Chapter 13
RODERICK
The members of my pack seem happy. They appear healthy. A good portion of them have gathered tonight at The Rabbit Hole, and I watch over my charges from a table in the back corner of the bar.
Some might say I’m holding court, sitting alone as I drink my beer and observe the revelry. I prefer to think I’m making myself available without participating.
I don’t have the patience for mingling tonight. Not after that blowout fight with the little librarian.
When I decided to confront Juliet, my plan was to be tactful, unmoving.
But she bowled me over in seconds.
One of my pack mates approaches with a greeting and a question about the upcoming full-moon run. The distraction lasts briefly, and soon, I’m back to replaying the conversation, attempting to discern where I lost control of it.
Honestly, I’m not sure I ever had control to begin with. A handful of sentences in, and the next thing, she was commanding me out of her territory.
The demand returns clear to my mind, and I frown at the thought.
“Now I want you out of my house and off my territory.”
The phrasing almost sounds wolfish. I dig my thumbnail into the scarred wood of the table as I play the line over and over again in my brain, trying to discern if I’m recalling her words wrong.
But no. Juliet said territory.
Humans normally say their land or their property.
Wolves say territory.
With that unsettling thought pricking my mind, I can’t move past the altercation. Mentally, I continue through our argument, focusing on every word choice.
“My gods, get over it!”
Wolves tend to curse with multiple gods because we know there’s more than one.
“… stop growling about it!” A normal turn of phrase, but when paired with the others?
Then there was the odd comment I let pass me by because of the embarrassed sting it left. Now I examine it more closely.
“I’m done with catering to the fragile needs of men. Much less one of you.”
One of us.
Finally, there’s the hand gesture she used when she walked out her door. The slap of her thigh, followed by a particular flick of her fingers.
In ASL, she called me a dog.
All of the pieces click together. The instinct I had that there was more to the librarian than just what she showed the world. All along, I knew she was keeping a secret.
Juliet knows.
She knows about us.
The possibility rocks me and sends my need to hunt into overdrive.
Forgetting the last half of my beer, I shove away from the table and storm out into the cool night air. But the crisp scent of pine does nothing to ease the raging heat in my chest at this discovery.
My bike revs to life, the vibration of it between my legs matching the rattling of my nerves.
As I speed down the road, heading to the opposite side of town from The Rabbit Hole, I berate myself for not realizing it sooner. My wolf must have picked up on the fact somehow. That has to be the only reason he was interested in her as a potential mate.
Like her. Smells nice, the beast rumbles lazily.
Ignoring the growly voice, I cling to my righteous indignation.
How could a human who knows about wolves move to a town with an active pack and not alert us of their knowledge?
It’s selfish. Irresponsible.
Who else could she have told?
Why is she here?
What does she want?
Without answers to these questions, I’m jumpy and irritated. My knuckles whiten on the grips of my handles.
The dark woods echo the roar of my engine as I approach Juliet’s house. This is not a covert arrival, and I grit my teeth, annoyed at myself when I blow past Hester’s home, still making a huge racket. Not a good move, but it’s too late now.
When I reach the dilapidated driveway, I shut off my bike and barely take the required time to drop the kickstand before I’m storming up to the shabby cottage.
Den is old. Not safe for our mate.
I shake my head and silently snarl at my wolf. She is not our mate!
And soon, she’ll be gone.
My heavy boots make the old wood of the porch groan, and the front light flicks on when the sensor catches my approach.
I want to pound on the front door, but if I do that too hard, I’ll set off the alarm I installed.
If the alarm starts up and Juliet isn’t fast enough to shut the thing off, the cops will be notified, and a cruiser will come out to check what’s going on.
The police, whether they be wolf or not, are not something I want to deal with right now.
This is a private conversation.
So, even though it does nothing to satisfy the urgency rattling through my limbs, I press the tiny doorbell and listen to the tinkling chime sound through the small house. As the welcoming noise fades, I hear footsteps approaching from the kitchen.
There’s a rustle of fabric, and I realize a set of familiar mossy-green eyes is peering at me from the window beside the door. Which frustrates me for a whole new reason.
I spent the entire day installing her new security system, which includes cameras, and she makes herself vulnerable by peering out the window instead?
Juliet gives me a raised eyebrow and frown.
With the way we left things, I wouldn’t be surprised if she refused to open her front door.
I need to give her some incentive.
Speaking loud enough for even her non-supernatural ears to hear through the glass, I snarl one word.
“Werewolves.”