Thunder Moon (Nightcreature 8)

What good was a were-eagle anyway? I could see the advantage of a werewolf—faster, smarter, stronger, they had the abilities of wolves, with the addition of human intelligence and a lack of human compassion. Werewolves were the perfect killing machines.

If a man became an eagle, he’d theoretically have human intelligence with the abilities of a bird. Big deal. Sure the eagle was considered a great and terrible war beast by most Native American tribes, mine included. But that basically meant eagles could kick the crap out of every other bird on the planet. Humans? Not so much. What then was the advantage?

I guess I’d just have to pin one down and ask him.

Unfortunately, it appeared that everyone else in town had the same idea—not that Walker was a werewolf or even a were-eagle, but that they wanted to meet him, talk to him, welcome him to the neighborhood. His storefront was packed.

I approached the nearest loiterer, a member of the town council and former bank president, Hoyt Abernathy. “What’s up?”

Hoyt shuffled his feet, clad as always in a pair of slippers. When Hoyt had retired from the bank, he’d made a dress-shoe bonfire and worn nothing but soft soles ever since. In my opinion, a fantastic idea.

“Folks heard about poor Ms. G.,” he said, in a voice reminiscent of Eeyore on a very rainy day. To Hoyt everything was an indication of upcoming disaster. In a lot of cases, he was right.

“And?” I asked.

“They wanted to pay their respects, thank the new doctor.”

“What did he do?”

“Helped out one of our own in her last hour of need.”

“She was already dead when he got there,” I pointed out.

Hoyt shrugged.

I scowled at the sea of people in line ahead of me. Though I wanted to march right in and toss a silver bullet at Walker’s head, I was going to have to wait.

I should probably do this in a more private place anyway. What if he exploded on Center Street? How would I explain that?

I’d do better to ask Walker over to my place tonight for a get-acquainted drink. After the kiss we’d shared, he’d probably think it an invitation, and if his reaction this morning was any indication, he’d turn me down—unless I went about asking him just right.

Sadly, since I’d been elected sheriff, I had no patience for bullshit, and I’d lost any social graces I’d once had. Although most people who knew me would argue that I’d never really had any. Maybe a note would be a better idea than letting my mouth run free.

I caught a glimpse of Walker beyond the crowd, his long dark hair a delicious contrast to his stuffy suit and tie, and the idea of my mouth running free took on a whole different meaning.

Why did I keep having these flashes of lust? The guy could be part wolf, part eagle, 100 percent monster.

Maybe that was the attraction. For years I hadn’t felt a thing beyond a passing interest in any man from Lake Bluff, the same went for any of the tourists. But Walker, with all his secrets and contradictions and baggage, fascinated me.

I scribbled a note, then waded through the crowd making official noises. Unfortunately, by the time I got to the front of the line, everyone had gone silent, wondering why I was here. Walker was no help; he merely contemplated me with a slight curve to his lips and a lift of his brow.

“I... uh—” Hell. I couldn’t exactly hand him the note like a ten-year-old with a crush on the new kid, and I couldn’t ask him over to my place tonight without the same problem.

“Thank you for your help today.” I held out my hand. He took it, and I pressed the note into his palm.

Not even a flicker passed over his face when the paper transferred between us. No doubt he’d had this happen to him before, which only embarrassed me more.

“You’re welcome.” He released my hand and casually put his into the pocket of his pants.

I turned away, nodding at the townsfolk, noticing people from every walk of life—old, young, rich, poor, white, black, and Indian—although the majority had to be twenty-something single women. A new man in town, they couldn’t help themselves. They probably thought I couldn’t, either.

I was not a desperate old maid hitting on the new young stud. I wasn’t. I’d invited him to my house to figure out what he was.

Man or beast? Human or monster? What if he came to my place in animal form?

I gave a mental shrug. That would only make it easier to shoot him. Because, despite my tough exterior, my determination to keep Lake Bluff safe from anything that might threaten it, I still wasn’t certain I could put a silver bullet into a man just to be sure.

The rest of the day was full of both the mundane tasks of a small-town sheriff and the atypical happenings that came with tourists and the aftermath of a terrible storm.