If Kris ever thought of bonding, he thought of Katy. Not the American Idol, an aloof, self-proclaimed rock star in too much eyeliner and leather. He thought of marriage and love, not a last minute desperate attempt from a stranger to save his life.

This is not happening. He's not chained up in the back of a van driving through the desert to fucking Arkansas of all places. He definitely hasn't been kidnapped by some tiny adorable dude with a gun babbling about how Adam is his mate. And there is no way in hell he's a werewolf. Except for how the first two things are very clearly true, and he's starting to worry about the third.