Page 95 of The Tracker's Secret

The first thing I heard was the barks of a dog. Bones, I presumed, the Giant Schnauzer that Jake had introduced me to the last time I was here. Steps quickly followed the dog’s barks.

“Get back, you,” a male voice said as the door cracked open.

Walter Knight appeared at the threshold, wearing a welcoming expression that quickly morphed into a frown when he recognized me.

“Ms. Sunder, what a surprise to see you here this early,” he said, holding Bones by the collar. The dog seemed to wear an expression as mean as his owner’s, though the effect was due to his eyebrows and whiskers needing a trim.

“Hi.” I wiggled my fingers lamely. “I came to visit Jake, see how he’s doing.”

He made a disapproving sound in the back of his throat. “My grandson is resting. He was injured last night.”

His brown eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me with hostility, as if he blamed me for what had happened. If he did, he had it all wrong. Jake could get into trouble entirely on his own.

“Maybe you should come back another time,” Walter said.

He’d started closing the door when Jake appeared behind him.

“It’s okay, Grandpa. I’m up.”

Walter’s face tightened with annoyance. So... it seemed my first impression had been correct. Walter Knight didn’t like me. I wondered why.

Reluctantly, Walter moved away from the door, pulling Bones with him. “C’mon, you stupid dog.” He jerked the collar andshooedthe dog away. The animal lowered his head and slunk out of view. The old man followed after him, not bothering to give me a second glance.

“Come in, Toni.” Jake limped in my direction, holding a hand to his side. He was barefoot, wearing a gray, crumpled T-shirt, and a pair of frayed jeans that hung low on his narrow hips. He gestured toward a closed door.

I smiled nervously, opened the door, and shyly walked into a small sitting room. Jake closed the door behind me, then shuffled toward a cream-colored sofa with silky upholstery. It was flanked by two ornate end tables and fronted by huge windows that let in the morning sunlight and allowed a view of the magnificent front lawn.

“Sit.” He gestured toward the sofa.

I stood frozen, my heart beating out of control, feeling like it was about to give out.

Maybe telling him here is a bad idea. Maybe I should wait.

Clearly, that was the wimpy side of me talking. Red wouldn’t chicken out from anything, especially a simple conversation. I inhaled deeply, taking in Jake’s pine and rain scent and drawing courage from it.

Groaning a bit, Jake took a seat next to me, accommodated a cushion behind his back, and reclined. “I feel like a fucking old man,” he complained.

“Are you healing all right?”

“Yeah, all the wounds are closed. I’m just sore.”

I smiled. “I’m glad. I’m really glad. I was worried about you.” I held his gaze, hoping it conveyed how relieved I felt.

Without thinking, I started biting my thumbnail.

How should I start?

Jake, that promise you made your father, I can help you fulfill it.

No. Too forward.

Jake, I’m ready to bear a litter of werewolves for you.

Too exaggerated, and not necessarily true.

Jake, I’m a werewolf.

Yeah. Clear. Direct. Succinct.