Hunted (Pack of Dawn and Destiny, #1)(32)
“Princess, come on.” I dropped to my belly and peered under the bed frame at the cat crouched there. “You need this cream, or your rear is going to hurt and you’ll try to pluck out all your hair again. Come here, kitty, kitty,” I called in a singsong voice.
Princess didn’t appreciate the vocals. She shuffled so her massive rear was pointed in my direction.
I had to wriggle under the bed and grab her by the scruff. When I hauled her out I tried to adjust my grip on her and she slipped free, streaking back under the bed.
It took me two more tries before I caught her, got her pinned between my legs and the cap off the prescription cream before I swung her around and discovered it was not Princess, but Prince.
I sat back on my heels and groaned as Prince ran off.
“Why me?” I asked my ceiling. “What did I ever do to deserve the Bedevilments?”
Prince and Princess were a pair of cats that Mama Dulce and Papa Santos had adopted when I was a senior in high school. The pair were a brother and sister from the same litter, and had been spoiled horribly since they came to live among wolves.
Unfortunately, the despotic twins had been the pride and joy of Papa Santos. I would never give them up—even if they dripped my bank account dry with their expensive food and costly vet bills. (And yes, even if I had to apply creams to their rears.)
I found Princess—sitting in the doorway and watching my struggle with Prince with glee, apparently—and wiped the cream on her. I’d thrown out the gloves and was washing my hands when the doorbell rang.
“Coming!” I wiped my hands off on my shirt since I’d used my towels drying up the cup-mess Princess had made, and walked toward the door, nearly tripping on Prince when he decided to dart across my path—probably an attempt to do me in so he and Princess could have the cottage to themselves.
I was a bit of a sweaty mess when I swung the door open, blinking when I realized it wasn’t a human that had rung my doorbell, but a wolf.
A large, white wolf.
“Greyson,” I said. “What do you want?”
I maneuvered my hand so I could slam the door shut on him if needed. A couple times a year the wolves would yank me from my cottage to chase/hunt/“play” with me without any preparation on my end.
Hector insisted it was to teach me to be prepared for a fight at any moment.
Ember admitted it was because it was convenient to have a supernatural on two legs with opposable thumbs around to do things when everyone else was a wolf on four paws.
I’d never had Greyson come get me for those delightful “sessions,” but I wouldn’t put it past the wolves to try to catch me off guard.
Greyson stared at me for a moment, then tried to bump past me to get into the cottage. I wasn’t going to stop him—there wasn’t much you could stop an Alpha from doing—until I caught sight of the two wolves standing in the forest, wagging their tails as they watched him.
“Wait—no, no, no!” I linked my arms around his neck and tried to pull him back out. “I’m not getting involved in your romantic entanglements!”
Greyson’s ears twisted to the side, and he gave me an unimpressed look.
While I couldn’t communicate with him like a werewolf could, I’d spent enough time around werewolves to be able to decipher his body language, so I had a pretty good idea what he was thinking.
“Me telling others where you are doesn’t count as getting involved. It’s practically a public service so they don’t bother the whole Pack and all the residents of Timber Ridge,” I said. “I’m just giving them a sporting chance, then I’m hands off—may the best woman win!”
Greyson sat down—which was a little intimidating because he was so big compared to a regular dog but built so leanly. As he stared me down with golden eyes I was keenly aware that he was an apex predator.
Out in the rapidly dimming woods, one of the visiting female werewolves gave an inviting little yip. Her friend broke into a howl, then bowed her front end down in the universal wolf sign for “let’s play!”
Greyson sat with a regality that was a sharp contrast to their over-eager enthusiasm, and kept staring at me.
I sighed. “Fine. But this shouldn’t be my job—can’t you get Ember to do it? She’s way scarier than I am.”
I stepped outside and closed my door—no sense letting the bugs in—and marched up to the forest, leaving Greyson on the little wooden deck.
“Hey there.” I waved to the visiting werewolves as I stomped my way closer. “Sorry to tell you, but it’s a no-go. He’s not interested.”
The pretty wolves cocked their heads at me and looked from me to Greyson.
“His mate isn’t either of you. I’m sorry, I imagine you feel disappointed, but please let me assure you it’s a good thing because he’s pretty mean-spirited and likes to taunt people, and his white fur is high maintenance I imagine and—”
Behind me, Greyson growled.
“Right. So, thanks for visiting Timber Ridge. I’d recommend you visit the Sweets Shoppe candy store tomorrow for a souvenir or two—it has excellent freshly made fudge—and tell all your friends. I hope you had a nice time!”
I held my breath as I studied the two females.
Werewolves can be tricky.
If either of them were feeling territorial about Greyson, things could go south for me real quick. Of course, Greyson would reach us before they could hurt me too badly, but just the idea that I would get attacked because Greyson was so popular with females was enough to make me grind my teeth.