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Dmitri

"I need you to keep a close eye on the builders and ensure they keep to the schedule. We need the relocations to the new properties done as swiftly as possible so that we can make room for the new recruits," I say to Ivan, who is sitting opposite me, sipping a Coke.

We are currently in a booth at the only diner in Willow Falls. Fred's Diner seems to have become an instant hit with Ivan, as they apparently do a 'mean breakfast,' and his obsession with bacon is unrivaled. Nearly all the tables are full of a mixture of the town's folk and some of our relocating pack members who accompanied us to the new housing site for an inspection. As newcomers to the town, the rumor mill is churning, and our physiques are adding fuel to the fire. Werewolves and Lycans are by no means small in stature.

"Will do. I have already made arrangements with our security team to review what is needed to beef up the security on the properties. They will be installing the best security systems as soon as renovations are complete." Ivan finishes just as I hear the door of the diner open.

I stiffen, the breeze carrying with it a scent that is as delicious as it is mysterious. And with my back to the door, I cannot see its owner. But what it smells like is decadence. Spicy cinnamon with another scent I cannot pinpoint. Disturbing, considering I have been alive for centuries and know every scent there is. While cinnamon is the top note, the base notes are even more delicious. Jasmine and apple. So exquisitely subtle, even a werewolf would struggle to scent it unless they were right up against the source.

It's appealing, more so because it's unusual to smell a human, which this clearly is, with a natural fragrance. Most cover theirs with perfume. It's a unique scent I don't think I will ever forget, and one I have a totally irrational desire to scent roll in.

I shake my head slightly, trying to diffuse the heady feeling that has overcome me while also fighting the intense desire to turn around and satisfy my curiosity as to the scent owner's appearance. The last thing I need is a distraction.

"Hey Anton, the usual, please." Fuck. A voice as sweet as the scent. Even and firm, with a hint of authority that I doubt she is even aware of. There is no wonder every person in the diner is staring at her. That thought elicits a warning growl, sending all wolves' eyes downwards.

"It's the woman who owns the shop down the block, Sky's Naturals," Ivan says, clearly sensing there is an issue, with her as the root cause. "She makes handmade creams and stuff, really good according to the locals. Some of them claim her creams are a 'miracle' and even say that the longer they use it, the more it feels like their ailment is reversing, as if it never existed."

Ivan, as if in a trance, is staring at the woman, his expression perplexed.

"There's something wrong with her." If he didn't have my full attention before, he has it now.

"I can't scent her. I don't know if it's something to do with her creams or what, but as many times as I've been in her vicinity over the last week, I cannot catch her scent." Frustration clearly laces his tone. While even I can admit detecting her scent is hard, Ivan of all people should be able to identify it. His sense of smell is top-notch, even for a werewolf.

"She's not a werewolf," I say, this finally drawing his gaze back to mine.

"You can scent her?" he asks, eliciting a nod from me.

Each supernatural species has a distinctive underlying scent that distinguishes it from the others. She doesn't smell like any of them.

"That's odd. You can scent her, but I can't?" he says, more to himself than to me as his brows dip further.

"What does her file say? Any irregularities cropping up?" I fix my gaze on him, still fighting the urge to turn around. Especially when I suddenly feel her eyes on me. Scanning the back of my head and down my body. Her heart skips a beat, and briefly, I wonder if she can hear us speaking. Surely not. Yet, that reaction must come from something.

"Her file is among those pending submission from the sheriff. I've already told him to fast-track hers. We should have it soon," Ivan says, his gaze once again returning to mine.

I hear the owner of the diner hand Sky her order and a mumbled 'thank you' leave her mouth before she rushes out the door. And with it comes another gust of wind carrying her scent. This time, the middle note falls into place, along with another scent. Rose and arousal. Each is significant in its own right. The first indicates her virginal state, and the other wants to contradict it. But both make my claws elongate, and my Lycan push forward. We are officially distracted.

***

Sky's POV

"Hey Anton, the usual, please." He looks up at me from one of the tables he is cleaning.

"Sure thing, Sky." He carries the empty glasses from the table to the kitchen in the back while I do what I usually do while waiting, peruse the very busy diner.

Nearly every table is occupied, which is strange considering it's not a tourist vacation period at the moment. And just like before, the occupants look like they have all come from a gym convention. Good-looking, muscular people. Am I missing something?

I scan the place, and my eyes eventually land on Burlo sitting at his usual spot in the corner. He, too, is looking at me. This seems to be our thing. Staring at one another until someone looks away. Usually me. One day I'll ask him what his problem is, but today is not that day. He has company.

My eyes shift to his companion and then widen. I can only see the back of him and a tiny bit of his side profile, but it is enough to draw and hold my attention. His hair is... white. Long enough to touch his collar and white in a way that is clearly natural and not dyed. An off-white, not that that makes it any less unusual. He has it pushed back off his face, revealing a sharp, twitching jaw with matching stubble.

I didn't think it was possible, but this man is a giant. Bigger than Burlo. This is Burlo 2.0. You can see from the way he is sitting in the booth that his bulk is unaccustomed to and uncomfortable in such small spaces.

My eyes drift down, following the back of his neck, to his broad shoulder and down the side of his left arm, the only one I can see. Dear lordy above, save me. I didn't think I liked muscles until I saw these. For a big man, his muscles are proportional to his frame, which makes them, well, delicious frankly. He must be at least 6'2" from what I can tell.

My gaze continues down to his fist on the table. His very large-fisted hand. Big, gorgeous, rough hands. I assume they are rough because this man looks rough. I doubt he got those muscles sitting behind a desk trading stocks.

My heart skips a beat as I wonder what it would feel like for him to be gripping my ass with those meat tenderizers, legs around his waist, him pushing me up against a wall. I tear my gaze away from him, embarrassment at my thoughts sitting on my rosy cheeks as Anton places my order on the counter.

I mumble a thank you, hand him the money, grab the coffees, and rush out the door like I have stolen something. I need air. I don't know when last just looking at a man has aroused me. Oh yes, I remember. Never. Hopefully, this will be the last time I see him, as I am definitely not looking for any trouble. And Burlo 2.0 has trouble written all over him.

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