Page 12 of Moonlighting with the Werewolf

Another noncommittal “mmm” and I’d be tempted to slam on my brakes and tell him he could walk if he wasn’t going to contribute. I guess I wasn’t as tough as I liked to pretend to be, since I’d never follow through, especially with the way he kept favoring his side.

“Anyway, that’s the long way of saying I thought the wolf-wolf thing was sort of funny. I’m sorry if I offended you by mentioning it.”

“I don’t offend easily.”

Apparently, he didn’t elaborate or cough up information easily, either.

I hit my blinker and took the sideroad that led to my cabin. “You seemed pretty offended that I asked Gina about you.”

Nothing but steely silence and the slight narrowing of his espresso-colored eyes. The golden glowing thing must only happen in tense situations.

“She’s the first person I’ve clicked with in a while, even before I moved to Guadalupe Falls, so that’s why I asked her about you. I was just curious is all.” “Why?”

“Um, because of that whole anomaly thing I mentioned. You’re not supposed to exist.” I eased my car down the bumpy driveway, wincing as the fender scraped bottom a few times, and then pulled up in front of my rental cabin.

“Home Dilapidated Home.” I killed the engine and reached for the bag of food. Not that it was heavy, but I wanted to lend any assistance that allowed him to rest his side until I convinced him to let me examine it. “This is why I suggested we might want to stay at the diner. The cabin is more of a deathtrap.”

As we climbed up the rickety porch steps, Conall studied me like I was the one who morphed from a human to a wolf at a moment’s notice. “What do you mean by that?”

“The doors don’t hang quite right, the floor creaks, and the electricity is persnickety. And possibly out to get me, but that’s not a thing, right?”

Why was he being so difficult? I’d only talked to him for all of five minutes yesterday, but he hadn’t been this hostile—and he’d been severely injured at the time. He made that joke about his prison wallet, and I deluded myself into believing he’d also been flirting.

Suddenly I was thinking about how the closest house was over a half mile away.

Then again, if he wanted to hurt me, he could’ve done so yesterday. Besides, it’d be easier to convince him to let me take a peek at his ribs after settling in and eating. Then surely he’d see that I only wanted to help.

At the sound of the key in the door, Sir Pounce came streaking toward me with a loud meow, as if I wouldn’t notice him otherwise. I bent to pat his black kitty head and give him some love. He arched his spine, his ears flattening and his hair going full poof as he hissed at Conall.

“A black cat,” Conall muttered. “Wow, she’s not eventryingto hide it.”

I scooped Sir Pounce into my arms, doing my best to assure him there was nothing to fear.

“Sir Pounce is a he, actually, but cats aren’t well-known for sparing feelings.” I scratched between his ears. “He’s hesitant around strangers and...” Was it rude to compare werewolves to dogs? No one covered that in etiquette lessons.

Sir Pounce climbed onto my shoulder, his claws digging into my shirt as he sniffed and hissed. Conall’s nostrils flared, and I quasi-expected him to snarl. I placed a hand against my kitty’s furry chest so he didn’t go biting off more than he could chew. “Is this gonna be a problem?”

“Not for me,” Conall said, and at the dropping of my jaw, he shook his head. “What I meant to say is that I can deal with a cat.He’s safe.”

I pressed my lips together to stifle the laughter bubbling up in my throat and patted Conall’s arm. “Don’t worry, big guy. I’ll make sure to keep you safe as well.”

His stony expression remained.

Come on. That was funny. Maybe a smidge condescending, but funny all the same.

“Make yourself at home,” I said, although evidently, I didn’t have to.

Conall stood in front of my bookshelf, pushing books to and fro and studying the spines as though he were searching for something in particular.

Sir Pounce would complain if I didn’t feed him first—regardless of the state of his food bowl, which was plenty full—so I added more treats to his dish. After washing my hands, I opened the fridge that hummed like a carburetor on its last leg. “Would you like something to drink?” Unfortunately, peering at the barren shelves didn’t make better options appear. “I’ve got water, Coke, milk, and half a bottle of wine.”

“Coke’s fine,” Conall said, right next to my ear, and he chuckled at my resulting jolt.

It was the first time today that I’d seen a flash of the guy I met last night. “Jeez, way to sneak up on me. How don’t you make more noise?”

“The noisy go hungry.”

“Not in my house.” I handed him one of the cold cans of Coke. “I can storm to my fridge, and the ingredients don’t dare move, they’rethat scaredof my power.”

---