Although Diana considered herself quite stupid, she was smart enough to understand what he was saying. If there had been any color in her cheeks at all, it would have drained away.

A werewolf. This charming, sweet, music-loving man was a werewolf. She was in the actual presence of a werewolf. Completely alone. No overprotective sisters to rush to her defense, to drag her out of the line of danger.

She nipped at her lower lip for a moment. Apart from the horror stories out of Perth, everything the Order knew about werewolves was largely theoretical. So did he know what she was? That was kind of the one-million-dollar question now. Was he just playing with his food, metaphorically speaking.

Was she totally fucked?

"Well," she said, keeping her voice as light as possible, "you're definitely sexier than Michael J. Fox."