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definitely
made their presence known, and pointed out that no, Owen wasn't seeing things.
Luther wasn't crazy after all. He was a werewolf.
    Owen would have loved to say that he reacted calmly to that
little revelation. Sadly, while he might have been a hopeless romantic at
heart, he wasn't so crazy about the supernatural. He met Luther's eyes—eyes
that seemed to glint in the light of the candles—and promptly fainted.
    ****
    This was, plainly put, a disaster. Luther had not wanted to
burden his mate so quickly with all the baggage in his life. He definitely
hadn't wanted to tell Owen that he was a werewolf so quickly, and in that
idiotic way. But somehow, whenever he was with Owen, he really felt he could be
himself, and the barriers between them seemed ridiculously artificial. He felt
like the proverbial wolf who just had to huff and puff to tear those walls
down. Of course, things didn't work like that in real life, which was why
Luther ended up with his pale, unconscious mate in his arms, fanning his face
instead of wining and dining him.
    The waiter who showed up with the wine list gasped and rushed
to his side, the menu clutched in his hands so hard his knuckles were white.
"Mr. Valentino? Is everything all right?"
    "Everything is fine," Luther replied tightly.
"I can take care of this. Set our order aside. I'll be in my office."
    The man knew better than to question him. After all, he
belonged to Luther's pack, like all the employees here, and he was well aware
of the importance of not questioning Luther.
    It was almost ironic. Luther had never actually hurt any of
the members of his pack—except one, and that had been enough. People still
remembered what had happened to the culprit behind the murder of Luther's
parents, a particularly enthusiastic enforcer. Coupled with Luther's challenge
of the then-Alpha, his rise to power had been very memorable, and at any other
time, a satisfying episode to remember.
    Right now, though, Luther was too worried about his mate to
focus on anyone else. With a heavy heart, he carried Owen to the office. A
small part of him immediately felt more relaxed once they were in his private
space, surrounded by his things, in what he'd come to see as his den of sorts.
He set Owen on the leather couch and knelt next to him, wondering how to
address this.
    Owen was obviously scared, and Luther didn't blame him. It
couldn't have been easy for Owen to realize Luther was indeed a werewolf,
especially since, letters aside, they were practically strangers.
    Luther set his forehead on the leather couch, right next to
Owen's arm. He wanted to touch his mate so badly, to hold him and comfort him,
but he knew it would not be appreciated, and he had not right to take
advantage.
    His wolf stirred inside him, the instinct to protect quickly
becoming too strong for Luther to contain. Before Luther could bury his
feelings deep inside himself, a jolt went through him—and suddenly, his mind
drifted away from his body, toward Owen.
    It wasn't something he did on purpose. He would have never
invaded Owen's consciousness like that. But the pull of his mate's soul was too
strong, and Luther surrendered to it, a slave to Owen's lure.
    The next thing he knew, he was back in V's club, and his mate
was on the stage, in his Incubus outfit. Everyone else was indistinct—and the
scene behind them blurred slightly as Luther landed in the center of the stage,
on four paws.
    Owen blinked at him, stopping mid-routine. He didn't say
anything. Instead, he swallowed nervously, taking a small step back, obviously
frightened.
    Luther whined and bowed his head, his mate's rejection
clawing at him like a wild, angry beast. He tried to control it, to breathe
through the pain and remind himself Owen couldn't understand or identify his
astral self.
    Thankfully, he managed to shift with just as much ease as he
did in the physical world. Once he was in human form, he lifted his hands,
trying to convey harmlessness. "It's okay,