Howling Under the Mistletoe: A Howls Romance (Cursed Howlidays Book 1) Read online

  Howling Under the Mistletoe

  A Holiday Howls Romance

  Gwen Knight

  Copyright © 2020 by Gwen Knight

  Previously published in 2016 under title, Cursed by Mistletoe, written by Gwen Knight.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Howling For Her Alpha

  About the Author

  Also by Gwen Knight

  Christmas is supposed to be full of love and cheer… not dead bodies.

  As the alpha’s daughter, I’m responsible for tracking down a murderer hellbent on destroying my pack. Unfortunately, help comes in the form of werewolf, Evan Knox—my own personal nightmare. He’s rude, arrogant, self-centered, and . . . downright gorgeous. Most days I can’t decide if I want to hit him or kiss him.

  * * *

  It’s up to us to solve this case, but everything goes wrong when someone places a curse on us, one that forces us to succumb to our deepest hidden desires for each other before succumbing to our deaths.

  * * *

  To save Christmas—and ourselves—Knox and I need to break this curse and find the murderer before he strikes again. If only we can keep our hands off each other long enough to hunt this bastard down...

  1

  Another day, another brutally murdered corpse.

  Must be Wednesday.

  Sighing, I dragged my hand through my hair and stared down at the broken shell of what had once been my fellow pack mate. Seeing her in this state should have crushed me. Sure, I felt something…mostly regret this had happened. But after so many deaths in such a short time period, those emotions hardly affected me anymore.

  How sad was that?

  I pulled out my phone and swiped a finger across the screen. A quick click and a few taps later, and her image was zipping across the network to my father’s phone with the caption victim number six. That’s right. Six dead werewolves in under a month.

  See why I was numb?

  Granted, I hadn’t known all the victims. In the North Basin region alone, there were four werewolf packs. Of the six casualties, two were ours. The one at my feet was Brittany Lewis—fifth-highest ranking wolf in our pack, out of a robust eighty-three members. I was the fourth-highest, right beneath my dear old mother, my father’s beta, and my father—the Grand Poobah, himself.

  Still, Brittany had been fifth-highest. I could do the math, so I knew what that meant. Whoever had taken her out had gumption enough to take down a big bad werewolf. And she hadn’t gone easy from the looks of it. Overturned lamps, a shredded duvet—hell, the place was littered with tiny little goose feathers from a chewed up pillow tossed into the corner. I hadn’t quite figured out that one yet.

  Not to mention, the battered corpse of a male from a different pack than mine.

  I hadn’t forgotten him. But since he wasn’t from my pack, he wasn’t my concern. Or at least, he wasn’t my primary concern. Though, thinking about it, what the hell was Ditton Clark doing here? Intermingling wasn’t uncommon, but…they were both nude. Like full on au natural. I was seeing bits of Ditton I’d never hoped to lay eyes on. Including some insides.

  Shuddering, I turned back to Brittany, then crouched next to her. I couldn’t touch her, so said the police, and according to my father, I had to obey that little decree. Something about playing by human rules, blah, blah, blah… Apparently, we were supposed to feel grateful they’d invited us to the murder scene.

  Sure.

  I was feeling real grateful right about now.

  Her body was littered with claw marks, her skin stained crimson. Not to mention the massive chunk missing from her throat, complimentary a sharp set of fangs.

  “Ms. Hayes?”

  I glanced up at the sound of my name and studied the face of the cop hovering nearby. He’d introduced himself when I’d first entered, but, honestly, I’d long since forgotten it.

  “I’m…ah…supposed to ask if there’s anything you need?”

  Holding his gaze, I pointed down at Brittany. “These claw marks. Did you guys note them?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t know. The coroner would have done that.”

  The coroner. Right. Some middle-aged man who had waddled in here only to declare her dead. No shit, Sherlock. What had given it away?

  “I’m going to smell her now,” I informed the officer. “Don’t freak out, all right?”

  “You’re gonna…what?”

  “Smell her.” I lifted a brow. “You know, like put my nose against her and sniff?”

  My hand to God, he blanched. I bit back a grin. Sometimes, you had to stop and appreciate the little things. Like completely freaking out the poor, disadvantaged humans.

  Without waiting, I dropped down onto all fours and positioned my head near Brittany’s. Damn. The woman reeked of Ditton. Like reeked. Every single inch of her. And not from fighting. This was softer than that. Lust, definitely.

  I canted my head and stared at Ditton. Even in death, he reached out to her, their fingers touching.

  What the hell had happened here?

  I pushed back onto my haunches and studied the room. Fractured headboard, broken lamp, cracked walls…all indicative of an intense fight. Or a passionate night between the sheets. Some of us were far from gentle. And in the heat of the moment…what were walls and bedframes compared to a horny werewolf?

  The past month, we’d approached these deaths as inner pack conflicts. Members gone rogue. Maybe it was something more than that. From the smell of the two of them, this had nothing to do with brawling and everything to do with fucking. A Romeo and Juliet situation?

  Except, Brittany had been promised to another.

  Messy.

  “Don’t you have people to do this sort of thing for you?” a deep voice rumbled behind me.

  Shit. I knew that voice. Sighing, I surged to my feet and turned toward one Evan Knox, brother of the Alpha of the Silver Summit Pack, our closest—but greatly disliked—neighbors. Course, Knox’s and my relationship went a little deeper than that. No, not that way. This wolf was the tick in my fur. Always annoying the hell out of me. It’d been a few months since I’d last seen him, but I highly doubted his attitude had improved any. That wasn’t Knox’s style. “What are you doing here, Knox?”

  “Could ask you the same thing, Princess.”

  My jaw tightened. In all the years I’d known Knox, he’d only ever referred to me by that stupid moniker, no matter how many times I’d threatened to cave in his skull if he kept it up. I’d lost count ’round thirty. Guess he didn’t take my threats seriously. Yes, being the alpha’s daughter awarded me certain luxuries and comforts, but it hardly made me a princess. As the brother of another alpha, one would assume he understood that. Then again, I’d always believed there were a couple screws loose in his head.

  I stared up at him. Yup, up. Bastard stood at least a foot taller than me. And didn’t he just love it. For years, I’d been working on a theory that he enjoyed looming over my pitiful five foot three. As though
he found pure enjoyment in staring down his nose at me. I had to give it to him, though. He was pure strength and power, not unlike his brother. Their parents had given them the sort of genes that made me hate them. Not that I didn’t have other reasons.

  That was where the brother’s similarities ended, though. At first glance, one would never assume they were related. Whereas Eli, the alpha of the Silver Summit Pack, was a blond god with piercing green eyes, Knox was his darker shadow. A lesson in duality, I suspected. Short, dark hair and smoky, black eyes. Those eyes that had left me arrested more than once. All expressive and curious. Not that I’d ever admit that aloud. I’d rather chew on my own tail then own up to that.

  “Well, don’t you?”

  “Don’t I, what?”

  He rolled his eyes and gestured toward the crime scene. “Have people who do this sort of thing for you? Shouldn’t you be locked up in your marble tower, swathed in bubble wrap?”

  “Go hump a leg,” I retorted.

  “I would, but it seems like Ditton here beat me to the punch.”

  “He’s not your pack. So, why are you here?”

  A crooked smile tugged at his lips. “Likely the same thing you’re doing here, Princess.”

  I bit back a retort. The more I fought him, the more he’d annoy me. I knew his stupid little games—had been playing them since we were six—and I refused to resort to his level. “Brittany is my pack mate.”

  “Thanks for the update.”

  “So, I have every reason to be here. Silver Summit doesn’t.”

  A chuckle rose from his throat. “Please.”

  I ground my back molars together. And this right here was a prime example as to why my pack disliked his. While Knox was an unconscionable prick, his brother was a brute. All brawn, no brain. It’d been the cause of many issues between the two packs.

  “What have you figured out?”

  “Nothing you need to know,” I retorted.

  “Your pack isn’t the only one attempting to track down the source of these deaths,” Knox stated, his hands clasped behind his back as he walked the perimeter of the crime scene.

  I blinked. Could it be? Had he actually put a full sentence together? And one that made sense? Alert the authorities. Still. One coherent statement was hardly enough to convince me to play ball. “Go do your own investigation then.”

  Knox glanced over his shoulder and tsked me. “Now, now, Princess. We wouldn’t want it said you were being difficult, would we? What would Daddy Dearest say if he found out?”

  I lifted my chin and glared. “Bite me.”

  “Don’t tempt me, little girl,” he growled, clicking his teeth together menacingly.

  “Just stay out of my way.” I strode over to Ditton and crouched down. The sooner I concluded this investigation, the sooner I could leave Evan Knox in the dust.

  I studied Ditton’s length, noting the similar claw marks on him as Brittany. Sadly, the worst of them seemed focused on his dangly bits. Even I winced as I snapped another picture.

  “Sorry,” I muttered under my breath as I dropped onto my stomach and repositioned my phone.

  Knox’s laughter tightened my shoulders. “Oh, this is priceless. Wait till I tell everyone I caught the great Rumor Hayes nose deep in some dead wolf’s junk.”

  “God. Could you be any more unsympathetic? These photos are to compare to the other crime scenes. The police are no closer to tracking this scumbag down.”

  “And they won’t.”

  The determination in his voice brought me up short. I lifted my head and watched him over the swell of Ditton’s torn up stomach. “What do you mean?”

  “Have you seriously not figured it out yet?”

  “Figured what out?” I growled.

  Knox spread his hands. “Sorry. Far be it for me to share my information with you.”

  Bastard. Jackass. Asshole! I wanted to fling every name I knew at him. He’d strung me up and waited for the perfect moment. Course he had. Not sure why that surprised me. The guy had been a douche his whole life.

  “What do you know?” I snarled.

  “Oh, is it share time?”

  Holy hell. Every last button pushed. I scrambled to my feet and slid my phone into my pocket. “What do you think your brother will say when I tell him I castrated his little brother?” My fingernails lengthened into vicious claws.

  Knox grinned at me. “He’d thank you, I’m sure.”

  Thank me? I shook my head. “Tell me what you know.”

  “Only if you tell me what you know.”

  “Fine,” I ground out.

  “Promise?”

  “Yes!”

  “Pinky swear?”

  “Knox!”

  “I love it when you scream my name like that.”

  Oh, my God. I really was going to castrate him. Anger rushed through my veins, my vision going black as I struggled to control myself. No one had ever been able to incite a rage in me quite like him.

  “All right, Princess. Don’t get your panties in a knot. The reason you haven’t been able to track down their killer yet is because they killed each other.”

  My brow twisted. “What are you talking about?”

  “There’s no scent of anyone else in the room, other than the police and us. The room is utterly thrashed, but there’s no evidence of forced entry. I’d wager any money that the claw marks on Brittany are a match to Ditton’s, and vice versa. Their throats were ripped out, which seems to be the cause of death, which means they’d have to have been bitten by a werewolf since they didn’t heal. Except, they’re the only two werewolves in this room.”

  My mouth fell slack. What the hell? When had Knox grown a brain? I was so accustomed to dealing with his half-wit brother, I hadn’t expected this. Who knew he could string together a cohesive thought?

  “Uh…” I shook my head. “Right.”

  “That’s it? Right? I just handed you the entire case on a platter, and you can’t even give me a sarcastic response?”

  “Ass,” I grumbled.

  “That’s better. Now, what do you know?”

  Sadly, less than him it seemed. And didn’t that bust my chops. I’d been working this case since it’s infancy, and I hadn’t put together near as much. “What I’m trying to figure out is how these two know each other. Brittany was set to mate with one of our own. She and David have been paired up for a while now. And, last I saw, they were blissfully happy. So, Ditton’s presence here is disconcerting. When you walked in, I was checking her scent. She reeks of him. And not in the I hate you, let’s kill each other way.”

  “You mean in the bumping uglies sort of way?”

  I grimaced. “For lack of a better term. Every scene so far matches this situation. But Brittany was the first one to have a mate out there.”

  “Or soon-to-be, anyway.”

  “Right.” I strode over to Ditton and stared down at him. “So, why is he here?”

  “Guess she was having a little fun on the side.”

  I shook my head. “Not Brittany.”

  “Clearly, yes, Brittany.”

  “No,” I snapped. “You didn’t know her. She was dedicated to David. They were sickeningly sweet together.”

  Knox shot me a droll look. “What does that have to do with anything? You can be dedicated to someone and still get your rocks off with a stranger.”

  I didn’t even want to know. Ignoring that statement, I walked toward her front door and studied it. Just like Knox had said. No forced entry. “So, she lets him in. They become intimate with one another, and then what? Rip each others’ throats out?”

  “Would appear to be the situation.”

  I turned back to Knox. “But why?”

  “That’s what we’re here to figure out, isn’t it?”

  Nodding, I strolled around the room and eyed the debris. The cops had done exactly the same thing when I’d first arrived, but who knew, maybe they’d missed something. They didn’t know Brittany like I did. Except, ev
erything seemed normal—other than the complete demolition of the room.

  I rounded the corner of her footboard and stopped. “What’s that?”

  “What?” Knox asked.

  “There. Under the duvet. There’s something green. You see it?” I waved over to the nearest cop. “Hand me some gloves.”

  “Uh, ma’am, you can’t touch anything.”

  I turned and unleashed the full brunt of my stare on the young cop. “Gloves. Now.”

  The man practically squeaked under his breath as he handed over a pair. And this was why I was here. The police hadn’t a clue how to handle werewolves or the supernaturally-inclined society.

  Footsteps approached from behind before Knox’s overwhelming presence shadowed over me.

  Ignoring his hovering, I crouched and peeled back the blanket, my head cocking as I studied what appeared to be—“Is that…mistletoe?”

  Knox lowered beside me, his thigh brushing against mine. Oddly enough, I didn’t feel an urge to push him away.

  Instead, I leaned forward and plucked the wreath of mistletoe up from the ground, the thistles sharp against my skin. “Odd.”

  “What do you mean? It’s just mistletoe,” Knox murmured.

  “Sure, but did you see any other Christmas decorations?”

  He stole a glance around the room. “Not a single piece.”

  “Exactly. So why would she have mistletoe?”

  He turned, and our gazes met. This close, I could count his eyelashes. And his scent…I leaned into him and inhaled, reveling in his woodsy aroma. Part of me was tempted to brush my nose against the thick column of his throat, see if every inch of him was equally delicious.

  “Rumor?”

  The sound of his voice dragged me back to the task at hand. Clearing my throat, I lowered the mistletoe back to the ground and rose.