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A steamy standalone paranormal romance with a one-night stand, a hospital call, a foul-mouthed parrot, and a wolf shifter on speed dial. Read My Emergency Contact Is A Wolf Shifter on KindleUnlimited. I gestured impatiently toward the couch, mostly because he was still standing there with that infuriating combination of patience and readiness, as if he were waiting for further instructions. He looked capable of standing there all night, which made me want to push him just to see what would happen. “Sit,” I said. He sat, but not beside me. He took the chair across the room instead, angled slightly toward me without crowding my space. Close enough for me to feel his presence, not so close to insinuate a right to proximity. Markie muttered something obscene, but his tone suggested commentary rather than escalation. Liam tilted his head. “What did he say?” “Nothing supportive,” I said. “Mostly anatomical.” “Okay then,” he said. My body settled against my will, shoulders loosening, weight sinking into the couch, muscles unclenching one by one. Traitorous body. I hadn’t authorized that response and resented it immediately. “You’re very calm for someone who just got aggressively cursed out by a bird and then had your cooking insulted.” “He set a boundary,” Liam said. “I respected it. And like I said, I don’t really cook. No offense taken.” I laughed. It slipped out, short and surprised, bypassing my defenses entirely. Annoyed with myself, I quickly pressed my lips together. He smiled in response, the look in his eyes acknowledging that something had passed between us. “It’s rare for someone to respect boundaries—even a bird’s.” I said it lightly, but I didn’t look away. “It shouldn’t be,” he said, then frowned. His attention shifted inward in a way that felt intentional, as if he were checking himself before stepping into something heavier. “I have a genetic predisposition toward action and fixing what’s in front of me,” he said. I frowned. “Genetic predisposition? As in what? You were born with a clipboard and a checklist?” A corner of his mouth lifted. “Something like that.” He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his thighs. “I’m an alpha wolf.” He put no weight on the word, just relayed information. “My instincts push me toward protecting, solving, intervening. If there’s a problem, my body wants to move before my brain catches up.” I waited. He didn’t rush to fill the space. “My father is an alpha,” he continued. “Very effective. Very certain. He believes control means protection. If he’s responsible for you, your life and your choices become his problem to solve whether you want him to or not. You have no choice but to comply.” My chest tightened before I could stop it. “I take it that didn’t end well.” “No,” he agreed. “It ended with a lot of people feeling smaller inside his circle than they ever felt outside it.” He looked at me then. Not asking for reassurance. Just presence. “I don’t want that,” he said. “I don’t want anyone near me to feel managed. Or overruled. Protection and caring shouldn’t equal a loss of autonomy.” Something in my ribs shifted uncomfortably and all too familiarly. “So you practice. On birds?” “And people,” he said. My pulse ticked up. “I still feel the pull,” he added. “The urge to step in and take over. Ignoring it would be dishonest. So, I try to slow down instead and listen for the no.” “And if you hear one?” “I stop,” he said. “Even if every instinct says keep going. I still overstep sometimes. I just don’t pretend it’s righteous or a God‑given right.” “That sounds exhausting,” I said. “It can be,” he said. “But it’s better than the alternative.” I studied him, saw the restraint threaded through every movement. The restraint threaded through every movement. He had carried me without assuming ownership over me, fed me without demanding compliance, sat across from me instead of beside me, because I had invited anything different. All of that, despite the fact that we’d slept together and he’d been called as my emergency contact after one night together. “And if someone doesn’t say no?” I asked quietly. His gaze held steady. “Then I make sure they know they have the option.” That did it. Heat pooled low, unwelcome, sharp with awareness. Trust mixed with attraction in a way I didn’t like. “Boy, you’re dangerous,” I said. He nodded once. “That’s why I pay attention.” Silence settled again, heavier and charged. “That’s not what I meant,” I said. His brows drew together slightly in curiosity. He held my gaze, steady and unflinching, and I felt the weight of it settle low and slow. “Tell me what you did mean, then,” he said. I didn’t. Not right away. Because what I had meant was less about birds or boundaries or fathers, and more about the fact that he had stopped when he was told to stop. That he had listened without sulking. That he didn’t make his feelings my responsibility. That he had stayed. All of that made the ever‑present tightness inside me loosen without permission. I swallowed and broke the stare first, heat curling under my ribs like it had nowhere else to go. “I’m not used to people respecting my boundaries,” I said. His brows drew together. “I hate that.” “Yeah, so do I.” Markie muttered something profane and approving. I leaned back against the couch, my heart doing something inconvenient and loud. This was still a bad idea, but I didn’t want him to leave.