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were mated couples that never really worked out. The sexual chemistry might exist, but there was no respect, no love. They stayed together only to attempt to produce offspring and once the mating heat ended—which usually only occurred twice a year—they lived separate lives. While Jackie was more than ready for the former, she was terrified that binding herself to a man whose lifestyle opposed her personal and professional beliefs would bring only the latter. She’d seen it happen before.

    Chapter Four

    Scents drifted into his conscience first: blood, antiseptic, shifter males, and females.
    Mate.
    His eyes flew open and he peered about the small yet bright and tidy room. Memories flooded into his brain even as pain lanced his body.
    He glanced down at the gauze wrapped around his torso and grimaced.
    Getting shot was not at all what he’d expected when he’d gone out on a little reconnoitering trip last night, seeking some background information on his brother, and he certainly hadn’t envisioned laying eyes on his last living blood relative from a hospital bed.
    With effort, and a low groan, he sat up and dropped his legs over the narrow bed. Though bearable, he felt as if a truck had dragged him over a rocky dirt road. As he’d lived that delightful experience years ago, he could make the comparison. And from experience, he knew muscle movement was key to easing the pain.
    Spying the black duffel bag on the tiled floor, Zan smiled with a mixture of relief and curiosity. Pleased his brother had returned with his belongings as he’d promised, Zan wondered if Dean had gone through his stuff, and if he had, what he thought about the weapons Zan never left home without.
    Slowly, Zan slithered off the bed and straightened. That’s when he spotted his clothing from last night, the ones he’d shed just prior to shifting to wolf form. He had left them on the front passenger seat of his rental car, along with his boots and cell phone. Everything was now folded on the cushioned chair next to the bed.
    A frown marred his brow at the thought of how the rough material of his jeans would rub uncomfortably against the bandage on his hip. Not to mention how much trouble he’d have getting his morning erection under wraps. Unfortunately he’d have to make due as he hadn’t packed anything loose other than a pair of boxers, and that wouldn’t come close to keeping his modesty in check. Not that he cared, but at the same time, he wasn’t one to flaunt his goods.
    Before he could don the clothes, his phone rang.
    “Where the hell are you, man? You don’t call, you don’t write. Are you hurt? In trouble? Need us to kick some ass?” Zan shook his head at the barrage of Scott’s sarcastic albeit serious questions. Zan had told the younger shifter he would call last night when he got into Woodcliff. When he hadn’t, Scott had probably overreacted.
    After all, it was SOP that when a soldier didn’t check in as agreed upon, it caused a call to battle.
    “I’m fine. For the most part.” Zan muttered as he fingered the bandage on his hip. He shuffled his feet, and kicked something.
    “Whaddya mean? Where are you?”
    Zan set a plastic bag on top of his clothes. “Ah, not real sure.” Peeking inside, he found a gray pair of sweatpants, a soft oversized green T-shirt and a set of sneakers. He lifted the soft material to his nose and sniffed. Under the mild detergent was the scent of his brother.
    A twinkle of amusement lit Zan’s eyes. Either Dean had gone through his belongings and found out Zan didn’t have any loose apparel, or he’d retrieved them from his own home as a courtesy. From what he’d learned about his sibling the night before, Zan believed it to be both.
    Dean appeared to be an intelligent, caring, and methodical leader.
    It was only smart to protect his pack by learning as much as possible about an unknown shifter. Even if said shifter was a brother.
    “Earth to Zan?”
    “What?”
    “Where. Are.