The Art of Seducing a Naked Werewolf (Naked Werewolf 2)

Mo cleared her throat and pitched her voice into an intentionally cheerful tone. “Speaking of your brother—”

“If the next words out of your mouth have anything to do with sex, I can and will hurt you.”

“Fine,” she said, frowning. “Then the next words out of my mouth will be ‘fire extinguisher.’ “

I scowled at her, self-consciously rubbing at the crown of my head, where she’d actually once beaned me with a fire extinguisher to break up a tiny altercation between Cooper and me. Total overreaction on her part.

“Speaking of my brother,” I prompted her, while sending her a mildly threatening glare as Mom opened the front door of our snug house on the outskirts of the village.

Mo and I stepped through the door as Mom strode into the kitchen to make tea. That was what she did when she was angry . . . or upset . . . or happy. Really, she was an all-occasion tea drinker.

I pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, wondering how long I would be apologizing for this latest misstep.

“Cooper wanted to know if you could drop by the Glacier in the morning.”

“Why not the house?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Well, there’s someone he wants you to meet, or at least see.”

I groaned at Mo. “Mo, please tell me he isn’t going to try to set me up on some lame blind date.”

“Not quite. There’s a guy who’s been coming around the saloon asking questions about the attacks last year. Cooper thinks he’s some sort of investigator. Nicholas Thatcher, PhDs. As in, he has more than one. He’s not your typical Paranormal State wacko. There’s not a dowsing crystal in sight. He seems to be doing actual scientific research. Since you’re alpha, Cooper wants you to come by and get a look at him, see what you think.”

I quirked my lips at her. “That was low.”

She grinned at me. I was the youngest leader in our pack’s history and eager to prove my mettle. I’d inherited the job under less than ideal circumstances from our previous alpha, creepy-ass—and by no coincidence thoroughly dead—Eli, who took over the job for my self-exiled brother.

It’s a long story.

I took my job as pack leader seriously, and Mo knew the best way to get to me was to appeal to my position. She could be a conniving, sneaky wench, our Mo . . . hence my being the tiniest bit fond of her.

“Why the big discussion? Let’s just get rid of him. Run him back to the lower forty-eight. Or we could go with a slightly less pleasant, but bloody and satisfying, second option.”

“Cooper and I think you should meet him before you jump to any conclusions.”

“Fine, I’ll meet him, and then maybe his tires develop problems while he’s in the saloon, and he ends up careening into a ditch, never to be heard from again.”

“You’re a werewolf, not a hit man.”

“It’ll look like an accident.”

My mother shot me a sharp look, snatching the kettle from the stove with a clatter. “How many family conversations are going to be interrupted by me telling you, no, you can’t kill someone and make it look like an accident? Now, would you two please sit down and drink this tea before it gets cold?”

“Yes, ma’am,” we chorused sheepishly, taking seats at the table.

“Way to go, you got us into trouble,” I grumbled.

“I wasn’t the one planning the cold-blooded murder of a complete stranger,” Mo stage-whispered.

“No, you only plan cold-blooded murders when someone takes the last chocolate chess square without asking.”

“A girl’s got to have her priorities,” Mo insisted.

2

I’m a Loser, Baby . . .