The man watched as Djordji ran out of the caravan. He’d left the bowl of soup behind, and the man was still hungry. Carefully he began to feed himself.
He didn’t know what his past was, but he knew what the future held for him and for Djordji. Come the full moon, they would both turn, for while Warrick would shift because he’d been bit, the boy was a born shifter.
In a flash of illumination, the man realised he’d recalled his name. Warrick—his name was Warrick. He was suddenly also aware that somewhere in his past he had loved someone deeply. The identity of that person was shrouded by the mists of his cloudy brain, and for a brief span of time, he mourned the loss of that memory.
“Rick?”
The voice caused him to jerk his head up. In the doorway of the caravan was a good-looking man wit
