Page 47

Wolfe

D espite what recent, impulsive decisions could possibly lead some people to believe, Wolfe was someone who knew the importance of planning, of preparation, of setting the scene.

And what scene was more important than one’s future home?

“And here we have the fourth and final bedroom. The closet in here is somewhat limited compared to the primary bedroom, but certainly nothing to sneeze at either.”

Wolfe walked well ahead of the clacking heels of the voluptuous real estate agent, sizing up the old Victorian on display at his own pace.

It was furnished horrendously, the current owners clearly trying their best to force a modern look on a house that was simply begging for an old-fashioned touch.

Wolfe truly didn’t understand the current fascination with the Scandinavian aesthetic, this exaltation of the bland and the stiff.

If one’s furniture was going to be uncomfortable, it might as well look sumptuous.

Still, the bones of the house were solid.

Four bedrooms upstairs, with a downstairs office, a sun-soaked sitting room, as well as a dimly lit space that could be repurposed into a proper library.

It was adorned with plenty of lovely wooden built-ins and hosted an ample backyard backing up to forest service lands and hiking trails.

And hiking trails meant, of course, plenty of sturdy hikers who could be compelled inside for dinner.

It was, he had to admit, perfect.

And available immediately. Or it would be, after the right compulsion.

Wolfe turned on his heel, obliging the real estate agent to halt in her tracks. “May I have another look at the en suite?” he asked, tilting his head in a way that suggested he’d like to do so alone.

Young Miss Wilson took the hint. “Of course. I’ll be right downstairs.” She had the self-satisfied look of someone who could scent a sale, but Wolfe couldn’t begrudge her the smugness. Not when he was so pleased with what she’d found for him.

He watched her descend the stairs and then meandered down the hall to the largest bedroom.

The walk-in closet was indeed impressive, room enough to fit his own ample wardrobe and leave room for another’s.

The bed frame the current owners had chosen would have to go, of course.

And he’d need to call painters in as soon as possible.

He could picture it all perfectly. A soft sage color on the walls. A California king with a forest-green comforter dominating the space.

And a blond head of hair spread out on the pillow.

Wolfe allowed himself a rare, true smile.

Yes, it was all going to be absolute perfection.

Boring. This is boring.

Wolfe’s smile fell, his lips pursing in irritation.

His beast had been unbearably petulant ever since it had realized there were much more enticing pursuits in this town.

It had no concept of patience, of planning.

Of the two of them, only Wolfe had the sense to know practicalities had to be dealt with; a proper living situation needed to be considered top priority.

And, luckily for them both, Wolfe was in a position to take care of it.

Well, really, luck had nothing to do with it. He hadn’t completely wasted the months Johann had been away. Wolfe had moved some finances around, stashed enough away that this little mansion would be no strain. None of it was anything compared to the nest egg coming his way soon, but it was a start.

Shall we make things more interesting for you ?

he asked his beast, peering briefly once more into the en suite bathroom.

The tub there was more than adequate, large enough to fit two grown men easily.

He took a moment to straighten his hair in the mirror, pushing the light-brown strands back into the appropriate side part.

It wouldn’t do to look slovenly for such a momentous occasion.

No answer from the impatient thing inside him. It was still pouting.

No matter. Wolfe knew how to draw it out.

“Miss Wilson,” he called lightly, stepping back into the bedroom, making some mental measurements while he was at it.

He waited for the clack of her heels on the stairs, smoothed the temporary comforter with one hand as he heard her approaching down the hall.

“Yes, Mr. Volker? Would you like to see the backyard again?” she offered, stepping into the bedroom, paperwork that hadn’t been there before now notably in her hands. Clever woman, going in for the kill.

“No need.” Wolfe waved a hand, encompassing the space around him. “I’ll be taking it.”

“Oh?” Miss Wilson’s smile was sharp and victorious, but she still managed to feign the appropriate surprise. “How wonderful!”

“Yes, quite. But there is one more thing.” Wolfe approached slowly, allowing his human face to retreat and his beast to come forward.

Poor Miss Wilson’s eyes widened, and she took a step back, toward the door. “Wha—what?”

Under normal circumstances, it might have been amusing to see her run, but Wolfe didn’t want the hardwood floors scuffed by her heels.

This was their new home, after all, his and the good doctor’s.

So he laced his voice with compulsion as he met her frightened eyes. “You’re not afraid, Miss Wilson.”

Her retreat stopped in an instant, her tense features slackening immediately into complacency.

It was always such a rush, changing someone’s mind against their will that way. It was a shame it didn’t work on other vampires.

“Come here,” Wolfe commanded softly.

Miss Wilson stepped in front of him.

“Give me your wrist.”

She lifted her arm.

Wolfe rested her forearm on his open palms, then bit in with sharp teeth, warm copper filling his mouth.

There . He thought rather than spoke the words, as his mouth was occupied. Isn’t this better?

But his beast only huffed at him in annoyance, even as it greedily drank down what was offered.

Petulant creature. Wolfe knew what it really wanted, why it was turning its nose up at what was a perfectly delicious human. And really, that was fine.

There was only one thing either of them had wanted since the week before, when their whole world had turned on its side.

They wanted their mate. And they would have him, soon enough. But first, some reconnaissance.

Wolfe would not be caught unprepared.

Wolfe’s future partner was frustratingly hard to get a read on, even after days of watching him from the shadows.

A few things made perfect sense. His being a doctor, for one.

Of course Wolfe’s fated companion would be intelligent; that was a given.

He was physically appealing as well. Tall and sturdily built, with a surprisingly boyish face for a man pushing forty, topped by a wonderfully golden head of hair, one that would suit him even better if it were allowed to grow out just a touch longer.

He was also, Wolfe had surmised, a bit of a slut. Or at the very least, tried to be.

Despite his long shifts at the hospital, the good doctor had gone out three of the five nights Wolfe had been keeping an eye on him, clearly trying to pick up a good time for the evening.

Although he didn’t seem too terribly disappointed when he failed, always smiling congenially at whoever had just turned him down, buying them another drink even as he left them to their own devices.

Why they always seemed to turn him down was a bit of a mystery to Wolfe.

Perhaps Dr. Monroe had developed a reputation in such a relatively small town.

Perhaps they all simply preferred brunettes.

Or perhaps it was due to a certain…air of desperation about him.

One that Wolfe, muted as his own empathetic tendencies may have been, could sense even from afar.

One that was incongruent with the doctor’s good looks and superficial charm.

Although, to be honest, Wolfe personally found that sort of neediness appealing, at least in this instance. It would make the act of bonding that much easier, if the doctor was desperate for connection.

But even so, Dr. Monroe attempting to sleep with half the town didn’t necessarily preclude a neglected partner waiting in the wings, so Wolfe had left a little present: a single rose. To see who, if anyone, the good doctor would call to thank.

It was a bit silly and perhaps dramatic, as far as fishing for information went, but that didn’t negate the delicious symbolism of his offering. And his future mate deserved a gift, whether or not he was aware of its origins.

But in the end, the doctor hadn’t called anyone. Which was lucky for his apparently nonexistent, hypothetical partner, as Wolfe would hate to jeopardize his standing in the town by killing one of its humans right off the bat.

It was odd though. In the absence of a partner, Wolfe had expected his human to be intrigued, possibly amused by the flower. But Dr. Monroe had looked not only confused but almost frightened by the gift.

Yes , Wolfe mused, after picking the lock on the good doctor’s front door for the fifth time in as many days (and really, would it kill the man to invest in some semblance of a security system?). Very hard to get a read on.

He felt it was even truer after making his way into the doctor’s bedroom.

Because there, on the bedside table, sitting in a sad little smudged glass, was the second rose.

Wolfe’s chest surged with some unfamiliar emotion to see it standing there.

He’d left this second one as a lark, really.

The poor human had seemed so absolutely confused by the first one that Wolfe had been compelled to offer another.

He hadn’t expected him to keep it, not after trashing the first.

Perhaps Wolfe should have left a proper bouquet, then. That little singular rose was hardly a fitting courting gift.

Not here , Wolfe’s beast grumbled, interrupting his musings. Our mate is not here .