His experience of second-hand book stores is different, although he hasn’t been in one in years. Sometimes they had a bin of damaged books: mostly novels missing their front cover or water damaged, or perhaps ones with big coffee rings on the first page. Cal always liked those best. They cost practically nothing, and they were usually still good to read. He also didn’t feel bad about leaving them behind in whatever dump he and Dad were staying in when it was time to leave town again.
Reed had little time for books, and he’d certainly not been willing to spend any money on them.
After Cal ran, he hadn’t thought about them much either. He’d thought of nothing other than putting as many miles as he could between him and Reed.
The little bookcase represents a luxury Cal hasn’t had time to think about in a long time. He’ll maybe have time to read one before he leaves, if he reads fast.
His stomach is rumbling, but he doesn’t want to spend any of his precious cash on food, not when he doesn’t know what tomorrow is going to bring.
He also has no intention of downstairs to face the suspicious alpha again, so that leaves him alone in the room for the evening.
Cal takes his time choosing a book, sliding each from its place in turn and reading the blurb. It makes him feel like he’s a kid again, and him and Dad are quietly browsing the shelves, occasionally brushing past each other. He remembers how Dad always gave him the same little smile when Cal excitedly shared a good find with him.
Finally, he decides on a crime novel by an author he hasn’t read in a while, then sits on the edge of the bed and pulls off his boots.
As it is every time he’s undressed since he ran away from Reed, undressing is a weird experience. There’s no wincing as his jeans come off nor his shirt. No trying to keep a bruised area from aching. No ignoring the red marks. No worrying about Reed seeing him vulnerable.
No more Reed, Cal thinks and grins to himself. Reed can do one. He’s never going to bruise Cal again. This one is going to be the last.
Once undressed, Cal folds his clothes neatly on the chair beside the little table. The folding is a habit he picked up from Dad and one he’s never broken, not even when things got bad.
Finally, he lies down in the bed, opens the book, and reads. There is no sound, other than the soft falling of snow outside and the occasional creak as he shifts in the bed. It’s a perfect moment, ruined only by the disconcerting feeling that he’s enjoying himself too much. That means he has to leave as soon as he can. In the meantime, he intends to enjoy the hell out of it.
LUKE
crates and picture books
Luke makes sure he’s waiting when Rowland comes downstairs in the morning. He thought of pretending he’s doing something other than waiting, but it can’t hurt to let the man know he’s being watched.
Rowland startles at the sight of him. Luke feels pretty startled himself. He’d forgotten how good looking the man was. Well, he’d known, but it isn’t the same thing as having him suddenly appear right in front of him.
Luke takes the opportunity to scrutinize him properly. Rowland is a mess of contradictions. He stands ramrod straight and his hair, while longish, is neatly cut and combed. It gives him an almost military look and yet he’s wearing the same clothes as the previous day, his jeans creased and there’s a stain of some sort on his collar. And under the thick lashes, the man bears a sleepy confused expression as if he’s not used to being awake so early.
Luke can’t help thinking of how that expression might look first thing in the morning while still in bed, Rowland’s body warm up against Luke’s, both of them still sleepy but horny and rubbing up against each other while—
Luke recovers quickly. He wouldn’t be the pack’s second if he couldn’t. “I hear you’re looking for work.”
Rowland keeps up the deer in the headlights expression. It’s unexpectedly hot and makes Luke want to pounce, pin him down and bite his neck.
Oh hell, quit this now.
Betas aren’t his thing, and spies even less so. It doesn’t help when Rowland blushes, a pretty pink flush that rises up his pale skin. If the man is a spy, he’s a terrible one.
“Yes, sir. Do you know of anything?”
Polite, Luke thinks, but then plenty of packs insist on “sirs” from strangers. “Yeah, I had a delivery come in last night. Needs unpacking and cataloguing if you want in. You can ride down with me in the truck.”
Rowland pauses, clearly unsure, and Luke changes his mind about him again. If he’s really looking for work, he’d snap it up.
Then Rowland nods, as if to himself. “Thank you. I’d appreciate it, sir.”
“No problem,” Luke says. “Ready to go?”
Rowland nods again and follows Luke out to the truck, hesitating and looking around before he gets in.
His weird scent fills the cab almost immediately, making Luke’s stomach twist.
Neither Adam nor Gregor are bothered by it. Why is Luke? He’s spent plenty of time around betas, and even omegas and alphas on blockers. They all lack the standard alpha/omega scent. This isn’t the same thing. Whatever it is, Luke doesn’t like it.
Rowland stares out the window as they drive, letting Luke sneak in the occasional glance.
He could be an omega, Luke thinks. There are plenty out there wanting to live their lives on their own terms, trying to live under the radar and not get caught up in mating runs or by some jerk alpha who thinks he owns them.
It still doesn’t explain the man’s scent and why Luke is so bothered by it. His original guess of alpha on blockers is a lot more likely.
Who on earth would send this man to spy on them? He’s awful at it. Perhaps it’s purely because he’s a newcomer and Luke won’t recognize him. At the very least, they’ve succeeded in confusing him completely.
“So, where are you from then?” Luke asks casually.
Rowland startles again. He’s a jumpy creature, Luke thinks. That helps.
“Uh, Fort Gosford originally, sir.”
“Oh nice,” Luke says. “Haven’t been there in a while. What brings you to Aylewood?”
Rowland glances at Luke, then looks away. “Just passing through, sir.”
It’s an odd answer and an obvious lie. No one passes through at the end of the bus line and end of the road. Aylewood is at the end of everything. The endless ‘sirs’ are getting annoying too.
Luke decides not to push it. Rowland is clearly feeling defensive. Maybe he just needs a couple of beers in him. If Luke can’t get a handle on him by evening, he’ll take him down to the Grand Hotel bar and ply him with booze. Most people show their true colors after a few, and those that don’t are often trouble. Either way, Luke will end up with a better idea of what he’s dealing with.
Luke pulls the truck round the back of the store and switches the engine off.
“This is your place?” Rowland asks. He sounds surprised.
Luke tries to imagine himself through a stranger’s eyes: six-four, blond and muscled, the plaid shirts. Maybe he does look like he’s more likely to spend his time pumping iron or wrestling mountain lions or whatever big men are supposed to do.
“Yes, it’s mine,” he says, gruffer than he intends, and weirdly hurt. He’s proud of his little secondhand bookstore. It’s not fancy and he hasn’t redecorated in a while, but it’s a comfortable space for book lovers and that’s all it needs to be.
Evidently Rowland picks up on Luke’s mood because he blurts out, “It’s nice.”
Luke grunts and gets out of the truck. He unlocks the back door and flips the lights on. “Come on, I’ll show you around, and what I need you to do.”
The back door leads directly onto the storage area where someone dropped off over twenty boxes of books from an estate sale the day before. The donations crate is full to the top too. Luke’s been meaning to get around to sorting it out but hasn’t time with all the Foster stuff going on. There’s plenty for Rowland to do to keep him out of trouble, and under Luke’s wa
tchful eye.
But first he has to grab that big pile of picture books, and hold them in front of his groin as naturally as he can, because he’s had a hard on since he got in the cab of the truck, and while he’s quite happy to point out the features of his store, that part of his body isn’t quite what he intends to point with.
CAL
swords and farm boys
The truck ride had been excruciating. The scent rolling off of the alpha beside him was almost overwhelming and Cal had struggled to keep his eyes from rolling up with pleasure.
Sometime during the ride, the man asked him questions, and Cal had done his best to not sound like a complete idiot when he replied. He thinks he failed miserably.
And then the truck pulled up behind the bookstore and Cal made himself look like an idiot yet again.
If the alpha hadn’t been suspicious of him before, then he sure as hell was now. That was even more obvious when Luke showed him only the absolute minimum he had to, then made his excuses.
He came by briefly again to let Cal know there were some pastries and coffee out front, and then disappeared again in under a minute.
Cal stands in the stock room and tries not to freak out. He can’t run again in a blind panic. He has little money, and this town is in the middle of nowhere. He needs at least the bus fare.
Stupid. If only he hadn’t panicked in Cedar Falls, he wouldn’t be in this mess. He hasn’t taken a blocker this morning either. It’s the first time in months that he’s gone without.
At least he’s got a job and enough work to earn the bus fare out of here, even if he hasn’t decided yet where that bus is going to take him.
It’s also evident that the job isn’t pretend work so Luke can keep an eye on him, or if keeping an eye on him was Luke’s main reason for employing him, then the alpha is clearly killing two birds with one stone.
The stock room is a complete mess. The crate that Luke referred to the donations bin is full to the brim, and there are boxes everywhere. Most look as if they’ve come from an estate sale. Some have useful labels like ‘business textbooks’, others are less helpful. One simply has ‘stuff’ scrawled on it in black marker.
The job is fairly simple. Sort out the books into those that look like they can be sold, and into piles according to quality and genre, then label them with price stickers according to the handwritten chart tacked to the back of the door. Finally, move them into the relevant section at the front of the store.
Cal starts by taking advantage of Luke’s offer of pastries and coffee. He hasn’t eaten since the diner in Cedar Falls and it saves him having to dip into the little cash he has.
The alpha studiously ignores him when he comes into the front of the store, so Cal ignores him right back, quickly selecting a cherry donut and black coffee, then takes it to the back room.
He gets to work straight away, careful not to spill crumbs or coffee on the books. He starts with the donation crate, pulling out each book one by one and checking them for missing pages or other damage. It’s slow going at first. Cal hasn’t spent much time with books in the last few years, and he forgot how pleasurable the pages feel under his fingers and how much the soft scent of old books makes him feel happy.
He finds himself smiling as he works, tidying and cataloguing and sorting out the enormous mess into something organized.
Mid-morning, he finds a bunch of new books by one of his favorite authors that had come out while he’d been with Reed’s pack. Cal packs them into the fantasy section shelves with more than a little longing.
Although the bookstore as whole seems to focus on romance novels, the fantasy section is first rate and full of the cornier side of fantasy that Cal’s always loved. Give him a farm boy, a mysterious prophecy and a sword, and he’ll be happy as a clam for hours.
The books aren’t expensive, even the newer ones with big name authors. Luke Winterstoke appears to have a stack-em-high and sell-em-cheap attitude to the secondhand book business.
Cal approves. This is exactly the kind of small cheap bookstore that saved him from boredom in the endless town-after-town moves while he was growing up.
He does some calculations in his head and wonders if he can justify spending some of his earnings on some reading for the bus.
Nope.
He’s not going to get very far if he keeps stopping for indulgences. There’ll be time for fantasy novels later. If he’s lucky.
Cal gets into a rhythm quickly and is making good progress, when a short sandy-haired omega saunters into the back of the store just after lunch.
The omega leans against the donations crate and gives Cal an appraising look, followed by a half smile as if he finds something about Cal amusing. Something about him looks familiar but Cal can’t put a finger on it.
“Can I help you?”
“You’re Paul, right?” the omega says.
Cal stares at him for a second too long before he remembers that yes, he’s supposed to be Paul. He shakes his head as if trying to shift mental gears and gives what he hopes will be taken as an apologetic smile. “Yeah, sorry. I was miles away.”
“Hi,” the omega holds out his hand, “I’m Jason Winterstoke, but everyone calls me Jax.”
That’s the reason he looks familiar. The short man has Gregor’s nose and Luke’s dark brown eyes.
“Another Winterstoke brother?” Cal asks, reaching out and taking the offered hand.
The man laughs, showing a crooked smile that would make Cal weak at the knees if he were into omegas. “Yup. I’m the littlest Winterstoke. Both height-wise and age.” He shakes Cal’s hand, practically crushing his fingers as he does. He smells of fresh cherries.
Members of the same family tend to smell similar to Cal. They might smell of dark cocoa, or milk chocolate, or mocha, but the Winterstokes seem all very different, if not unpleasant.
So far, they seem to be books, fresh grass and cherries. Cal can’t help but wonder what the oldest brother — the pack leader — smells like. He wonders if it will be something else entirely, and what it is that ties the scents together.
“I just wanted to pop back and say hi,” Jax continues. “Luke had an errand to run so he asked me to mind the cash register for the rest of the afternoon. Didn’t want you to come through and think I was burgling the place.”
Cal is taken aback. They let an omega work the register. He hesitates, not sure whether to ask. Oh hell, why not? “You’re allowed to work? They let you?”
“Oh god, you’re from one of those packs,” Jax rolls his eyes. “We don’t brook with that nonsense here. And I won’t either, for what it’s worth.”
“Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that. It was just...different where I’m from.” Very different. Reed didn’t allow the omegas in his pack to work. A few trusted omegas were allowed out for grocery shopping and lifting children to school. Most weren’t.
“I hear you. Ugh. Been there, not planning on doing it again,” Jax says.
Cal wonders if he has. The Reed experience is not something someone would take so lightly. The things that happened to Cal don’t happen to omegas who have three big alpha brothers to protect them. He says nothing.
“You betas have it lucky,” Jax continues. “You don’t have to deal with any of this nonsense.”
“Yes,” Cal says simply.
Jax gives him an odd look, but Cal’s feeling more at ease. This is one of the more modern packs. They might still turn him over to Reed if they find out, but the chances of them being blond versions of Reed himself are diminishing rapidly.
“Let me know if you need anything,” Jax finishes off, then he heads into the front of the store and Cal is left alone with the books, just the way he likes it.
LUKE
floor crumbs and elephants
“Ooh, looks like someone’s got a boyfriend,” Jax says the moment Luke walks through the door.
Luke has just spent three hours checking the summit venue and making it’s secure, while worrying about e
verything that can possibly go wrong. He’s not in the mood for Jax’s matchmaking.
He pulls a face, “No, I don’t. And he’ll hear you.”
“So? You always were terrible at making the first move. Maybe if he’s listening, he’ll jump you.”
The first part is true. Luke is terrible at making the first move. He’s a six-foot-four second-in-command alpha wolf of a long-standing mountain pack, and asking someone on a date is the most terrifying thing he can think of.
Not that he’s going to ask Paul Rowland on a date.
“I didn’t invite him here for that,” Luke says. “I think he might be a spy for the summit. I want to keep an eye on him.”
He tries to give Jax stern alpha look to make it clear that he’s deadly serious and all the talk about flirting needs to stop. It fails completely, the way it always does with his little brother.
Jax raises his eyebrows. “A spy? Really?” he asks in a dubious voice. “That guy? That’s your excuse for not hitting on him? You’re starting to scrape the bottle of the barrel there. He is so very pretty though. Just your type.”
Jax is leaning against the counter with a pastry in one hand. Luke tries to ignore the crumbs his brother is dropping onto his nice clean floor. Sometimes the shorter man seems to think Luke works in a barn, not a bookstore.
“Yes, he’s pretty, but he’s also packing some serious muscle under that grubby shirt.”
“Aha! You noticed!”
“Yes. I did. I notice everyone who might cause trouble,” Luke says dryly.
“Pfft. That one’s trouble all right, but not the type you think.”
Luke is saved from arguing further by a family with small children approaching the cash register.
Jax rolls his eyes, and disappears into the back of the store, presumably to have the same argument with Rowland from the opposite angle.
One of Luke’s favorite parts of his job is selling books to children. Adults get the same pleasure from choosing a book that children do, but their joy is always more contained.
Winterstoke Wolves Collection : An MM Mpreg Shifter Romance Bundle Page 3
