by Renee Rose
“Sam, I need another one!” Apparently, she thinks she’s on a first-name basis with the bartender.
I catch his eye and give a small shake of my head, and he ignores her. “I think it’s time we switched to water.”
Foxfire pouts and shakes her head before barking with laughter again.
Let the record reflect: When liquoring up a friend so she can forget her ex, make sure she’s eaten first.
“Maybe we should go outside, get some air,” I suggest.
Foxfire isn’t listening. She lifts her empty glass and waggles her tongue into it before setting it down with a clunk.
“So thirsty,” she whines.
“I’ll get us some waters, but you have to stay right here, okay?”
I hop down from the chair to head to the other end of the bar where I can have a private conversation with Sam the bartender about not serving her again tonight. I take my cosmo with me. Foxfire spins slowly in her chair with a drunk, unfocused look. Of the two of us, she’s definitely the wild, fun one, but I’ve never seen her like this before. Maybe she took something when she went to the bathroom. I would’ve gone with her but this soon after a bad spell I don’t like being in close spaces with too many people, and this place is packed.
What was I thinking, coming here? Hunching my shoulders, I weave through the crowd three deep around the bar, trying to make myself less of a target. Too much noise, too many people. One touch too many, and I’ll end up in the middle of a vision.
Let the record reflect: Next girls’ night out, I will stick to Netflix and chill.
A shout goes up, and I whirl. Some girl is making a scene on the dance floor. A few security guys, as big and hulking as my thug neighbors, converge on the scene. More shrieking, and one of the security guys lifts the belligerent drunk.
Crap, it’s Foxfire, her multicolored hair flying everywhere.
“Excuse me, excuse me,” I push back through pockets of people, no time to keep from touching. Their feelings and thoughts wash over me like the colors of the light show. I arrive at Foxfire’s side, lurching like I’m also drunk. Security takes one look at me and hikes a thumb to the door.
“Is she okay?” I straighten, projecting I’m sober and responsible vibes as hard as I can. “I just left her for a moment.”
“Miss—”
“I just wanna dance!” Foxfire shouts, and windmills her arms.
“Okay.” A security guard the size of the Terminator points us towards the back. “Time to go.”
“I’ve got her. I’ll get her out of here.” I bob next to him, reaching for my friend. I barely come up to his biceps. “Only I’m parked out front and you’re taking us to the back—”
I spring back as Foxfire doubles over and starts retching.
“You need to leave,” the bouncer says without a flicker of expression. He really does remind me of the Terminator, looming over me. “Both of you.”
“Okay, okay, we were just leaving. But I’m parked out front.”
“I don’t care. You’re going out the back door. Now, move it.”
Foxfire doubles over again and a second bouncer catches her arm, dragging her forward. “Not in here,” he snaps, his double-pierced lip giving him an extra-menacing edge. He reminds me of my thug neighbors. What is with these guys wanting metal all over their faces?
“Hey!” I run beside them. “You need to slow down. She’s obviously not feeling well.”
The thug bouncer just tows her onward, dragging her when she stumbles.
“Stop,” I cry. “You’re going to give her bruises. Don’t you think getting her a glass of water or helping her to the bathroom would be a bit more in line?”
He propels Foxfire onto the patio in time for her to lean over and puke in a potted plant. “Out,” he thunders, pointing to the door to the parking lot.
“Just wait three minutes.” I dive to hold back Foxfire’s hair. “Back off, or I’ll call the cops.”
“You’re eighty-sixed. You need to get out—”
“Stop.” A command ripples through the air. An enormous blond man unfolds himself from one of the patio chairs.
I double take. “Garrett?”
Two strides and my gorgeous new neighbor is at my side, staring Metal Face down. “Leave her alone.”
“But she—”
“Enough.” Garrett has quiet authority down pat. The guy shuts right up. “Go work the floor.”
The Terminator’s hands clamp down on the second bouncer’s shoulders, pulling him back inside.
“Anything else, boss?” Terminator rumbles. “You need help out here?”
“No, get back inside. I’ll take care of them.”
I help Foxfire to a chair, digging for the wet wipes I always have stashed in my purse.
“She okay?” Garrett asks.
“She will be.”
A cocktail waitress bustles out with a tray of waters. “Garrett? Tank said you’d need these.”
“Thanks, Stacy. Make sure no one comes back here, okay? And bring some napkins.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
“Good girl,” Garrett murmurs absently. His eyes are on me.
The waitress flushes and licks her huge, glossy lips, and I feel a surge of hatred.
“You work here?” I ask as soon as she leaves.
“I own the place.” He leans against the wall, arms crossed, muscles stretching his black T-shirt. Same jeans, same leather motorcycle boots.
I swallow. “I didn’t realize.”
“I know you didn’t.” Same smirk. He’s been toying with me. The owner of Eclipse also owns half the downtown real estate, including my apartment building.
My new neighbor is a business owner, not a thug.
“I thought—” I stop. I can’t tell him he dresses like a derelict.
Head in hands, Foxfire moans.
“Um, I’m sorry about this,” I stand, hands fluttering as if I could conjure away the situation. “We don’t usually party this hard.”
“One drink is partying hard?”
I blink. “You were watching me?”
He inclines his head yes.
“You really should talk to your bartenders. You could be held liable for overserving—”
“Amber.” One word stops me. He steps into my space, his body heat washing over me. Instead of feeling intimidated, I relax. Safe. “You feeling okay? Last time I saw you—”
“I’m fine,” I half turn away, pretending not to be affected, even though every inch of me buzzes, aware, alive.
“You sure about that?” His voice rumbles low, sending a shiver across my skin.
“I’m sure,” I whisper. After all, what am I going to tell him? You touched me, and the visions came, but the pain went away.
“Here’s some napkins,” the waitress chirps. Her lips seem extra shiny with gloss. Her gaze flickers over Garrett and I standing close together, and she looks disappointed.
Without thinking, I step into Garrett until my shoulder touches him, as if he’s mine, and I have a right to be in the circle of his arms.
A soft chuckle sounds above my head. I tilt my face up, ready to meet his smirk, and, just like that, the hallucination hits me.
My vision blurs. Images flip before my eyes, too fast for me to catch. A movie on fast forward.
I’m back in the elevator, with Garrett and his two friends. This time, I run out to the apartment parking lot. They follow, dropping to all fours, turning into wolves under the giant, glowing eye of the full moon.
“Amber?”
I shake myself, coming to. I’m in Garrett’s arms, clinging to his shirt. My entire body flashes hot then cold.
“Werewolf,” I breathe, staring into the handsome face that, only seconds before, was a wolf.
Garrett jerks, almost dropping me, and his brow wrinkles. “What did you just say?” There’s a sharp menace to his voice and alarm kicks through me.
It’s true. He’s a werewolf. And he doesn’t look happy that
I know.
“Nothing.” I push away. Beyond him, the clouds part. The moon is full. I need to get out of there. Quick.
“Foxfire, come on.” I slip her arm over my shoulder and stand, ignoring her groan.
“Amber, stop,” Garrett commands, but I ignore him.
Foxfire and I make it to my car, and, by the time I unload her into the back seat and get her buckled in, my heart has stopped racing. My mind is still running marathons, though. What did I just see? Could it be real? No—that’s ridiculous. It was a hallucination. Not real.
“Werewolves don’t exist,” I mutter.
“Amber.”
I leap up with a shriek.
Garrett’s standing there, a huge hunk of silent menace in the shadows. “We need to talk.”
Prickles race over my skin. In answer, I scramble to my side, slam the door, and squeal the tires outta there. It doesn’t matter who Garrett is, or how much real estate he owns, or whether it’s true he turns four legged and furry every full moon.
Werewolves may not exist, but the vision made it clear. Garrett is a threat.
~.~
Garrett
As Amber’s little hatchback peels outta my parking lot, I touch my tongue to one of my canines to make sure they’re still human sized. Little Miss Prim and Proper nearly fainted in my arms—again—then stared at my teeth, the whites of her eyes reflecting the moon.
Werewolves don’t exist.
“Fuck,” I mutter. My teeth haven’t changed. My vision is the same—not domed with the oncoming change. I was on the patio to get some air and space for my wolf, but it wasn’t like I was howling. Werewolf, she said. How did she guess?
“You okay, boss?” Tank strides across the lot to me.
I straighten, stuffing down my wolf. “Heading home. You okay to lock up?”
“Sure thing. Who was that?” He jerks a chin at the way Amber’s car went. “You know her?”
“She’s a lawyer. Uptight as fuck. She’s also my neighbor.”
“Human?”
“You know she is,” I say sharply. Tank was one of the few older wolves who followed me from my father’s pack. His wolf is huge and dominant, though not more dominant than mine. I suspect he was sent by my father to keep an eye on me, though it’s just as likely that, as a consummate bachelor, he prefers my pack to one made up mostly of mated pairs. Quiet, strong, loyal, he makes a great enforcer. One of these days, I’m going to make him my official Second. As soon as I know for sure he’s not spying on me for my dad.
“Trey and Jared mentioned a little blonde neighbor. They think you have a thing for her. Said they scented her on you later.” He says it like it’s casual gossip, but I hear the note of censure, and it pisses me off.
“Worried I’m banging a non-shifter?” Shifters don’t usually mate with humans, but that doesn’t mean a wolf can’t sow his wild oats. There are no laws against it, although more traditional packs—like my dad’s—frown on it. I don’t. Which is probably why so many bachelor wolves followed me when I left to start my own pack.
“They said you claimed her.” Yep. The censorship in Tank’s voice is real.
I face him and crack my knuckles. “I told them to stay away, that doesn’t mean I mated her. You have a problem here?”
“Dating a human is tricky business. Fucking them is fine, but a real relationship? Quickly becomes a problem. They can’t know about us. The rule is—”
“I know the old laws. Have you forgotten who my father is?” I hate invoking my father’s authority, but Tank is old school. Some think I wouldn’t control my own pack if I didn’t have my father backing my rule. It’s not true. I’ve never asked him to back me up on anything, but I guess the threat is there, nonetheless.
“No.” Tank drops his gaze. “I don’t mean disrespect. I protect the pack.”
Authority acknowledged, my wolf backs down. I clap him on the back. The difference between me and my dad is I know when to be a hardass and when to be a friend.
“You and me both. I’ll never risk the safety of my wolves over a human. This one is under my protection, but that’s all. My wolf took a shine to her.” Shit, that sounds even more suspicious. My wolf has no business sniffing around a human. Shifters mate shifters. End of story.
I crack my knuckles again, rubbing my tattoos. Full moon makes me antsy. I’m not a newbie who has to shift, but the desire is there.
“I’m heading out. Tell Trey and Jared no after-work party, or they’ll be on dish duty for a month.”
“Right, boss.” Tank tilts his head, showing his neck a little in deference. He doesn’t argue, or point out that my explanation of who Amber is and what she means to me falls short. Wolf packs aren’t democracies. My word is law. All the more reason not to be an asshole like my father.
But Tank was right to give his warning. We all know the rules. Outsiders can’t know about us. In the old days, there was only one way to deal with a human who’d learned the shifter secret.
If Amber knows what I think she knows, she might have to die.
~.~
A long, winding ride does nothing to calm my wolf. All too soon, I find myself striding down the hall of my apartment building straight to Amber’s door.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out. There’s a text from my sister with lots of happy face and palm tree emojis. Arrived in San Carlos. XXOO.
I shake my head, fight a grin as I refocus on the matter at hand.
An outsider knows our secret. My wolf doesn’t think of her as an outsider, though. He wants to protect her as much as I want to protect my sister.
Leaning close to the door, my skin tingles as I pick up Amber’s sultry scent. Inside, a TV is on low, and I hear her moving around. Amber must have dropped off her friend and come back here. There’s no other scent.
I knock on the door. The apartment falls quiet.
“Amber.”
More silence.
“I know you’re in there. It’s Garrett. I need to talk to you.”
Her scent grows stronger. There’s a slight rustle just behind the door. I realize I’m gripping the doorknob and pull my hand away. I don’t need to crush another thing this month.
“Open up.” I lower my voice. She’s right there, on the other side.
She doesn’t answer.
I throw some authority into my voice. “Amber, open the door.”
“I’m busy.”
“Open it. Now.”
“Go away. Or I’ll call the cops.”
“No.” I splay my hand on the door, as if I can feel her through the wood. “Calling the cops would seriously piss me off, and believe me, little girl, you don’t want to see me mad.” True story: I don’t want her to see me mad. “Now, open the door.”
“Go to hell. I’m not afraid of you.”
The corners of my lips tug upward, despite the seriousness of the situation. I love her bravado. She’s so fucking cute. “Right. So, if you’re not afraid, open the door.” When she doesn’t answer, I ball my hand into a fist. “Open it, or I’ll bust it in, Amber.”
“I’m calling the cops.”
“No cops. Door. Now.” I’m not used to being disobeyed—by my wolves or by humans. Usually, when I show my authority, people jump.
She moves away. Is she calling the cops?
Fuck. I’m so used to people following my orders, I didn’t think she’d actually go through with her threat. I angle my ear to the door but don’t hear her speaking. Instead...dammit. That’s the sound of her balcony door snicking open. Where is she going?
The image of her attempting the crazy and dangerous gymnastic feat of leaping to the neighboring balcony to escape throws me into full shifter protection mode. My fangs punch out to defend her from the invisible enemy of gravity. I race back to my apartment and run out to the balcony.
Fuckity fuck fuck!
The crazy little human has climbed over the edge of her balcony and is inching her way to the fire escape ladder.
I
swallow the shout that chokes my throat, not wanting to scare her. She’s obviously already terrified if she thinks climbing off her balcony is a better option than facing me. But, yeah, I guess finding out your neighbor is a werewolf would scare the shit out of most humans.
I dash to the stairwell and take each landing in one leap, skipping the stairs altogether. On the first floor, I bang the door open and jog around to the back of the building. Adrenaline pulses through me, bringing on a partial shift. My skin ripples before I take a deep breath and settle. My night vision sharpens.
There. Amber, still in her little skirt and blouse from the club, her hair in her usual bun. She’s climbing down the metal rungs of the fire escape, barefoot. Her foot slips a little, and she yelps, clinging to the railing. She’s going too fast.
I race over just as she loses her footing again and slips. With a little scream, she falls the rest of the way—about a story and a half—right into my arms. I catch her easily but soften my body to cushion her landing, letting her knock me to the ground. A grunt escapes as I hit the cement. For a second, I just lie there, cock growing hard at the feel of her in my arms.
She’s breathing, heart racing. Her scent, sweet citrus and spice, makes me dizzy. I rest a hand on her back, encouraging her to lie still, her breasts pressed against my chest. Maybe she’ll take the hint and relax into me.
No such luck. She pushes up, straddling me as she stares down.
Oh, honey. Not a good idea.
My cock thinks it’s a fabulous idea. It strains against my jeans, wanting more contact. “That was a stupid-ass move.”
She scrambles up, but I catch her, coming to my feet to swing her over my shoulder. I’m halfway to the stairwell when she starts to struggle.
“Put me down, Garrett! I will scream.”
Interesting she hasn’t already screamed. Just like she didn’t call the cops. Maybe she obeys better than I thought.
Either way, I have the upper hand, and I intend to keep it.
I hoist her higher on my shoulder, cutting off her protests. I give her bottom a slap, which is a big mistake. It’s got to be the cutest ass I’ve ever seen, and now that I’ve smacked it once, I’m dying for more contact. I want to squeeze it, stroke it, smack it again.
