Slowly I lowered my arms so my hands and my book rested on his neck.
Greyson didn’t even move.
I have no idea what any of this means, I concluded. And that’s really irritating. Possibly dangerous, but mostly irritating.
I stared at him for a moment or two, but no matter how I tried to remember, there was nothing about werewolves that said curling up with a person reading a book was a thing.
But werewolves will pile together when in their wolf form as a sort of bonding experience. Maybe that’s what he’s attempting to do?
I glanced down at Greyson, who appeared to be snoozing.
No. No way. Greyson likes to torture me, and he’s not a cuddler. Maybe it has something to do with the visiting hunters. That seems more likely.
Disgruntled, I returned to my book—where I could at least count on Sherlock to reveal the mystery to Watson and myself, rather than just act mysterious and annoying.
About thirty minutes passed before I realized I’d been absentmindedly petting Greyson’s shoulder, sinking my fingers into his soft undercoat.
I froze.
All the other wolves like getting their bellies scratched or a good pet. But Greyson isn’t really affectionate with anyone…
I guiltily glanced at Prince and Princess, who were sitting in their cat bed on the armchair, watching me with judgy eyes.
I started to raise my hand up when Greyson opened his gold eyes and peeled his head off my lap to stare up at me.
“Sorry?” I tried.
He kept staring, the quirk of his ears communicating a slight irritation.
Hesitantly, I lowered my hand back into his fur.
Greyson set his head back down and once again closed his eyes.
I looked at Prince and Princess. They had their eyes closed and were purring up a storm together, leaving all furry bodies in the house content.
I frowned down at my book, slightly disturbed by the realization I’d just had.
I am such a sucker when Greyson is in his gorgeous wolf form, I concluded. And I think he might have figured that out.
Chapter 10
Pip
A week after the hunters rolled into town, I had a rare weekday off.
I was enjoying myself, sitting on the wicker furniture outside Howl-In Café, tapping away on my laptop as I researched job opportunities away from Timber Ridge.
I’d finished my degree online after I realized the college scene wasn’t my thing and had gotten a liberal arts degree about a year ago. I’d taken a lot of courses on technical writing, business statistics, economics, legal research and writing—stuff that hopefully meant I could easily get hired as some kind of online editor/content creation job.
I was contemplating a content writer position in Minnesota—hours away from Northern Lakes territory, when Teresa—Hector and Ember’s eldest child—zipped up to my table so fast she nearly skidded out and slammed into a wicker chair.
“We need your help.” Her corkscrew curls bounced as she finally rocked to a stop, and her dark eyes were dangerously serious.
I froze mid keystroke. “What is it? Is there something wrong with the hunters?”
“No.” Teresa, looking like she was eighty instead of her young ten, puffed her cheeks out. “Young Jack and Forrest are arguing.”
I shut my laptop screen—I didn’t really want anyone to know I was thinking of attempting to leave Timber Ridge. “How can they be fighting? Don’t they have to work?”
“Young Jack has a part time job here, but he mostly works weekends.” Teresa jerked her thumb, pointing to the Howl-In café that most of the humans belonging to the Pack worked at. (The second store they mostly staffed was the Sweets Shoppe. The Pack couldn’t staff either store with wolves. Each location had failed health inspections twice due to wolf fur being found in kitchen areas—that stuff sticks to everything. After that, Greyson declared that the wolves weren’t even allowed to enter the building, and had to text orders to be delivered to them outside.) “Forrest is working at Timber Wolves Landscaping, but I think he’s on his lunch break,” Teresa concluded.
“How wonderful. I take it I’m the closest adult?” I asked.
“No,” Teresa said. “Amelia sent me to find you—she said it had to be you, because if the older wolves got involved it would make it more serious, and you’re impartial since you’re not human or wolf.”
In other words it’s because I’m an outsider that straddles both groups, accepted by neither but involved in both.
Teresa scooted over to my side of the table and tugged on the sleeve of my t-shirt. “Can you hurry? Things were getting really loud when I left.”
“I bet.” I slid my laptop into my backpack and zipped it up. “Young Jack has zero respect for werewolves, and since Forrest was just changed six months ago he’s still pretty touchy. Where are they?”
“In the park.” Teresa backed up as I stood and slipped my backpack over my shoulders. “What are you gonna make them do to settle it?”
“I’ll think of something.” I offered her a flash of a reassuring smile, and together we hurried down the sidewalk.
As with most families, there were clashes between the humans and the wolves of the Northern Lakes Pack. It got dangerous, however, as wolves traditionally settle arguments through physical fights—something any human would be severely disadvantaged in.
When I was a teenager I’d shot my mouth off more times than was good for my health—mainly at Rio, but occasionally at some of the other werewolves who called me a dog behind my back—and to seek revenge I’d come up with the idea of settling scores in other ways.
It started with mini golf. I’d practiced for a full year before I challenged Rio to a match and trashed him thoroughly—with his werewolf strength it was nearly impossible for him to do such a delicate sport.
After about three years the wolves had gotten remarkably good at mini golf—they used Chase as their representative whenever possible as he almost always got a perfect score after all that practice—and I was forced to switch to croquet, then pickleball, followed by volleyball, and most recently bowling.
Unfortunately the wolves were learning faster and faster how to control their strength with each new sport I introduced. (We did darts for a grand total of one week before the wolves figured out how to throw so they didn’t knock the target down.) Thankfully, most of the wolves had grown up and weren’t so hot tempered.
Actually, I hadn’t challenged Aeric or Wyatt to a match since before my adopted parents died.
Instead, it was only the younger members of the Pack who had been werewolves for less than three years or so who hadn’t perfected their reflexes and ability to hold back. Which worked well given that they were also the most likely to lose their tempers.