Sunshyne and the Werewolf

Sunshyne and the Werewolf

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2018 Michelle Grotewohl

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Sunshyne Warwick entered the tavern and stomped her booted feet, sprinkling the already-sodden floor with the rain drops that had coated her cloak during her walk. Luckily, the weather had only changed a short time ago, so she wasn't completely drenched. However, considering she'd been traveling for days and was in a hurry, she wasn't particularly pleased with the show that Gaia had decided to put on, especially when she’d had to slow down so as not to lose her footing on the rock-strewn road outside.

Leaving her hood up for the time being so as not to attract unwanted attention in a room full of men, she searched the room for the man- Beast- Tracker she'd come looking for.

She wasn't entirely sure what he looked like, had only heard he was hugely tall and massively muscular and had dark hair. She figured, however, that since he was a werewolf, or so people had said, she'd be able to recognize him, perhaps by his filthy appearance, or distinct 'outdoorsy' smell. Someone had said he was often hard to understand, due to the odd way he spoke, which she assumed was due to poor education.

She'd also heard, when inquiring as to someone that might be able to help her find her missing sister, that he was the best tracker due to his curse. She would have trouble trusting him, of course, because she'd been taught to despise werewolves- Once, long ago, her coven had owned them as slaves. This werewolf’s ancestors, to be specific. After nearly a century of servitude, they had revolted, rising against the witches and destroying half of her family before escaping.

Naturally, she was against slavery for many reasons, but the fact remained that his kind had diminished her coven's numbers drastically, and so to her he was basically an animal hiding in human skin. Unfortunately, she needed someone like him, someone- something- with the ability to speak and understand her while still having the heightened senses required to track a human being.

She came out of her head when a man at the bar chuckled loudly, though as far as she could tell, he was there alone and talking to no one.

Focusing properly now, she saw there was a pair of shady-looking men sitting across from each other at a table against the far wall, whispering back and forth like they were planning something. By their slim build and unkempt appearance, she would guess they were thieves.

Wholly unconcerned with them- as a witch, she had means of protecting herself- she cast her gaze toward the next patron.

The single man who'd chuckled a moment ago sat drowning himself in whiskey at the bar, being served by a slightly older gentleman who appeared bored. Given the look of the drunkard and how intoxicated he was, it was possible he was the werewolf, but he didn't have the correct coloring.

The last occupant was sitting alone at a table in the middle of the room, leaning negligently back in his chair, one arm slung over the back, with his feet stretched out before him on very long legs. He was very handsome, with brown hair that was just long enough to fall around his ears and shirt collar, and alert brown eyes that took in everything without seeming to focus on anything at all.

His vest and braes were dark leather, his shirt pale linen and clean. If she took a guess, he was well-off but not wealthy. Overall, he was more than presentable, and didn't really fit in with the dim room surrounding him. Neither did she, really, as this establishment seemed to cater to darker characters.

Since none of these men seemed to be the werewolf, she guessed he must have gone upstairs already, as someone in town had told her he'd come in here not that long ago.

Annoyed that her search was now that much more difficult due to his retiring early, she decided to approach the handsome man to inquire if he’d seen the werewolf, or if he'd seen someone matching the werewolf's description come in. Of all the tavern’s patrons, he seemed most likely to be able to have a coherent conversation with her; the fact that she found him visually appealing didn't hurt.

Calmly, she approached his table, noticing that his gaze whipped to her before she'd taken two steps and stayed with her until she reached his table.

As she lifted her hands to lower her hood, she saw him casually drop his hand into his lap near his hip and the knife he likely kept there for protection.

Ignoring that in the hopes he'd see she wasn't nervous and so he shouldn't be, either, she lowered the hood on her cloak, exposing light gold hair surrounding a face with big blue eyes and a full mouth.

His eyebrows lifted the tiniest bit, his lips quirked ever-so-slightly upward at the corners, and his weapon hand came back calmly to rest on the table.

Hello. I'm wondering if you can help me. I'm looking for someone, and I was told he was here.

His head cocked to the side a bit as he considered her, and he lifted his head slightly, gesturing for her to continue.

His name is Cage Hawthorne. Do you know him?

His eyes hardened a touch, telling her he definitely knew something about the werewolf, or at least the man the beast pretended to be. Who's asking? he grumbled in a voice that was heavy with a Scottish accent.

It sang through her, making her heart beat fast and her stomach tighten. Her father's family had originally come from Scotland, so it was the sound of her heritage. She knew that for some, it would be difficult to understand, but she'd grown up listening to her father and his parents speak the same way, so she wouldn't miss a word. And if this man’s speech made her a little warm in certain places, only she would know.

His eyes narrowed slightly as his head turned a fraction, so his nearest ear was facing her more directly, like he was listening for something. She realized she'd been quiet too long and hurried to think of something to say.

Trying to act more confident than she felt, she said, I am.

And who are you?

I'm Sunshyne. Are you his protector or something? She'd heard that some creatures, like werewolves and vampires, sometimes had a lackey that would travel with them, to act as their eyes while they slept.

The Scot smirked, setting her heart thumping even harder. A man like Cage Hawthorne doesn't need protecting. He can take care of himself quite well.

A little of her desire for him disappeared with the cocky tone on his friend's behalf, so she was easily able to pull off the confidence in her speech when she spoke again. Well, then, if you can give me his room number or point me in his direction, I'll leave you alone.

After a moment where she assumed he was deciding she was absolutely no threat to his friend, he lifted a hand with his finger raised to point, then whipped said digit in his own direction. You found me, love.

Sunshyne goggled. "You're Cage Hawthorne?"

He nodded. Aye, lass. What can I do for you?

She wanted to scold him for leading her to believe he was someone other than himself, but knew that wouldn't help her accomplish her goal. So she quickly composed herself and said, Would you mind if I sat?

With one long leg, he pushed the chair across from his away from the table.

Smiling gratefully, she lifted her hands to undo the thick cord that held her cloak closed, then spread the lapels and removed the heavy garment to drape it over the back of the chair. Surreptitiously, she'd watched the werewolf's face for a reaction, and when the medium-blue dress that fit her torso like a second skin and pushed her breasts upward came into view, one of his eyebrows lifted and his mouth went a little slack.

She'd purposely worn the dress because she knew how she looked in it, had hoped it would at least get her an invitation for a few drinks, if not invited up to his room where she could use her magic to convince him to help her. She'd gotten the seat, would initiate the drinks, but hoped showing him what her body looked like would entice him to take her upstairs.

As if she'd seen nothing, she lowered into the chair and laced her fingers on the table before her. Can we have some drinks? I'm a little nervous. She gave him a faint smile, then pulled her lower lip into her mouth as though anxious.

He appeared curious about her statement. Sure. He gestured to the bartender, who nodded and grabbed two small glasses. A moment later, each of them had a shot of some clear liquor before them.

Cage lifted his glass and toasted her, then tossed his back.

After running a finger around the rim of her glass, Sunshyne did the same, and the werewolf's eyebrows lifted again.

Very nice, he muttered with a smirk.

She shivered, offered him a forced smile, then gestured to the bartender herself for another shot for each of them.

Why are you nervous, Sunshyne?

She looked briefly into his eyes, then down at her lap. I've never done anything like this before.

His head tilted to the side, reminding her of a dog that was trying to fine tune its hearing. She wondered what he thought she was implying, hoped it was exactly what she was trying to portray, that she'd been sent to him for sexual reasons.

I see. So what do you need my 'help' with? There was a smirk in his voice though it wasn't on his face, and she felt secure that she had mislead him adequately.

The bartender brought two more shots to the table, and after thanking him, Cage mumbled, Keep them coming.

Since Sunshyne wanted exactly that, she didn't argue, just fingered her glass before downing the liquid inside. Mr. Hawthorne-

Cage.

She nodded, had some trouble getting his name past her lips. "Cage, then. Before I tell you why I'm here, I'd like to ask you some questions, to make sure you are who you say you are and not