Page 1 of Wolf's Chance

ONE

Caleb

The townof Whispering Pines was quiet under the evening sky. The streets were bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun. Soon the streetlamps would light the paths for the townsfolk as they walked the sidewalks, hurrying home or heading out to meet friends and loved ones.

Standing under the canopy of an old oak tree, I watched the gentle bustle of the people as they went about their business. I’d been in the town for a few days, chasing afeeling, hunting down a sense that something wasn’t right, trying to unravel the puzzle that haunted my nights.

Whispering Pines held no sense of mystery. Nestled at the base of the Rockies, the town was aptly named, its natural borders the pine trees that enveloped the community, leading up to one of the many peaks of the Rockies. Whether the town or the pines came first, I wasn’t sure; no doubt a town history would be available if I cared enough to look.

I didn’t.

Whispering Pines held my interest for one reason and one reason only: the mystery of one inhabitant.

Ifmysterywas even the right term.

Letting out a derisive huff at my inner musings, I cocked my head to the side as I heard the low thrum of electricity before the soft glow of the streetlights came on. Shadows formed, giving the street a slightly eerie promise of darkness.

Watching the stores along both sides of the road, I waited quietly, watchful for the one I was here for.

No one paid me any mind. In a town used to tourists, another stranger taking their rest after a long day was nothing new. The mountains closest to this town were popular with hikers all year round, so foot traffic was high.

Rubbing my hand over my jaw, the scratchy stubble reminding me that I needed a trim, I watched the door to the farthest store at the end of the parade. The store only had one display window, and while it was large, the viewpoint was still limited.

I didn’t need to see inside; I was familiar with the layout, even though I had never set foot in it. It was an art gallery come art studio. One half of the store was a gallery. It held local artists’ paintings and sculptures, while the other half had a workbench and a handful of easels scattered around.

It should reek of art and pretension.

It didn’t.

The ones who frequented the store were mostly there for the studio. I hadn’t seen a buying customer yet. However, in my research, I discovered the store’s website had the same content, and more, available to buy online.

Even so, I had seen no sign of a courier dispatching soldgoods. My initial impression was that the store couldn’t be profitable.

My opinion hadn’t changed in the days that I had been here.

What had changed was my perception of the store clientele and the store owner, or more importantly, the object of my curiosity.

Willow Harper.

I didn’t know what drew my attention to her, I just knew that when she walked past me on my first day here, her scent caused me to sit up and take notice.

She wasn’t a shifter.

I knew shifters, and she was not one of my kind.

Her scent was human. Yet, the pull to her was undeniable.

Which was the puzzle I was faced with.

Who was she?

Who was Willow Harper and why did she hold my attention so?

Three days in this town had uncovered no answers. The only thing I’d learned so far was that I wasn’t leaving until I knew why I was drawn to her and why my wolf snarled whenever anyone looked at her.

There was something about her, and I was going to find out what.

“You staying at the lodge?”

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