Page 43 of Clashing With The Grumpy Wolf
“What is it?” Julia asked, her face suddenly serious.
“Just a hunch.”
I pull up Deputy Chemko's interview with Kraxon, conducted the day the tiara went missing. According to his statement, Kraxon was on a brief business trip to Portland at the time of the initial theft. Julia reads it in silence, her face pinched and serious.
Unless Kraxon is able to be in two places at once, he’s lying.
“This makes no sense.” Julia pulls back, shaking her head. “Why is he lying?”
Why, indeed?
The coffee turns bitter on my tongue as suspicion crystallizes. Because I might know why Kraxon could do such a hateful act.
“He’s in a heap of financial trouble,” I say, my mood turning somber. “His law firm was tangled up in some scandal involving an elven royal and he could lose just about everything he built. Everything he owns.”
Julia blinks and bites her lip as she still stares at Kraxon’s frozen image on the screen.
“But would he ruin his own brother’s wedding?” She doesn’t look convinced. “Clan is everything for dragons.”
“Desperate people do desperate things.” I take a deep breath. “That tiara is worth millions. That kind of a money can go a long way.”
It doesn’t seem possible. Dragons are loyal and honorable. Ruthless in business and with hair-trigger tempers, but they would never betray their own clans.
Or so I always thought.
Julia shakes her head.
"But why stay on-site? Why not just take the tiara and run?"
"Because he’s the best man at his brother’s wedding. He’s above suspicion in all their minds." I clench my jaw. "It's almost perfect."
Another piece of the puzzle slots into place. I don’t know what this all means yet, but my instincts tell me we’re on the right path.
Chapter 13
Julia
Wolves.
Dozens of them, surrounding me, watching with unblinking stares that track my every move. The heavy wooden door of the pack house closes behind us with an ominous thud that reverberates through my chest. I feel like I've just stepped into a den of predators.
Technically, that’s exactly what I did.
"Remember," Adrian murmurs close to my ear, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine. "You have as much right tobe here as anyone. You're my mate."
I squeeze his hand in mine, finding comfort in the solid contact.
"Easy for you to say. You're not the only rabbit in a room full of wolves."
A smile tugs at his lips.
"You're no rabbit, Julia."
The pack house looms around us, a massive structure of ancient pine logs stacked high into vaulted ceilings. Wrought iron chandeliers cast warm dancing light across the gathered crowd, highlighting the mixture of curiosity and judgment on their faces. The air smells of woodsmoke from the enormous stone fireplace, pine, and the distinctive musk that I've come to recognize as werewolf.
The forest-green cocktail dress I borrowed from my wedding emergency kit (because a good planner is always prepared) suddenly feels inadequate, though Adrian's eyes widened appreciatively when I emerged from his bedroom wearing it. He looks devastatingly handsome in his charcoal suit, the fabric stretched taut across his broad shoulders.
Who knew werewolves liked to dress up so much?