Page 32 of Clashing With The Grumpy Wolf

I nod, grateful for the distraction from my inappropriate thoughts.

"This place is huge. There must be another way out."

We begin a systematic search of the cellar, moving between the rows of bottles, checking behind stacks of crates.

"Find anything?" Adrian calls from across the room.

"Nothing yet," I reply, moving to a new section of wall.

We work in silence for a while, the only sounds our movement and the occasional drip of water from condensation along the ceiling. The situation should feel dire. We're locked in a cellar with no way to call for help, but somehow, with Adrian here, I'm not afraid.

Frustrated? Yes. Worried about the wedding and the tiara and my career? Absolutely. But afraid? No.

"Someone will come looking for us eventually," I say, more to fill the silence than because I need reassurance. "Percy knows you were following him."

Adrian nods, but his expression remains grim.

"The question is whether they'll think to look down here. And how far our thief can go in the meantime."

I hadn't considered that. If the person I followed is indeed the tiara thief, we've just handed them the perfect opportunity to escape with their prize.

"Do you think it’s still in Windfall Manor?" I ask, pausing in my search to look at him. “The tiara?”

“It won’t be easy, leaving the manor with the tiara.” Adrian shrugs, the movement rippling through his powerful shoulders. "We reviewed every security footage, combed through every alibi. All signs point to the tiara still being in the manor."

I absorb this information, trying to fit it into the puzzle we're solving.

"So this thief must have been planning for a while, if they didn’t move the tiara out of the estate. They must know they will be able to retrieve it."

Adrian looks at me with newfound respect.

"Exactly. Which means our thief isn't just any burglar. They're someone who knows what they're doing."

I lean against a wine rack, my mind racing through possibilities.

"That narrows it down, doesn't it?"

"Whoever it is, they know how to cover their tracks."

He paces the length of the cellar, his eyes scanning the shadows. The light catches his profile, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, the determined set of his mouth. Despite the circumstances, I find myself watching him, drawn to the contained power in his movements.

Sitting on a wooden crate, I hug Adrian’s jacket tight around my shoulders, but it doesn’t prevent the spine-deep shiver that runs through me. The next instant, my teeth shatter together, the sound incongruous in the confined space.

He turns, his eyes questioning.

"I'm cold."

Adrian stalks toward me, then wraps me in his arms. His body radiates heat like a furnace, instantly warming my frozen skin where we touch.

"You're so hot," I murmur, then blush at my own words. "Temperature-wise, I mean."

A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth.

"Werewolves run hot. Higher metabolism, faster healing. Makes us natural space heaters."

I nestle deeper into his embrace, my practical side surrendering to the need for warmth.

"Lucky me."