Logan's already dialing a number before I can spiral completely into panic mode. His face is a mask of focused intensity, a stark contrast to the possessive animal who pinned me to the bed last night.
"Marcus, it's me. We have a situation." His voice is measured, controlled. Alpha werewolf in crisis management mode.
Sexy, but not enough to overwhelm the panic in my head.
I try to look casual, leaning against my dresser like my world isn't imploding. Like I'm not about to get arrested for a murder I didn't commit. Again.
"Go take a shower," Logan says, covering the phone as his green eyes meet mine. "Decompress. I'll handle this."
He looks so damn professional, even with his golden hair tousled and sticking up in every direction. Mostly from me grabbing at it last night—more than once—but the lack of sleep from our… angry acrobatics probably didn't help either.
