The quiet stretched just long enough for me to start thinking we were done for the night — until I heard the uneven rhythm of someone walking down the hall. Too slow to be Gabriel’s dad, too heavy to be his grandma.
Nathan.
Gabriel heard it too. His eyes cut toward the door, that little half-smirk already curling at the corner of his mouth.
The footsteps got closer, hesitating outside the room. The handle twitched.
I didn’t move at first — then, on a sudden impulse, I let my bare foot shift just enough for the claws to slide free, hooked and sharp against the floorboards. Not full-wolf, but enough that they caught the dim light from the desk lamp.
The door cracked open an inch.
Nathan’s eyes landed on me, then immediately dropped — right to my feet. His face drained of color so fast I almost laughed. Without a word, he shut the door again. The retreating thump of his steps was quicker this time, almost a jog.
Gabriel’s laugh burst out first — loud, sharp, delighted. Mine followed a half-second later, lower and rougher, like gravel under tires.
“Do you practice that?” he asked between breaths.
I flexed my toes, claws catching the light one more time before sliding back in. “Nope. Comes naturally.”
“Poor guy’s gonna start sleeping with a cross under his pillow,” Gabriel said, grinning.
I shrugged. “Cross won’t help.”
He snorted, shaking his head, but there was something else in his expression now — that same surety I’d seen before. The unspoken promise that whatever Nathan or anyone else thought, he was exactly where he wanted to be.