by Lily Cahill
She hardened the guilt into determination. He was a shifter. And shifters cared only about their own.
“Hi, guys,” Nina said, her tone clipped. She pulled off her glasses and held up her tape recorder. “Let’s just get right into it today.”
Chase and Emily, who was hovering nearby, shared a look. Nina didn’t give them a chance to say anything. She barreled into her first question, her eyes on her notepad and her recorder held out.
After fifteen minutes of rapid-fire questions, Nina snapped her notebook shut. Drew hadn’t said a word, but she’d figure it out. “Okay, that should be everything.”
Emily cleared her throat. “The guys were hoping to get into the new sound a bit more. I’m not sure if you’ve heard—”
Nina didn’t pause in packing up her stuff. “I’ll be at the release tomorrow. We can do follow-ups then. But I don’t have all day to shoot the shit.”
Drew’s hands tightened in his lap, and Chase and Emily shared another look.
“Sorry,” Nina added gruffly.
“No, no,” Emily said, going into publicist mode. “We know your time is valuable, and just scoring an interview with you means a lot.”
Nina smiled thinly. “Look, like I said, I’ll be at the release.” She didn’t have more to say, so she simply turned to leave. She was three steps away when she felt Drew at her side. Jesus, she could actually feel his presence without turning to look. That unnerved her so damned much, this connection between them. She didn’t want it. She didn’t want any of it.
“I’m not in a mood to chat, Drew.”
“Welcome to the club,” Drew muttered. “But we can’t just—”
Nina spun to him. Behind them, she didn’t miss the way Drew’s brothers and Emily watched them with interest. “Can’t what? Just pretend that whole episode at my place didn’t happen? Because that’s exactly what I plan on doing.”
Drew reached out for her, but Nina shoved her hands back in her pockets. “What happened to you, Nina? Why do you hate shifters so much?”
Nina jutted her jaw out and stared up at Drew. Part of her wanted so badly to tell him and see him cringe, to feel horrible. Instead, she stayed silent. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Drew.”
Then she turned and left him behind. Nina shoved the hotel door open and nearly smacked into Gavin Rorbach, a junior reporter at the magazine. If her hackles hadn’t already been raised, they would be now. This, though, made Nina damn near apoplectic.
“Jesus Christ, Gavin,” Nina snapped.
“You don’t have a monopoly on interviewing here, you know,” Gavin snapped back, though he couldn’t quite cover the whine in his voice. Too late, Gavin tried to hide the giant camera he’d been toting. It was all too obvious that he’d been hoping for shots of the Hart brothers as they left.
Gavin wasn’t a bad writer, but he felt so entitled to everything Nina had worked her ass off to achieve. She chose her stories, so he wanted to as well. She got a cover, so he wanted the next one. He was a good writer, yes, but a shitty human being.
Nina had offered to mentor Gavin years ago, when he’d first joined Rolling Stone. He’d only wanted her contacts though, not her guidance. Each passing year, Nina—older by nearly a decade, a woman, and black, though she wasn’t sure which pissed Gavin off the most—still reeled in the best assignments, while Gavin grew more desperate.
But this—loitering outside hotels for a tabloid shot—this was a new low, even for him.
“What are you now, paparazzi?” Nina sneered at Gavin and shoved past him.
God, she was so done. With all of it—with Drew and this place and just … everything. Agitation jittered through her as she approached her car; she threw her bag in and slammed into her seat.
“Dammit,” Nina growled. She slapped the steering wheel once, twice. “Dammit!”
She’d handled everything wrong. She had an assignment, a job to do, and she’d just spent a half-hour doing some lazy, shoddy journalism just because she let her own emotions take precedence over the story. She’d have to salvage the story somehow, and that meant actually going to the release party the next night.
And Gavin! She’d handled that just as poorly. The guy was an asshole and a thorn in her side, but he was a colleague. No matter his churlish behavior, she’d always stayed professional with him … until she called him paparazzi. Nina rammed the key into the ignition and threw the car into first.
She just wanted to start this day over again. Nina grimaced. Shit, she just wanted to start the last three days all over. Mindlessly, she got on the 10, staring blankly ahead as she sat in traffic. But she didn’t peel off toward Venice, like normal. She continued on to the famed Highway 1, her body and memories taking over.
After the westward bus had dropped her in LA with almost no friends and less money, she and Van had hitched to a spot she’d found on her map: Point Dume. Something about it had just sounded so fatalistic, it made Nina feel that she wasn’t the only one in this world that had gone through some real shit.
Now, Nina pointed her monster-loud ’68 Corvette toward that same bit of windswept coastline. It was a spit of land jutting out from the Malibu coast, ruggedly hilled with a desolate cove. The beach here was narrow and rocky, with pale cliffs facing the sea. At this time of year, it was also empty, just what Nina wanted. It was about the only place in LA that Nina felt truly alone.
Nina took her time down the steep, rusting stairs toward the beach then settled down into the sand with her back against the cliff face. She breathed in the scent of salt, closed her eyes against the winter sun. Despite its name, Point Dume wasn’t fatalistic to Nina. It was here that she and Van decided to become roommates, and here that Nina beheld the vastness of the ocean and realized her own place in it.
She’d spent her years bobbing at the surface of her life, without roots connecting her to her community no matter how desperately she tried to grow them. But maybe she didn’t need roots, she had realized all those years ago.
Maybe, she just had to take a deep breath and dive into a life all of her own.
Nina dug her toes into the sand and watched the waves crash. For years, Nina had been diving. She’d created this life of hers in LA, and she was proud of what she’d achieved. But maybe part of her still craved the steadiness of roots. An image of Drew, of the way he’d kissed her, floated to the surface of her mind. A secret curled in her ear: Maybe she was finally ready for roots.
For the past few months, restlessness had haunted her. She’d been dreaming of the woods, of finishing her novel, of leaving LA behind for good. And these last two nights, she’d been dreaming of having Drew by her side for it. It terrified her as much as it excited her. Pushing him away after the interview had felt cathartic in the moment, but now all she wanted was to feel his body against hers. She wanted to hear him speak her name—the way he uttered it felt like love made manifest.
For so long, Nina had been steadfast in her insistence that she was alone in an ocean—that she wanted it that way. But she was sick of swimming. As much as it scared her, Nina could have something real with Drew … if she could overcome her revulsion and hatred of what he truly was.
Right now, on this windswept beach with the sun warming her face, it didn’t seem so insurmountable. She’d been strong enough to leave her home and make a life in LA. Perhaps—with Drew at her side—she could find that same strength to leave LA and listen to the longings of her heart.
Nina sat in the sand for more than an hour as the sun dipped toward the horizon. It warmed her cheeks while daydreams of Drew—of a future—warmed her soul.
Chapter Six
Drew
SCALDING HOT WATER CASCADED OVER Drew’s tense muscles. He leaned against the cool shower tiles and let the water immerse him. His mind jumped and twisted—each problem vying for his attention.
Uncle Mac had called a half-dozen times in the last few days. The clans who swore fealty to the Harts were growing restless, some of them swayed by the Swann’s ca
ll for a conclave to choose a new chieftain and oust the Harts from leadership for good. Mac wanted Drew to come back to Montana—even for just a few days before the tour started—and calm the clans. But leaving LA meant leaving Nina. And the thought of leaving Nina hollowed out his chest in the most horrible way.
Nina was the perfect person for him, Drew was certain of that all the way down to his marrow. Not just because they were fated, but because she was … her. She was sharp-edged, but resilient. She didn’t mince words, and she was absolutely authentic. In a world of people pretending to be something they were not, Nina Marten was wholly herself. That pulled Drew in, made him want to prove to her how perfect they could be … if only she’d give them a chance.
Drew balled his hand into a fist and rammed it against the tiles, just enough to feel the bite. She’d rejected him, just like Kirsten. And yet he’d never leave Nina’s side again if she’d let him. If she’d let him ….
Which she wouldn’t. She’d made that clear enough. Nina Marten considered that night a mistake. The thought of it made the muscles in Drew’s shoulders and back tighten. The best night of his life was a mistake to her. God, she’d wounded his pride as much as his heart when she’d said that.
Drew roughed his hands through his dark hair and dipped his head under the shower head. The hot water ran in rivulets down his face and hair. What was wrong with him that made him unlovable?
The question burned him up from the inside out, scalding his body more than the steaming shower. Was the damage of his childhood written all over his features? Was he somehow … deficient? If he could just say the things on his mind, maybe Nina would understand their connection. But he could never seem to make his mouth form the words his mind longed to say.
Someone pounded on the bathroom door, and Drew heard muffled shouting.
“Coming,” Drew bellowed. The album release party was starting in a little over two hours.
Reluctantly, he switched off the shower and stepped onto the cool tile, wrapping a towel around his waist. With the side of his hand, he wiped the steamy mirror clear and stared at his reflection. Did Nina see something in him that reviled her? He knew the answer to that. She did. She could see his bear, and she hated it. She wasn’t a shifter, yet knew about them, and one of them had done something awful to her. Nina looked into Drew’s face and saw all that. But all Drew saw was a tan face in need of a shave and dark, wet hair.
He pushed his hair out of his eyes and scraped it into a knot at the back of his head. His vivid green eyes—his mother’s eyes—stared back at him. The old ache twisted his heart. His mother. God, he’d miss her until the day he died. And worse, she’d never meet Nina. His heart twisted harder, until he had to look away from his probing reflection. His mother would have loved Nina.
His phone buzzed—another text from Mac.
“I need your answer, Drew. The clans won’t wait much longer.”
Drew growled in frustration at the same time as Chase pounded on the bathroom door again. He could feel his facade cracking. He didn’t know how much longer he could go on like this without crumbling from it all—he couldn’t keep up the appearance of calm, of contentedness much longer.
He didn’t want to go back to Montana, didn’t want to take on the responsibility of clan chieftain after how it twisted his father. But Drew had to act. He had to do something. Maybe solving one problem would solve another. Drew grabbed his phone off the bathroom counter and typed out a quick text to Mac.
“Call a conclave for twelve weeks from now. I’ll be there.”
Emily had outdone herself for this release party. Drew swiveled his head around the rooftop, taking it all in. The neon lights of LA surrounded them, making the air glow orange. On the large rooftop, small tables were crowded with beautiful women and stylish men sipping cocktails while industry types circulated. Over the hum and laughter of the crowd, music thrummed through the air from the DJ spinning tracks in one corner next to a small stage. At the other end, an infinity pool was filled with bikini-clad women—most likely models hired to do exactly that.
“Damn, darlin’,” Chase called. He tugged Emily closer and nuzzled against her neck. Drew had to fight back a spike of jealousy. Emily’s cheeks colored, but she grinned at whatever Chase was whispering in her ear. Drew looked away and caught Bret’s eyes. His mouth was curled in disgust, and he rolled his eyes at the display of affection. God, did Drew look like that? He lifted his chin and stilled his features.
Bret snagged two old fashioneds from the bar and handed one to Drew. “Promise me you aren’t going to lose your mind like Jax and Chase have.”
Drew sipped the drink, choosing his words carefully. His brothers’ hadn’t lost their minds. They’d found their hearts, their purpose, their soulmates. Drew longed for that. Instead, he shrugged.
“They look happy, Bret.”
Bret sneered. “So do golden retrievers when you throw a ball, man. I want my brothers back.”
Drew watched as Jax jogged over to Tiff with a water. He helped her into a low lounge chair and rubbed her shoulders as she sipped the water. She laughed and shooed him away, one hand on her pregnant belly and a dreamy look in her eyes.
“You still have your brothers, now you just have two more sisters.”
Bret sighed loudly. “Whatever. I’m going to find two sisters of my own. Preferably horny ones.”
Worry niggled at the back of Drew’s mind as he watched Bret weave through the crowd toward the pool. Bret had never been the most even-tempered man, but he’d always been a good guy. Sure, he and Jax butted heads over music and lyrics, but there was something else going on lately. And it seemed to start when Jax had locked onto Tiff. A darkness had seeped into Bret, making what was a sarcastic personality into something more caustic, something angrier.
Drew made to go after his brother when he felt someone right behind him. It set the hair at the back of his neck standing on end. Drew swiveled around and found himself staring at a man. Everything about him was ordinary—average height, standard build, dull brown hair. Except those watery blue eyes, they were a bit too wide. The man smiled, but his eyes didn’t move, only bulged.
“Gavin Rorbach,” the guy said, thrusting a hand out to Drew. Drew shook it only briefly.
Gavin held up his phone in Drew’s face, the camera light flaring.
“Who are you with?” Drew asked, trying to push down the annoyance from his voice.
“Rolling Stone. Wanted to get your thoughts on the new music.”
Drew frowned. “We’re already working with someone at the magazine.”
“I’m doing my own thing,” Gavin said quickly. He smiled thinly and bared teeth that were too small for his mouth. He pushed closer to Drew, shoved his phone up into his face. Was this guy recording all this? Unease rolled through Drew, and he took another step back.
“I just heard Bret complaining about your brothers and their new wives. Is there tension in the band right now?”
“I’m not talking to you, man. We already spoke with Ms. Marten.”
“Come on, Drew. You’re the silent one. Dreary Drew, right? Give the world your side of the story.”
Annoyance fired hot inside Drew. He shoved the phone away, and it slipped out of Gavin’s grip and clattered to the ground.
“I said I wasn’t talking to you,” Drew growled. Around them, people stilled, the conversation lulled. Drew reeled in his sudden anger, though it was harder to control than normal. Drew breathed heavily out of his nose, then ducked his head and shoved through the growing crowd.
“Drew.” It was Emily, with Sven from the label at her side. “Come on over here. We want some photos with the guys from Pitchfork.”
Sven touched Drew’s arm. “You want me to get that guy tossed out? Just say the word.”
Drew glanced back at Gavin, who was still watching him closely. “No. No, it’s fine.” But a large part of him did want Gavin kicked out. Something about the guy just didn’t sit right with Drew. Drew sho
ok off the unease and posed for a few photos with the photographer from the popular music site. He let Jax and Chase do all the talking as the journalist asked for a few canned answers about the new album.
Drew motioned for Emily, and she sidled over. Drew leaned in close. “Did Nina drop out of the Rolling Stone piece?”
Emily cocked her head. “No. She rsvp’d for tonight.”
“But she’s not here yet.”
Emily answered slowly. “Do you need me to tell you when she gets here, Drew?”
Drew stood tall and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Is everything—”
“Everything is fine,” Drew said, then he turned back to the reporter. He didn’t say a word the whole time.
There was someone from People after that, and then a producer and cameraman wanting to shoot some footage for Entertainment Tonight. Drew stood at the back and did his best to keep from scowling.
And then he saw her. She was at the back of the crowd, chatting to Emily and Tiff with her recorder held up, but he could have spotted her among thousands. Millions. His feet inched toward her, his body leaned closer. His heart beat, beat, beat to be near her.
Nina looked up at Drew then. And she smiled. Drew saw fireworks.
He was three steps away when a hand on his arm brought him back to reality.
“Dude, are you going to say anything or …?”
Drew swung his head around to Jax. Everyone was staring at him.
“Sorry, what?”
The producer sighed loudly and repeated his question. “I asked where you learned to play the fiddle. You play on three tracks on the new album.”
“Oh, right. My mom. She played.”
The producer raised his eyebrows, impatiently waiting for more.
“And, uh. She taught me.”
The guy sneered. “Okay, then. And Chase, on the Irish drum ….”
“Excuse me,” Drew said to no one in particular.
