“I figured.” The glint returned to his eye. “So, who was she?”

“I thought you knew?”

Drew scowled. “I know you got laid. It’s only a matter of time before I sniff out the truth.”

“Knock yourself out.” He began to get up, then realized why his shoulder ached. Mercy had scratched him hard. It might’ve given a human male pause. It made Riley’s wolf smile. Wearing her claw marks was a badge of honor—because it meant he’d driven her to such pleasure that she’d forgotten herself. If she’d been his lover in truth, he’d be showing them off.

But he didn’t know what she was to him. Except the woman who made him hotter and angrier faster than any other. So he remained on his back, brutally aware that once would never be enough. Not even close. His gut tightened. “Go away, Drew. I’ll get up in a little while.”

“Hmm, he wants me to leave. Why?” Drew sipped his coffee. “Could it be because the little she-cat marked our esteemed lieutenant?”

Riley barely kept himself from reacting to the “she-cat” comment. He had no intention of hiding his entanglement with Mercy—she might be frustrating as hell, a royal pain in his ass, but she was also an incredibly strong, sexy woman, someone any male would be proud to call his lover. But he needed time to figure out how he was going to deal with it. The instant that thought formed, he heard Mercy’s voice in his head, a fragment of memory from their many scuffles.

“Jesus, Riley, do you ever just react?”

“When necessary.”

“When necessary.” She mimicked his voice perfectly. “I’d call you Psy but I think that would be an insult to the Psy.”

“I feel.”

“But your feelings go through about ten different filters before you let them out.” She flipped her hair, tied in a high tail, over a shoulder. “Doesn’t bother me—except when you drive me insane with these plans.” The word “plan” was about seven syllables long. “We’ll deal with some situations as they arise. We don’t need a color-coded flowchart.”