I walked out of the Administration building Tuesday evening on my way home and found Brandon leaning against my car, obviously waiting for me. I wondered why he didn’t just call.
“Hey, how are you?” I leaned against the car next to him.
“Okay,” he said. “How are things?”
“Good, I’ve been busy with work, the clinic, and getting things under control. I’m doing pretty well, all things considered.” I stood. “Why don’t we get in so we have more privacy,” I didn’t want to risk being overheard. I’d become sensitive nearly to the point of paranoia recently. I’d heard about a comment made in public that had led to questions and suspicions from normal humans. The Kindred responsible had been given a severe beating for endangering the pack. I understood it, but I didn’t want to be on the receiving
