by C. D. Gorri
“You are not marrying someone for a green card are you?”
“Shush! Look, not everyone finds their true mate. I’m all alone, Fred, and so is Igor. I need someone to go to business events with, so I am not always standing there like a dope. The wives don’t trust me, they think I’m out to get their men. Really, in this century, I can’t move forward in business without a husband, can you believe it? Anyway, if we can help each other out then, why not? It’s not like I have other prospects.”
Claire tried not to look at her friend. She could feel her big silver eyes staring at her, and she knew there’d be pity in them. Their pack bonds allowed her to get a glimmer of Fred’s feelings, but Claire shrugged it off. It was her life.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to judge,” Fred began, placing her fork down on the table, “Have you talked to Mike since the party last June?”
Claire closed her eyes on the wave of embarrassment that flushed her cheeks. She’d told Fred all about her passionate interlude with the man that had been Fred’s boss once upon a time. She hadn’t meant to, but she’d been upset and confused after it’d happened. Fred had been shocked, to say the least.
“But he still loves his wife,” had been her shocked reply, when Claire had told the other woman what happened and how she felt about the man.
That was when Claire had decided enough was enough. She’d started using the app a few weeks later and the handsome and emotionally available, Igor Petrov, had answered her almost immediately. She’d met the dark haired, green-eyed Wolf on a run with the Pack one full moon night, and they’d been dating ever since.
She used to look for Mike on those runs, but he’d been absent for a long time. The last seven months or so she’d been to two runs with Igor and Mike had been there for one of them. His black Wolf was large and magnificent. The perfect foil for her silver streaked gray Wolf. She stayed away from him on purpose, trying to follow the erratic hunting pattern of her date, Igor.
His own Wolf was a shaggy brown beast a head smaller than Mike’s. Igor didn’t seem to mind being submissive in nature. When Mike took the hunt out of his hands and caught the rabbit they’d been chasing, Igor simply rolled belly up. When he’d dropped the carcass at Claire’s paws, she’d taken the treat, her Wolf-self unwilling to turn down the fresh kill. She had no idea what his motives were. Maybe he’d meant to show her that he was stronger than both her and her date.
Igor was unlike Mike in a lot of ways. He was talkative and liked game shows. He worked as a plumber though she could tell he was just passing time, but he was fun. They liked eating out together and going to the movies. What Claire liked best was that he was undemanding.
He didn’t set her body on fire. He didn’t make her want unattainable things. And he didn’t ask anything of her. Claire was free to live her life, and he was there when she needed someone on her arm for work.
“But what about love?” Fred asked.
“What about it?”
She’d lived so long without it, Claire was certain she couldn’t miss what she didn’t have. Her father had raised her alone after her mother died when Claire had been just a teenager. She watched him mourn her mother for a long time. It broke her heart how quickly he’d deteriorated after she graduated college.
“I’m sorry to leave you, but I’ll see my Ava again,” he’d said right before he passed in front of his only daughter’s eyes.
“Love hurts, Fred,” Claire said putting down her chopsticks, “Love dies, and love leaves you. I’ll be fine without love.”
CHAPTER 2
Mike Bellamy cursed soundly as the young idiot from Lane Liquors Corporation attempted to hang up the large white banner that announced the launch of Winter Bite with a rusty, old staple gun. And on the newly refinished solid oak beams of his bar too.
“That’s it, get the fuck out! And don’t come back!”
He picked up the young man, staple gun and all, and tossed him headfirst into the foot and a half of snow that had accumulated the last day or so in his parking lot. He didn’t watch the jerk land, certain it was a good throw. And now he’d have to call the landscaping company that also doubled as snow removal for his bar and tell them to go over the lot again. Just great.
The party was supposed to be the next night, and he’d closed early that night in preparation for the event. Mason Lane was an excellent craftsman and an even better businessman. The fact that he remained loyal to Mike’s bar even after his amazing success was what it meant to be a friend and Pack.
But friendship, Packmate, or not, Mike wouldn’t let that fucking idiot employee of Lane’s within twenty feet of his bar. Nope, Mason would simply have to send someone else. He wondered why Claire Freemont hadn’t come herself to set up the bar before the launch. In fact, he’d been counting on it.
She was such a damned control freak, he was shocked she’d left her precious campaign in the hands of just anybody. Especially that moron! Probably, she was running scared.
He didn’t blame her. He’d practically mauled her on his office desk. He’d been shocked at the sweet and sudden ardour that had damn near consumed him right then and there. She was fucking gorgeous and sexy as hell. The woman had made him feel things in the few minutes he’d spent with her, that he’d never felt with anyone. Not even his wife.
Everyone thought he was still mourning Sheryl Tate Bellamy. They didn’t know the truth. He’d worked damned hard to keep everyone at arm’s length to stop them from knowing. At first, it was because he’d felt embarrassed, then he’d felt guilty and responsible for her death. Shame had him living like a hermit for years, but after a lot of time and even some counseling with his trusted Alpha, Mike realized he had to start living again.
His marriage had been a rush job. A false alarm pregnancy in a time when men and women did not sleep together without being married. Even Werewolves. She turned out to not be pregnant after they tied the knot. By then it was too late, and he’d figured they’d make the best of it.
They hadn’t. The marriage was a sham. He’d been working as a fisherman at the time, trying to save up for his first bar. She’d hated the smell of the sea that came home with him.
They’d travelled up and down the East coast until finally settling in Maccon City after twenty or more years of roaming. He’d started construction of the property and set up a corporation to run it while he travelled. Werewolves couldn’t stay in one place too long without drawing attention as they aged differently.
Everyone thought they’d had the perfect marriage. All those years together and all, but they hadn’t known. Sheryl was anything, but the ideal wife. Still, he’d made a vow and tried to honor it and her. His attempts went unappreciated and ultimately, she had been a liar and a two-timer. He’d tried to make her happy, but he always fell short.
She’d died trying to give birth to another man’s son. She was simply too weak with the effort it took not to change during the pregnancy. Baby and mother didn’t survive though he’d tried to get them both to the hospital.
He still blamed himself for the tragedy. He should have insisted she go, but she’d wanted to wait at home for him. Her normal lover. The father of her child.
He’d known for a long time before she’d gone into labor that the child wasn’t his. Mike had smelled his scent on her skin and clothes, underneath the perfume and the soap she’d used to cover it. He had an incredible sense of smell, even for a Werewolf.
Sheryl had eventually confessed to everything. The father was one of the vendor’s that frequently came to the bar to try and promote products. She’d had an affair, gotten pregnant, and died. Because Mike hadn’t been enough for her. She’d needed more than he could give. And he’d been torturing himself with that knowledge the past few years.
He’d avoided women that entire time. Until that tall, blonde she-Wolf from Lane Liquors had walked into his life. Mike could barely control himself around her. She made him hot and hard just looking at her. She was lovely, exquisite even. Like a b
reath of fresh air after weeks of breathing nothing but rot.
Fuck, he wanted her. She was poised and smart and heart-breakingly sweet to kiss. He’d been dreaming about her for months now. Maybe she’d been dreaming of him too. He knew she felt something for him.
It was difficult to keep things like that a secret from Werewolves. He’d waited patiently for her to make her usual rounds with Mason’s latest product news so that he could discuss and maybe explore those feelings. But she didn’t.
In fact, she’d sent this idiot lackey to do her job. And he’d almost ruined his bar! Was she hiding from him maybe? Interesting. Hmm.
Maybe he’d give old Mason a call and make a request.
CHAPTER 3
“Yes, sir, but I-” Claire tried to speak, but she was very coolly cut off by her boss. She could not believe this was happening to her.
That dolt, David, had actually tried to use a staple gun on Mike’s bar! She’d told him repeatedly that she had silicone fasteners for him to use so as not to damage the bar in any way, shape or form. Idiot!
The Thirsty Dog was Mike’s pride and joy. And now she was being chewed out by her boss for allowing such a thing to happen. Worse than that, he’d told her to see to the job personally.
“Ms. Freemont, I want you to go there, is that understood?”
“But I-”
“Now, if you please. I know you don’t want to distract me from my wife’s first ultrasound appointment.”
“Of course not, sir. Please, tell Mrs. Lane congratulations, to you both, of course.”
“Thanks. I’ll let Abby know. I will check in with you and Mike later, just to make sure things go well.”
“Of course,” she smiled tersely. As if she needed him to check up on her. Claire had never shirked her responsibilities! Grrr. She was going to kill David.
Her phone buzzed inside her sleek black purse, and she reached for it as she walked out of Mason’s office. She’d just been about to leave for a date with Igor when he’d called her in.
“Hello? Hi Igor, look about tonight-” she was smiling when she answered the phone, but by the time she hung up her smile was gone.
“I, uh, met someone else. We eloped. I’m sorry to do this on the phone, but you know how it is when you find your mate. Couldn’t help it. Good luck, Claire.”
“Oh, okay. Congratulations. Bye,” she clicked off the call and slid the phone back into her purse.
She was stunned for a second. Maybe a little disappointed, but mostly she felt kind of relieved. They’d been kidding themselves with the entire engagement thing anyway. They’d only discussed it twice and though it had seemed like a good idea at the time, they knew it would never work out.
She hadn’t seen him in a week, and she didn’t miss him at all. Not even a little bit. His true mate, huh. Well, shit, lucky him. There was no way she could marry someone she didn’t even miss. It seemed he’d found someone who would miss him. And love him.
Her heart squeezed in her chest at the thought of never being loved. She shook her head to clear it. Claire had bigger problems to deal with. Mainly, Mike Bellamy. She walked past David Mathews desk and picked up his stapler.
“Hi, uh, Claire, what, what’s going on?” He smiled and pushed his chair back and out of the way when he saw her lift the staple gun he’d tried to use earlier that night. Yikes, maybe she found out. She smiled back at him, then pointed and slammed the staple gun right down onto the pile of papers on his desk.
“Hey! I just printed those papers! Now, I have to do them again!”
“You idiot! How could you? I told you to use the fasteners!” With each syllable, she slammed another staple into the pile of documents. Served him right!
She walked outside and climbed into her sleek, navy blue SUV. Snow was falling. It wasn’t unusual for Maccon City, New Jersey, in December, but the flakes were thick, and it was already sticking. Gosh, was it really December?
Christmas was only a few weeks away and, as usual, Claire would be alone. She didn’t want to think about that. She needed to get her decorations up soon though. Maybe she’d plan it all out tonight. Hmm.
She’d have to make this fast if she wanted to get home before the snow really started coming down. She drove steadily down the two-lane highway with some Christmas music on for company. Thanksgiving was only a week ago, but she’d been listening to carols since the beginning of November.
She was a sucker for this time of year. The Pack had a special outreach program for teens that she volunteered for regularly. Every year they had a huge party at Castle Falk, her friend Winifred’s home. This year, Claire was supposed to go with Igor.
Not happening now, she thought. She hummed along with the radio, and after a very long, twenty-minute drive, she pulled into the parking lot of The Thirsty Dog. There were no other cars except one.
Mike drove a brand-new, cherry red, convertible Camaro. The thing was like a dream. Claire loved fast cars, and she’d love the chance to drive it. Not that she dreamed he’d let her.
She walked hurriedly across the snow-covered pavement and up the steps, to the wide double doors of the establishment. She stepped inside reveling in the heat that seeped through her snow-dampened hair and clothes. A very familiar voice cut through her momentary happiness.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Hello to you too, Mr. Bellamy.”
“I think you can call me Mike, Claire, but why are you here?” His steel colored eyes seemed to devour every inch of her, though most of her was hidden in the ankle length trench coat she’d worn that day. She swallowed and straightened her back under his scrutiny.
“Mr. Lane sent me here to correct the situation David created with his staple gun, earlier. Didn’t you call him and tell him to send me?” The request had seemed out of character to her, to say the least.
“But now?”
“Yes. He insisted I come this evening to correct the situation,” she stood like a deer in headlights, not quite sure if he was angry or if something else was going on.
“There’s a snowstorm outside or did you somehow miss it! Don’t you listen to the news? They just shut down the highway and a bunch of local roads too!”
“What? Oh no! I was listening to XM radio! I better leave now before-”
“It’s too late. They just closed every road from here to anywhere inside of town within a ten-mile radius. They are expecting strong winds, a huge amount of snow accumulation, followed by a nasty little sleet and hail storm. Looks like you’re stranded, Claire,” he put his hands on his hips and looked down his long nose at her.
He always was kind of cocky and arrogant. Then again, most dominant Wolves were like that. Still, no one else had ever made her heart thud inside her chest quite like him. She averted her eyes and trained her body to hide the emotions running through her.
It had been months since she’d laid eyes on the man. Being this near to him did things to her she’d never felt before. She felt foolish, but she couldn’t help it. He made her vulnerable. He was just as breathtaking as ever. His sublime figure was outlined perfectly in his tight jeans and black t-shirt that bore The Thirsty Dog logo on it.
She smiled vaguely as she looked at it. The letters were red, and there was a tongue rolling out of the “g” reminiscent of Mick Jagger’s famous band’s logo. The black fabric stretched over the smooth muscles that ran across his chest and arms.
“Bolt that door and follow me. No sense in trying to heat the whole damn place, anyway we’ll probably lose power soon,” he turned and walked away just as she’d clicked the bolts closed.
What choice did she have? They were Pack if nothing else. He wouldn’t turn her out in this weather, and frankly, she had nowhere to go. No one was waiting for her.
As if on cue, there was a sharp noise followed by the dying hum of the lights as all the power in the bar went out all at once. Claire imagined that was bad for business, then again it was cold, and he offered little in the way of food on
the premises. Pretzels and peanuts.
“Fuck,” he said and kept on walking.
Claire followed him easily. Werewolf perk, she thought to herself. Night vision came in handy at times like these.
He took them up a flight of stairs to a small apartment. The temperature had dropped in the few minutes the power had been out, and she shivered involuntarily.
“Cold?” He frowned as he asked the question.
Werewolves normally ran a little hotter than normals, but Claire had always been more susceptible to the elements for whatever reason. Of course, her body trembled more from his nearness than from the temperature. Not that she was about to announce that to him.
“Do you live here?” She asked, choosing to ignore him.
He placed chopped wood into a small, pot-bellied, cast iron stove that sat in the corner of the living room on a raised bed of tile. He stiffened when she asked her question, but continued stoking the flame he’d built. He turned to face her when he answered.
“I was in the process of building a house when my wife died. After that, I sold it and the property it sat on. I never bothered to find another place. It seemed unnecessary, it just being me and all.”
She looked around the room. It was one of several small rooms. There was a kitchenette, a bathroom, and what she assumed was a bedroom. The place was neat and clean, but it saddened her to think of him there alone night after night.
She owned a large house close to the beach. She bought it with her first bonus check from Lane Liquors. Lately, she’d been wondering if she should sell it to a family that might make better use of such prime real estate, though truth was, she loved the place. It was the perfect place for a family with its white picket fence and huge backyard.
She could see herself there, fumbling through cooking dinner with soft music playing in the background. A toddler sitting on a blanket on the floor playing with toys with her daddy as they clamored for their food. In her daydream, the man who played her husband turned and smiled, and Claire’s heart did a somersault when she saw him.
