"Dean Ward!" I exclaim, grabbing the blanket to cover myself and jumping to my feet. Little did I consider that taking the shared blanket meant that I'd now left my boss completely exposed.

He doesn't seem to mind.

"Come now," he says, slowly getting up to leave even less to my imagination. My face burns with prudish embarrassment and I turn away, but not before I get a peek.

His body is tanned and moderately hairy with just the right amount of muscles, not like those meatheads who spend every day in the gym. And while I definitely like what I see, this still feels like it violates several workplace harassment policies.

"I think we can reasonably assume that this situation has allowed us to be on a first name basis, Barlow. Feel free to call me Clayton." The lighthearted tone in his voice is a stark contrast to his aloofness of yesterday.

"I . . . I don't even what this situation is or how I . . . we got here," I say, looking for a quick way out. But there are just trees and more trees every which way I turn.

There's some rustling and sounds of leaves being disturbed from behind me. "Obviously you recall that it was a full moon last night-"

"Yes, I know," I interrupt as blips of memories of what we had done together slowly seep back into my consciousness. What our wolves had done together. Oh, god. That means- "You're a wolf."

Clayton Ward chuckles, no doubt at my incredible slowness at coming to what should have been an obvious conclusion. I can just imagine the smug look on his perfectly chiseled face. The twinkle in his deep, brown eyes. The smirk of his luscious lips.

"Barlow?"

The sound of my name snaps me back to the present. "I'm sorry. What was that?"

"You can turn around now," he says.

I shake my head. "Not until you cover yourself."

"What do you think I've been doing all this time?"

I turn around. Clayton is wearing a gray t-shirt, black track pants and even sneakers.

"Where did you get those?" I ask, wondering if I've missed out on the wolfs-have-pockets secret.

He's unfazed. "My butler Carlos."

My brows shoot up. I've never heard of a late twenties academic having a domestic servant. "Your butler?"

"Yes. Carlos," he says again. "Try to keep up."

I sigh. The snark is completely unnecessary.

"Right. It's been a long night. But you already knew that," I say, pulling the blanket closer around my shoulders.

"You're not used to so much excitement?" he asks, handing me a hoodie.

I hope he just means the excitement of running with another wolf because I'm fuzzy on the other details. I wonder what he'd say if he knew that it was my first time unchained during a transformation. Ever.

"No," I answer in the most vague way possible. There'll be other chances for deeper revelations. I'm still naked over here. "Do you mind?"

He turns away as I pull the hoodie over my head and while it's huge on me, it still doesn't quite cover all of my bits. The blanket, therefore, also stays.

"How did your butler know where to find you, anyway?" I ask once we're facing each other again. "Do you wear an AirTag or something?"

Clayton smiles and if this were my first introduction to him, it would definitely give me butterflies. But since he's made all of our encounters so far-for the lack of a better word-awkward, it comes off as a bit condescending.

"Or something," he says before pointing towards the top of the tree-covered hill. "Shall we go? The rest of the campus is going to wake up soon and those college kids do like their morning runs in the forest."

"Go where? I think my house is that way." I thumb over my shoulder in the opposite direction.

He begins to walk. "It is, but my place is closer while you're still only halfway dressed and caked in mud and blood."

I look down at my bare legs and then more carefully examine my free hand. He's right. I must look like a complete mess. And forget the mud. Where did the blood come from?

"Oh, no," I whisper, unable to recall.

Clayton stops and looks back at where he's left me. "You don't remember much from last night, do you?"

I shake my head. "Not really."

His jaw tightens. "Is that par for the course?"

I nod.

"That's going to be a problem," he says before continuing up the hill again. "But we'll deal with that later. First, it's time for breakfast. My cook makes a mean omelette, but she can whip you up some pancakes, if you'd prefer."

He has a cook, too? My stomach grumbles at the thought of finally eating a proper meal, which is a relief in itself. If I'm this hungry, it means that I probably haven't eater anything-or anyone-since the cheese scone.

And knowing that the fridge in my house is completely empty except for a sad box of baking soda, I would be a fool to refuse.

"Does your butler always bring you clothes and a blanket after a full-moon out?" I ask as we make our way up the incline, unable to shake thoughts of the well-coordinated logistics that go along with apparently being rich enough for personal staff.

"Only in the rare instances when I stay out until morning," Clayton says as he gets to the top ahead of me. "But I've becoming quite good at returning home before then."

I can't think of a witty comeback, plus I'm too out of breath to respond. But when I finally join him on the hill, I see that thankfully we're probably not too far from our destination.

"Is that your house?" I ask, eyeing the three story, red brick building at the edge of the forest that's surrounded by a wrought-iron fence with spiked palisades.

"Well, it's technically a manor, but yes. Does that surprise you?" he responds.

I don't want to admit that I should have expected this given that he employs help, but that he still doesn't strike me as the Downton Abbey type.

"No. I mean, yes. It's just that it's so . . . big," I manage to croak before my mind goes to a 'that's what she said' joke.

Clayton chuckles.

"It's my ancestral home, if you must know. My family has lived on this land since before the university was even built," he says before heading toward a small gate in the back.

Interesting.

"What was that?" he asks without turning around.

"I didn't say anything," I say, setting off after him.

"Neither did I," comes the unexpected response, making me wonder if he's playing games again or if I'm losing my mind.