Chapter 8
RODERICK
Apparently, my wolf doesn’t give up on what it wants easily.
And what it wants is a mate.
Which is why when I run into Sylvia Rodriguez at Sawdust and Supplies, I ask her about going out to dinner.
See? I silently say to my animalistic half. I’m getting you what you want.
My wolf might as well be napping for all the reaction it has.
Sylvia is only a few years younger than me. I passed her in the halls in high school when I was a senior and she was a freshman. Her family is well established in town, and every one of them is a wolf.
Plus, Sylvia has a pleasant personality, bakes the best gingerbread cookies, and started her own taco truck last year. At least once a week, I swing by at lunch for two chorizo burritos and a cup of mango salsa.
All the makings for a perfect mate.
When I ask her to get dinner, she seems surprised but agrees. Probably because I’ve never shown romantic interest in her before. But there’s a first time for everything.
Later, I pull up to the curb of the house Sylvia shares with her parents.
Werewolf hearing can easily pick up the approach of a truck, so I’m barely parked when she steps out the front door, looking nice in a bright yellow dress that makes her dark curls stand out.
Sylvia strolls up to my truck, which I figured would be a more acceptable mode of transportation for a date over a bike.
When she’s just a few steps away, I remember I’m supposed to do gentlemanly things on dates, like open her door for her.
I hop out and circle the hood in time to intercept her.
“Hey, Roderick. You clean up nice.” Sylvia smooths down the collar of my button-up shirt. One of the few I own and almost forgot I had.
“And you too.” Complimenting is not my strong suit, even if the sentiment is genuine.
Sylvia smiles and holds out a jug of some golden liquid. “Mom wanted me to give you this. Gift for the pack leader. Some of her best mezcal.”
I’ve heard of the liquor Mrs. Rodriguez brews. Supposed to be smooth to the taste—and so strong that a glass will knock even a werewolf on its ass.
“Tell her thank you.” I accept the home-brewed liquor and tuck it behind my seat, where it won’t roll around.
When I first became leader, the random presents my pack members offered me were not welcome. Every one was a constant reminder of my new role, one that I only held because my dad died.
And what was the point of them? Some bribery for favor?
Eventually, I came to realize they were simply shows of support. Now I give a simple thank-you and do my best to utilize whatever they gave me.
I drive Sylvia to the local diner. There’s a couple of nicer restaurants in town—ones that scream the word date—but something in me, likely my wolf, pushes me to choose a casual atmosphere.
There will be plenty of time to treat her to a fancy dinner on future outings.
With burgers in front of us, conversation flows easily.
Mainly because Sylvia is willing to hold up more than her fair share of it.
I’m not much of a talker, but with a few well-placed questions, I have her telling me about her journey to finding the perfect vehicle for her food truck and all the pitfalls she ran into while refurbishing it.
She’s just finished a story about an intense bidding war at an auction over an ice chest when the bell at the diner entrance rings, alerting the staff to a new arrival.
A second later, a familiar scent drifts over to me.
Lemons and paper.
Ah fuck.
Our future mate is here! My wolf springs to wakefulness, wagging an invisible tail.
As I sit in a booth with a perfectly great woman, Juliet strolls into the diner and steals the vast majority of my attention.
“Ms. Adair! Franky is just boxing up your order now.” The greeting comes from Jess Redland, owner of the diner. The middle-aged woman grins over the register at the librarian.
“Thanks, Jess. How much do I owe you?”
Damn all the gods, her voice is a stroke down my spine.
As the red-haired temptress counts out cash from her wallet, I try to refocus on my date. The task is harder than it should be. Silently, I start listing off the traits that make Sylvia better than Juliet.
Sylvia started her own business.
Juliet works with books. She knows things.
Sylvia’s family has lived in Pine Falls for generations.
Juliet is new. A mystery. We can hunt out her secrets.
Sylvia is a wolf.
Juliet is human. Soft. Needs protection. We’ll keep her safe.
“Are you okay, Roderick?”
At Sylvia’s concerned question, I realize I’ve crumpled my napkin in a fist as I glare down at my burger.
With a decent amount of effort, I force my hand—and the rest of my muscles—to relax.
“I’m fine.” I speak low, not liking how the words taste like a lie on my tongue. My gaze flicks to the side again and catches in an emerald trap.
Juliet holds a box of takeout in her hands as she turns to leave, but she pauses as our stares meet.
What is this mysterious power she holds over me? The thought of it makes me scowl.
Juliet rolls her eyes, then walks out the front doors.
She rolled her eyes? At me?
Furious excitement burns hot in my veins, leaving me anxious to chase after her and …
And what?
And nothing.
That woman is trouble, and I need to keep my distance from her.
Obviously, my wolf does, too, if I have any hope of this fascination fading.
What started out as a decent date continues with an underlying, strained tension.
I try to concentrate on Sylvia’s words and ask relevant questions, but focus is a struggle when my memory keeps dragging up the way Juliet’s ruby hair fell in disordered waves over her shoulders and how a smile teased at her lips when she spoke to the owner of the diner.
After another half hour of stiff conversation, I pay the bill and suggest a walk, hoping the fresh night air will clear the hint of lemons from my nose. Sylvia falls into step beside me, and we meander down Main Street.
“How is your family?” I pull the question out of the air, hoping I haven’t asked it already tonight. For the life of me, I can’t remember.
Sylvia flinches and presses a hand to her forehead.
“Sorry. Did I say something wrong?” I stop, turning toward her, guilt a weight in my gut.
Is something going on with the Rodriguez family that I should know about?
As pack leader, it’s my job to keep my wolves safe.
“No.” She shakes her head, her lips twisting. “But … are you mad at me?”
“Mad at you? No. Why would you think that?”
“It’s only …” Sylvia glances at my face, then down again, almost as if in deference.
“I feel like you’ve been growling at me all night.
” She rubs her fingers against her forehead again.
“Not out loud. Just … in here.” Sylvia taps her temple.
“It’s kind of like when we’re on a moon run and I sense you guiding us in a certain direction.
Only now, I feel like you’re telling me—” She cuts herself off with a cough, and her cheeks color.
“Telling you what?”
After a moment of hesitation, she relents. “To fuck off.”
I suppress a curse in response. Then I sigh, defeat a new and uncomfortable sensation. “I apologize. My wolf and I disagree about how to go about pursuing a mate.”
“Oh.” Her face clears with a small smile, and I regret that I can’t fully appreciate her charming round cheeks. “That’s interesting. I’m not sure I’ve ever disagreed with my wolf before. It sounds like you talk to each other. Do you? Like, actual conversations?”
“Not in-depth ones,” I grumble.
Want Juliet, my wolf replies.
Yeah, I fucking picked up on that, I silently snarl back.
“Fascinating. Also”—she gives my arm a friendly but completely platonic pat—“it’s okay. No hard feelings. I haven’t been pining over you or anything.”
“That sounds like a no to a second date.” Annoyingly, I don’t regret her dismissal.
Sylvia is funny and smart and pleasant to be around, but if I can’t get my wolf on board, it’ll be hard to even kiss her.
Kiss Juliet. She smells nice. She’ll taste good, my wolf rumbles.
Maybe if I drink the entire jug of mezcal the Rodriguez family gifted me, I’ll be able to smother the bothersome creature.
“Let’s just call ourselves friends.” Sylvia smiles up at me, and I make an effort at returning the gesture.
But I can’t help the aggravation at knowing my list of acceptable mates is growing shorter.