The large window below the vintage Dougan’s Bar sign revealed everything just inside. There was a large bar with stools and a few tables were lined up just along the glass. Even from where she sat, Ava knew the patrons were shifters. Their movements were too powerful, their eyes—which turned the moment Diskant pulled to the curb to study them—too alert. The motor went silent and she took a deep breath, struggling for control. The last hours had been the most bizarre of her life. She couldn’t decide if she should be frightened or angry at being bossed around and accosted by men with guns. Not when her body continued to crave a solid fucking, as if she truly were no more than a dog in heat. She grimaced at the comparison but accepted the truth. With Diskant, everything was primal and raw—her feelings, her reactions, her desires. It was as if she were evolving in some way, becoming someone or something else. Never had chemistry played such a role in her decisions. If she was being honest with herself, she knew that nothing she had done in the last twenty-four hours qualified as rational.
