The hour passed in a swiftly churning blur of faces, each handsome in its own right. First was Xander, then Ober, a surfer dude who was, amusingly, scared of the ocean—James, Brett, Steven—I met them all, and I’d be hard-pressed to pick them out of a lineup, besides the quick mental snapshots I was trying desperately to take.
It seemed to be a divine law that there were no ugly shifters, though none of the men I met called to me like Kane, the next row over and tantalizingly out of reach for the whole hour. I did not let myself look his way again, though my wolf sulked at the back of my mind, unwilling to so much as sniff any of the men who clasped hands with me, one after the other after the other. Finally, Gracelyn let out two short, sharp whistles to signal the end of the hour and the
