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A werewolf with spiked brown hair sniffed the air. She sported a black tank top with the AC/DC logo and denim shorts that revealed a pair of muscular legs that had probably crushed more male torsos than I’d ever seen. To be fair, I hadn’t seen many up close and personal. I found relationships—as well as the male torsos that accompanied them—were best avoided.
“You don’t smell familiar,” the female werewolf said.
“Because we’re strangers,” I told her.
“All the more reason why you shouldn’t be here,” the beefy werewolf said.
The spiky-haired werewolf scrunched her nose. “Bert’s right. She smells wrong. Anybody else catch a whiff?”
“Hey, the water heater in my house is iffy,” I replied, mildly insulted, although I knew what she really meant.
“This is our land,” the whistling werewolf said, spitting on the ground between us.
I gave the defiled ground a pointed look. “In that case, you should treat it better.”
His eyes glazed over with a golden tint. Note to self: do not insult werewolves on their home turfabouttheir home turf.
“I think we ought to roll up the welcome mat, Paulie,” Bert said. “What do you think?”
Twelve werewolves were too numerous to fight at once, even for me. Unless I wanted to reveal myself, though, there was no choice. I would’ve happily opted for flight over fight, but they were currently blocking all the escape routes. I decided to try one more tack.
I held up my hands in acquiescence. “I’m not here to fight.”
“Then you shouldn’t have come,” Paulie said.
He was right. I made a mistake in coming here without warning. I should’ve done my research first, gotten more information about the pack. Arranged an introduction. Lesson learned. As long as they didn’t shift, I could still salvage this.
“I was hoping…” I didn’t get to finish my request. I saw a blur of movement to my left and ducked before a large sneaker made contact with the side of my head. As the leg swung over me, I popped back up and grabbed the ankle, twisting it into an unnatural position. The werewolf’s howl coincided with a snapping sound.
I was hopeful the bold move would dissuade the others. I should’ve known better. Werewolves didn’t back down from a fight, certainly not one they were confident they could win.
Two of them shifted.
Well, damn.
The large grey wolves immediately dropped to their bellies and began to whine.
“What’s the matter with you two?” Bert snapped.
Paulie stared at them for a beat before turning his incredulous eyes to me. “What’d you do to them?”
“Nothing.” Werewolves’ senses were heightened in their animal forms, which was why the two on the ground found themselves cowering. Although they still wouldn’t be able to identify me, their primal instincts told them to be very, very afraid.
“She’s a witch,” another werewolf cried with a fiery look in her brown eyes. The middle-aged brunette was average height with a broader than average build. Powerful biceps were visible beneath her green Pocono Mountains T-shirt.
“Now that’s just insulting,” I replied.
“She’s not a witch,” someone said firmly. Anna, the werewolf from Monk’s, pushed her way through the pack to stand beside Paulie.
I held my breath, waiting to see whether she’d share the details of our last encounter.
“Witches around here smell like manure and lavender,” Anna continued. “I don’t know what she is, but it isn’t a witch.”
The wolves on the ground started to howl like they were being dragged to the vet, which made the others uneasy.
Anna tugged Paulie’s arm. “We can’t have them howling like that.”
His gaze slid to me. “You need to go. Now.”
