“For what? You were being hunted. What was I supposed to do? Not help?” “Most people wouldn’t.” “We look out for each other. We’re shifters.” “Oh. Okay. Sure.” “Wow,” he suddenly said. “You really didn’t recognize me until I mentioned the Ruger, did you?” “Not really.” “How is that possible? You’re definitely a shifter. I saw your claws. You should at least know my scent by now.” “Allergies,” Charlie admitted, pointing at her nose. “Can’t smell anything right now. From May until at least October—sometimes December—I am living on decongestants and Benadryl. And, after making that mad dash out
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