Heart of the wolf, p.11
Heart of the Wolf, page 11
Her laptop. Ouch. “Right. About that.” He met her gaze, trying to show his contrition. “I’m sorry for assuming you were ignorant of technology.”
Before she could respond, he continued, “Our dam and sires were anti-human and rabid technophobes. Before they died, they basically disowned me and my brothers for our choices of occupations. So…I overreacted.”
She frowned. “What occupations could upset them so much?”
“Ah, well, Madoc is a cook in human restaurants. André’s with the RCMP—a Mountie.”
Her eyes held understanding. “Both occupations would surround you with humans. And you?”
“I worked for a cybersecurity company.”
“Oh Gods, you can’t get much further from a technophobe.” Chuckling, she headed into her house, saying over her shoulder, “You’re forgiven. Tell the Cosantir I’ll see him in town.”
Niall was grinning as he headed back to his vehicle, and even the twig thrown by an annoyed pixie didn’t bother him.
He’d been forgiven.
Now, he had to decide how much further he wanted to take it. Would she like his brothers?
An hour later, Heather entered Espresso Books and smiled at the low bong-bong of the bell over the door. It appeared Talitha had changed out the bell again.
Stopping just inside, Heather took a slow breath. Beneath the aroma of freshly brewed coffee was the fragrance of books. Old books and new books. The finest of perfumes.
Behind the bookstore counter on the right, Moya lifted a hand in greeting before returning to ringing up a pile of books for a customer.
Heather headed left toward the coffee section of the store. What with Pete’s attitude toward record-keeping, this auditing project was going to require massive amounts of caffeine.
“Hey, Heather,” Corey called as he handed over a tall drink to a woman at the pick-up window. “Whatcha want today?”
“Heather?” The masculine voice behind her was smoky-dark, like a warm midsummer’s night.
She turned to see a male around six feet tall, all lean, hard muscles.
“Niall’s Heather?” He held out his hand. Rich, dark-chocolate brown eyes held hers.
Her hand was in his before her brain had a chance to override an utterly instinctual compliance. And really, why would she want to?
The male’s chiseled face with sharp high cheekbones and strong jaw was simply gorgeous. Brown hair a shade darker than his eyes curled over his collar.
He hadn’t released her hand, and she was…staring. Oops. “Um, right. No, not right. I—I know Niall, but I’m not—”
When laughter lit in those dark chocolate eyes, she gave herself a mental slap and then, oh cat-spit. “You’re the Co—” Remembering the humans in the store, she bit back the rest of the word.
In the park yesterday, she hadn’t seen much more than the power blasting from him. Today, his aura was muted to a low shimmer, much like Calum’s.
And she could see…him. “André, you’re André.”
“I am.” When his lips curved, a tantalizing crease appeared in his cheek. “Madoc said you protected me before he and Niall arrived, and someone punched you.” His words held a light French accent.
As his fingertips brushed over her bruised cheek, his eyes darkened slightly. “Thank you, Heather.”
Her heart actually skipped a beat at the low caress in his voice.
No, girl. Being attracted to a Cosantir would be insane. As bad as wanting a cahir, right? She didn’t have a good track record when it came to males—and she sure didn’t need her heart broken. Again.
Pulling her hand from his, she gave him a polite smile. “It was an honor to be of service…André.”
He studied her for a long moment, his gaze sweeping over her face, her hands, her shoulders. Reading her body language as he might if they were in animal form.
After a long moment, he inclined his head and stepped back to give her more space. “When you see what awaits you, Ms. CPA”—his smile widened—“you might rethink those words.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“What a complete pile of scat.” After two days of wading through the mess, Heather’s brain was about to explode. She scowled at the piles of paper covering the three tables she’d pushed together. Ragged receipts for years. Canceled checks. Leases.
She could tell exactly when the last accountant had left. Old Harold, a wolf, had been driven away by Pete’s brother, the pack alpha.
Hadn’t Harold and Pete been arguing about the clan finances back then? This was the reason. According to the books, right about then, Pete started using the clan funds as his own.
She scowled. If only Niall had shown up at her cabin an hour later, she would have already been on the road, having a lovely time. Well, after she had this nightmare of papers straightened away, the road would still be there, waiting for her.
I could have been soaking in a hot spring in Idaho right now.
And yet…
After so many years of frustration, it felt good to truly do something for her territory and clan.
A flicker of light and shadows had her looking up to see André crossing the room. His silent predatory gait suggested he was a werecat. He wore jeans and a dark blue chamois shirt. The rolled-up sleeves exposed corded, muscular forearms. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Cosantir.” Although she’d never bowed her head to Pete, she couldn’t keep from giving this Cosantir, who radiated such intimidating, controlled power, the sign of respect.
For a few seconds, he eyed the piles of papers, which had grown taller since he’d been in yesterday. “How are you managing to remain sane?” When he smiled, the flash of white teeth in his darkly tanned face made the temperature in the room rise several degrees.
Mother of All, he should have a warning label—Hazardous materials. To avoid danger of meltdown, keep this male away from females with functioning ovaries.
Laughing, she shook her head. “Progress is being made, really. I do have a few concerns, though.”
“Go on.”
“Many of the clan’s properties aren’t rented—probably because they need repairs. The few with occupants are…” How could she say this without sounding as if she was attacking the earlier Cosantir?
“Are…?” His dark gaze held the patience of mountains.
“I’m afraid Pete loaned houses to his friends without getting leases or rent.” Brett and Caleb both lived in clan-owned houses. She’d always suspected they were staying in them for free. The records had confirmed her suspicions.
“Ah.” André’s beard-shadowed jaw tightened. “If you’ll make up a list of addresses and the appropriate monthly rent, Niall will serve them notice their free ride is at an end. Please have the appropriate leases on hand in case they wish to stay.”
Well.
His warmly resonant voice was decisive yet quiet. Completely in control. Then again, he’d been a cop. She needed to remember that. “I’ll get the list to you today.”
“Thank you, Heather. Next?”
“Remember the box filled with unopened mail?”
Madoc and Niall had emptied the realty office of every scrap of paperwork and covered the tables with boxes, each labeled with the originating locations like “Top Desk Drawer” or “Filing Cabinet Drawer One.”
One was labeled “Box on floor.” Niall said it appeared as if the mail had been simply tossed into the box.
“I remember.” The disgust on André’s face showed what he thought of the previous Cosantir’s guardianship.
“No, no, there’s good news. The mail held inquiries about the properties. If you get repairs done, we can get them rented out and income coming in.”
Except there had been some income.
“Very good. I’ll have someone assess what needs to be fixed.” His perceptive gaze sharpened. “What else is worrying you?”
The Cosantir didn’t miss much. She bit her lip. “The boxes—the desk drawers your brothers emptied—the cash in them totaled over fifteen thousand dollars.”
“Cash.” André straightened, his expression hardening, reminding her again he was a cop. “Thousands in cash doesn’t sound…legal.”
She wasn’t sure. Shifters were rarely involved in drugs, prostitution, or gambling, the usual illicit sources of money. “Honestly, André, I don’t think Ailill Ridge has any crime worth noting. Not…you know, big stuff.”
“Good to hear.” He smiled slightly. “Daonain do tend to be more about fistfights and speeding. Not human vices.”
He would know, wouldn’t he? She nodded.
“In any case, carry on.” André tapped his fingers on the table. “I’ll hire a crew for the property repairs.”
“When you do…”
“Aye?”
“Could you also have them work on the Gathering House? It could use some help.”
The Cosantir stilled like a cougar catching a scent. “Wendell neglected the site of the most important of our traditions?” The way his eyes darkened sent a chill up her spine.
Her mouth had gone too dry to speak. She nodded.
“Key, please.”
After a quick search, she found the set in the pile and handed it over.
He glanced at the address, then turned at the clump of boots on the floor. “Brawd.”
The brother named Madoc nodded to her, turned to André, and bowed his head. He’d undoubtedly seen the black of the God in his brother’s eyes. “Cosantir?”
“We need to check the local Gathering House for needed repairs. Might I assume new furnishings are needed as well?”
Heather nodded, then hesitated. The Cosantir was already angry, but wasting money hurt her little accountant’s heart. “Bear in mind that anything you purchase will… The males will fight and destroy anything breakable.”
André turned to look at her, his now completely black eyes implacable. “No. They won’t.”
A shiver traced across her skin.
The clan had no idea of the difference between the new Cosantir and the old one…but they were about to find out.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sack in hand, Madoc munched on a blueberry muffin as he left Espresso Books. Sweet and buttery. Just what he needed. By the God, he was exhausted.
Since yesterday, he’d been in and out of houses with the newly hired repair crew. They were a competent bunch of shifters, and since he was good with his hands and knew his way around repairs, they’d easily agreed on a list of what needed to be done…even after André had ordered each house be hellhound-proof.
Cosantirs took protectiveness to a whole new level.
House hunting for him and his brothers had fallen to Madoc, as well, but he’d found a place that might suit them all. Fuck knew none of them wanted to remain in the B&B. The blonde predator, Gretchen, had started rubbing all over André as well as Niall. She was a walking confirmation of all the reasons they avoided females outside of full moon gatherings.
Madoc didn’t envy the Gods-called. Not after seeing the avaricious reaction of certain types of females to his littermates. His brothers would far rather chase than feel like prey. Him—he’d rather avoid all of it.
A glance up at the sun showed he had enough time to finish assessing the properties if André’s accountant had the remainder of the list for him.
It’d taken him longer than he’d planned, since he was also chatting with the locals about their concerns. André needed to know what was wrong before he could fix it. In the evenings, the three of them were having brain-storming sessions on how to get everything done. Madoc huffed a laugh. Even his fixer brother was going to be challenged by this territory.
The more Madoc learned from the locals, the more he realized how bad the previous Cosantir had been. Even worse, rather than hightailing it out of the territory, Wendell was still around, poking his whiskers out of his den occasionally. And bad-mouthing André.
Not that André would care about the yowling of an incompetent fleabag.
Taking another bite of the muffin, Madoc strolled across the square toward the Shamrock building. In the grocery, Murtagh saw him and lifted a hand in greeting.
So far, most of the shifters he’d met were good people. Lamentably, they didn’t seem to have much of a clan-like cohesiveness.
By the God, sometimes he missed the simple, straightforward life he’d had where he would cook at the restaurant and in his own kitchen, hang out with his brothers, attend the monthly Gatherings, and wander the forests.
His stable routines had been overturned.
Cosantirs didn’t leave their territory and usually served Herne until old age or death. And where André lived, so did his littermates.
Across the square was the town’s small café. The place was family owned and staffed. They weren’t hiring.
Although he preferred more versatility in a menu than eggs or burgers, at least it would’ve been a job.
Madoc shook his head. What am I going to do for a living?
At the end of the square, he reached the Shamrock building where André’s CPA was holed up. The door facing the square was propped open.
Stepping inside, he stopped to let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. The room was huge. A door to the right probably opened to the smaller section of the building.
Typing on a laptop, Heather sat at a group of tables piled high with papers.
At tables near the left wall, two middle-aged females were flipping through brightly colored catalogs.
Heather looked up. “Hi, Madoc. André isn’t here if you’re looking for him.”
“No, it’s you I need to talk to.” He smiled, enjoying the pretty sight of her. She had a nice sturdy build, and her gold-brown flannel shirt and jeans delighted his sensible soul. The red-brown, shoulder-length hair was long enough for a male’s grip—but short enough it didn’t get tangled in everything.
Was there a term for sexy but practical?
He placed his bag on the table. “For you—in return for a list of the rest of the properties needing to be checked.”
An eyebrow lifted. Like her eyelashes, it was only a shade darker than her hair. She didn’t wear makeup, not that her beautiful blue-green eyes needed any. Being sensitive to the scent and taste of chemicals, he appreciated her restraint.
Peeking in the bag, she squeaked in surprise. “Donuts!”
Made him grin.
“I totally won this trade-off.” She pulled out a chocolate donut covered in glossy icing. “How’d you know my favorites?”
“Talitha was behind the counter and helped me choose. Said she knew you.” Madoc motioned toward the two other females. “Did André hire more accountants?”
Mouth full, she shook her head and finished her bite. “No, those tables are for the Gathering House’s decorating teams. Two or three shifters will pick a mating room and give me their specifications on how it should be remodeled—you know, like paint colors, cushions, and accessories.”
Right. Madoc and his brothers had discussed the plan only last night. André was moving fast. “One of my crews is repairing the major damage at the house today. It might take a couple of days before the others can get in.”
“Perfect.” Heather motioned toward oversized wall signs announcing a clan meeting and work party on Friday.
“What about—”
A group of females of various ages entered and headed for Heather. Politely, he stepped out of the way.
One gray-haired female took the lead. “Heather, Ina left us messages about coming in to see you.”
Heather beamed at them. “Thank you for coming. The new Cosantir was hoping you’d help sew new cushions for the mating rooms.”
“Finally.” A younger, redheaded female rolled her eyes. “Last month, I walked into a mating room where the seams on a down cushion had split open. It looked like a snowstorm.”
The rest laughed.
She shook her head. “It’s not funny. Can you imagine feathers in your hoo-haw?”
Madoc pretended to scratch his beard to hide his laugh.
“It’s good we’ll be making new cushions then.” The gray-haired female looked pleased.
“Exactly. The decorating teams are giving me their plans for each room with examples of the cushions they want.” Heather held up a sheet of paper. Attached was a paint strip with one color circled, along with magazine clippings showing three different cushions. “We can make a trip to Cle Elum and buy the fabric, stuffing, and any other materials.”
The youngest female shook her head. “I can’t afford to buy—”
“No, no, I explained badly,” Heather said. “Clan funds will pay for the materials and your time.”
The gray-haired one raised her eyebrows. “We’ll be paid?”
“Yes. The Cosantir says if you have sewing machines and know how to use them, he considers you skilled labor.” Heather grinned. “He is asking for volunteers to empty out the rooms and repaint them. It’ll be a clan workday, and considering the amount of food he ordered, it might also end up being a party.”
“Fun! I’m in—for both the sewing work and the volunteering.” The redhead bounced on her toes.
The others chorused agreement.
“Perfect.” Heather was beaming. “Can you visit the Gathering House and get an idea of the size, shape, and number of cushions needed for the rooms, so we know how much fabric to buy? I also need a way to get in touch with you. And when you’d like to go to Cle Elum if you want me to organize a van.”
“We’re on it.” One woman pulled out a sheet of paper and wrote her name, phone number, and email on it, then passed it to the next woman.
Impressed, Madoc eyed Heather. Not only organized, but a rather effective force of nature.
Leaving the females to it, he idly looked around the room. Had it been a store in a previous life? Big with a high ceiling. Tall windows facing the square—with iron grillwork his cahir brother would approve of.
There was a long counter running along the back wall, with a room beyond. Hmm. Had this been a restaurant before? After handing their list of names to Heather, the group of women headed out, already discussing the best time for a shopping trip.
