Page 2 of Wedding for My Werewolf (Fairhaven Falls #7)

CHAPTER 2

R obin jolted awake, her heart racing. For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was but then it all came crashing back—the bus ride, Flora, the inn. She must have crawled under the covers at some point during the night because she was tucked beneath the pretty blue quilt. How long had she slept?

Pushing herself upright, she decided it must still be early. Pale dawn light filtered through frost-covered windows, and the inn was silent around her. She hunted out her phone—the cheapest prepaid unit she could find—and peered at the time. 7:27 AM. Her interview wasn’t until nine, but now that she was awake, she couldn’t stay still.

She took a quick shower in the quietly luxurious bathroom, then dressed in her nicest remaining clothes – dark jeans and a cream sweater she’d managed to keep unwrinkled. She pulled her hair back into a neat braid, then peered at herself in the mirror. She looked pale and haunted, but presentable. It would have to do.

The inn’s lobby sat empty and quiet. A note on the counter announced breakfast started at eight, but there was a coffee urn and a basket of muffins on a cloth covered table. She hesitated, still feeling guilty about taking advantage of Flora’s kindness, but couldn’t resist the delicious aroma of the coffee. The warmth of the coffee seemed to seep into her bones, giving her courage as she pulled on her coat and slipped out the front door.

The icy mountain air bit at her cheeks as she wandered down Main Street, admiring the variety of buildings from converted bungalows to a row of brick-fronted stores.

Fairhaven Falls was waking up. Shop owners flipped signs from “Closed” to “Open.” The aroma of fresh bread wafted from a bakery. Her shoulders relaxed as she took in the peaceful scene.

The street ended at the river, with a large town square to one side. A market was taking place in the square, stalls being set up for the day. She weaved between vendors arranging their wares, enjoying the variety of goods—from fresh produce to hand-crafted items. Then her sleeve caught on the edge of a table, sending a basket of apples tumbling.

“My merchandise!” A screech pierced the air, and she turned to find a harpy looming over her, wings spread wide. “Clumsy human, those are enchanted apples!”

She flinched as she realized how many people were looking at them and quickly ducked down to pick up the golden apples.

“I’m so sorry?—”

Her fingers trembled as she gathered the apples, checking each for bruises as she placed them back in the basket. The harpy’s talons clicked against the cobblestones.

“If you’ve damaged even one?—”

The harpy snatched the basket Robin handed her, examining each apple with sharp eyes. Her wings mantled, blocking out more of the early sunlight.

“That’s enough.” A deep voice cut through the harpy’s tirade.

She turned to find a tall man approaching, a distinctive presence even in the busy crowd. No, not a man. He had a rugged, handsome face, but his eyes glowed with an otherworldly golden hue and there was a hint of fangs showing when he spoke. Werewolf.

Those golden eyes focused on her and she had to remind herself to breathe.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.” She managed a shaky smile, trying not to stare at the claws extending from his fingertips. “It was my fault. I wasn’t watching what I was doing.”

“Clumsy human!” the harpy hissed, and the werewolf growled, a deep, inhuman sound that rumbled through the air.

“I said that’s enough. There are children watching. Unless you want a formal reprimand from the Council, you’ll apologize and leave the lady alone.”

“But Sheriff Grayson. This human?—”

“Was clearly trying to help.” His tone left no room for argument. “The market’s barely open, Clara. Let’s not start the day like this.”

“But—”

“Apologize.”

The word hung in the air, an unspoken threat underlying the soft tone.

“I apologize,” Clara said grudgingly and she managed a nod, not trusting her voice.

The harpy huffed but retreated behind her stall. The sheriff turned to Robin, and she fought the urge to step back. The last thing she needed was any attention from an officer of the law, especially since everything about him screamed danger – from his broad shoulders to the predatory way he moved.

“I apologize for Clara. She’s protective of her produce.” His voice softened, but those wolf eyes remained sharp. “I don’t recognize you. New to Fairhaven Falls?”

Her throat tightened. The question seemed innocuous enough, but she couldn’t take any chances.

“Just passing through.”

As soon as she said it, she realized it was stupid to lie—if she got the job she’d be living here. She’d just have to avoid him.

He tilted his head slightly, studying her, and she wondered if he could hear her rapid heartbeat. Werewolves were supposed to have enhanced senses.

“Well, welcome to town.” He didn’t push, but something in his expression told her he caught the lie. “I’m Eric Grayson.”

“Robin.” She offered nothing more, already backing away. “Thanks for the help.”

She turned and walked away, keeping her pace steady despite the urge to run. She could feel him watching her, raising the tiny hairs at the back of her neck. Her cheeks burned, and she couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment over the incident or something else entirely.

The rational part of her mind screamed to be wary of a werewolf sheriff who could expose her. But there was something in those golden eyes beyond authority – a hint of warmth. And that, more than anything else, left her unsettled.

Too unsettled to return to the inn, she decided, and pulled out the information about her appointment. Based on the directions Mr. Stonehaven had given her, the house wasn’t too far away and she made her way down along the river in that direction. This close to the river, she could see that it wasn’t entirely frozen. A strip of open water ran down the middle and something suddenly broke the surface. She blinked. Was that a tentacle?

She tugged her coat closer and hurriedly turned up the next street. The directions led her to a set of enormous wrought iron gates. Beyond them loomed a Victorian mansion, its weathered stone a testament to decades of harsh mountain winters. Turrets pierced the morning sky, and carved stone creatures peered down from every corner. Not spooky at all.

There was a keypad next to the gates, but they creaked open at her touch. She shivered but followed the winding path through an overgrown garden, fresh snow crunching beneath her feet. Up close, the mansion’s grandeur carried an air of neglect – paint peeling from shutters, ivy claiming entire walls.

The heavy brass door knocker fell with a thunderous clap, and then the door swung open to reveal a figure that made her breath catch. Grey, stone-like skin. Wings folded against broad shoulders. Sharp features that could have been carved from granite. A gargoyle.

“Ms. Halloway.” His voice rumbled like distant thunder. “You’re early.”

“I hope that’s all right. I prefer to be punctual.”

Thankfully, her voice came out remarkably composed.

“A rare quality these days. I’m Garrick Stonehaven. Come in. “

The foyer dwarfed her, the ceiling stretching up three stories. Dust motes danced in shafts of morning light.

“You can see why I need a housekeeper,” he said dryly. “The place has been neglected while I was away.”

She made a noncommittal noise as he led her to a study where books lined every wall. He sat down behind an enormous desk and gestured her to the chair in front of it. She perched on the edge of the chair, doing her best to keep her face calm.

“Your resume is…” He glanced at the paper. “Sparse.”

Her hands clenched in her lap. “I’ve been moving around a lot, but I’m a hard worker and I’ll do a good job.”

“I see. And you’re new in town?”

She managed a nod as penetrating dark eyes studied her face. “And before that?”

“I’d rather not discuss it.”

A long pause. Then, unexpectedly, a dry chuckle. “Refreshingly honest. Most people would invent a story.”

He set the resume aside. “The position is live-in. The hours may vary from day to day, but I’ll pay you overtime if you work for more than eight hours. One afternoon off a week, and most weekends, although I may occasionally need you then. The west wing needs attention first – it’s been closed off for years.”

She blinked. “You’re offering me the job?”

“Unless you’d rather not discuss it.” His stone features cracked into what might have been a smile.

“When can I start?”

“Today if you’d like.” He rose, wings shifting. “Let me show you your quarters. You can move in this morning and start work after lunch. How does that sound?”

“Perfect.”

A job and a place to stay, all in one morning. Perhaps luck was finally on her side.