Chapter 14
RODERICK
Juliet throws her door wide. “Human.” She points to herself, then lifts a brow. “What of it?”
Even though I came here with questions to be answered, I briefly lose the ability to speak.
Earlier, the librarian was wearing jeans and a sweater. The clothing clung to her body in a distracting way, but I could handle the view.
Now, I encounter a true challenge.
Juliet changed since I left. The devious librarian wears a pair of polka-dot shorts that are no better than underwear and a tight white T-shirt. As the cold of the night brushes her chest, I watch as her nipples harden through the fabric.
She’s not wearing a bra.
Our mate is ready for us, my wolf happily announces.
Shut the hell up, I silently mutter back, trying to bring order to my thoughts.
So what if she’s a few scraps of fabric away from being undressed? Juliet Adair knows about werewolves.
Also, she has a wooden baseball bat in her hand, her knuckles white with a tight grip. Did she grab the weapon before or after she realized I was her visitor?
“Why didn’t you use the camera I installed?” I growl.
Her face goes blank for a second, and then she curses under her breath. “I forgot. Next time.” Juliet studies my face, eyes sharp. “Are you here to hurt me?”
The question hits like a blow, strong enough to set me off-balance. I take a step back.
“I don’t prey on the weak,” I huff.
Her mouth twists in a snarl that somehow makes her face prettier than before.
Want to hear her growl.
I don’t think it’ll take much.
Juliet sucks in a deep breath through her nose, then smooths her expression on an exhale and leans her shoulder against the doorframe, grip now deceptively loose on the bat.
With the shift of her position, the librarian’s face comes under the full shine of the porch light.
There’s a puffy red quality to the skin under her eyes that wasn’t there when I left earlier.
“Have you been crying?” The idea twists my gut for an unknown reason.
Juliet scowls. “I was cutting onions.”
I don’t smell onions.
Still, I file the topic away to be discussed later. There’s important information I need to discover.
“You know what I am.” There’s no question in my voice, but I wait for her response all the same.
Juliet tilts her head, considering me. Likely deciding if she’ll finally tell the truth. Or at least the part that suits her.
“I know what you are.” She dips her chin an inch, keeping her focus on me.
Good. Her eyes should always be on me.
Because I’m not to be overlooked or underestimated, obviously. There’s no other reason I want her attention.
I stiffen my spine and square my shoulders, willing her to spill the secrets she’s kept behind all her innocent smiles. “What else do you know?”
“About werewolves?”
Hearing her say the word sends a sharp—not completely unpleasant—tingle down my spine.
“Yes. Tell me everything you know.”
Juliet bobs her head back and forth, as if weighing items in her skull. “I’ll tell you some things I know.”
“Everything,” I growl back.
“Some things.” She smirks, like she holds all the power in this situation. “Or nothing. Your choice.”
She thinks she’s in charge. That I will be cowed by her stubbornness.
But this is only the beginning of the hunt, and as much as Juliet frustrates me, I’m still a patient predator. In the end, I will know every single detail about the infuriating woman in front of me. Every memory of her past. Every plan for her future. Every hope and dream and wish and want …
For the town’s safety, of course.
“Tell me.”
“I know there are more of you.” Juliet holds up her free hand and starts counting the facts off on her fingers.
“I’m a decent hand at picking your kind out of a crowd.
You all have a kind of”—she makes a vague gesture that encompasses my entire being—“vibe. Wolf-iness. Can’t really put it into words, but I feel it in my gut.
” She shrugs and keeps going as I reel over her instincts.
“I know about the full-moon runs and that you all are born, not made. I know werewolves aren’t slavering, unhinged beasts.
” Her brows dip, and her eyes lose focus, as if watching a scene only visible to her.
“But you’re certainly capable of violence. ”
That last statement rings with too much certainty for comfort. What violence has Juliet witnessed werewolves commit? I know not every pack is like Pine Falls. Each alpha protects those in their care the way they see fit, and some wolves often think that means with a heavy hand.
Did Juliet witness werewolf discipline? Did she stumble into the vicinity of a Challenge? Or worse, a Trial?
I have no idea why a human would be privy to either of those occurrences, and our senses are keen enough to know if someone is nearby that shouldn’t be. Maybe Juliet encountered a reckless pack. Or a lone wolf.
I need to know more.
“What else?” I prompt when she pauses.
“What else even matters?” Juliet purses her lips as she stares up at me. “That’s the basics. I know the basics. And nothing specific about your pack.”
Despite her claim, Juliet revealed more than what she might have meant to. She knows we have a pack structure. That’s not a detail readily apparent if she only happened upon a wolf or two.
But now we get to the important part of the interrogation.
“Who have you told?”
Her brow furrows. “Who have I told what?”
“I’m not playing games. Who have you told about us?”
Her mouth drops open before snapping shut in a frown.
“Why would I tell anyone about you?” She barks a harsh laugh with no trace of humor. “I don’t even want to think about you, much less talk about you. If my life were free of werewolves, I would be in gods-damn ecstasy.” Juliet hisses the last words.
Something in my chest grinds uncomfortably, and my wolf wants to whimper a protest.
But I push those reactions aside, trying to examine this situation logically. No matter how hard her skimpy outfit and mussed crimson hair and heady lemon-paper scent make focusing.
The members of my pack know to keep quiet about our existence. They aren’t allowed to speak of what they are to a human unless the person is family or likely to become their mate. Since I’ve never smelled a member of my pack on Juliet or around her property, I can only come to one conclusion.
“You knew there were wolves in Pine Falls when you came here.”
She doesn’t deny it. If anything, the raise of her chin is a challenge.
Which means …
“You moved here for a reason.”
“I did,” she admits. Then, with a cold voice, she adds. “And it’s my reason.”
A woman who claims she wants nothing to do with werewolves moves to a town where she knows a pack exists? The logic doesn’t add up. I can only imagine one possibility.
“You need something from the pack.”
Her lashes flutter, and there’s an almost-unnoticeable downward twitch at the corner of her mouth. Likely, a human wouldn’t have seen the reactions in this dim lighting. But they are beacons for me.
And I feel my power over the situation returning. I’m in charge here. The cards are mine to dole out or keep in my hand.
“You might as well ask it,” I prompt her, “so I can be done with telling you no.”
The librarian snorts, and just like that, my control slips away again.
I misread the situation.
Juliet smiles, full of smug superiority.
“You can’t tell me no. You know why?” She steps in close, still holding the bat in one hand.
Her free fingers curl into a fist, which she presses into my chest, pushing me, even as I remain where I stand.
“Because I don’t need to ask. Because all I need is your existence.
” Her fist pushes harder, and I wonder if she’s trying to emphasize the fact that I remain solid—and therefore I’m doing exactly what she wants.
“Just go on existing, Roderick Jameson. Continue living and breathing, and you are fulfilling all my needs.”
The way she says the last bit … all her needs.
Suddenly, I want to make her needy. Make her beg for me. I want Juliet on her knees in front of me, her hands on my thighs, fingers digging into the stiff fabric of my jeans as she gazes up at me, eyes pleading.
Only, in that situation, I’m not sure I could tell her no.
Don’t tell her no. Tell her yes. Always yes, my wolf says.
I’m on the verge of growling something mean, just to cover the happy voice of my wolf, when I notice slight tremors running over her body.
My first thought is that she’s scared. Scared of me. Scared of this late-night confrontation.
And the idea that I’m causing the little librarian fear twists a sick feeling through my stomach.
But then I see the goose bumps scattering over her exposed skin, and I remember that humans don’t run as hot as wolves do.
I shouldn’t be worried about if she’s cold or not. I should be focused on getting answers.
But all my thoughts turn to the idea of dragging the elusive woman into my arms to warm her against my chest.
That option is unacceptable, so I step back.
“I’ll find out why you’re here,” I warn as I return to my bike.
“You don’t need to know!” She huffs, her smugness replaced by exasperation.
But she’s wrong.
Because if there’s one thing my wolf and I agree on, it’s that we both want to find out everything there is to know about Juliet Adair.