Alpha Wolf

“Sure.” Rusty or not, this was a date. She wasn’t here to be super vet, lecture the guy against feeding his injured friend table scraps instead of sticking to dog food. Drew’s raised eyebrows suggested he was prepared for her to give him an earful. Instead, she shrugged and smiled. The extra treat would be good for Grunge’s recovery.

Their waitress, Crystal, soon came over bearing glasses of water, and a notepad to take their order. “Decided what you want?” She was an older lady with a bored expression. She had served Melanie before. They gave their orders and Crystal moseyed off.

“Where are you from, Melanie?” Drew took a sip of water, and his unusual amber eyes regarded her steadily, as if he gave a damn about her answer.

“L.A. And you?”

“A huge place like that, and you wind up in pintsized Mary Glen? Why?”

“Why not?” she countered, slightly miffed that he had ignored her question. He’d asked, and she had responded. It was his turn. But she decided not to make an issue of it. “It’s a great area,” she finally said. “Lots of people with pets. And obviously a vet’s services are needed. And you? Where are you from? And why are you—”

Before he could answer—assuming he would—Angie appeared at their table. “Why would you do such a thing, Melanie?” Although her voice wasn’t raised, her words pelted Melanie as if hurled at her. “How could you save the life of a…a murdering creature like that? Didn’t you know what he was?”

Melanie blinked as she stared up at the obviously upset woman. “Would you like to sit down, Angie?”

“No,” Angie snapped. “Everyone in town knows about that supposed dog you found last night, Melanie. I heard that a bunch of reporters came to ask you about it, and you didn’t even have the courtesy to tell them the truth.”

Melanie swallowed the retort that sprang to her lips.

“Dr. Harding told the truth, Angie,” Drew said, his voice low. “She saved my dog’s life.”

“Why didn’t you just let that creature die?” Angie didn’t look at Drew as tears flowed from her puffy eyes.

Melanie felt herself stiffen. She hadn’t sought answers about who had harmed Grunge. That was Angus Ellenbogen’s job. But now she had to know. “Did you shoot that poor dog, Angie? Or do you know who did?”

“Someone smart,” the woman shot back. “And brave. Oh, yes, I’d have done it if I’d been there and seen that damned wolf, believe me. I knew it was a full moon last night. Everyone talked about it. I thought about hunting, but…but…I was afraid. And now one of our tourists is suffering because I was a coward.” Her last words came out in a wail.

Swallowing her anger, Melanie put a comforting arm around Angie’s back as the woman began to sob.

“I don’t understand,” Melanie said, puzzled. What was wrong with the woman? How could she—

“You saved the life of a fiend,” Angie screeched. “A shapeshifter. A werewolf, the one who must have chewed up poor Sheila Graves. And he, or a creature just like him, killed my husband.”

Chapter Five

“I don’t know what hurt that tourist,” Drew said, his voice low as he leaned over the table, “but the way I heard it, Angie killed her own husband.”

Melanie had watched a waitress she didn’t know lead Angie from the table. She turned back to face her dinner companion, expecting to see a joking smile on his face. Instead, it remained somber. Serious.

And damned sexy.

How could those eyes of his be so excruciatingly intense?

He leaned back, lifting his glass of the house Merlot and taking a healthy sip. He continued to watch, as if awaiting her response. Was she supposed to laugh?

“I…I don’t know how to react to that,” Melanie said truthfully. “Care to elaborate?”

Crystal approached, carrying plates heaped with steak, fries, and small green salads. Mostly comfort food. And right then, Melanie needed all the comfort she could get.

This was all too much. Too incredible. A sweet, severely injured dog—her patient—accused of being a wild, mythical creature. A visitor to Mary Glen attacked, purportedly by just such a non-existent beast. And now, their hostess had claimed that one of the area’s legendary creatures had actually killed someone.

“T-bone?” Crystal looked from one of them to the other.

“Here,” Drew said, and the waitress thumped a plate down in front of him.

When Melanie’s sirloin dinner, too, was set down noisily, Crystal rounded on Melanie. “I don’t know what you said to upset Angie, but I know what you did. Oh, sure, the werewolves bring in tourist money and are good for this town in some ways. But when they hurt people—well, killing them cleanly with silver bullets is too good for them. And for people who help them.”

Drew suddenly stood over Crystal. His smile held no humor. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were threatening Dr. Harding,” he said. “Not a good idea, Crystal, to scare off your restaurant’s guests. I think an apology is in order.”

“No need.” Melanie kept her tone light to try to defuse the uncomfortable situation, though she appreciated Drew’s attempt to defend her. “But I’d like to eat before our dinners get cold.”

“Angie’s husband, Bill, was a good man,” Crystal muttered and stalked away.

Melanie felt every eye in the diner focused on them. But damn if she’d let herself feel embarrassed and slink out. She’d done nothing wrong.

As Drew remained standing, muscles clearly tense beneath his T-shirt, Melanie pasted a challenging smile on her face and shot it toward some of those who stared—until they were uncomfortable enough to turn away.

When Drew sat back down, his anger had apparently dissipated. Turned into something else, maybe. The way he studied her so intensely, his gaze hinting of wry humor and appreciation, shot little sparks through her veins, simmering her blood.

Okay, knock it off, she told herself. So what if this gorgeous, sexy guy looked at her as if she was a woman, not just a veterinarian? He was a military man. Weren’t they all full of uncontrolled testosterone? She, on the other hand, was completely under control.

“You’ve got guts, Doc.” His tone sounded approving. She liked the feeling it elicited from her. Not that she’d show it.

She shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. “Obviously, this werewolf legend has a lot of believers around here, not just the tourists. Angie certainly takes it seriously. Crystal, too, I guess.” She carved off a bite of steak and tasted it. “This is good. Maybe it’s even worth all this aggravation.”

“Maybe.” Drew bit into a healthy chunk of his meat.

“But maybe not,” Melanie continued. “Now would be an excellent time for you to elaborate on what you said before. Angie obviously blames werewolves for killing her husband. You said she did it herself. What happened?”

She glanced around. Not a single patron seemed to be paying attention to them. If anything, they were making a studious effort to ignore them.

A good thing.

Drew took another bite. “Okay, here’s what I heard. It was the night of a full moon, which was handy for the story Angie later told. She was driving, and her husband was her passenger. They’d both been drinking. Maybe they were arguing, but only she would know that. I gathered that they had a roller coaster of a relationship. The way Angie tells it, they were on a twisty road surrounded by woods when they rounded a bend. There, in the middle of the pavement, stood what looked like a wolf. She swerved to miss it, but its eyes glowed, and not just like something reflecting headlights but throwing off some kind of internal, hypnotic light.”

“Is that part of the werewolf legend?” The little bit of research into the mythic creatures that Melanie had begun on the Internet hadn’t disclosed that detail.

“Not that I’ve ever heard of. Although I don’t claim to know all the nonsensical parts of werewolf tales. Anyway, she claims the thing stood up on two legs and launched itself at her car, and was strong enough to shove it toward the trees. There was a crash. She survived. Her husband didn’t.”

Melanie twisted her fork in her salad. “That’s why you said she killed her own husband. So maybe her werewolf story is a rationalization, to keep her from feeling guilty.”

“Assuming she even believes it herself. Could be that they were fighting and she crashed the car on purpose to get rid of the guy. Or not,” Drew added as Melanie glared at him.

“One way or another, the poor woman was driving, and she lost her husband. If it was an accident because she thought she saw something, or even if it was due to an angry impulse, she’s probably still grieving.”

He nodded. “I’ve never heard anyone mention the wolf, or, more likely, a dog, that she might have hit on the road that night. Maybe it had a grieving family, too.”

Melanie’s fork stalled halfway to her mouth. That sounded like something she would say. “Guess you’re really an animal lover, too,” she said.