As a hunter, I was considered a subset of wizards, since I was a human with magic. But I couldn’t use elemental magic like regular wizards; instead, I had hunter magic. Some forms of hunter magic are innate, and all werewolf hunters get them—like higher stamina and the ability to make trap spells. But my pheromones were examples of genetic magic that’s only passed down through hunter family lines.
My pheromones—which were similar to the kind puppies give off—were the hunter magic hallmark of my mom’s family tree. It was an awesome defense mechanism, as it inspired a wolf’s protective instincts and made them way less likely to harm or kill me.
Werewolves, like their wild counterparts, adore puppies. The Pack would do anything to keep them safe. And since I smelled similar to a puppy, it made me particularly appealing to hug to the already affectionate werewolves.
The downside was that they saw me more as a dog than a human, much less a female.
I’d made that particularly rude discovery multiple times in my years with the Northern Lakes Pack.
I held my phone high so I could see it over the muscles of Aeric’s arm. “Could we speed this up a little? I don’t want to be late for my shift.”
“You are too much of a workaholic,” Aeric told me. “You need to relax.”
“Mayor Pearl will complain if I don’t open the welcome center before eight,” I reminded him.
“The welcome center doesn’t fall under city management—it’s a privately owned business.” Wyatt smoothed his dark brown hair, which he’d gelled into a business-casual look for the day. “Mayor Pearl can’t do more than complain—and even if you opened the center up half an hour early, she’d complain anyway. I think she’d shrivel up like a dead leaf if she didn’t have something to be disagreeable about.” Wyatt snapped his teeth, producing a loud, clicking sound that would have made the hair on the back of my neck stand up if I wasn’t so used to the untamed power werewolves radiate.
“Yes, but I don’t want her complaining to Greyson.” I couldn’t help the frown of distaste that pulled at my lips when I said his name.
Greyson was the Alpha of the Northern Lakes Pack—which had become the biggest Pack in the Midwest over the past few years. He was a decent Alpha, but I wasn’t…fond of him.
I didn’t appreciate the way he had become the Pack Alpha, and his personality was a real drawback in my opinion.
“Whatever. We’ll walk you to the welcome center so the harpy doesn’t bother you.” Aeric finally released me from the bear hug, though he draped one arm over Wyatt and the other over me, pushing us farther down the gravel path.
I marched ahead, but Wyatt slightly tilted his head, his eyes going up as he listened to something my human ears couldn’t hear.
A moment later, my hunter senses kicked in, and I felt a werewolf draw closer to us.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
Aeric hauled Wyatt and me along with him as he turned around to face the speaker.
Wyatt straightened his shoulders and bowed his head—Aeric mimicking him—to the mild-mannered werewolf who was watching us with a bemused smile.
As a hunter, I wasn’t bound to the same Pack dynamics that had Wyatt and Aeric bowing, so I just grinned. “Hey, Hector. Is Ember around?”
Hector smoothed his precisely trimmed goatee. “I believe she is speaking to Greyson at the moment. Why, did you need something?” He looked deceptively casual as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his suitcoat, which he wore despite knowing it was going to be beastly hot in the afternoon. His suit was a dark navy color, which set off his russet-colored skin perfectly—that was probably the work of Ember, his wife.
I used my left foot to scratch an itch on the calf of my right leg. “I was just wondering if she’d heard from Chase. She said she was going to call him when I saw her yesterday morning.”
“Ah.” Hector adjusted his dapper red bowtie. “In that case I will be certain to pass on your wish to speak to her. I imagine she’ll drop by the welcome center this morning.” Hector smiled, making him seem even more benevolent than usual.
Standing about as tall as Wyatt, but with the mild manners of a professor, Hector appeared to the untrained eye to be less physically impressive.
I, however, knew from my training sessions that Hector could rip the door off a car with ease—which was how I learned it was not safe to hide from werewolves in any vehicle other than a tank. （And maybe not even tanks.）