Page 26

26

ZOEY

I’m wearing a dress. Which means I shaved my legs.

Do werewolves care about shaved legs?

When you’re one second away from a pelt, does a little stubble really matter?

Still, I like the smooth feel of them rubbing together. After working out my apology, I decided to put effort into my appearance.

These past few weeks, a good day was when I showered and wore a clean pair of jeans. Most of the time, I’d just throw on some leggings and a T-shirt because I knew I’d get dirty.

But today, I’m not sorting through my grandmother’s dusty belongings.

Today, I am apologizing to a werewolf.

Just as soon as I find him.

A little bell jingles as I walk into Sawdust and Supplies. There was no answer when I knocked on the side door that leads up to Warner’s apartment, so I’m hoping to find him helping out behind the counter. But the only Jameson around is Rebecca, who’s stocking light bulbs on a front shelf.

“Zoey. You need something?”

“Yes. I’m looking for your son.”

She turns to me with a raised eyebrow. “Warner? Have you lost him?”

“In a way.” I breathe through my guilt.

As more and more time passes and as I walk in the radiant sunshine of the day, the crippling fear from that night seems even more ridiculous.

Well, not the terror from being attacked by a mountain lion. That’s completely reasonable. But the way I let myself become frightened of Warner.

The same guy who had given me a ride to my crochet club the first time I met him. The guy who had lent me some of his power tools so I could refurbish an old dining room table.

He’d hiked through torrential rain to find me in the woods.

He’d fought a mountain lion for me.

The man who’s more likely to smile than scowl.

After the way he held me, the way he kissed me …

And I treated him like a dangerous animal on the verge of an attack.

Somehow, I suppress my grimace of self-disgust and focus back on Rebecca. I wonder if I should explain exactly why I’m looking for him. If Warner was born a werewolf and my mom knows about them, no doubt Rebecca does too.

Last light bulb put in place, the shop owner gets down from her stepladder. But she doesn’t take a few cautious steps down.

She jumps.

The distance can’t be more than two feet, but there’s something about the graceful way she lands, without even a wobble, that sets my mind wondering.

Is Rebecca a werewolf too?

The question almost slips out when I remember Warner’s words. “I can’t name names.”

Would Warner get in trouble if the pack found out he’d revealed himself to me? And where do loyalties lie? Rebecca might not be the best person to tell the events of that night.

“I think I hurt his feelings, and I just wanted to apologize. Apology gift included.” I gesture at my bag, which isn’t the gift. I doubt Warner has any use for a tote that reads Girls Just Wanna Purl .

Rebecca shrugs, strolling toward the register. “I’m sure you’re overreacting. Warner is the most easygoing person you’ll ever meet. If you were talking about one of my other boys, maybe I’d believe you. But I doubt Warner is moping somewhere. No need to worry yourself.”

Her words don’t sit right with me. Is that how she sees Warner? Too laid-back to ever get hurt by anything?

Still, I wonder. Am I blowing this out of proportion?

I dismiss the thought.

No matter his reaction, I know how I acted toward him was wrong, and I need to tell him that.

“Either way, I’d like to apologize.”

Rebecca watches me with an unreadable expression before answering, “Well, he’s not here. Not sure where he’s gone off to. You can leave your”—she eyes my bag with a baffled expression—“apology gift with me. I’ll give it to him when I see him next.”

I smile, even as I shake my head, thinking of how to explain my reason for turning her down. “That’s kind of you. But the gift isn’t exactly finished yet.” At her raised eyebrow, I add, “Plus, there are the words. That I need to say. To make it a real apology.”

Her second eyebrow joins the first, and I conclude that I’m not making much sense. Better escape before I lose Rebecca’s goodwill. Getting on her bad side would make my many trips to the hardware store an adventure in discomfort.

Those are the worst kinds of adventures.

“Thanks anyway! I’m sure I’ll be in soon. Almost out of stain.” Waving over my shoulder, I head back out onto the street.

Fingers crossed, I try knocking on Warner’s door again.

Still no answer.

I could text him. But selfish me doesn’t want to give him a chance to avoid me if he’s hurt or mad after how I treated him. This is an ambush apology.

He will know how sorry I am.

Then, after that, he can cut me out of his life if he still hates me.

A surprisingly large pit of despair roils in my stomach as I consider the idea.

When did Warner fuse himself so thoroughly with my happiness? He’s basically a supportive ninja. Sneakily helping me until I come to rely on him.

Ninja biker werewolf. A force to be reckoned with.

The rumble of a bike pulls me out of my twirling thoughts. I stroll up to the curb, anticipation quickening my heart rate. Focusing on the far end of Main Street, I spot a black blur approaching. As the rider gets closer, for a minute, I think I’ve found my wolf. There’s the familiar build on top of the dark bike.

But then I realize two things.

The biker has a shaved head.

And I can see this because he’s not wearing a helmet.

Definitely not Warner. If it were, I’d have more to say to him than sorry .

As the rider passes by, I realize it’s Warner’s older brother, Roderick. We’ve never officially met, but Warner pointed him out to me. The brothers are shaped similarly with broad shoulders and lithe forms. Roderick has the advantage of a couple of inches, and his sheared hair, paired with a perpetually stern expression, sits him firmly in the intimidating biker category.

Good thing I’ve decided to never let men intimidate me.

Plus, there’s something about the way he holds himself that’s familiar. I realize he reminds me of someone I know. Someone I love.

And I don’t mean Warner.

Roderick pulls into the gas station a block down. I head his way, certain he’s my next best lead.

As I walk toward him, I consider my approach. If I’m right, then Roderick might share a similar personality with my oldest brother, Abram.

Stoic. Stern. Unerring sense of responsibility.

Best way to get them to do what you want is call on their honor.

Strategy solidified, I find myself smiling.

Time for an introduction.