Chapter 2
Two
“ T he roof’s gonna cave in,” Leo announced.
Oliver Musgrove sighed and looked up from the front desk. His six-year-old nephew was lying in the middle of the empty lobby, staring up at the ceiling.
“Nothing’s going to cave in,” Oliver told him, shuffling a stack of invoices. “Get out of the lobby. The guests don’t want to step over a kid to get to the front desk.”
“We don’t have guests,” Leo pointed out, not moving. He kicked his feet in the air, his light-up sneakers glinting. “Mr. Jackson says it’s gonna cave in, and his job is roofs.”
“His job isn’t just roofs ,” Oliver said, scowling. “And Jackson needs to keep his nose out of our business.”
The inn was fine . Sure, the roof leaked. The doors sometimes wobbled on their hinges. The pipes screeched when you turned on the hot faucet. But you put up with certain things in an old place like this as Oliver kept insisting to the rest of his family, who were currently being useless in the guest common room while Oliver did paperwork.
Leo pushed himself up with a sigh, padding over to the front desk. Every step made his light-up sneakers glow even brighter. He cocked his head, listening to the sounds of the party. Leo was full wolf, his hearing just as keen as Oliver’s.
Oliver focused. He could hear every irritating noise through the twisting hallways: loud music, an aunt’s grating giggles. Somebody roared in laughter, someone else roared with the distinct tones of an orc. And underneath it all was Grandmother’s low tones, too muffled to make out. He wouldn’t be able to hear it at all if she wasn’t his family. Werewolf senses got even keener when it came to pack.
Leo rested his chin on the counter. “Are you coming to the party, Uncle Ollie?”
“No,” Oliver snapped. “I’m working.”
Leo pouted. “Dad says you’re only pretending to work so you don’t have to talk to people.”
“Well, your dad’s a dick,” Oliver said and winced. “Don’t tell him I swore in front of you. He’s still pissed about the A-hole thing.”
“Asshole,” Leo corrected proudly.
Oliver shushed him. His little brother Ben had gotten annoyingly uptight about swear words since becoming a father. One of the only things he’d gotten uptight about, thankfully. It had been a surprise pregnancy, and for a while, everybody had worried if fun- loving Ben Musgrove would be able to handle his new responsibilities. Then Leo was born, and Ben had stepped up so wonderfully that everybody started joking that maybe he could be alpha one day. At the time, Oliver had laughed along with them. Oliver’s place as the next alpha was inevitable. Grandmother was solid in her decision, and so was Oliver.
Then the fire happened, and the pack moved to Claw Haven. A proud new start, they claimed. For Oliver, it had been a guilty slink with his tail between his legs, sitting on a secret he could never tell the family. He started snapping at people, going off alone instead of airing out his problems to a trusted ear. His pack thought it was the guilt of an up-and-coming leader not being able to protect his family from a crazy hunter who tried to burn them in their beds. No one knew the real reason it shook Oliver so deeply. And if Oliver had anything to say about it, they’d never find out.
Ben came barreling into the lobby, his wife Sabine under his bulky arm.
“Wondering where you two got to,” Ben said, leaning on the counter next to his son. “What’s the holdup?”
Leo pointed at the roof. “Roof’s gonna cave in!”
“It’s not caving in,” Oliver protested as they all looked up at it.
Outside, the wind howled. Oliver winced. The storm was really picking up, cold air leaking through the thin insulation.
Sabine squinted, blonde hair falling over her scarred eye. “I don’t know about caving in, but that’s definitely going to drip. Do you want to get the buckets, honey?”
“Okay,” said Leo, rushing off. He was still excited about the inn, always asking what he could do to help. Oliver almost felt bad turning him down all the time.
Sabine pushed her hair out of her face. She’d never been embarrassed by the scar over her left eye, even when it was bright red and healing in the days after Ben found her in the woods mauled by a bear.
A scar means I survived , she told him once. Why would I want to hide that?
Ben reached over the counter, tweaking an invoice Oliver was stacking. “Put down the work for five seconds, man. Come and have fun with us. Remember fun?”
“No,” Oliver said sarcastically.
Ben snorted, stroking a line down Sabine’s shoulder absently. Once upon a time, they used to throw parties, huge and lavish. Everyone was invited. Ben and Oliver would shout and dance and run through the woods until their legs hurt. They even got matching tattoos on their elbows: party animals, with a howling wolf curling on top of the words.
Now, here they were. Oliver was doing work so he wouldn’t have to go to a party, and Ben was ditching early to hang out with his wife and kid. How times changed.
“It’s a great time up there,” Ben tried. “The townsfolk are really friendly. I think you’d like them—don’t roll your eyes, jackass; you would like them if you just talked to them. ”
“I’ve talked to them,” Oliver said, shuffling his invoices again so he’d have to re-arrange them in a second. “They won’t stop talking to me. Every time I dare leave the inn, everyone’s going hi, Oliver! How’s it going, Oliver? Try my chocolates, Oliver; they’re wolf-safe! ”
“Wow,” Sabine said flatly. “What a bunch of jerks.”
“I hate it when people give me free chocolate I can actually eat,” Ben agreed.
“It’s condescending,” Oliver argued. “She keeps asking , like one day I’m going to change my mind about her stupid little chocolates?—”
A throat cleared. Oliver looked up just in time to see Jackson Jay, dragonborn and roof guy extraordinaire, come around the corner. He looked awkward, scratching his scales in the way he did when he wanted to get out of a conversation. Which, in Oliver’s opinion, wasn’t often enough.
Then a woman followed after him, and Oliver understood why he looked awkward. Beth Haberdash was the hedgehog woman who owned the chocolate store on Main Street. She would be sweet if she wasn’t so annoying. Always bumbling and stammering and getting all apologetic about selling her own chocolates, like she wasn’t the one who opened the damn shop. And she kept getting things stuck on her spikes.
Oliver grimaced. This was what he got for not paying attention to his surroundings. He tried to be better nowadays, always on alert. But holy shit, always being on alert was exhausting .
“Hiya,” said Jackson. “Just about to head out. Wanted to say goodbye to all the hosts first.”
“Bye,” Oliver said loudly.
Ben gave him an exasperated look, then turned to Jackson. “Thanks for coming, Jackson. Good to finally get everyone around for a housewarming party.”
A particularly loud howl of wind made them all look around nervously.
Jackson pointed at the roof. “I’m telling you, one day soon that roof’s gonna?—”
“The roof’s not going to cave in,” Oliver said.
Jackson shrugged. “If you say so. If it does, I’ll come help fix it.”
“It won’t happen,” Oliver said icily. “I fixed it myself. It’s a solid roof.”
Another gust of wind rocked the inn. A breeze blew through, making Beth and Jackson shiver.
Ben gave him another pointed look. Oliver shuffled his invoices around, pretending to look busy. He didn’t even know what he was stacking. He’d have to actually sort them out later. They looked important.
Sabine smiled over at Beth. “Are those the chocolates we were talking about?”
“What?” Beth shrank against the drafty wall, her back spikes poking into the wallpaper. There was a ripping noise, and Beth jumped forward, gasping. “Oh god, sorry.”
“No harm done,” Sabine said, holding her hand out for the bag of chocolates .
Ben turned to Oliver. “We’re going to give them out to guests. You know, leave one on their pillow.”
“Right,” Oliver said. “For all the many, many guests who come through this… charming little town.”
Ben gave him an irritating grin. The same grin he gave Oliver every time Oliver complained about their alpha dragging them to backwater Alaska to set up an inn in one of the only monster-centric towns on the West Coast. Oliver had half a mind to shut it down as soon as Grandmother transferred her role as alpha to him, which should be happening any day now. They wouldn’t move out of town, of course—they were safe here. Oliver could put up with the annoying locals if his pack was protected. But they were losing money faster than they were earning it. Claw Haven was a safe place for quiet monsters, not a tourist trap. That was why they moved here. What was the point of having an inn in a town nobody passed through?
Oliver waited for Beth and Jackson to shuffle out into the cold. Then he turned to Ben and hissed, “Why are we even doing this? We opened months ago. This is stupid.”
“Because Grandmother thought it was time,” Ben said, fixing Oliver with a pointed look.
They were supposed to have the party when they opened. But Oliver kept putting it off, saying they weren’t ready, there were still things around the inn that needed to be fixed.
Grandmother saw right through him, obviously, but she let him have his way for a few months before finally putting her foot down.
We’re an inn , she reminded him when she sent him to drop off invitations. Our doors are supposed to be open.
Not to the people who live here, Oliver had argued. The townsfolk of Claw Haven already had homes to go to. They were meant to take in tourists—if this town ever brought in any. As if Oliver would actually want any. Strangers were dangerous. Every one of their rare guests made Oliver’s hackles go up. He had to stop himself from growling at the last one: a smarmy human businessman who was in town for his daughter’s wedding and smoked in the lobby despite their very clear NO SMOKING sign. It had taken Oliver ages to get the ash out of the carpet.
Sabine made an impressed sound, digging in the bag of chocolates. “These are so good, Ollie. You have to try one.”
“Give him the wolf one,” Ben suggested.
Another drop fell from the roof.
Oliver groaned. “Where the hell is your kid with the bucket? We have an inn to fix, we don’t need parties. Or chocolate.”
“For someone who hates the inn so much, you sure talk about it a lot,” Ben said. He scratched the counter, his nails too sharp. Not claws yet but getting there. Their wolf qualities slipped out if they got too emotional.
“You know, everyone put in a lot of work setting up this party. You’re being a real?— ”
Leo burst into the lobby, carting a rusty old bucket, his light-up sneakers flashing.
“—A-hole,” Ben finished hastily.
“Asshole,” Leo said triumphantly, throwing the bucket down under the leaking ceiling, where the drips were turning into a steady stream.
“Leo,” said Ben and Sabine, whirling to scold him in unison.
Leo shrugged, sitting down on the floor next to the bucket. “What? You all say it.”
A low, familiar voice made them all turn around. “It’s an adult word, Leo. You can use it later.”
Grandmother stepped into the lobby with her shawl wrapped tightly around her sturdy frame. She was wearing a sweater underneath it. She’d been covered up all winter. Oliver hadn’t seen any of her various tattoos in months except for the ones on her hands: the spindly ends of branches starting at her knuckles and creeping under her sleeves. Werewolves ran hotter than most, and although the heating in Musgrove Inn was spotty in the lobby, it didn’t warrant two thick layers.
“You look cold,” Oliver said, finally putting the invoices to the side. “Do you need another shawl?”
Her thin lips curled up. “I’m fine. Pup, go get another bucket. This is a heavy-duty leak.”
Leo ran off down the hall, almost tripping in his eagerness.
Oliver inclined his head respectfully at Grandmother as she walked up to the front desk. “I’ll work on the ceiling after the snow stops. I just need to?—”
“Hire a professional?” Grandmother said wryly. She held up an arm to let Sabine step under it and give her neck a casual nuzzle. Sabine had adapted to wolf customs easier than any human-born werewolf Oliver had met. Most humans were baffled by the amount of physical affection and scenting that occurred between pack members, but Sabine took to it immediately. She was even better at it nowadays than Oliver, who had pulled back since the fire, stepping away from most attempts to initiate.
Oliver cleared his throat. “I’m not having a stranger walk all over our roof.”
Grandmother traded a look with Sabine, then with Ben.
“What?” Oliver snapped. “Sure, he’s a monster. That doesn’t mean he’s safe . He’s not pack!”
“Bro,” Ben said. “You’re acting like some territorial alpha who snarls at anyone who walks too close. Jackson’s cool.”
Oliver bared his sharpening teeth, eyes flashing gold.
Ben blinked, startled. Before he could react, Grandmother touched his shoulder. “Why don’t you go check on your boy? See how he’s doing with that bucket.”
Guilt curled in Oliver’s gut as he watched his brother and sister-in-law walk down the hall after Leo. Grandmother had been the Musgrove Alpha since before he was born. Standing up for the pack. Stopping conflicts before they start. How an alpha should be. Not growing in fangs just because your brother was being annoying .
Oliver swallowed, teeth going blunt. “How’s the party?”
“It’s lovely,” Grandmother said. She didn’t touch his arm like she would have done a year ago. Out of everyone, she was the best about his new aversion to touch.
“Great. That’s great.” Oliver cleared his throat. “Are, uh… Are we, uh… I thought we were going to talk about the alpha ceremony tonight.”
Grandmother appraised him silently. That pause was all it took.
Oliver gritted his teeth, still thankfully blunt. “You want to wait another year.”
“I don’t think you’re ready,” Grandmother said quietly.
“I’m working my ass off,” he hissed. “And you’re not getting any younger! What if your heart gets bad again?”
The conversation wasn’t even half as heated as the one with his brother. But it was still ruder than he’d ever dared speak to her before they moved here, and shame flooded him reflexively.
Over in the corner, the stream of water dripped even heavier into the bucket.
Grandmother’s hand twitched against her shawl. Like she’d started to reach out, then thought better of it. She curled it into her shawl instead, over the scar she’d come home from the hospital with five years ago.
“The surgery put a stop to that,” she told him. “I’m fine.”
“You’re tired,” he said flatly.
She gave him a stern look. “I… might be tired. But I’m still the alpha, and my heart’s not giving out on me yet. I let you take care of the inn, but I’m the one in charge. I could go right over your head and ask Jackson to fix the room myself. But I trust you to do the right thing eventually.”
“I do the right thing,” Oliver muttered.
She looked at him with such understanding that Oliver wanted to hide from it. She’d raised him and Ben since their parents died when Oliver was eight. The rest of the pack had helped out—as good packs always did—but she was the one they lived with. The one who got them up in the mornings and was there to kiss them goodnight.
“You don’t trust people,” Grandmother said sadly. “A true leader knows when to ask for help. You can’t close yourself off just because one stranger tried to hurt us.”
The guilt surged back, stronger than ever. Oliver wanted so badly to say it: she wasn’t a stranger.
“You should go to the party,” Grandmother continued. “Everyone’s having fun. They’re good people.”
With that, she walked off down the hall toward the party.
Oliver took several deep breaths, like she’d taught him so long ago, and focused his hearing on the party. Thumping music. Endless chatter. Another peal of shrill laughter from one of his aunts, high and grating even through the multiple walls separating them.
Oliver took another deep breath. It didn’t calm him down. Nothing calmed him down nowadays—not his pack, not working on the stupid inn, not running. He couldn’t shift since the fire, so he didn’t even have that . It would fix him, he was sure of it: his wolf running with his pack through the woods, being one with the forest and his family. He missed it like a phantom limb.
The water was reaching the top of the bucket. Oliver thought about doing something about it.
Instead, he turned and charged into the back rooms. Screw housewarmings, screw this inn, screw his family. A year ago, he would’ve been the perfect alpha. Now he was… what? Broken? Ruined? He couldn’t even shift . What kind of adult wolf couldn’t even shift?
He bared his teeth as he ransacked the back room, searching for the bottle he’d glimpsed when he was sorting things earlier today. It must’ve been misplaced party supplies, maybe an offering from the townsfolk. The bottle looked old—no label, maybe homemade—and it definitely wasn’t supposed to be in the back room with all the inn’s paperwork.
Oliver pulled the cork out. It smelled familiar. The bottle looked familiar, now that he had a proper look: slim and blue with a curled handle. It also stunk strongly of spirits. He’d been hoping for wine, something to ease him gently into drunkenness. But what the hell, he could cannonball into it instead. Better than going to the party and having to make small talk.
He tipped the bottle back and chugged. The bottle caught the fluorescent light. For a moment, the liquid almost looked like moonlight.