What the fuck am I doing here? Derrick hadn’t set foot—or wheel—in a bar since his accident. Bars served alcohol, which he tolerated better than a human, but drink enough of it and his inhibitions lowered just as much as the next guy’s. Lowered inhibitions, though, meant his wolf, the wolf who wouldn’t stop pacing, pushing to take over. His wolf loomed within, so much stronger now, strong enough that Derrick worried.

Oddly enough, getting drunk and going loup on a room full of people wasn’t his biggest concern. He could handle his wolf. What Derrick didn’t want was to be stared at by able-bodied guys. He didn’t want to see the pity in their eyes, the disdain for the cripple.

Am I truly condemning them without giving them a chance?

Never mind he’d never shown that kind of attitude to people he’d known with infirmities. Although he’d never done it, Derrick had seen it. Hated it. Used to punch those who disparaged the less able bodied. In some cases, he made them apologize—Remember Timmy Reed? He’d lost a leg and his parents in a car accident in grade nine. Timmy went on to do great things, but Derrick never forgot how those boys in school treated him. Pummeling him with words, and Timmy, never defending himself. Not even bothering with words because, as he told Derrick later, “Some people just don’t know how to listen or see past the surface. They don’t see that I’m still me inside.”

Derrick didn’t think he would handle that kind of disparaging attitude as well as Timmy had. He wanted to be seen as more than “that poor man stuck in a wheelchair.” He doubted he’d stay quiet if someone dared mock him.

Bite their face off. His wolf wouldn’t tolerate disdain—even if deserved.

Wheeling into the place, the stairs flanked by a ramp—that he assumed was put in for deliveries because his mind refused to see—they entered the bar, Janine holding the door open for him. The stupid reversal of roles put a scowl on his face.

Mama always taught me the man holds it open for a lady.

Did doctors count too? He kept trying to remind himself she was off limits. But Janine made it hard—not in a cock-teasing way, unfortunately—to think of her platonically. Just a glimpse of her, the barest whiff of her scent, and every atom in his being blossomed with awareness. Every atom above the belt that was.

Even their talk in the van about sex—and the fact that he couldn’t have any!—did nothing to stir any interest from his limp snake. She could claim all she wanted that a man could satisfy a woman in other ways, and yes, she was technically right, they could. Derrick wasn’t stupid. He knew how to make a woman come without his rod, but he wanted more than simply a taste and touch. I want to be able to sink into her. To feel her clenching around me. To feel the quiver of her orgasm. How could he ever properly claim a woman—not just any woman, Janine—if he couldn’t slide his cock into her and brand her with his flesh?

There are toys.

Toys were made of plastic. A woman deserved more. A mate deserved a whole man, not a half one like him.

And here he was still thinking of her in mating terms. Janine surely thought him pathetic the way he drooled after her like some lovesick pup.

Dislikes me so much, she dragged me to a bar. A more pathetic guy would have read something into that, maybe a reciprocal interest. Pragmatism was for those who could walk. Derrick knew this outing was nothing more than another step in his treatment plan.

She’s here to fix me. What a waste of time.

“Why are you scowling so badly?” she asked as she sat down at a two-person table. She didn’t remove the seat across from her, so he did it himself, dragging the wooden chair to the side to give himself a spot to park. She didn’t offer to help at all. He hated it when she respected him that way.

How dare she keep proving I can take care of myself! Surely some kind of crime deserving of punishment?

Like a kiss.

No kiss.

Grope?

Apparently, his dirty mind was in fine form this evening and he’d not even downed a single drink yet. He drummed his fingers on the table. “I’m scowling because this was a bad idea. Everybody is staring at me.”

“No one is staring,” she replied, peeking at the laminated menu of drinks. “And if they are looking in our direction, they’re probably staring at me. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m the only woman in the place other than the waitresses. They’re probably wondering if I’m available.”

“You’re with me,” he growled.

“As your doctor,” she reminded.

“But they don’t know that. They shouldn’t be staring.” He aimed his glower at the room in general.

A glance around showed that, while a few stray glances were tossed their way, she was right. For the most part, they just slid over Derrick without expression and lingered over her, with a little too much interest.

Rip their eyes out. Tear at their throats. How dare they sniff around our female.

He blinked at the strong surge of emotion from his wolf. What made it more uncanny? He felt the same jealousy—minus the whole ripping and tearing thing.

Staring down at the table, he drew deep breaths, trying to calm his inner beast and panic. She mistook his agitation.

“Is this too much for you? I didn’t think it would be this packed with people. We can leave if you’d like.”

Leave and admit his cowardice? Never. He angled his chin, stubborn to the core. “I’m just peachy fucking keen, Red. No worries here.”

A young blonde sauntered their way, her hair swept into a ponytail, her jean shorts tight and borderline indecent. The blouse she wore sported a checkered pattern and was tied off around her midriff, under pert breasts pushed high by her bra.

Cute, but not his type. He preferred the woman across from him.

After a perky hello and a quickly rendered listing of their on-tap specials, the waitress took their order, her smile bright and cheerful and her gaze not once lingering to his chair. She treated him as if he were normal.

But I’m not!

He never had been, even before the accident, but the wolf he could hide. This he couldn’t. No one could miss the fact that he sat in a wheelchair, that his legs did not bear a cast. All could see his shame, and yet, no one remarked on it. He strained through the music, waiting to hear a disparaging remark. Either the music muffled it or no nasty rejoinders were made.

Kind of disappointing really.

The food arrived, a basket of crispy fried onion rings and coconut-covered shrimp. Tastiest shit he’d eaten since he’d gotten home. So tasty he ordered some wings and fries, delighting in their flavor, so much better than the bland rehab center diet.

“Someone missed junk food,” she said with a laugh as he polished off the last wing.

“I don’t remember the last time I ate this much,” he admitted.

“Nice to see there are things that whet your appetite.”

“If you wanted me to eat, then we should have smoked a joint.”

She shook her head. “There you go trying to shock me again. Nice try, and just so you know, I’ve used marijuana in some treatment plans to deal with a lack of interest in food.”

“You’ve intentionally given your patients the munchies?” He gaped at her.

“Don’t act so shocked. It’s proven to be an effective drug in many treatments.”

“I’m not shocked. Okay, I am, but mostly because I thought doctors all had this huge bias against it.”

“Not all doctors. When it comes to treating people, there is no one fit. Everyone is an individual, and I find the best results when I follow my instinct instead of the standard rules.”

A deep conversation to have, and yet, as usual, when talking with her, he found himself responding to her easy manner. She disarmed him with honesty and earnestness. She surprised him constantly, like with his discovery she loved football, and wouldn’t you know it, they rooted for rival teams.

She enjoyed caramel on her sundae and honey in her coffee. Whereas, he liked chocolate and took his black. Yet for their differences, they found common ground, such as their love of fishing, and closet addictions to Dr. Who and Burger King Whoppers.

The mundaneness of some of their discussions almost proved surreal—and pleasant.

“What is this accomplishing?” he asked, interrupting her interpretation of the current Western song crooning about a woman who’d left.

“Well, according to the guy singing, he should have taken the trash out instead of sleeping with it.”

“Not the whole cheating thing, I mean this. Bringing me here. I already knew I could leave the rehab center grounds and go out. I chose not to.”

“Which is why I made you. Time to stop avoiding the real world.”

“Maybe the real world is better off without me.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.” She grabbed at his hand, the move so sudden, so electric he could only dumbly stare at the conjoined fingers. His tanned, callused skin against her softer white hands. “You can’t give up.”

“I never said I’d give up.” That was the height of cowardice to him. “But one day, I might lose the fight.”

“You’d better not be talking about killing yourself.” A tremble of fear heightened her tone.

“I’m not.”

“Then what do you mean?” She’d no sooner queried than her eyes widened. “Are you talking about your wolf?” She leaned in and whispered the word. “Are you having problems with control during the daytime too?”

The dilemma—to admit or not to admit his wolf fought him twenty-four-seven. “If I told you I am in a constant battle, what would you say?”

A line of worry streaked across her brow. “I would say you have to get it under control. And I mean that most seriously.”

“Or else what?” Because she seemed quite frantic.

She bowed her head. “Or you will quietly disappear.”

For a moment, he said nothing, stunned by her words and wondering if he misunderstood. “What do you mean by disappear? Will you have me locked away?”

“No. You wouldn’t get a cell. You should know the council prefers a more permanent solution to feral situations.”

The implication slapped him, and he snapped back in his chair. Had she seriously said they’d kill him? She’d know, wouldn’t she? After all, they’d sent her to deal with him. “They want to kill me.”

“No they don’t, or I wouldn’t be here. They want you to get better.”

“And if I don’t, then I die.” The irony didn’t escape him. He might have survived his ordeal overseas, but the nightmares might be what got him killed. He leaned forward and hissed. “Is it you who will pull the trigger?”

“Of course not,” she snapped. Fiery green eyes fixed him. “I am here to help you, not kill you.”

“Help me or make sure the big bad wolf’s not going to start eating the humans?” The realization she held his life in her hands bothered him.

“I never hid the fact that the council sent me.”

“No, but you did hide the fact you’re supposed to fix me or they’ll put me down like a rabid dog.” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Can’t say as I’d blame them. We can’t afford our secret coming out. So how long do I have to reform my ways before a hunter is sent?”

“You’re not getting killed.” Said with such vehemence. Perhaps she did care.

Caring wouldn’t stop a judgment against him. “You won’t be able to stop it if the council orders it.”

“They won’t order it because you’re going to get better.” She slammed her hands on the table, her expression bearing such passionate conviction. “So stop fighting me on everything.”

“But I enjoy fighting with you.” Especially when heat brightened her cheeks and flashed in her eyes.

“That is such a guy thing to say.” She pushed her chair away from the table and stood. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

He couldn’t resist teasing her some more. “Do you really need to pee or are you going to call and put in a status report?”

“Pee. I have a gerbil-sized bladder, and that drink went right through me.” With a toss of her red hair—as fiery as her spirit—she sauntered off, pert ass swinging in hip-hugging jeans.

Way too many gazes followed her path. A small growl rumbled from him.

Don’t let them touch her. The possessiveness made him curl his fingers around the frosted glass bottle of his beer. Just the one drink, and only half sipped. He wasn’t taking chances with his wolf. He could handle the alcohol just fine so long as he didn’t overindulge too quickly.

A shadow fell over him, but Derrick knew the human approached when he was still a few feet away. Very few people could hope to sneak up on a shifter. Derrick didn’t bother looking at the human. He could smell him—sweat, leather, and men’s cologne. Sniff. A hint of diesel mixed in there too. Probably a truck driver popping in for a brew after work. Or a construction worker. Whoever the man was, he’d invaded Derrick’s personal space.

“What do you want?” he snarled while his wolf paced with great agitation.

“I want to buy you a drink.”