Raising an eyebrow, Anneke replied, “I prefer not to use that term, but yes, I do see and hear about many different conditions and symptoms.”

Looking chagrined, he shook his head, then said, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be so inappropriate. I’m just nervous, I suppose. Like I said when I called up to make the appointment, at times I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Okay…” She crossed her legs, mindful of pushing him too hard, while at the same time feeling a sense of frustration that she already knew what was wrong with him, but couldn’t say anything. Well, she could, she supposed, but if she came right out and said, “Caleb, I know precisely what is wrong with you—you’re a werewolf,” she’d be the one seeing a psychiatrist. No, she had to build a great deal more rapport—and most importantly, trust—with Caleb before she could even think of broaching the subject. She had to be confident she had a chance of getting him to believe her. Otherwise it was likely he’d walk out of her office and never come back, and she couldn’t allow that to happen. He was a potentially very dangerous creature, and he needed to know that before it was too late for some poor, unsuspecting soul. Or even multiple souls. Hopefully it wasn’t already too late. “Can you elaborate? It helps me to know what makes you think that you’re losing your mind, how long your symptoms have been occurring, how often, and so on. Basically, anything and everything you can tell me, no matter how small or insignificant you think it might be.”

Caleb nodded, took a swig of his water, then put his glass on the table. He immediately seemed to regret the action, though, as he clasped his empty hands together and began twisting them. Yeah, he’s nervous all right. Poor guy.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “I’ll do my best. It started around six months ago, I think. I went to bed as normal one night, around eleven, then woke up a few hours later absolutely soaked with sweat, my heart pounding so hard it almost hurt. For a second, I thought I was having a heart attack or something, but then it settled down. I didn’t know what had caused it—I hadn’t been drinking, and my room wasn’t particularly hot—so I got up, had a drink of water, used the bathroom, then went back to bed. A couple of hours later I woke up again, in the same sort of state, but that time I remembered—I’d been dreaming. Or perhaps having a nightmare would be a better way to describe it.

She frequently sensed other supernatural creatures when she was out and about—in the street, the supermarket, the cinema. But this was the first time she’d ever had one walk in to her office, as a patient. This was going to be interesting, to say the least.

“Hi,” she said, stepping out from behind her desk and walking over to him. Pushing aside her misgivings, she held out her hand. “I’m Doctor Lund, but you can call me Anneke if you prefer. Whatever you’re most comfortable with.” It was a tactic that every patient probably saw through—one to help them to relax—but it didn’t make it any less effective.

Caleb took her hand with a smile, and they shook. “Hi. Caleb Kitt. Nice to meet you.”

They released hands. “Nice to meet you, too. What would you like me to call you?”

“Caleb,” he replied firmly.

“Noted.” She gave a nod, then indicated two plush chairs set opposite each other with a small, low table in between them. “Please, take a seat. Can I get you a glass of water? Or perhaps a tea or coffee?”

“Water would be great, thanks. I think I’ve already overdosed on caffeine today.” He settled his large frame into one of the seats, and Anneke flashed him a polite smile before heading over to the sideboard and pouring two glasses of water. Then she returned to the seating area, handed Caleb his drink, and took the other chair.

“Thank you,” he said, nodding towards the glass.

“You’re welcome.” She had a quick drink of the water, then leaned forward and placed it down on the table. “So, tell me why you’re here.”

A frown line appeared between Caleb’s chocolate-colored eyes. He sat back in his chair and cast his gaze up at the ceiling for a moment, before leaning forward and returning his attention to her. “It doesn’t matter how I word what I’m about to say, it’ll still sound crazy.” He snorted. “But then I guess you see and hear all kinds of crazy in here, don’t you?”

The intercom buzzed. “Anneke?” came the voice of her receptionist, Ellen. “Your one-thirty is here.”

Anneke pressed the button to respond. “Thanks, Ellen. Send him in.”

“Will do.”

Anneke took a moment—knowing she had a few as her patient made his way from the reception area, down the short corridor and to her office—to pull up and glance at his notes on her computer. There wasn’t much information, since he was a new patient, but there was a brief description he’d given of the problem, which had spurred him on to book the psychiatric consultation with her in the first place.

Caleb Kitt was a thirty-five-year-old personal trainer who, in his own words, thought he was losing his damn mind. He was experiencing night terrors, having violent and bloodthirsty dreams, and waking up in strange places—certainly not where he’d gone to bed.

A multitude of potential diagnoses popped into Anneke’s head, but she refused to jump to any conclusions. There was no way to know for sure what his problem was, not without speaking to him, hearing his story, finding out more. And if she struggled to get to the root of his issues using traditional methods, there was always her back up plan.

Anneke was an empath. Her unique talents comprised of mind reading, mild mind control, and being able to sense supernatural creatures. However, using those talents was always a last resort. She preferred to do things the right way, the way she had been trained to in her years at medical school. It felt like cheating otherwise, and she couldn’t help feeling it was unethical to tap into people’s brains without their knowledge or consent.

For the vast majority of the time, she didn’t have to use her gifts—just her skill and hard-earned education. But occasionally—very occasionally—when a patient wasn’t being forthcoming, or their problem proved elusive, tricky to diagnose, she would reluctantly tap into her powers. Rather that than have a patient suffer unnecessarily, when she had the tools to help them. This fine balancing act between using her paranormal abilities and her training and education made her an incredibly effective psychiatrist, and she had to be incredibly careful not to come across as too good, too quick at diagnosing patients, otherwise she’d attract attention for all the wrong reasons. She dreaded to think what would happen if people found out what she could do.

There came a knock at the door.

“Come in!” she called, minimizing all the programs on her computer screen, activating the screen saver, then getting to her feet.

The door opened, and a tentative looking, but incredibly handsome man entered the room. To her surprise, a millisecond later her gifts kicked in and she realized what his problem was—he was a werewolf. And he clearly didn’t have a clue.