“The boss wants the tree down, so we’re taking it down,” the blond hunk said, sweat glistening across his bare, muscled chest.
It was the night of the full moon, and fucking Brock the Cock sent two newbie werewolves to cut down a tree on my property? I’d kill him! Was he hoping I got attacked, or that I would shoot his wolves, and get in trouble with the Supernatural Council?
“Those trees aren’t his to cut down,” I shouted. “My grandmother loved those trees! They’re part of my inheritance.”
Blondie shrugged and kept sawing, while the red-haired one swept his shirt from where he’d discarded it on the ground, and wiped at his face. The ginger was just as hot as the other one, and I suspected the alpha hadn’t really sent them to cut down a tree but to taunt me.
He must think I was some kind of slut. Sure, I’d behaved like one, but just for the one night. Didn’t he realize it wasn’t my usual M.O.?
He thought I was going to, what, swoon over the two werewolves and invite them into my bed, where I’d be distracted and forget that he was about to tear down what was mine? Fat chance.
To add insult to injury, he’d sent dudes who weren’t him to tempt me. Werewolves were notoriously possessive. Alphas were borderline crazy with how possessive they were about their women. He’d sent his underlings as a big eff-you, to show that I meant nothing to him. Yeah? Well, two could play this game. Hadn’t he learned that already?
Without another word, I spun on my heel, and stalked into the house.
I unbuckled my weapons belt, which I always wore, even if I was grieving, and placed it on the table. Then I shed my jeans and top and picked up my cell.
After sauntering onto the porch in my skimpy unmentionables, I grinned inside as the two wolves stopped what they were doing to ogle. Blondie stilled mid-saw.
“Don’t let me interrupt you, boys,” I called, like the vixen I was.
Ginger patted at his forehead again, and I took perverse pleasure in the hard-on that was springing to life in his pants, big enough that I could make out its outline from where I was. Who was tempted now?
I sauntered across the length of the porch, staring at my cell, while looking at them through my peripheral vision. Blondie’s jaw dropped as I put my ass on display in my thong.
Ha! Brock sent them to distract me. Well, who was distracted now? Take that, you fucker! I hoped he was watching with binoculars.
Croft’s contact listing popped up on the screen, and I pressed dial. Out on the porch I had one tiny bar of signal. If the vamp wouldn’t come through, maybe I could go online and find some kind of property sitter. Like a babysitter, only for cabins.
“Croft,” the vamp answered, all business.
Wickedly, I smiled at the wolves, whose eyes were pinned on me and only on me. Who said you couldn’t have fun while you worked?
“I need a favor. I’ve got some important business in town. Is there any way you could… cabin sit for me? Make sure this alpha douchebag doesn’t tear it down while I’m gone?”
Please say yes, please be so indebted to my Gran that you can’t refuse.
“I’m sorry, Evie. I’m busy tonight.” His denial cut me in two.
Fuck.
“Although my blood mistress can do it. She’s human, but of course is knowledgeable about the supernatural community, and doesn’t frighten easily.”
Relief descended on me with his words. “That would be awesome. I could pay her… a little… when my next job comes in.”
I might need this girl more than just tonight. Blood mistresses were hard to find, willing humans who weren’t scared of the creatures that went bump in the night. I’d need a tough chick to face down Brock if he came, and tried to intimidate her.
“Perfect. Molly will be there in twenty minutes,” Croft replied, and hung up the phone.
The two idiot werewolves were still staring at me, mouths open.
An idea lit up my mind, and I dashed in the house back to my laptop. A simple internet search gave me Brock’s phone number. It seemed he also ran a construction business in town, building mansions for other stupid rich people. He was a contractor. Awesome.
I pushed away my fantasy of seeing him in nothing but a hard hat and tool belt—hey, can you blame me?—and rushed back outside to dial his number.
The two stupid werewolves were still ogling me, no doubt wondering if I was going to invite them in for a good time.
“Brock Adams,” he answered on the first ring.
