Page 18 of Clashing With The Grumpy Wolf

"Seraphina's grandmother is talking about postponing the wedding." Percy exhales heavily. "Says we can't have a new matriarch start her reign without it."

"Shit." I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking beneath my weight. "How's Seraphina handling it?"

"How do you think?" Frustration edges his words. "She's alternating between planning murder and planning to flee the country. Frankly, I'm halfway of a mind to do just that and forget our clans for once."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I understand the significance, Percy. We're doing everything we can."

"Everything isn't enough," he says with a sharper tone than what I'm used to. My old friend is usually all smiles and humor. Well, except in business. Dragons are ruthless in business, as their wealth can attest to. "It's not long before accusations start flying and once they start, tensions will escalate faster than I can calm them down."

The implications hang between us. The Draak-Ashbane wedding isn't just about two people in love; it's the culmination of years of careful diplomacy, a fragile peace between dragon clans with centuries of bad blood between them. If it falls apart now, things may escalate indeed.

"I'll extend the search," I promise, though I'm not sure what else we can try. "I won't stop until I turn over every rock in the castle."

"Just fix this," Percy says before hanging up.

I toss my phone onto the desk with more force than necessary, my wolf bristling at the command in his tone. The beast paces restlessly beneath my skin, frustrated by a threat it can't sink its teeth into.

Maya left a coffee on my desk earlier, but it's long since gone cold. I drink it anyway, grimacing at the bitter taste. The caffeine won't help the headache, but at this point, I'm running on fumes and spite.

I flip open the case file again, studying the layout of Windfall Manor for the hundredth time. The tiara was kept in a hidden safe in Silverine Draak's office instead of the clan's vault. A hidden safe with a state-of-the-art combination lock. Not the most secure location, but Silverine had insisted on keeping it close to where the bridal preparations would take place.

A decision she's no doubt regretting now.

My thoughts drift to Julia, her image appearing unbidden in my mind.

Could she be my thief? For a moment, I consider her as a suspect. She knew of the tiara's existence. She certainly had access. But then I remember how utterly devastated she looked when Deputy Chemko interviewed her. The tremble in her voice as she willingly offered to help with our investigation. How desperately she insisted that the wedding must proceed as planned.

No, I don't think Julia is our thief. She needs this wedding to happen almost as much as the bride and groom themselves.

I growl, pushing the memories of Julia Schroeder away. This isn't the time for distraction, especially not that kind of distraction.

The station's front door opens, and I straighten, immediately alert, its distinctive creak carrying down the hallway. Who could be coming in at this hour?

Footsteps approach, light, determined clicks against the linoleum floor. Her scent reaches me before she does, and although I’ve only met her twice, I know it as surely as I would know the scent of every member of my family. It reaches me in tones of vanilla and cinnamon, layered with an undercurrent of sourness that betrays her anxiety.

Julia appears in my doorway, her curvy figure silhouetted against the dim hallway light. She's dressed more casually than I've seen her before, dark jeans and a soft-looking pink sweater that makes her seem younger and more vulnerable. Her curly brown hair falls loose around her shoulders in touchable waves that make my fingers flex involuntarily.

"Sheriff Wolfsbane," she says, her voice carefully neutral. "Do you have a minute?"

“Of course, Ms. Schroeder.” I gesture to the chair across from my desk.

“You can start by calling me Julia.” She sits, her posture rigid with tension. Her lovely face is lined with worry and judging by the dark circles under her eyes, she hasn’t been sleeping. "I figured you'd be here. I doubt the Ashbane or the Draak clan will give you any peace until that tiara is back in their vault."

I can't argue with that.

"What can I do for you?"

"You can tell me what's actually being done to find the tiara." Her hands rest in her lap, fingers laced together so tightly her knucklesare white. "Because from where I'm sitting, it seems like we're getting nowhere fast."

"We?" I raise an eyebrow. "Last I checked, this was a police investigation."

"Last I checked, I'm the one whose reputation is on the line." Her eyes flash with that defiance that keeps catching me off guard. "I even think Silverine Draak suspects me of the theft, though she didn't say so."

I study her for a moment, taking in the way she chews nervously on her bottom lip, the way her shoulders are stiff with tension. She's exhausted, desperate, and probably scared, though I have an inkling she would die before admitting it.

"You're not a suspect," I say finally. "At least not to me."

“That's refreshingly open-minded, but it doesn't solve my problem.” Something in her expression softens slightly before she rebuilds her walls. “I really need this wedding to go as planned. I’m ruined if it doesn’t.”