Page 12 of Enemy Wolf

Before even looking at his bill, I marched over to the front door and slid the deadbolt into place. Not that it would stop that psycho dragon shifter, but I was just following instincts. My heart was already pounding, the emptiness of my bar feeling like a vast cavern. Shit, would I ever feel comfortable being alone in this place again?

I stood by the door for a while just trying to calm my erratic heartbeat and listen for the sound of beating wings. All I heard was the sound of motorcycles driving away and then silence.

Once I felt slightly more confident that the dragon wasn’t showing up anytime soon, I returned to the bar to close out Orson’s tab. His receipt was sitting on top of something, most likely a cash tip, but that wasn’t what grabbed my attention first.

I picked up the slip of paper he’d signed and also…drawn on?

In the margin of the receipt, he’d done a fast but eerily accurate pen sketch of a wolf, with its head down, ears back, and tail low. Its eyes were looking up, round and puppy-like, as if it was sad or pleading.

Or maybe apologetic?

Setting the paper aside, I looked at what he’d placed underneath, and my eyes went wide.

He’d left a massive cash tip. One that would have been generous for ten drinks, and completely outrageous for just one. I didn’t even accept tips, for the most part. Some customers left small amounts or didn’t take their change, but I set up my pricing structure to pay myself and any employees a fair wage without the need for tips.

Even so, influences from the United States in the human world sometimes bled over into our world. Some customers insisted on it, and it was easier to accept graciously than argue over it.

But this?

This was way too much.

And Orson had to know that, so what the hell was his deal? Did he think this would make up for his behavior the other night?

With a sigh, I counted out what he owed for the drink and put the rest in an envelope. Once I finished my closing duties and shut the lights off, I took the envelope with me to my apartment.

Tomorrow, I would tell him where he could shove his money “apology”.

Chapter 5

Orson

I replayed the video in slow motion, not wanting to miss anything. The picture was grainy due to the lack of light and not in color, but it was crisp enough to see who all came in and out of Stout & Spirit last night.

I saw myself park my motorcycle out front and make my way inside. I took note of every face that entered and made sure those exact same people left. Everyone was accounted for, and none of them looked suspicious. I closed out the recording once the bar lights turned off and the light in Shiloh’s apartment turned on.

Immediately, I went to the camera’s live feed, which showed the bar in real time. The image was sharper now that it was daylight, and Shiloh’s car was gone. Probably running errands before opening for business again tonight.

I leaned back in my chair and rubbed the center of my chest where my wolf had been kicking up a storm since we installed the tree cameras.

“There’s nothing wrong,” I said. “Everything was normal last night.”

My animal wasn’t satisfied. She is not safe. Someone has hurt our witch. We must find them.

“Will you stop calling her that?” I groaned, rubbing my eyes. “She’s not ours. She’s just a witch that hates me.”

She is ours!

You need to stop that, or I’m going to start believing you, I thought in reply.

He was not wrong that she’d been hurt though. Shiloh had a huge white bandage around her arm last night, from her wrist to nearly her elbow. I’d planned to ask about it when I paid for my drink, but she’d been talking to Riley and Sawyer, then got busy with closing up. I didn’t want to delay her any longer, plus she didn’t seem to want to talk to me anyway.

Also, I’d kind of forgotten everything I wanted to say.

I did want to apologize for the night before, had even practiced and planned what I would say. But once my nose caught that citrus and spice on the air, all the words left so that my head could fill with the scent of her instead.

So I said nothing, as usual.

It was better than being rude, I guess. But she already thought I was, so my Irish goodbye probably didn’t make me look any better in her view.

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