Page 3 of Accidentally Wedded to a Werewolf (Claw Haven #1)

Not to the people who live here, Oliver had argued.

The townsfolk of Claw Haven already had homes to go to.

They were meant to take in tourists—if this town ever brought any in.

As if Oliver would actually want any. Strangers were dangerous.

Every one of their rare guests made Oliver’s hackles go up.

He had to stop himself from growling at the last one: a smarmy human businessman who was in town for his daughter’s wedding and smoked in the lobby despite their very clear No Smoking sign.

It had taken Oliver ages to get the ash out of the carpet.

Sabine made an impressed sound, digging in the bag of chocolates. “These are so good, Ollie. You have to try one.”

“Give him the wolf one,” Ben suggested.

Another drop fell from the roof.

Oliver groaned. “Where the hell is your kid with the bucket? We have an inn to fix, we don’t need parties. Or chocolate.”

“For someone who hates the inn so much, you sure talk about it a lot,” Ben said. He scratched the counter, his nails too sharp. Not claws yet but getting there. Their wolf qualities slipped out if they got too emotional.

“You know, everyone put in a lot of work setting up this party. You’re being a real—”

Leo burst into the lobby, carting a rusty old bucket, his light-up sneakers flashing.

“—A-hole,” Ben finished hastily.

“Asshole,” Leo said triumphantly, throwing the bucket down under the leaking ceiling, where the drips were turning into a steady stream thanks to the wet, heavy snowfall Oliver hated so much.

“Leo,” said Ben and Sabine, whirling to scold him in unison.

Leo shrugged, sitting down on the floor next to the bucket. “What? You all say it.”

A low, familiar voice made them turn around. “It’s an adult word, Leo. You can use it when you’re older.”

Grandmother stepped into the lobby, her shawl wrapped tightly around her sturdy frame.

She was wearing a sweater underneath it.

She’d been covered up all winter. Oliver hadn’t seen any of her various tattoos in months except for the ones on her hands: the spindly ends of branches starting at her knuckles and creeping under her sleeves.

Werewolves ran hotter than most, and although the heating in Musgrove Inn was spotty in the lobby, it didn’t warrant two thick layers.

“You look cold,” Oliver said, finally putting the invoices to the side. “Do you need another shawl?”

Her thin lips curled up. “I’m fine. Pup, go get another bucket. This is a heavy-duty leak.”

Leo ran off down the hall, almost tripping in his eagerness.

Oliver inclined his head respectfully at Grandmother as she walked up to the front desk. “I’ll work on the ceiling after the snow stops. I just need to—”

“Hire a professional?” Grandmother said wryly. She held up an arm to let Sabine step under it and give her neck a casual nuzzle.

Oliver cleared his throat. “I’m not having a stranger walk all over our roof.”

Grandmother traded a look with Sabine, then with Ben.

“What?” Oliver snapped. “Sure, he’s a monster. That doesn’t mean he’s safe. He’s not pack!”

“Bro,” Ben said. “You’re acting like some territorial alpha who snarls at anyone who walks too close. Jackson’s cool.”

Oliver bared his sharpening teeth, feeling his eyes flash burning gold.

Ben blinked, startled. Before he could react, Grandmother touched his shoulder. “Why don’t you go check on your boy? See how he’s doing with that bucket.”

Guilt curled in Oliver’s gut as he watched his brother and sister-in-law walk down the hall after Leo.

Grandmother had been the Musgrove alpha since before he was born.

Standing up for the pack. Stopping conflicts before they started.

How an alpha should be. Not growing fangs just because your brother was being annoying.

Oliver swallowed, teeth going blunt. “How’s the party?”

“It’s lovely,” Grandmother said. She didn’t touch his arm like she would have done a year ago. Out of everyone, she was the best about his new aversion to touch.

“Great. That’s great.” Oliver cleared his throat. “Are, uh… Are we, uh… I thought we were going to talk about the alpha ceremony tonight.”

Grandmother appraised him silently. That pause was all it took.

Oliver gritted his teeth, still thankfully blunt. “You want to wait another year.”

“I don’t think you’re ready,” Grandmother said quietly.

“I’m working my ass off,” he hissed. “And you’re not getting any younger! What if your heart gets bad again?”

The exchange wasn’t half as heated as the one he’d just had with his brother. But it was still ruder than he’d ever dared speak to Grandmother before they’d moved here, and shame flooded him reflexively.

Over in the corner, the stream of water dripped even heavier into the bucket.

Grandmother’s hand twitched against her shawl. Like she’d started to reach out, then thought better of it. She curled it into her shawl instead, over the scar she’d come home from the hospital with five years ago.

“The surgery put a stop to that,” she told him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re tired,” he said flatly.

She gave him a stern look. “I…might be tired. But I’m still the alpha, and my heart’s not giving out on me yet. I let you take care of the inn, but I’m the one in charge. I could go right over your head and ask Jackson to fix the room myself. But I trust you to do the right thing eventually.”

“I do the right thing,” Oliver muttered.

She looked at him with such understanding that Oliver wanted to hide from it.

She’d raised him and Ben since their parents died when Oliver was eight.

The rest of the pack had helped out—as good packs always did—but she was the one they’d lived with.

The one who got them up in the mornings and was there to kiss them good-night.

“You don’t trust people,” Grandmother said sadly. “A true leader knows when to ask for help. You can’t close yourself off just because one stranger tried to hurt us.”

The guilt surged back, stronger than ever.

“You should go to the party,” Grandmother continued. “Everyone’s having fun. They’re good people.”

With that, she walked off down the hall toward the party.

Oliver took several deep breaths, the way she’d taught him so long ago, and focused his hearing on the party. Thumping music. Endless chatter. Another peal of shrill laughter from one of his aunts, high and irritating even through the multiple walls separating them.

Oliver took another deep breath. It didn’t calm him down.

Nothing calmed him down nowadays—not his pack, not working on the stupid inn, not running.

He hadn’t been able to shift since the fire, so he didn’t even have that.

He’d always judged the poor bastards who couldn’t shift, wondering what you’d have to do to make your own wolf turn its back on you—and now he was one of them.

Shifting would fix him, he was sure of it: not just fangs and claws that came out when he was annoyed, but a full wolf, running with his pack through the woods, being one with the forest and his family. He missed it like a phantom limb.

The water was reaching the top of the bucket. Oliver thought about doing something about it.

Instead, he turned and charged into the back rooms. Screw housewarmings, screw this inn, screw his family. A year ago, he would’ve been the perfect alpha. Now he was…what? Broken? Ruined? He couldn’t even shift. What kind of adult wolf couldn’t even shift?

He bared his teeth as he ransacked the back room, searching for the bottle he’d glimpsed when he was sorting things earlier today.

It must’ve been misplaced party supplies, maybe an offering from the townsfolk.

The bottle looked old—no label, maybe homemade—and it definitely wasn’t supposed to be in the back room with all the inn’s paperwork.

Oliver pulled the cork out. It smelled familiar.

The bottle looked familiar, now that he had a proper look: slim and blue with a curled handle.

It also stunk strongly of spirits. He’d been hoping for wine, something to ease him gently into drunkenness.

But what the hell, he could cannonball into it instead.

Better than going to the party and having to make small talk.

He tipped the bottle back and chugged. The glass caught the fluorescent light. For a moment, the liquid almost looked like moonlight.