by Sophie Stern
I try not to think about Ronan. I try not to think about the way he made me feel alive, about the way he made me feel like I was the only girl in the world. I try not to think about the way he made me feel special.
I’m just emotionally vulnerable right now, I reason. I’m emotionally weak and open to feelings that don’t make sense. I need to get some more sleep, some more rest. I need to make it through the next few weeks. I need to survive until my court date and then everything will be over.
It’ll all be over.
Either I’ll move or he will. I don’t know. Somehow, this weird problem between us will be resolved, but late at night, when I’m alone, sometimes I wonder if it’s even worth fighting. Sometimes I wonder if any of this is worth it.
Sometimes I wonder if I should just give in to Lester and move. At least then I’d be able to get on with my life. Oh, I’d have to commute to work or find a different job. I’d have to make new friends and probably be on a tighter budget than I already am, but I could make it work. I’m a survivor. I’m good at living through terrible situations. What’s one more?
Joyce called me twice to try to schedule a follow-up with Ronan. I didn’t answer the phone, but I listened to her voicemails. Apparently, he thinks there’s a good chance for a positive outcome. Ronan believes I’m not in the wrong. He believes I’m right and that Lester is just harassing me. More importantly, he thinks he can get the judge to drop the charges against me and in turn, sue Lester for his terrible behavior.
Ronan calls me, too, but again, I don’t pick up the phone. I just don’t have the emotional energy for it. After dealing with kids all day and administrative paperwork, by the time I get home, I’m completely beat.
I listen to his voicemails, though.
I listen over and over and over and I think about that deep, sultry baritone. I think about his words, about how he told me he wanted me. I think about how he said I’m his mate.
And I wonder if I made a huge mistake running out of his office.
There’s no doubt in my mind that’s what I was doing: running. I got scared, so I ran. He asked me to step out of my comfort zone and I just couldn’t do it. Why couldn’t I do it? I feel like I should have been able to go out on a limb for Ronan because something tells me he’d do it for me. Something tells me that if I called him and asked him for help, he’d come running.
That’s what he’s doing right now, isn’t it?
He’s helping me with my Lester problem.
He’s helping a stranger who can never afford to pay him.
He’s helping a random girl who isn’t even a shifter.
He’s helping me.
And I’m hiding in my house, too afraid to even do yard work because I think my neighbor is going to go crazy and hurt me. Lester hasn’t been violent yet, but it’s still something that scares me: the idea that he might hurt me. I keep telling myself I’m safe. I keep promising myself he can’t come inside. I keep whispering that he can’t get to me, that I’ll be okay.
Only, I don’t really believe it anymore.
And when I get home from work the week after leaving Ronan’s office and find a message painted on my garage door, I realize I was never safe from Lester: not even for a little while. I was never safe and I’m never going to be safe and there’s nothing I can do.
I take a deep breath and take several pictures of the door. Then I dial the police and report the incident. Once they promise to send an officer, I hang up the phone and call the one person who can actually truly help.
I call Ronan.
Chapter 8
Ronan
I beat the police to Lara’s house and park across the street. The message on her garage door is clearly visible even from my parking spot. The words human bitch are scrawled across her door in bright red letters. Lara is alone on the front porch, obviously trying not to look at her garage. When I get out of the car, I can instantly smell her fear, and I run to her.
I run to Lara.
She stands up when she sees me and for a second, I think she’s going to resist hugging me, but she doesn’t. Instead, she allows me to wrap my arms around her and just hold her for a little while.
“I’m so sorry, princess,” I whisper. I stroke her hair as I hold her. Lara shakes a little, but doesn’t cry, and I’m astounded by her bravery in the face of a terrible situation. She’s not letting fear hold her back. She’s not letting Lester’s message get her down. She’s not going to cry over this. Not today.
But she’s scared.
And that breaks my heart.
“What’s been happening?” I ask gently. “I haven’t seen you in a week.” It’s been killing me. I haven’t been sleeping or eating much. I’ve called her a couple of times, but I don’t want to be overly-aggressive. Considering all that Lara is dealing with when it comes to her neighbor, I figure the last thing she needs is for her mate to do anything that might make her feel cornered.
“The same old stuff,” she says. Lara doesn’t move away, so I keep holding her, touching her. “Every day, he comes over and yells at me. He filed a restraining order. I’m not even supposed to be anywhere close to him, but he keeps coming over. If the cops showed up while he was on my porch, I’d be the one in trouble. That’s fucked up.”
She’s right, and most of that has to do with the fact that shifter law tends to favor shifters. Lara might not do anything wrong, but in the eye of the courts, she’s the outsider. She’s the wildcard. She’s the one who will be blamed for the problems, the issues that have arisen from her choice of home.
“I didn’t see him yesterday,” Lara continues. “But Miss Eleanor told me he’s gone out of town for a few days.” Lara jerks her head toward a little yellow house across the street. It’s the house I parked in front of. There’s a white-haired woman sitting on the porch in a rocking chair, quietly observing the entire situation.
“He wants to establish an alibi,” I tell her. “When the police come, they’ll write this off on hooligans or troublemakers. They won’t open a serious investigation and they won’t consider this as evidence when we go to court next week.”
“There’s more,” she says.
“What is it?”
“I went inside my garage after I called you. I even checked my trashcans. I think I’ve seen too many crime dramas to believe things like this are cut and dry. There was evidence in there, Ronan,” she lowers her voice. “There was a can of red spray paint inside my garage.”
“Don’t you lock your garage door?”
She shivers, and I instantly know her answer. “Oh, yes,” Lara says. “But I wouldn’t put anything past Lester. He’s a sneaky fucking cat. I know exactly what this is. He’s trying to make it look like I’m crazy, like I’m out to get him. I’m not, Ronan. I’ve never done anything to him.”
I’m not surprised Lester stooped to this level. Unfortunately, something tells me he’s only going to escalate in the next week. If he got word that Lara met with a lawyer, he’s going to be irritated and feel defenseless. He’s going to lash out more and more until he gets what he wants, which is for her to back off and leave.
Why does he hate humans so much? I’ll never understand why some shifters just have it out for their neighbors. From what I can tell, Lara is an upstanding young citizen. She certainly never went out of her way to harass Lester or cause him any trouble.
Suddenly, I have an idea.
“Will you be okay for a second?” I ask Lara. She looks surprised, but nods. “Sit on your porch,” I tell her. “Wait for the police. They should be here soon. I’ll be right back.” I help her get situated and I take a couple of pictures of the garage door with my cell phone, but then I walk across the street.
If Miss Eleanor is a retired shifter who lives on this street, I’ll bet anything she’s seen something. She might even know something about why Lester is the way he is. I’m not sure how close she is with Lara, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned as a lawyer, it’s that sometimes the best witn
esses come from the most unexpected places.
As I approach Miss Eleanor, she watches me curiously from her perch on the porch. She doesn’t look scared or nervous. This is a good sign. She doesn’t have anything to hide or be ashamed of. Besides, I’m just some guy. I’m not a cop.
“Good evening,” I call out as I near the little porch. Miss Eleanor is sitting in her rocking chair with a glass of sweet tea. A little black cat is curled up in her lap. “I’m Ronan Case. I’m a friend of Lara’s.”
“It doesn’t seem like it’s that good of an evening, if you don’t mind me saying,” the old woman looks unconcerned with my presence.
“You’d be correct,” I nod my head toward Lara’s house. “You didn’t happen to see anything suspicious this afternoon, did you?” I ask. Maybe Eleanor saw Lester sneak over. Maybe she saw someone else lurking around. Hell, maybe this really was kids: a random act of aggression. Somehow, though, I doubt it. This smells like Lester’s handiwork and I’d like to know why he’s got his sights set on Lara.
Miss Eleanor looks me up and down. She takes a sip of her sweet tea and sets the glass back down. Then she continues looking at me.
“A wolf, are ya?” She asks, and I can’t mask the look of surprise on my face. Eleanor just chuckles. “Oh, you wolves are all the same,” she smiles. “You think you’re so sneaky. Why don’t you just ask me what you want to ask me? Then maybe I’ll have some answers for you.”
“How did you know I was a wolf?” I can’t help asking. It’s rare that someone pegs me as a wolf right off the bat, even in a shifter community.
“My name is Eleanor Queensbee,” she smiles, and then it hits me.
“You’re Alpha Queensbee’s widow,” I say. Isaac Queensbee was one of the most legendary shifters in Bradshaw. The elementary school is even named after him. Although he was mated to a shifter, he went out of his way to make sure humans felt comfortable in our town. He helped pass several community policies that were designed to make sure humans had the same rights as shifters.
“The one and only,” she smiles fondly. “My husband was quite the advocate for humans.”
“Your husband was an incredible man,” I agree.
“He was indeed,” she smiles. “But to answer your question, I lived with wolves for many years, son. Your scents are quite distinct once you learn to recognize them.”
“You’re a…tiger,” I say, trying to remember.
“I am,” the cat in her lap mews and stretches comfortably. Eleanor simply keeps petting him. “Now, young man, I believe you had a question for me.”
I glance over my shoulder at Lara. She’s still sitting on her porch, but she’s not looking at me. She’s staring at her lap and fidgeting.
“Poor girl,” Eleanor murmurs. “She’s had a tough go of it.”
“Did her neighbor do this?” I ask. “Lester. Did you see him painting her house today?”
Miss Eleanor shakes her head. “He went out of town yesterday. Made a big production out of it, if I do say so myself. If he’s the one behind this, he’s being smart about it. I was at knitting club all afternoon. I got home just a little while ago.”
“He knows your schedules,” I say, shaking my head. “I suppose it wouldn’t have been difficult for him to choose a time when no one would be around.”
I try not to think about the fact that I have nothing to go on anymore. Nothing. I try not to think about the fact that this basically means I’m failing Lara. I’m supposed to be keeping her safe, protecting her. I can’t even do that, though.
I can’t even nail the guy who’s harassing her.
“Lester has a complicated history,” Eleanor says.
“Is that right? Complicated enough to make him want to hurt my…to want to hurt Lara,” I say, carefully avoiding the word “mate.” Eleanor isn’t fooled, though. She gives me a knowing smile.
“He hasn’t had an easy time. I’ve lived in this house since my husband died ten years ago,” she says. “Lester was already here. He was already broken by then, but I’ve managed to get the story out of him.”
“What’s his story?” What could have made him such a terrible person that he feels the need to harass someone like Lara? What could have made him lose his empathy? His compassion? His understanding that sometimes, being different isn’t easy?
“Lester is younger than me,” Miss Eleanor says. “I’m nearly 85 years old. He’s only 60. Oh, to someone young, like you, that might not seem like a big difference, but trust me: there’s a huge difference. He bought that house with his mate. They planned to raise their children there.”
“Planned to?”
“Twenty years ago, a young man moved into Lara’s house that drank a little too much. Lester and his wife were always having problems with him. They asked him to stop having so many parties. They explained that their children needed to go to bed at a reasonable hour. They were rational. They were patient. The man didn’t care, though.”
I’ve been a lawyer long enough to know that this story isn’t going to have a happy ending.
I can smell the sadness from Eleanor. Whatever she’s going to say next is going to be devastating, terrible. Whatever she’s going to tell me is going to explain why Lester hates my Lara so much.
Whatever she’s going to say is going to change everything.
“One night,” Eleanor says. “The partying got out of control. Lester was away on a business trip. He was over in Honeypot for the weekend.” Honeypot, Colorado is only about a three hour drive from Bradshaw, Kansas, but it’s not a drive you want to make in a day. Between the unpredictable weather and the empty roads, most people choose to make a weekend out of going there.
“No one knows exactly what happens,” Eleanor continues. “The police concluded that Lester’s wife, Mary, went over to ask the neighbor to keep it down. He didn’t, though. Somehow, they started arguing. He was drunk, and she was scared. Terrified. You know that dragons can’t shift when they’re scared, right? They’re physically unable to.”
“His wife was a dragon?” Dragon shifters are rare, even in Bradshaw. Unless someone is on Dragon Isle or close to it, chances are they’ve never even seen a dragon. I certainly haven’t.
“A beautiful one. I saw her shift once. She was gorgeous, but that didn’t save her. She threatened to call the police, but the man knew Lester was out of town and no one could protect her. He took matters into his own hands and shot her, right there on the porch.”
I swallow hard. I don’t really want to cry, but it’s already too late for that. The tears are coming and nothing will stop them now.
“And the children?” I say, fearing I already know the answer.
Eleanor just shakes her head. “The man was on a rampage by that point. He went into their house and killed both of the children. He was drunk. He was insane. No one knows exactly why he did what he did. He called 9-1-1 and we have the recording from that where he tells part of the story. He shot himself before police arrived, though.”
“And that’s why Lester hates humans.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Eleanor shakes her heads. “You can’t label an entire species as bad because of the actions of one, but having Lara living in that house triggered something in Lester he buried long ago.”
“His pain is resurfacing,” I murmur, and suddenly, I wonder whether this battle is one we really want to win. Maybe it would be best for Lara to move. Maybe it would be best for her to leave Lester alone.
Because the truth is that she is a good person. She’s a kind, gentle person. She’s sweet.
And he’s hurting.
And alone.
And he’s lost everything he’s ever loved.
And a person who’s lost everything is a dangerous person indeed.
Chapter 9
Lara
By the time we finish talking to the police, it’s past nine and I’m exhausted.
“Thank you for coming,” I say to Ronan. I shouldn’t have called him. I shouldn’t have neede
d him so much. I should have been strong enough to deal with this on my own, but I wasn’t. Even though I think it’s selfish, I’m glad he came. I’m glad he was here for me. I’m glad he was here to comfort me, to hold my hand. I’m glad he was here to help me talk to the police.
I was relieved I found the spray paint before the cops came because, as expected, they checked my garage and outdoor trash cans. I didn’t bother trying to claim I was framed for the crime. Instead, I threw everything away in my bathroom trashcan before they showed up. If they saw anything at all, they would have charged me with filing a false police report, and that’s one more charge I don’t need.
“Of course I came,” Ronan looks surprised. “I would do anything for you.”
“I was scared,” I admit, running my hands up and down my arms. It’s chilly outside. It’s colder than it should be. Maybe I’m just still afraid, still nervous, still worried about what I’m going to do. “You made me feel safe,” I look up at Ronan. “You made me feel like you were going to protect you.”
“You might not accept me as your mate, Lara. I understand I probably scared you when I claimed we were destined to be together. I still firmly believe that. For me, this means that even if you never return my affections, even if you never feel the same way about me, even if you never love me, I will always take care of you.”
His words are more than I can take right now, and I wrap my arms around him. We seem to fit perfectly together, and for a minute, I wonder what would happen if I just said “okay.” I wonder what would happen if I stopped fighting and just gave in. I wonder what would happen if I just accepted what Ronan is offering.
I had a moment of bravery in his office before I got scared. There was a moment when I tried to give in to my feelings, but then I thought about everything too much and I freaked out.
Now I wonder why I did that.
Now I wonder why I’m fighting so hard to refuse Ronan’s advances.
