Page 32 of Hellhounds Never Lie

To know that the pack in the hills had given up living here to live in the woods in those flimsy shacks was shocking. What could have driven them away from here? What didn’t I know?

“Why would they have left this place?”

Ash rolled his shoulders. “I don’t know the details, just that it happened around the time that the last alpha died.”

Right, I’d forgotten he was fairly new to Willow Lake too.

“I don’t really see what anyone would want to steal from here.” Ash glanced around the room. “I know Ulric, the old guy who opened the inn, had some kind of magic, but I don’t feel anything here, do you?”

I let my hellhound’s senses rise. A partial shift didn’t give me as much power as a full shift, but it did allow me to see most magic. Nothing revealed itself. So, whatever Rob was after, it wasn’t in this part of the building.

“I don’t sense anything either,” I said.

With nothing to discover here, we didn’t linger in the foyer but turned right, toward the hall leading to the pub. I didn’t need Ash to tell me where it was. The noise of conversation and laughter was loud enough to direct me to the right door, particularly when the rest of the building seemed eerily quiet. I doubted anyone was even staying at the inn.

When we pushed through the door connecting the inn to the pub, I was struck by the strange medley of magical energies. It was more intense than the general cacophony of magics in the town itself. This wasn’t residual energy; this was active.

I scanned the place quickly but didn’t see any threats—just a lot of supes of every description all mixing together. The space itself was cozy, although it was obviously a slightly newer addition. The wood detailing wasn’t as ornate as the main part of the inn, but it was still finely crafted. Whoever designed it had obviously drawn inspiration from British pubs, with its dark green painted walls, dark beadboard wainscotting, and gleaming brass fittings on the bar. Under the expected aromas of cleaning products, beer, and greasy food was the familiar scent of wolf, as if the original pack’s scent would always be embedded into the very foundations of the place.

“Van’s here,” Ash murmured, nodding toward the hellhound leaning against the bar.

One of Van’s eyebrows lifted when he spied us together. Then he nodded, as if to say he’d be with us in a minute.

“Probably checking on the owner,” I said.

Ash nodded. “Right. He mentioned that last night, didn’t he?”

“At least we won’t have to make another stop at the police station now.”

Ash’s eyes twinkled when he looked up at me. “Eager to get back to the apartment?”

“Well, we do have to change the lock,” I said, mustering the most innocent expression I could.

“Of course, that’s what you were thinking about,” Ash teased. The way his hand squeezed mine suggested he was on board with going back to his place for some privacy too.

Even this early in the day, the place was filled with supes of every description. I tugged Ash closer as he led me deeper into the pub. Given the way he leaned into me, he didn't seem to mind the protective gesture or showing people that we were together, which would be good, because with so many shifters here, there would be no secrets. Every shifter in the place would know we’d had sex. A lot of sex. It didn’t matter that we’d showered before leaving the apartment, we stank of one another.

I loved it.

When Ash stifled a yawn, I frowned. Neither of us had gotten much sleep last night. Or this morning. Maybe we should have tried harder to make lunch with the random things he kept in his cupboards, so we could turn in for a nap right after filling our bellies.

But Ash had been determined to get out of the apartment. Very determined. There was a story there, I was sure of it. Had someone tried to keep him safely tucked away at home after he’d been attacked by his boyfriend? Had he been scared to leave his house? I was sure it was one of those things.

I hoped he wasn’t forcing himself to leave his apartment now because he was afraid. I didn’t think Rob’s wolves would return for me. They’d tried and failed. Rob seemed more greedy than vengeful. I doubted he’d send more of his wolves for me. It was too great a risk, with very little reward, especially when there was money to be made at the inn.

Then again, Rob had to know by now I’d talked to the police. Would he even try to carry out the robbery now? I frowned. I doubted the alpha would call it off, especially since he had that magical pendant. And, honestly, he could afford to be a little cocky when he owned such a powerful artifact.

Behind the long bar lined with barstools, which was on the left as we entered, was a youngish man with a mess of brown curly hair. That had to be Jake, the oracle. The one who’d drawn a vision of me running from the wolves. He glanced at us and nodded to Ash. He didn’t seem to recognize me, but in his drawing, I’d probably been in my hellhound form.

A woman, who was sitting on one of the barstools in front of him, twisted in her seat to see what had caught the bartender’s attention. A pink jacket hung over the back of her chair and her matching pink shirt looked like it was at least two sizes too small for her big breasts. Her eyes lit up when she spied me, and she smoothed her hand over her hair.

I didn’t need to scent her to know she was a succubus. It was considered rude to stereotype supes based on their species, but some magical beings had obvious commonalities with the rest of their species. A succubus was one of those supes. They were always interested in sex—it was how they replenished their magic, after all—and often spread their pheromones all over the place hoping to snare a willing participant. This one was looking in the wrong place, though, if she was looking at me. I was smitten with a certain fire mage and not even the most powerful succubus would catch my attention now.

To the right side was a pool table and a few dartboards. Both supes and humans were clustered around the area, seeming to mix comfortably together. Usually, humans shied away from supe hangouts, so I was surprised to see so many.

As if to prove the point about just how bizarre this place was, I spotted a large old troll hunched over a foul looking drink in an alcove close to the pool table. Trolls were usually reclusive and antisocial, and yet here he was, sitting within a few feet of some rowdy shifters and humans.

Willow Lake was strange.