His head tilted. “Actually, this conversation is more about how we can help you.”

She blinked, confused.

Bracken stuffed his hands in his pockets. “What breed of shifter is Andie?”

“She’s a cougar.”

“But not part of a pride?” asked Bracken.

“She was raised by humans. I don’t know how that came about, didn’t ask. I figured it was her business. People didn’t realize she was a shifter until she was a teenager. She was always quiet and kept to herself.” Maybe because she’d known she was different and thought people wouldn’t accept her once they found out, thought Gwen.

Zander moved closer. “When did she change her story?”

“About a week ago. She wants me to do the same thing, or to at least lie to the council.”

Zander’s eyes studied her face, as if she were a puzzle he was trying to solve. “But you’re going to tell the truth. Why?”

Gwen gave a nonchalant shrug. “Sometimes people need others to speak up for them.” She knew that better than most.

“We want to help,” said Bracken.

Recalling their mention of a shelter, she puffed out a breath. “I guess Andie might go with you. I’d have to ask.”

Bracken shook his head. “No, we want to help you. We’re also prepared to place her somewhere safe until this is over. She’ll be welcome to remain at the shelter indefinitely, if that’s what she wants.”

Gwen looked from one male to the other. “I don’t see how you can help me.” Or why they would, for that matter. “I’m not fighting shifters.”

“No,” said Zander, “you’re up against people who are anti-shifter. That’s bad. These people aren’t rational when it comes to us, and they often think they’re a law unto themselves. You might be human, but you’ve allied with a shifter in this matter—to those people you’re dealing with, you’re now just as bad as us.”

“I know that, but I also know that it’s not your problem. There’s no reason for you to make it yours. And, as I said, I don’t see how you could help me.”

“It’s unlikely that they’ll try to physically harm you if me and Bracken are here. They hate our kind, sure, but they also fear us. Typically, fear is at the root of their hatred.”

Gwen pursed her lips. “So . . . when you say you want to help me, you just mean you’ll stick around in the hope that your presence here will be a deterrence?”

“No,” began Bracken, “we mean that if anyone turns up here to give you shit, we’ll take care of it.”

Suspicious by nature, she searched for what their angle might be here, but she came up with nothing. “Why would you do that?”

“The same reason you’re helping Andie,” said Zander. “It’s the right thing to do.”

Yeah? She wasn’t convinced. Plenty of people had known that saving her mother from her stepfather would be the right thing to do, but they still hadn’t done it. She’d learned that people preferred to look the other way. Shifters weren’t the exception.

“Here’s what I know about shifters,” she said. “You’re exclusive. Private. Insular. You avoid getting involved in other people’s business—even if those people are fellow shifters. Am I wrong?”

A muscle in Zander’s cheek ticked. “No.”

“Yet, you’re offering to help me when it could switch their attention onto you and, by extension, your pack. You’re offering to help a lone shifter even though she has no connection whatsoever to you. Nothing about this situation would benefit you or your pack in any way or make it worth any trouble that it could cause you. I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why you’d care to involve yourselves.”

“Like I said, it’s the right thing to do.”

She narrowed her eyes at the note of offense in Zander’s tone . . . like she should feel guilty for believing he was anything less than honorable. “Don’t think I’m buying that open, harmless, easygoing act. You’re good at it, I’ll give you that, but I know a merciless predator when I see one. Merciless predators don’t help people for nothing, especially when they’re suspicious of them—and you are suspicious of me for some reason, I can sense it.” She tilted her head. “But then, you don’t strike me as the kind of guy who trusts anyone.”

More than a little discomforted—yet also begrudgingly impressed—by that very accurate assessment, Zander said, “You don’t strike me as the trusting type either.”

“I’m not. Right now, my gut’s telling me that you’re not being totally honest with me.”

Sensing that only the truth would gain him her cooperation, Zander said, “We know someone who’s been through a similar experience. The culprit got away with it. If someone had stood up for them the way you’re standing up for Andie, the end result might have been very different.”

For a long moment, Gwen said nothing. She wondered if he partially blamed himself for his friend not getting justice. If so, there was no self-recrimination in his tone. “The hearing doesn’t take place for another month. That’s four weeks.”

“I know how long a month is,” said Zander drily.

“Then you know it’s a lot of time to stay away from your pack. Surely you don’t want to spend all that time here.”

“It’s been a long time since we had a vacation,” said Bracken.

Sighing, she flicked back her bangs. “I’d need to speak to my family about your offer. I won’t make the decision for them.”

“Then talk to them.” Zander stepped aside as she walked out of the room, toward the stairs. “Gwen?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, brow raised in question.

“Don’t let your suspicious nature make you reject help. With the way things are, like it or not, you’re going to need it.”

Once she’d disappeared up the stairs, Bracken said, “She’s more perceptive than I gave her credit for.”

Zander nodded. She’d seen right through his act, but she hadn’t called him on it until now. He’d underestimated her. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“It surprised me that she didn’t jump at the chance of having our protection,” said Bracken. “Kind of makes me wonder if she was let down by another person who should have protected her. She relies on herself.”