“That all depends on whether the ghosts take an interest in you or not,” Yvonne teased. “Most of the activity happens on the third floor, which is why we currently have a group of demonology students staying up there.”
Zander’s brow creased slightly. “You think you have demons here?”
“Oh heavens, no.” Yvonne chuckled. “The ghosts are merely . . . mischievous.”
Gwen nodded. “They’ve never hurt anyone.”
Yvonne winced. “Well, there have been a few guests who said the spirits threw things at their heads, but I think they just made that up.”
Gwen bit back a smile as Zander studied her and Yvonne, as if he couldn’t decide whether they were being serious or not. “Follow me,” said Gwen. “I’ll show you where your rooms—” Hearing the back door of the house creak open, she looked down the hallway to see Donnie in the kitchen, still in camo gear and rooting through the cupboards.
After a moment, he turned and called out, “We have any Pop-Tarts?”
“Try the cupboard next to the pantry,” Gwen advised. “Any particular reason why you have a headless water snake hanging around your neck?”
He blinked and looked down. “Forgot that was there.” Pop-Tarts in hand, he then disappeared out the back door.
Turning back to the wolves, she ignored their puzzled expressions and gestured toward the wide, curved staircase. “I’ll show you to your rooms.”
Zander and his wolf were alike in many ways. Hard. Shrewd. Distrustful. They were also never rattled by anything. But there was something about Gwen Miller that made his wolf very cautious. The beast feared nothing, but strangely, he’d backed away from her. He now watched her carefully, still and quiet.
It wasn’t that the wolf had taken an instant dislike to her. No, in fact, the beast particularly liked her voice—it was low and sultry, and there was something oddly soothing about it. The wolf also liked her scent. Zander could admit that it was potent, especially for a human. Jasmine, orange blossoms, and wild berries. But even while his wolf greedily inhaled it, the beast also stayed back.
Zander just didn’t get it.
She was human, certainly no threat to him. And yet, his wolf had withdrawn from her, wary. It made Zander wonder what his wolf picked up about her that he himself was missing.
As a rule, Zander didn’t “miss” things. He was good at reading and predicting people, but he couldn’t quite grasp what troubled his wolf about the human. She didn’t fall into any of the three categories that humans tended toward when it came to shifters. Nor was she setting off any of his inner alarms.
He studied her again. She was small. Slender. Very feminine. Had a sleek cinnamon-brown side-braid and long, blunt bangs. Nothing like the tall, curvy redheads he went for. She might have been called plain if it weren’t for her eyes. They were exceptionally striking: a rich Prussian blue that seemed to stand out—maybe because the whites of her eyes were so clear.
No, Zander didn’t understand his wolf’s wariness at all.
Hooking his duffel over his shoulder, Zander followed her as she walked up the stairs . . . and found himself looking at a round, pert ass—it looked good in those skintight jeans.
Forcing his gaze up, he glanced around. He’d expected the proprietors to make the large house seem gloomy and play on the haunted rumor, but it was bright and airy. Paintings and mirrors hung on the white walls. The furnishings were antique and well cared for. The natural oak flooring was smooth and gave the place a rustic feel.
“It’s a big house,” he said. “You live here?”
She flicked him a brief glance over her shoulder. “Yep.”
“Isn’t it hard to share your home with strangers?” Zander would hate it. He was private and territorial.
She shrugged. “I’m used to it.”
It didn’t really answer his question, but Zander let it slide. In truth, he didn’t like inane chatter or talking for the mere sake of it, but he was trying to feel her out and understand what his wolf sensed that he didn’t. He wasn’t a friendly person, but he knew how to project a nonthreatening image so that he seemed approachable and relatable. “Our wolves will want to be free to explore your land. Will that be a problem?”
“Of course not. Have at it.” Reaching the first floor of guest bedrooms, she led them down a narrow hallway. Coming to a halt midway, she gestured at two rooms. “Here you go. Inside, you’ll each find a Welcome Hamper and a pamphlet with breakfast hours, the Wi-Fi password, directions to local places, and important contact details. But if you need anything else, just call the reception desk. I leave for work at five, but there’s always someone around. Hope you enjoy your stay.”
As she began to walk away, Zander spoke. “You really think the house is haunted?” He hoped not, because he didn’t want her to be crazy.
Her mouth curved a little. “I like it when skeptical people come here. It’s always fun to watch them freak out.” With that, she disappeared down the hall.
Bracken gave a low chuckle. “She’s just fucking with us. The story is based on a family who lived here hundreds of years ago. A father and his two daughters were killed in a fire. The remains of the house were restored, and people say that all three ghosts now haunt the place.”
Zander snorted. “Yeah. Right.” Unlocking the door, he slipped inside and closed it behind him. Gwen’s scent was present in the room. It was faint beneath the smells of clean linen, air deodorizer, and freshly made muffins, but it was no less potent.
He slung his duffel on the overstuffed armchair as he took in his surroundings. Much like the rest of the house, it wasn’t gloomy. It was warm and restful. Bamboo shades, a fleecy throw on the armchair, a brick fireplace, a wall-mounted TV, a coffee machine, and a decadent-looking king-size bed with plump pillows and a soft comforter.
He quickly unpacked his things, slipping some clothes into the antique dresser and hanging others in the closet. After placing his toiletries in the adjoined bathroom, he made a cup of coffee and stepped out onto the balcony. There was a great view of the grassy plains, water pools, nearby creek, and the moss-covered trees that bordered much of the territory.
He settled into the deck chair, letting the peaceful air slide over him. All he could hear were birds trilling, insects droning, the burble of the creek, and the muffled conversation of other guests filtering through an open window. His wolf stretched within him, wanting the freedom to acquaint himself with the land.
There was the sound of a door creaking open, and then Bracken was leaning over the partition between their balconies, a half-eaten muffin in hand. “These are damn good. How’s your room?”
“Better than some hotels I’ve stayed in.”
Bracken nodded. “Same here.” He bit into his muffin. “My wolf likes this place.”
“How did your wolf react to Gwen?”
Bracken blinked. “He likes her well enough, I guess.”
“He’s not bothered by her?”
“No. Why?”