Page 9 of Auditing the Alpha

“So,” I said after a moment of silence. “I guess the audit is on hold.”

Klaus took another sip of whiskey. “Looks that way.” His eyes met mine over the rim of his glass. “Any preliminary findings you can share?”

I considered my professional ethics versus the reality of being trapped in a cabin during a blizzard. “Off the record?”

He nodded.

“Your business appears completely legitimate. The flags in your file were probably automated triggers from the seasonal nature of your income.” I swirled the amber liquid in my glass. “Unless you’re hiding something I haven’t found yet.”

Klaus’s mouth curved in that half-smile. “Nothing tax-related.”

The implication hung in the air between us. I took another swallow of whiskey, feeling its warmth spread through my limbs.

“Your family,” I said after a moment. “They’re… unusual.”

“That’s diplomatic.”

“I’m good at diplomatic,” I replied. “It’s a professional requirement.”

“And what about unprofessional observations?” he asked, leaning slightly closer. “What would those be?”

The whiskey was making me bold. “Unprofessionally? Your family acts like a wolf pack. The hierarchical structure, the physical contact, the way they defer to you.” I held his gaze. “The sniffing.”

Something flashed in his amber eyes—surprise, maybe, or concern. “Observant.”

“I’m paid to be.” I leaned forward, curiosity overcoming caution. “Martha mentioned howling during full moons.”

Klaus went very still. “Did she?”

“Small towns and their stories,” I said with a forced casualness. “Funny the kinds of rumors that develop.”

“Funny,” he agreed, but the intensity of his gaze belied the lightness of his tone.

The silence stretched between us, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the howl of the wind outside. Klaus refilled our glasses without asking, and I accepted the second drink gratefully.

“So,” I said finally, “what do people do during blizzards around here? Besides drink whiskey with stranded auditors.”

The tension broke as Klaus smiled. “Board games. Stories. Music.” He stretched his arm along the back of the couch, not quite touching me. “Or we could continue this conversation about my family’s peculiarities.”

“Would you actually answer my questions?” I asked.

“Depends on the questions.” His fingers played with a strand of my hair that had fallen over the couch. “And what you’re willing to believe.”

My heart thumped harder. “Try me.”

Klaus studied me for a long moment, then set down his glass. “What’s your theory, Jordan? About my family?”

The whiskey had loosened my tongue. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were werewolves.”

I expected him to laugh. He didn’t.

“And if we were?” he asked quietly.

A nervous laugh escaped me. “That would be…” I trailed off, realizing he was completely serious. “Wait. Are you saying—”

“I’m saying,” Klaus interrupted, voice low, “that sometimes the obvious answer is the right one.”

The room suddenly felt too warm, the air too thick. “That’s not possible.”