I stayed behind him, silent, watching his back. His scent—his pheromones—drifted toward me, and I growled low in my throat. He better not try anything while I’m here.
Without turning around, he said, “What the hell are you doing here?” He gave me a side look. “You know the moon ritual is coming up, right? You are not supposed to be here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what whaddya means?” Gifford sarcastically added. “Just get out of here.”
“I don’t really care about what you think.” I laughed. “Really!”
He groaned. I could sense him rolling his eyes. “Do you want a fight?” He squeezed his cigarette in his ashtray resting on the pavement. “I could f*****g give you one.”
“I saw a red mark on the back of my right shoulder,” I replied.
His eyes lifted sharply in my dire
