Our wolfish instincts are constantly longing for hunts. And that doesn’t always mean running through the woods after rabbits. Sometimes, it just means solving an intriguing mystery.
“Leave it,” I growl over my shoulder.
“Never!”
I should’ve stayed in my truck.
6
JULIET
When I bought this house,I knew it was going to need some love. The past owner hadn’t done much more than keep wild animals from taking up residence, and I was desperate enough to buy it at face value.
Which is probably the reason half of the lights in the house stop working after a week of my living here. One minute, I was plugging in an adorable reading lamp I found at Hutch & Cupboard, the local thrift shop; the next minute, I’m sitting in total darkness.
Luckily, someone picks up at the only electrician office that Google Maps lists within town limits.
“Sparks and Sharks! We fix your electricity to theJawssoundtrack. This is Tanya speaking.”
That’s … unexpected.
“Oh. Hi,” I respond after a surprised pause. “I’m not sure I dialed the right number.”
Some indistinct grumbling can be heard in the background.
“Sigh,” the woman—Tanya—actually says the word. “Fine. I’ll use the boring name. This is Pine Falls Electric. How can I help you?”
After I tell Tanya about my problem, she gives me a window of time the electrician will show up.
Now I glance at the clock to see it’s ten a.m. The start of the four-hour window I was quoted. Hopefully, this isn’t one of those flexible windows.
But then five minutes later, there’s a knock at my front door. This electrician is already on my good side.
That is, until I come face-to-face with the man standing on my threshold.
Pine Fall’s grumpiest werewolf.
Roderick Jameson stares down at me from his six foot and however many extra inches of height. He doesn’t look the slightest bit surprised to see me. But the guy barely ever shows any expression other than annoyance, so who knows?
“You’re the electrician?” I blurt the question even though the answer is obvious, seeing as how he’s dressed for the job.
Damn him for looking hotter than melted butter in his electrician’s jumpsuit. He’s even holding a clipboard.
A clipboard!
“Yes”—he pauses to glance down at said clipboard before raising his stare to meet mine—“Ms. Adair.”
Is he fucking with me?
Still no expression, so I have no way to tell. Maybe this is payback for how I acted when he came to the library.
In that case, maybe fair is fair.
Besides, pretending like we don’t know each other might make this whole interaction easier.
Am I really inviting him into my house?
It would be nice if the first person I let cross the threshold was less likely to judge the disrepair my home was in. Also, if they were human.
