Chapter 3
The Pine Peaks Inn was exactly what I’d expected: quaint to the point of parody, with pine cone decorations, plaid everything, and a lobby that smelled like cinnamon and wood smoke. Martha Wilson, the proprietor, was a tiny woman in her sixties with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue.
“You’re the tax man,” she said when I approached the check-in desk. Not a question.
“Auditor,” I corrected.
“Thank you.” I reached for the key, but she didn’t release it.
“So you’re looking into the Wolffs,” she said, voice casual but eyes intent.
I maintained my professional smile. “I’m not at liberty to discuss my assignment.”
She snorted. “Everyone knows. Small town.” She finally let go of the key. “Good family, the Wolffs. Odd, but good.”
“Odd how?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Martha looked both ways as if checking for eavesdroppers in the empty lobby. “They keep to themselves mostly. Only come to town when necessary. Always travel together, like a—”
“Pack?” I supplied.
Her eyes widened slightly. “That’s one way to put it.” She leaned closer. “And they’re always warm. Middle of winter, blizzard conditions, and Klaus walks around in a henley. Not natural.”
I thought of his shirtless wood-chopping and silently agreed.
“And the noises from their property during full moons,” she continued, warming to her subject. “Howling that’ll raise the hair on your neck.”
“Wolves?” I asked, thinking this conversation had taken a bizarre turn.
Martha gave me a look like I was being deliberately obtuse. “There haven’t been wolves in these parts for decades, Mr. Chase.” She pushed a plate of cookies toward me. “Freshly baked. You’ll need the energy if you’re dining with the Wolffs tonight.”
I blinked in surprise. “How did you—”
“Raff mentioned it when he dropped off your suitcase. Said Klaus is picking you up at six-thirty.” She smiled, revealing slightly too-sharp canines. “Word travels fast here.”
My room was small but comfortable, with flannel sheets on the bed and a window overlooking the town’s main street.
I unpacked my limited wardrobe, showered in the shared bathroom (which was thankfully clean), and changed into dark jeans and a charcoal sweater.
Professional enough for a business dinner but not as formal as my suit.
At precisely six-thirty, a knock came at the inn’s front door.
I descended the stairs to find Klaus filling the doorframe, snow dusting his shoulders and beard, his cheeks ruddy from the cold.
He wore a dark green flannel shirt that strained across his chest and shoulders, and the sight made my mouth go dry.
“Right on time,” I said, grabbing my coat.
Klaus’s eyes tracked my movement, taking in my outfit with the same intensity he’d shown earlier. “You look… different.”
“Less uptight?” I suggested with a small smile.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I was going to say ‘good.’”
Martha appeared from the back room. “Evening, Klaus! Taking our city boy to meet the family?”
Klaus nodded once. “Martha.” Just that, but something passed between them that I couldn’t interpret.
“Don’t keep him out too late,” she said, and I could have sworn there was a warning in her tone.
The drive to the Wolff property was quiet but not uncomfortable. Klaus drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between us. The truck’s heater blasted warm air, but I still found myself shivering slightly.
Without a word, Klaus reached behind the seat and pulled out a thick flannel blanket, dropping it in my lap. “Still cold?”
I wrapped it around my shoulders, embarrassed but grateful. “Thanks. I’ve got thin blood, I guess.”
“Hmm.” His eyes stayed on the road, but his hand moved from the console to my knee, squeezing once before returning to the wheel. The casual touch left a burning imprint through my jeans.
The main house was lit up when we arrived, smoke curling from the chimney, and I could hear laughter from inside. Klaus parked and came around to open my door before I could reach for the handle.
“They’re excited to meet you,” he said as we walked to the door. “They don’t get much new company.”
“Should I be worried?” I asked, half-joking.
Klaus paused with his hand on the doorknob. “They’re… enthusiastic. And they have no boundaries. But they won’t hurt you.” He held my gaze. “I wouldn’t let them.”
The intensity in his eyes made my heart skip. Before I could respond, he opened the door and guided me inside with that now-familiar hand on my lower back.
The interior was warm and inviting, with rustic furniture, a massive fireplace, and long wooden tables that looked handcrafted. And it was full of people—at least a dozen men and women of varying ages, all with the same distinctive amber eyes and powerful builds as Klaus.
Conversation stopped when we entered, and every head turned toward us. I fought the urge to step behind Klaus as a dozen pairs of eyes focused on me with unnerving intensity.
“Family,” Klaus said, his deep voice carrying easily. “This is Jordan Chase.”
A moment of silence, then the room exploded with movement and noise.
I was surrounded, hands clapping my shoulder, voices talking over each other, questions coming too fast to answer.
They circled me like—well, like wolves, I thought hysterically—sniffing (yes, actually sniffing) at me, touching my arms, my back, my hair.
“City boy’s pretty,” said an older woman who had to be Klaus’s mother, judging by the identical amber eyes.
“Smells good,” added a teenage girl, leaning far too close to my neck.
“Emma,” Klaus warned, and she backed away with a grin.
“Can you cook?” asked one of the men I’d met earlier—Theo?
“Do you run?” asked another.
“Are you staying through the full moon?” asked a third.
At that last question, Klaus made a sound low in his throat that silenced the room. “Enough. You’re overwhelming him.”
Indeed, I was standing frozen in the center of the Wolff family whirlwind, briefcase clutched to my chest like a shield.
“I—nice to meet you all,” I managed.
Klaus’s hand found the small of my back again. “Dinner first. Questions later.”
Dinner was a production I wasn’t prepared for. The table groaned under the weight of food—three whole roasted chickens, a ham, countless side dishes, and bread that steamed when torn open. The Wolffs ate with startling enthusiasm, passing dishes family-style and piling their plates high.
Klaus, seated beside me, placed portions on my plate before serving himself. When I raised an eyebrow at the amount of food, he simply said, “You’re too thin.”
I watched in fascination as he devoured four chicken thighs, a stack of roasted potatoes, and enough green beans to feed a small family. Everyone ate with the same hearty appetite, yet their conversation never flagged—stories, jokes, and questions flying across the table.
I answered queries about Chicago, my job, and how I liked Pine Peak so far (diplomatically). I carefully deflected questions about my personal life and dating history, though the teenage girl—Emma—asked outright if I “preferred male or female partners.”
“Emma!” her mother scolded.
“What? Klaus wants to know,” she said with teenage bluntness.
Klaus choked slightly on his drink, and I felt heat rise in my face.
“I prefer partners who don’t ask invasive questions at dinner,” I replied, which earned appreciative laughs from around the table.
As the meal progressed, I noticed the Wolffs’ strange habits more acutely.
They communicated with looks and subtle gestures.
They touched constantly—shoulders bumping, hands on arms, casual physical contact that seemed unconscious.
And they deferred to Klaus in subtle ways, pausing when he spoke, shifting when he moved.
After dinner, most of the family moved to the living room, but Klaus guided me toward the kitchen. “Help me with dessert?” he asked.
The kitchen was massive and surprisingly modern, with high-end appliances and granite countertops. Klaus moved to the refrigerator and pulled out an apple pie, setting it on the counter.
“Your family is… close,” I said, leaning against the island.
Klaus huffed a laugh. “That’s one word for it.” He reached for plates in a cabinet, his shirt riding up to reveal a strip of tanned skin and the dimples at the base of his spine.
Good god, even his back is sexy.
“They have a lot of questions about me,” I noted.
Klaus turned, plates in hand, and stepped closer than was strictly necessary. “They’re curious about who I bring home.”
“Do you bring many people home?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
“No.” His eyes locked on mine. “Never, actually.”
My heart rate kicked up. “So why—”
“You smell good,” he said, cutting me off. He set the plates down and moved closer, crowding me against the counter. “You smell…” He inhaled deeply, leaning into my personal space. “Right.”
I should have been creeped out. I should have made a joke about needing better cologne. Instead, I stood frozen as Klaus Wolff bent his head to the crook of my neck and inhaled like he was trying to memorize my scent.
“Klaus,” I whispered, hands gripping the counter behind me. “What are you doing?”
His beard tickled my skin as he spoke against my throat. “Learning you.”
His large hand came up to cup the back of my neck, thumb stroking along my jaw. I felt surrounded by him—his heat, his scent of pine and woodsmoke, his sheer physical presence. My body responded embarrassingly fast, blood rushing south as he pressed closer.
“Your family is in the next room,” I managed, though I made no move to push him away.
“They know not to interrupt,” he murmured, nose tracing a line up to my ear. “They can sense when I’m… interested.”
“Interested,” I echoed weakly.
Klaus pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, his pupils dilated so much the amber was just a thin ring. “Very interested, Jordan.”
The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine. His thumb moved to trace my lower lip, and I had the insane urge to take it into my mouth.
Before I could act on that impulse, a loud crash from the living room broke the spell. Klaus growled—actually growled—and stepped back, running a hand through his hair.
“We should—” I gestured vaguely toward the door.
Klaus nodded once, jaw tight. “Later,” he said, and it sounded like a promise.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of small talk and apple pie, but I felt Klaus’s eyes on me constantly. When he drove me back to the inn, the silence in the truck was charged with tension. He walked me to the door, standing close enough that I could feel his body heat.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “Nine o’clock. I’ll show you the business operations.”
I nodded, fumbling for my key. “Nine o’clock.”
Klaus reached out and straightened my collar, his fingers lingering. “Sleep well, Jordan.”
As I watched him drive away, I pressed my fingers to the spot on my neck where his breath had warmed my skin. Martha found me still standing there a minute later.
“Everything okay, Mr. Chase?” she asked, eyeing me speculatively.
“Fine,” I said, too quickly. “Just… processing.”
She nodded sagely. “The Wolffs take some getting used to.” She leaned closer. “Especially during a full moon.”
I glanced at the sky, where a nearly-full moon hung between scattered clouds. “When is the full moon, exactly?”
“Three days,” Martha replied, watching my face carefully. “You might want to finish your audit before then.”
As I climbed the stairs to my room, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something obvious—something about Klaus, his family, and their odd behaviors. Something about the way they moved together, ate together, the constant touching, the sniffing…
Oh.
I stopped midway up the stairs as a ridiculous thought struck me. Werewolves? Was that where my mind was going?
I laughed out loud at my own absurdity. Clearly, the small-town atmosphere was getting to me. Next, I’d be believing in Santa Claus.
Still chuckling, I entered my room and prepared for bed, determinedly ignoring the part of me that was already half-convinced.
Because werewolves weren’t real.
But Klaus Wolff’s interest in me definitely was.