She wags her tail.
“Nice to meet you, Melody.”
Marlow nudges Harper. “Look at that, your pack’s getting bigger.”
“Shut up,” he grumbles.
The whip was a battle of wills about dominance. Sure, I want to be able to protect myself, but I don’t want to will some creature into submission. I’d rather be like Marlow with all his little buddies. I want a friend. Soothing them with music is much better than a fight for control.
Looks like the good detective cracked this case wide open.
In Tune
Dodger
The guitar comes to life in my hands. I tune the strings, running my fingers over each one, feeling the subtle vibration of magic humming beneath my touch. We said goodbye to Marlow and Iggy and are back in the hotel. Melody’s tail thumps against the bed beside me as she supervises.
The door clicks open and Harper strides in, dragging a folding cot that looks about two sizes too small for his tall frame. He sets it down with a clatter.
“We’re leaving first thing in the morning,” he says. “I’ll sleep on this tonight. Just a precaution.”
I nod. Rowan knows I’m alive and exactly where we’re staying. We checked into a different room—for the third time—and I wonder what the staff thinks of us playing musical hotel rooms. It’s a precaution, though the chances of Rowan attacking tonight are slim. The chief has weak magic and just found out I’m alive and have a werewolf bodyguard, so he shouldn’t be ready to attack immediately.
Even though the chief’s still playing innocent, Harper’s not taking chances with us in separate rooms. Can’t say I mind the protection, though I’d never admit it out loud.
“Whatever you say, Detective,” I reply, focusing on the guitar to hide the sudden flutter in my chest. Having a werewolf bodyguard for the night isn’t the worst thing that’s happened this week.
Harper’s gaze shifts to Melody, who’s sprawled across the pristine bedspread like she owns it. His jaw tightens.
“Off,” he commands, pointing to the floor. “No dogs on the bed.”
Melody doesn’t even twitch an ear in acknowledgment.
“You aren’t in charge here,” Harper tells her sternly, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Get off the bed.”
I strum a chord, amused. “Your tough cop routine isn’t working on her.”
“Don’t let her get any ideas,” Harper says defensively. “She needs to be reasonable. No bothering the neighbors or begging for walks at 2 AM or shedding on the furniture.”
“Melody is in her ghost form,” I point out, rolling my eyes. “She doesn’t shed!”
“Doesn’t matter. Rules are rules,” he insists, moving closer to the bed. “Off. Now.”
Melody raises her head, her glowing eyes meeting Harper’s in what I immediately recognize as a challenge. A supernatural standoff between a werewolf detective and a spectral hound from the underworld, all over hotel bed privileges.
“I’m not going to say this again,” he growls, and I swear I can see the wolf just beneath his skin, straining to break free. His entire body has gone rigid, his golden eyes never leaving Melody’s red ones.
Harper’s eyes suddenly flare with a glowing gold color, and a deep, primal growl tears from his throat, nothing human about it. It sends a shiver racing down my spine, my fingers freezing on the guitar strings. Holy shit.
Melody’s ears flatten against her skull, and she lets out a startled yelp that sounds more like a frightened puppy than a fearsome hound of the underworld. In a blink, she’s off the bed, diving straight through the wall as she runs away.
“Oh my god, that was silly,” I say, trying to ignore the way my heart is racing. It’s not from fear.
Harper straightens, his eyes fading back to their normal gold. He looks oddly satisfied as he smooths down his shirt. “It’s how dogs think. You have to establish dominance or she’ll think she can do whatever she wants.”
