Page 13 of Bewitched by the Werewolf (The Bewitching Hour #5)

In my line of work, I tend to attract law officials.

It’s part of the job description. Inevitably, wherever I go, our paths cross one way or another.

Usually when I’m breaking and entering where I shouldn’t be.

Sometimes with them pounding on my trailer door, telling me I need to leave.

Considering I was just walking through public woods and not doing anything illegal or suspicious (other than climbing a tree, which in my opinion in a forest isn’t suspicious) I wouldn’t have guessed this would be where the local police would find me.

The town map I found in the library with property lines says I’m on public land, so I have every right to be here.

I haven’t even done anything warranting attention yet.

Unless talking to locals is against the law here.

I highly doubt it, but this town is tiny and may very well be a cult, who knows.

I only know the tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired man standing in front of me with his hands on hips and narrowed eyes focused directly on me, is law enforcement because of the shiny gold badge clipped on his belt.

He doesn’t look angry, hasn’t pulled out his cuffs or called me Miss Rowland, so this isn’t official business.

Maybe he was just taking a stroll through the woods and spotted me? Unlikely, but a girl can hope.

When he appeared practically out of nowhere, he almost scared the shit out of me, which is hard to do.

I have very keen hearing and vision, but I was preoccupied installing the last of my night vision cameras.

It’s not technically illegal to mount them in a national forest, but it’s not exactly allowed either.

It’s a grey area and that’s where I live.

I spewed out the first lie I could think of that would explain my presence in a tree.

Bird watching seemed as believable as anything else.

Mister hunky sheriff seems to accept it, so I guess I’m now also an amateur bird watcher on top of eclipse aficionado.

Even though the yellow billed long feathered horn bill is an imaginary bird I made up, I’m sure he doesn’t know that.

Doesn’t look like they type to go bird watching, looks more like a rodeo kinda guy.

Just put a cowboy hat on his head and he’d be one hot farm boy, well man. He is definitely all man.

I act as casual as possible and approach the officer. His face remains flat and unamused. So, he’s one of those types, huh? Guess my usual flirty persona won’t work on this guy.

“Bird watching huh? Didn’t know there were any birds of interest in this forest.”

“Oh sure, they fly right through here on their mating migration. Fascinating animals.”

“And is that what brought you to town? Birds?” He cocks his head, now looking down at me.

He’s a tall man, even for me and I’m not short.

Handsome, in that brooding stoic way that makes you want to slap him just to see if it gets a reaction.

Square jaw line and messy black hair with eyes a deep shade of grey, that in the shadows look almost black.

The day-old scruff on his chin looks like permanent growth and only adds to his looming appearance.

“No. They’re just a bonus. I came to see the blood moon. I hear you get a great view of it from here.”

When he doesn’t even flinch at my answer, I take it he already knew as much.

Must have been asking around about me. But why?

I’ve been here two days and haven’t done a single thing yet.

It usually takes longer before townspeople start to turn on me.

And here I was thinking they were warming up to me.

“Not any different than anywhere else,” he says cooly. I can’t tell if he’s trying to be sarcastic or serious.

“That’s technically not true. Certain areas, depending on their geography and position in relation to the moon and sun, don’t always get to see eclipses.

There are always locations better suited for viewing certain astrological events.

Montana just happens to be a great place to witness the blood moon. ”

He just grunts. It’s not an argument but it’s also not words.

Does he expect me to reply to that? Should I grunt back?

Why not? I don’t grunt but I do make a noncommittal humph noise.

It doesn’t illicit a verbal response. Instead, he crosses his thick arms over his chest. I do the same, though I doubt it’s as intimidating, but I don’t let his size scare me.

I’m a werewolf hunter for fucks sake. If they don’t scare me neither with this man.

“I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name officer…?”

“ Sheriff Evans.”

“Sheriff Evans. Is that a first or last name?”

He just glares at me. Okay, guess we’re not going to be on a first name basis. Whatever.

“Okay then Sheriff Evans , is there anything I can help you with? Any particular reason you care about my bird watching?” I step around him and start making my way back to my trailer.

I don’t need him standing here long enough to spot my camera in the tree.

The sheriff follows me, thankfully turning away from the tree with my camera and following me back towards the campgrounds.

“I was actually looking for you. Went to your trailer but when I got no answer I followed your tracks into the woods.”

“That seems like a lot of work to find little ole me. What’s so important you needed to find me?” I ask. Playing dumb is always the right move.

“Snowberry is a small town and when new people appear out of the blue, I like to check in with them. Make sure they’re not going to do anything stupid while in my town.”

His town? Cocky much?

“Well I’m just here on vacation. Nothing exciting.”

I continue tromping through the woods making a spectacle of my passage.

I was careful when entering to keep my tracks to a minimum, which didn’t seem to stop him from tracking me.

But if I can make myself appear like any other unassuming person, maybe he won’t know I was purposefully careful before and chalk it up to coincidence or luck.

“That may be, but I still wanted to introduce myself and speak with you personally,” he says.

“Wow, don’t I feel special.” I may sound a little too sarcastic, but I can’t help it. Something about Sheriff Evans makes me want to sass him and see how far I can push him before he pops.

Even beyond the loud crunching of my footsteps, I expect to hear his following behind me—I know he is, I can practically feel him there—but I don’t.

His footsteps are nearly silent, which is impressive for such a large man.

I peek over my shoulder just to make sure he really is still there, and yup, he’s there alright.

Even closer than I expected. And was he…

sniffing me? Could he be a werewolf? Canines do like to sniff others, which is why I use a scent and odor neutralizer to cover my natural scent.

Hunters use it all the time and I found it practically makes me invisible to animals.

This way not only can the werewolves not smell me, but neither can local critters who might announce my presence if startled.

“Not special, just routine. Where is it you’re coming from?” he continues, as if I didn’t just catch him sniffing me.

I turn back to face forward and keep walking, I slow and sidestep so that he’s next to me rather than behind me.

Never let a predator at your back. There’s a knife sheathed in my boot and one in the back waistband of my jeans hidden by my jacket if I need to strike.

But if he is a werewolf, he can easily overpower me and if he isn’t… well he has a gun, so there’s that.

Normally I would shrug off his question with a noncommittal answer or something obtuse, however I have already allowed a connection to be made to this Sam from Texas.

Should I say Texas? I never told Dottie or Donna that I was from Texas or knew Sam from Texas.

They made that assumption on their own. If he’s any good at his job—which, I get the inclination he is—then he already knows all that.

So, one way or another, I’ll have to make the connection.

Problem is I don’t know what city in Texas Sam the lawyer is from.

I’m going to go with out-of-town friend.

“Philadelphia,” I finally answer. It’s not actually a lie. I am originally from Phili and that’s where my driver’s license is from. Gotta keep some truths in the lies to make them seem real.

“You’re far from home.”

“Yeah, needed to get away.” Biggest understatement ever.

“And you just decided to drive all the way across the country to our little town in Montana?”

“Yup.”

“Hmm.”

Well, isn’t he just the conversationalist of the century? We finally break through the tree line and arrive at my trailer. I stop in front of the door and pivot to face him. There’s no way in hell he’s going in my trailer without a warrant.

“Would you mind showing me your ID?” he asks, not completely unexpected.

“Sure.”

I pull a slim black wallet from my back pocket and hand over my ID. He takes it without touching my fingers in that creepy way guys do sometimes. I kind of appreciate his professionalism.

“Theresa Rowland,” he reads out loud. He doesn’t read out my address or birthdate, but I know he’s memorizing the information to look up later.

“Just Tess is fine,” I say sweetly with just a hint of sass.

His now brighter silver eyes flick up to me, then he hands my ID back to me, holding it out between two fingers.

I shove it back in my wallet and cross my arms over my chest again waiting to see what he does next.

My stance is less cooperative and more stubborn.

Mister Sheriff Evans is about to learn how stubborn I can be.

“Alright, Tess.” The way he says my name sends a chill up my spine, one that makes my nipples pucker, and I tighten my arms over them, stifling my body’s response to his deep timber.

My unexpected reaction to him only makes me scowl harder at officer bulging arms. “Stay out of trouble and we won’t have any problems.”

“You got it Officer.”

I mock salute him with enough mockery to make him frown disapprovingly.

He doesn’t say anything more before he rotates and makes his way to the parking lot beyond the campgrounds.

He must have parked there and walked since I don’t see any other vehicles around.

I wait till he’s a good distance away before opening my trailer and heading inside.

Sitting at my desk, I toss down my messenger bag and switch on my monitors connecting to the cameras.

There are six in total and all seem to be transmitting clearly.

The one I was installing when the sheriff caught me was the last one and closest to my trailer.

The rest are deeper in the woods pointed along what appear to be paths frequented by large animals.

I can only hope the werewolves use the same trails.

Tabbing over to my website builder, I set into writing an entry about my progress.

I leave out all specifics of location or names.

Firstly, because if this is a werewolf hot spot I don’t want any other hunters and investigators showing up and scaring them off or interfering in my pursuit, and secondly, if it isn’t I don’t need to inconvenience the locals with the less subtle and more intrusive crazy theorists.

In the world of paranormal and extraterrestrial there can be plenty of coo-coo’s.

There can also be plenty of normal people who just happen to have a healthy curiosity and open mind.

Then there are the few determined and dedicated, like myself, who just can’t take no for an answer and won’t stop until we find our proof.

I’ve given myself this one last hunt to find the truth and if I don’t, I’ll move on with my life.

I’ll still read the blogs and follow the you-tubers, I just won’t be one of them anymore.

I can only take so many dead ends and disappointments.

I clear my mind of all my own doubts and focus on the here and now, entering a log into my blog.

Day 3

I’ve already attracted the attention of local law authorities; this has to be a new record even for me.

I thought I was being covert, but something must have tipped them off.

The Sheriff is a giant stick in the mud and my usual tactics won’t work on him.

I’ll have to be careful not to give anything away.

I don’t know who in this town could be a werewolf, hell it could be all of them.

I still don’t know. I have a few leads but so far nothing concrete.

Not surprising, they’ve been carefully concealed this long I wouldn’t expect it to be easy.

If there’s something here though, I’ll find it.

I won’t give up until I do. It’s a small enough town if I stick around long enough something will give.

There’s a lunar eclipse happening in two weeks, also known as a blood moon, it seems to be something of importance around here.

I can think of one reason why. I imagine if I find nothing else before then, I will during the blood moon.

That’s all for now. I’ll keep updating when I can.

I post the update on my blog and make sure to conceal my I.P.

in case some nosey snooper tries to find out where I am.

Now if they trace back the post it’ll show me somewhere in the middle of Canada.

You pick up a few tricks along the way when learning to conceal your location, not only from authorities but others who want to cut in on the action.

This town is mine, and until I know who is a werewolf and how many there are, no one will be able to find me or them.