full moon. That’s because he’s busy then. He’s out hunting with his pack in the Sierras. It’s the werewolf thing to do.
“I didn’t order a pickup,” he growled at me.
I cocked my head in what I hoped was a coquettish manner. “No one said you did.”
“Drop-off?” he asked, looking concerned, which is tough on a werewolf, even in human form.
I was often not the bearer of glad tidings. Still, it wouldn’t hurt him to look a little happier to see me. I liked Paul as much as I liked any werewolf, which is more than I like vampires, but honestly, not by all that much. “Nope,” I said.
“Oh,” he said, his shoulders relaxing. “What can I get for you then?”
I smiled and he smiled back. Big mistake. He might be in human form right now, but I can see a wolfish grin a mile away. A shiver ran down my spine. “Margarita,” I said.
He shook his head. “You shouldn’t drink tequila. You need to stay sharp.”
“Fine,” I said. “How about a beer?”
“One Amstel Light coming up,” he said, gliding down the bar.
“Hey,” I called after him. “Is that a comment or something?”
He smiled at me. He really was a handsome man, and I was so not immune to that. He still had the broad shoulders and the long thick hair pulled back in a ponytail like he did in the photo. These days, the beard was kept trimmed to a neat goatee. There was something in the way he moved, an animal grace that promised both power and control and passion. I swallowed hard. I’m alone a lot and the shower attachment can keep a girl only so satisfied over the long haul.
Paul returned with my beer. I pulled out my wallet, and he waved my money away. “It’s on the house. But just one, okay?”
Okay. There was the downside of all that power and control. He was all about power and control, and few things turn me off faster than that. Too many outside factors had control over my life as it was. I didn’t need someone—least of all a werewolf—trying to dominate me in my own bed. “Thanks,” I said and took the beer. There’s no sense in being stupid about things either, now is there?
“So what brings you down here?” Paul asked, leaning forward on the bar. He smelled like fields of wheat that had been baking under the sun, and I could feel the heat pouring off of him. I leaned forward, too. My stomach fluttered a little.
“Does a girl have to have a reason to go out for a drink on a Friday night?” I looked around at the throngs of young women throughout the bar.
“No,” he said evenly, standing up, withdrawing his heat and his scent from me. “But a Messenger usually does.”
I sighed and twirled my beer around. Light beer. Would there even be any point to drinking it? “You know anything about the Taoist temple over on I Street?”
Paul leaned back in, eyebrows arched. “What about it? You getting all spiritual on me? Gonna start meditating and chanting?”
“Not exactly.” I kept my eyes lowered. I didn’t want him to see how keen I was for information, plus it’s good form when you’re talking to a werewolf. Staring them directly in the eye is often taken as a challenge whether you’ve meant it that way or not. “I wondered if you’d noticed anything about it, anything odd going on.”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice flat. “I’ve smelled it.”
I looked up and then back down just as fast. “Do you know what it is?”
Paul wiped the bar with a towel and then slung it back over his shoulder. “Nope,” he said. “Not a clue.”
I did look up now. It was one thing for me not to recognize whatever it was. Paul had been around the block a few times, though. “Does it worry you?”
He braced his elbows on the bar and leaned toward me. “No. Not really. I told Chuck about it. He said it had nothing to do with us.”
Chuck is the Sierra wolf pack’s Alpha. His word is law for the pack, which is who Paul meant when
“I didn’t order a pickup,” he growled at me.
I cocked my head in what I hoped was a coquettish manner. “No one said you did.”
“Drop-off?” he asked, looking concerned, which is tough on a werewolf, even in human form.
I was often not the bearer of glad tidings. Still, it wouldn’t hurt him to look a little happier to see me. I liked Paul as much as I liked any werewolf, which is more than I like vampires, but honestly, not by all that much. “Nope,” I said.
“Oh,” he said, his shoulders relaxing. “What can I get for you then?”
I smiled and he smiled back. Big mistake. He might be in human form right now, but I can see a wolfish grin a mile away. A shiver ran down my spine. “Margarita,” I said.
He shook his head. “You shouldn’t drink tequila. You need to stay sharp.”
“Fine,” I said. “How about a beer?”
“One Amstel Light coming up,” he said, gliding down the bar.
“Hey,” I called after him. “Is that a comment or something?”
He smiled at me. He really was a handsome man, and I was so not immune to that. He still had the broad shoulders and the long thick hair pulled back in a ponytail like he did in the photo. These days, the beard was kept trimmed to a neat goatee. There was something in the way he moved, an animal grace that promised both power and control and passion. I swallowed hard. I’m alone a lot and the shower attachment can keep a girl only so satisfied over the long haul.
Paul returned with my beer. I pulled out my wallet, and he waved my money away. “It’s on the house. But just one, okay?”
Okay. There was the downside of all that power and control. He was all about power and control, and few things turn me off faster than that. Too many outside factors had control over my life as it was. I didn’t need someone—least of all a werewolf—trying to dominate me in my own bed. “Thanks,” I said and took the beer. There’s no sense in being stupid about things either, now is there?
“So what brings you down here?” Paul asked, leaning forward on the bar. He smelled like fields of wheat that had been baking under the sun, and I could feel the heat pouring off of him. I leaned forward, too. My stomach fluttered a little.
“Does a girl have to have a reason to go out for a drink on a Friday night?” I looked around at the throngs of young women throughout the bar.
“No,” he said evenly, standing up, withdrawing his heat and his scent from me. “But a Messenger usually does.”
I sighed and twirled my beer around. Light beer. Would there even be any point to drinking it? “You know anything about the Taoist temple over on I Street?”
Paul leaned back in, eyebrows arched. “What about it? You getting all spiritual on me? Gonna start meditating and chanting?”
“Not exactly.” I kept my eyes lowered. I didn’t want him to see how keen I was for information, plus it’s good form when you’re talking to a werewolf. Staring them directly in the eye is often taken as a challenge whether you’ve meant it that way or not. “I wondered if you’d noticed anything about it, anything odd going on.”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice flat. “I’ve smelled it.”
I looked up and then back down just as fast. “Do you know what it is?”
Paul wiped the bar with a towel and then slung it back over his shoulder. “Nope,” he said. “Not a clue.”
I did look up now. It was one thing for me not to recognize whatever it was. Paul had been around the block a few times, though. “Does it worry you?”
He braced his elbows on the bar and leaned toward me. “No. Not really. I told Chuck about it. He said it had nothing to do with us.”
Chuck is the Sierra wolf pack’s Alpha. His word is law for the pack, which is who Paul meant when
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