies.

The explosion had launched John Doe across the street into a brick building. His right hand and arm had more broken bones than his left, the side that had been burned the worst.

So he’d shoved out a hand to prevent hitting the wall?

Why? It seemed that if he’d taken the hit against his whole body, he probably would have come out better.

He’d landed on a terrified homeless woman who had been frantic, speaking gibberish for two minutes before she passed out.

Poor thing. Tess had gotten her medical aid on site, then sent her to a hospital where the staff reported she’d fallen into a coma from light head trauma. Tess couldn’t question that witness yet.

John Doe groaned all of a sudden, as if in deep pain.

Tess jumped at the unexpected sound.

She’d been told John Doe had howled earlier while being treated, but that he’d still been unconscious. Since then he’d remained silent. Had he howled because he’d been trying to shift before her medics had loaded him with one of their heavy-duty tranqs for shifters?

She stepped over to his side, where wires ran from his body to monitoring equipment. She didn’t touch any of it with her bare hands for fear of screwing up the electronics.

This was not the place to make that mistake.

She hated the thin, white gloves she wore to protect the sensitive electrical equipment. She should probably have them on now, but she didn’t plan to touch any of the gear. The gloves were stuffed in her pocket for handy access in case someone else on staff came in and she needed to help in some way.

Some people claimed they couldn’t wear a wristwatch due to electrical current in their body killing the battery. What Tess had experienced as a child had been similar, but her watches had actually stopped, then run backwards.

Some of those watches had not used batteries.

Over the past seven years, since the night Cole-Asshole-Cavanaugh vanished, the problem had gotten continually worse. She’d lost countless phones, computers, kitchen appliances, clocks and more when the electronics had fried.

Was she admitting that to anyone?

Not a chance. The staff would look at her as if she were stranger than a shifter.

She’d kept it hidden from her dad for years, especially the details of what happened the day her mother died.

The weird energy inside her had intensified the very night Cole disappeared, which made no sense to her back then. Through trial and error, she’d figured out that gloves would dull the effect and had finally started wearing them almost constantly while at law school. She’d explained them away with the excuse that she was highly allergic.

If someone asked her specifically what bothered her skin, she shook her head and said there were too many things to list.

In recent years, high-end phone cases offered a layer of protection as well as the stylus she used on her cell phone and laptop. But other electronics still got toasted if she grew careless.

This new intensity to her energy wasn’t about MIA Cole, though. The buzzing had felt stronger in general over the past two weeks, interrupting her sleep and distracting her.

Right now it droned in her ears and her skin actually vibrated. Between that and erotic dreams of the bastard who had broken her heart, the last two weeks had been hellish.

Why dream about Cole at all? He’d left.

Stupid mind.

John Doe grunted.

She watched the part of his face she could see for signs of pain. The medical log hadn’t indicated any significant change since yesterday.

Shifters often responded to SCIS drugs, but not absolutely. Not like they did with Jugo Loco.

She gritted her teeth over the sting operation that had gone badly. She wanted to rail at this shifter for his role in putting humans—and other shifters—in such danger just for personal gain. Oh, and money always played a role.

Her conscience argued, what if he isn’t part of the Black River pack?

What was he doing there when the bomb exploded? she countered.

No answer. Just as she thought. This guy was guilty of something even her conscience couldn’t argue.

Still, she believed in due process. Innocent until proven guilty even for nonhumans.

Glancing at the clock, she frowned. It was time to get some rest. When she turned away, though, she couldn’t take a step. Her body still functioned like normal, but the energy inside her stopped her cold. It didn’t want to move away.

She knew that, but didn’t understand why she knew.

The buzzing inside her cranked up even higher.

“Don’t leave,” a voice implored.

Tess jerked around, looking everywhere around her, because it had sounded like the whisper filled the room.

Looking down, she stared at John Doe.

He couldn’t have said anything. He was still out cold and that had sounded ... ethereal.

She was losing her marbles.

Then again, a few years ago she would have said the same thing at the idea of shifters being real. Could that have been some sort of telepathy?

She’d never read about shifters speaking telepathically in human form. Nothing in her studies had shown evidence of actual telepathic communication, but a jackal on staff who’d once had a mate said he had been able to communicate with her when they were both in animal form.

She’d never heard of any shifter using telepathy with a human. But if anything ever fit the ideal definition of telepathy, that desperate cry in her mind hit dead-on.

That couldn’t happen, right?

Lack of sleep was screwing with her. Had to be.

But that didn’t explain why her heart raced and her skin felt hot. What was going on?

She had no idea, but she was loath to leave this man alone for some reason. The longer she stared at him, the more his suffering bothered her.

He was a shifter.

A Black River wolf shifter, almost certainly. One who had no thought for the well-being of anyone other than himself. She should be standing far away.

But when she looked at John Doe, she saw only a man in pain. Logic said that made her a candidate for some serious therapy.

When would he open his eyes?

She had the sudden urge to put a hand on his forehead and check that he was okay.

As if her touch could determine that?

“Touch me,” whispered through the air, reaching her ears past the soft sounds of humming and whirring equipment.

She froze and looked down at his mouth.

Had he really spoken this time? She battled a mix of fear and excitement. Curiosity and a sense of purpose had driven her to take on the study of shifters. That same curiosity took over now.

He was restrained. If not incapacitated, he was injured and she had a stun weapon designed specifically for shifters.

She gently ran her fingers down the length of his broken forearm.

Something moved under the skin.

She snatched her fingers back, watching as the bones in his forearm appeared to mend.

But only that arm.

The one she’d touched.

Could that mean ... that her energy could heal?

Right. If that was the case, why hadn’t she healed anyone else in all these years?

“More touch.”

His masculine voice was hardly more than a croak, but she understood the words.

Was he dreaming?

Had she actually made him feel better with her touch?

Afraid to touch anywhere else, she slipped her fingers over his newly mended arm and down to his hand. His fingers lifted in tiny increments and wove through hers as she watched, dumbfounded. According to the X-rays, that hand was broken in at least eight places. He should not be able to move those fingers.

He sighed, a deep sound of peace.

She couldn’t speak. Her throat clogged with an unnamed emotion. His hand was warm and strong.

Energy inside her churned all of a sudden and heat flushed down her arm, brushing along her skin until it reached her hand that still held his.

She started to pull away, but her fingers refused to do what she told them.

He wasn’t holding her. She just wouldn’t—couldn’t—let go of him.

Panic rushed up her spine and her heart rate jumped. Her whole body trembled. She had to get a grip or she’d start hyperventilating any minute now.

His thumb barely moved, brushing slowly across the skin on the hand he held.

A strange sense of peace settled over her as she realized he was touching her now, soothing her.

She didn’t want to let go.

Her heart thumped hard, then slower with every second, until she could swear she felt the rhythmic pumping of his heart ... in sync with hers.

What was happening to her? Was he causing it? Or was she?

This was foolish.

And dangerous. He was a shifter.

Never forget that.

She flexed her fingers, relieved to have muscle control, and started to withdraw her hand again.

His fingers tightened around hers, not the crushing grip that a shifter was capable of, but one that begged her not to let go.

She turned into a statue. Her brain short-circuited.

What other reason would explain this feeling that he was trying to let her know he needed her to stay?

He needed her close to him.

How could she know what he was feeling or needing?

The energy reversed course and raced back up her arm, then spread into her chest, warm and comforting. She could definitely hear the double thump of two heartbeats in her ear, beating in time.

Nothing like this had even happened with her internal energy.

But something bizarre was going on with John Doe. The last time something really crazy happened with her energy, she’d exploded her phone and never received the last call from her mother.

A call that might have saved her mother’s life.

Tess couldn’t catch her breath.  

She’d never passed out, but she felt clammy and light headed.

Mangled words slipped from John Doe’s lips. “Won’t ... hurt you. Not ... you.”

What?

He moaned a sad sound, then his grip relaxed and his hand fell loose.

She grabbed her chest where her heart now beat like it auditioned for a heavy metal band.

The unburned, but badly bruised, right side of his face relaxed and his breathing evened out. He mumbled something else that came out garbled.

She rolled her eyes at herself for thinking it was all about her.

You’re an idiot. John Doe had been caught in a dream and her energy was playing tricks on her mind.

She whispered, “Enjoy your dreams. Reality won’t be nearly as nice once you wake up.”

Thinking about his upcoming interrogation made her sad, which was ridiculous since being present to witness shifter interrogations was part of her job.

He murmured again.

She couldn’t stop herself from leaning close to his lips to hear him. She whispered, “What?”

On the next exhale, he said, “Need ... you.”

Tess stood up and backed away, pulling the gloves from her pocket. She left before she started seeing ghosts or faeries or mice turning into pumpkins.

He was screwing with her somehow even though all his vitals showed him deeply under the tranq’s influence.

She had to keep a certain distance between them. She couldn’t have John Doe exposing her weird energy.

If that happened, she’d lose her job and her father would find out. He’d look at her like she was a freak.

No one, not a shifter or human, was going to cost her the job she’d fought so hard to earn.