“Let’s go,” the wolf repeats.
The satyr leads us to the special machine, which looks about the same except for the silver symbols that decorate the base. When Harper swings this time, the marker barely moves, climbing maybe a third of the way up before dropping back down. Each strike barely moves the needle and soon he’s out of chances.
“Told you it neutralizes supernatural strength,” the satyr says cheerfully. “Want to try again?”
Harper’s jaw sets in that stubborn way I’m starting to recognize, and he slaps more money down into the attendant’s hand. “Yes.”
His next round is better—he adjusts his stance, focuses more—but the marker only makes it halfway up before falling.
“Harper, seriously, it’s fine. We can go check out something else.”
“Nope, I can do this,” he says, not even looking at me as he hands over more money to the satyr.
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of my head. Though he certainly has the muscles, Harper didn’t strike me as a macho tough guy who would let a carnival game injure his pride. It’s a little disappointing.
Then he does somethingtrulyoffensive. His expression softens as he eyes the prize he’s determined to win, a music box that floats just out of reach, then he glances at me. “You like music, right?”
Oh. Beating this game isn’t what matters to him at all. He wants to win the damn prizefor me.To do something nice for me.
…Crap. My heart doesn’t melt, not even a little bit at this revelation, nope, no way.
Harper sets the mallet down before taking his next shot, and my train of thought derails as he flexes his upper body, my eyes zeroing in on the way his Henley clings to the muscles of his back and arms. The evening air suddenly feels warmer as I watch the controlled movement of his body and how his muscles shift beneath the fabric.
Does my supposed mate really have to look that irresistible? Why is the universe conspiring against me like this?
To distract myself, I decide to do my part and help, in my own way.
“You know, for a detective, you’re not very smart about knowing when you’re being conned.”
Harper glances at me, one eyebrow raised.
“I mean, you’re literally playing a game designed to make werewolves fail,” I continue. “But sure, keep throwing your money away. It’s not like your stupid alpha pride is the problem here.”
His eyes narrow. “Are you trying to make me angry?”
“Since when do I have totryto annoy you? I thought it was just something that came naturally.”
“Maybe you’re losing your touch.”
“Watch it,” I warn. “You’re the one that needs to get angry here so you can win the prize and we can leave.”
“That’s your plan? You think werewolf strength is like hulk rage and if I get mad, I’ll hit harder?”
“…Is it offensive if I say yes?”
A muscle tics in his jaw, but then something unexpected happens—he laughs. Just a short, surprised sound, but it transforms his face.
“You’re insufferable,” he says, but there’s no real heat in it.
That’s… not what I was going for. It’s nice. But I don’t want nice; I need angry.
“Concentrate!” I order him. “Think angry thoughts. Like how I stir my coffee or how the coffee at our hotel is terrible. Would it kill you to make a coffee run in the morning? You know, fetch. Isn’t that something dogs do?”
“Dodger, don’t—”
“Or focus on how I drown out your annoying voice with music, or how I pretend I can’t hear you the first three times you knock on my door because my headphones are in.”
“…I didn’t know you were pretending.”
