Free A Hunt By Moonlight (Werewolves and Gaslight Book 1) by Shawna Reppert Page A

roof about seven feet off the ground at its lowest point. From its highest point, he could reach Jones’ small back window if he stood on his hind legs. Seven feet was a difficult jump, even for a ’wolf in his prime. He trotted up the back alley far enough to get a running start, turned, and charged, gathering speed with each stride. He launched himself at just the right spot. Claws scrabbled on the wooden roof as he landed and started to slide backwards. Gravity was winning, but then he found his footing and crept carefully forward.
    The noise he’d made brought Jones to the window. Good, that should make things easier. Jones thrust up the window. . .
    And pointed a revolver straight at him.

Six

    It had been a long, horrible day of worthless leads and citizens with crackpot theories, and Jones wanted nothing but dinner and the oblivion of sleep. Then something crashed onto the shed roof, too large to be a clumsy pigeon or even the neighbor’s acrobatic cat. Jones pulled out the revolver and opened the window, turning the element of surprise on his would-be attacker. He’d expected a burglar, or a criminal bent on revenge. . .  
    The ’wolf loomed huge in the window, black against the black sky. Primal fear ran through his blood, but behind the fear his mind raced. That was one hell of a jump for a ’wolf, which meant the ’wolf had targeted Jones directly. He could think of only one ’wolf that had any interest in making his life worse than it already was.
    The ’wolf wagged his tail once, and gaped his mouth in a panting, wolfish grin.
    “If you are who I think you are, then you have a lot of nerve coming here,” Jones said. “You got what you wanted; you toffs always do. I dropped the subject and left you alone. There’s another girl dead and one missing tonight who is probably being tortured to death as we speak, if she’s not dead already, and there’s bloody nothing I can do about it. But that’s no concern of yours. Just working class girls, no one who matters.”
    The wolf stopped wagging and grinning. He lowered his muzzle and looked away.
    “So, you see, I really, really don’t need you coming here tonight with more threats to make my life miserable. I’m already there.”
    The wolf cocked his head for a moment, brow furrowed. Then he stretched his front legs forward and bowed, universal canine language for ‘I mean no harm, come, let’s play’.
    Jones put down the weapon. The ’wolf demonstrated no immediate physical threat, and he could not kill in cold blood, no matter that the courts couldn’t care less about the life of a trespassing werewolf. “I don’t understand what you want. I don’t suppose you could have come and talked to me in human form. No, that would have meant admitting that I was right about what you are. God, I hope you are who I think you are, not just some beggar looking for scraps, or this is the most foolish conversation I’ve ever had sober.”
    The ’wolf gave a yip, acknowledging his identity in a way that would never hold up in a court of law.
    “I’m probably going to regret this. But you’d best come in. My mum would say it’s not right leaving a toff like you sitting outside begging entrance—even if most polite guests come to the door.”
    He stepped away from the window, giving the ’wolf room to squirm his way in. It was a tight squeeze. His shoulders stuck, and he spent a moment with his front paws comically dangling above the floor before wriggling free to land in an undignified heap at his feet.
    He smiled unkindly at the ’wolf’s awkward landing. “Good doggy. Sorry I don’t have any biscuit.”
    The ’wolf glared.
    “So, right,” he said. “I suppose the proper thing would be to offer tea, but under the circumstances. . .”
    The ’wolf carefully took Royston’s sleeve in his teeth and tugged him toward the door. What game was Bandon playing? “So, changed your mind about helping?”
    The ’wolf gave a definitive bark and