by Anna Lowe
Take that, bear, her glances seemed to say.
A tough one, Jess. Tough enough to have somehow survived the rogue attack. Tough enough to fight back. He knew; they’d play-wrestled often enough for him to know what a capable fighter she was. But those tangles had always tipped over into sweet, sweaty sex, not life-and-death. And for all that she’d started to look better than the ghost she’d arrived as, he still wouldn’t want to see her up against rogues. Hell, he never wanted to see her up against any kind of threat.
So he kept an eagle eye on the door and made sure every guy in the bar knew she was off-limits. That she was his.
Even if, technically, she wasn’t his.
Janna, meanwhile, seemed as chipper and clueless as ever. Which was good, he supposed. Why worry her? Let her flirt with Cole, the lonesome cowboy at the far end of the bar. Janna seemed to have a thing for his type: wounded, mysterious, and, as he’d once heard her whisper to Jess, hotter than hot. Cole wasn’t far over thirty, Simon would have guessed, though he drank like an old man looking back on a long and bitter life. A former bull rider, that’s what someone had said. Did he even suspect that his waitress could morph into a wolf?
Cole lifted a finger in a signal for another. “One for the road.”
Janna whammed her hand on the bar in a karate chop. “Make that a Coke.”
Cole groaned, and Simon did, too. “You’re supposed to give the customers what they want.”
“He wants a Coke,” she retorted. “Isn’t that right?”
Janna seemed to be working on her own get-Cole-dry crusade, with mixed results. But the cowboy was a sucker for that pretty smile and those big blue eyes. Who wouldn’t be?
“Just what I want,” Cole sighed, though his eyes were bright. Maybe a little attention from the right woman was all the guy needed. He was too young to let himself get all washed up. Young and tough and scarred, outside and in, it seemed. “A Coke.”
Whatever. Simon had enough problems of his own to think about Cole, or what Cole might try with Janna. The cowboy might throw a mean punch — as Simon had found out in a brawl that broke out during opening week — but it was a punch for the good guys. So Cole seemed all right. And if he did try something with Janna, he’d have no chance against her shifter speed and skill. Same for all the guys in the saloon. No real threat for Janna there. The rogues were the threat, and rogues were sneaky bastards who wouldn’t just come sauntering in.
He poured Coke into a whiskey glass and slid it down the length of the bar to Cole, who raised it in a silent toast.
The phone rang, and Janna came around the bar to answer it.
“Blue Moon Saloon. This is Janna. Hello?”
And there it was — the moment Simon flipped out and destroyed what had been an otherwise quiet night. One second, he felt calm and in control, if on high alert, and the next…
Janna yelped, because he wrenched the phone straight out of her hand. He all but jumped her to get to it. Slammed it down on the receiver and snarled. Really snarled — at Janna! At sweet, friendly Janna. Janna, who didn’t have a clue what kind of danger she was in.
“Are you nuts?” he hissed, barely under his breath.
Janna stood there with her jaw half open, and Simon had just enough time to think, Oops, when someone punched him from the side.
He whipped around, expecting Soren, but it was Jess.
Jess, with a fury in her eyes he’d never seen before. Jess, the warrior. Jess, all fed up.
“Don’t you dare,” she hissed. Her eyes were full of hate. Not that wishy-washy, I’m trying hard to hate you look she’d worn over the past couple of weeks, but one-hundred-proof hate. Hate she didn’t have to work at. Hate from the bottom of her heart.
Which meant he’d succeeded. Succeeded at last. Jess hated him, so she’d be free to move on.
Funny, all he could feel was ashamed.
But bears didn’t show shame. They didn’t show fear, especially of a future to be spent broken and alone. They showed anger and power and bluster. So he glared back, just to prove what an idiot he was.
“Don’t be a fool,” he snarled back.
Her canines extended and pure wolf pride flared in her eyes. “Don’t you dare,” she repeated, socking him with a glare he’d remember for the rest of his days.
“Don’t you—” she started.
If Soren hadn’t popped in out of nowhere, she might have shifted to wolf form and attacked him, there and then. And Simon would have been fool enough to shift, too.
Good thing for his glaring, two-hundred-pound brother standing between the two of them.
“Cut it out,” Soren barked under his breath, jutting his chin toward the saloon. “Customers.”
Thank God no one noticed the cute waitress’ fangs extend or the way hair sprouted out all over the bartender’s beefy arms. Cole had reached down to retrieve a coaster, so he, too, hadn’t seen them. Yet.
Soren took Simon by the collar and shoved him toward the back room. “Out. Now.”
Janna rushed toward the customers, holding up a couple of menus to block their line of sight. “Can I get you anything else?”
Simon pushed away from his brother, but he did as he was told. He stomped down the hallway and into the unlit back room, heading for the rear door. Ready to rip it open, take off into the hills, and let his inner bear maraud for a while just to get everything out. But before he got there, his bear dug his heels in.
It’s not me who wants to beat up the past, the bear protested. Not me who fucked it all up.
He thumped his forehead against the wall and panted there for a minute or two. His bear wasn’t the failure. He was. He’d just growled at Jess! His own mate.
His bear groaned mournfully. Not after what you’ve done to her. Not any more.
He slumped against the wall and slid down hopelessly until his ass came to rest on the cold, hard floor, suddenly drained. Like there was an off switch wired into that wall and rubbing against it sapped the last bit of energy he possessed. He sat and stared at his toes, just as he’d done when he’d returned home to find only ash and bone.
Fuck. What had he just done?
Damned himself forever, that’s what he’d done.
The light filling the hallway dimmed with a large figure. Soren, tugging Jessica along.
“You,” Soren barked, glaring at his pathetic form. Nine Supreme Court justices couldn’t deliver a more solemn accusation than his brother did with one word. “And you.” He looked at Jess with a softer expression and motioned her across the room with a firm nod. “Sit.”
Simon stared at the floor as she strode stiffly past him, leaned against the wall, and crossed her arms defiantly.
Simon. He looked up, hearing Soren call into his mind. Brothers could do that. Clanmates, too. Not to mention mates, though Jess had long since shut him out of her mind. “Talk.”
He didn’t want to talk, damn it.
“You want peace?” Soren demanded. “Tell her.”
How could he ever tell Jess? Where would he start?
“I have to go,” Soren sighed, turning for the door. “Tell her.”
Jess glanced at him with an alarmed expression that said, Tell me what?
Chapter Nine
Jess steeled herself. It was time to finally face down her bear. She’d rip into him and give him exactly what he deserved. She’d finally, finally speak her mind. She had the words rallied, mustered and ready to attack.
She’d let him have it, all right.
She looked at Simon, but same as always, he didn’t meet her eyes. He never did. Nothing she did seemed good enough for him. She could hustle her ass in the saloon morning, noon, and night. She could scrub the place — scrub the toilets, for goodness’ sake — and he’d never utter a word. Never reward her with so much as a smile.
And he’d had the nerve to strong-arm her sister! Well, she’d had enough of his grouchy, domineering ways. Had enough of his belittling glances and tight, unhappy lips. She’d
had enough of all the derisive comments she imagined hanging on the tip of his tongue. She’d absolutely, positively had enough.
“You—” she started spitting out the attack, but he countered in the most unexpected way.
“Jesus, Jess…” His murmur was full of pain and defeat, and it stopped her cold.
A shaft of pale light fell through the dusty window and into the dim room, lighting up a thousand dancing particles of dust. Beyond it, in shadow, Simon sat, quiet and broken. His voice wasn’t angry. More like fearful. His eyes slid shut, extinguishing the twin, shiny points.
Her heart lurched. She was ready for angry or mean or harsh. But fearful? She’d never seen Simon afraid of anything.
“Listen,” he tried and immediately petered out. Shook his head at himself and made a choking sound. Finally, he patted the floor beside him and whispered, “Sit.” He looked up with beseeching eyes. “Please. Just sit. Listen. Please…”
She stared for a second, then took a step closer in spite of herself.
His voice was so quiet, so worn, she couldn’t help but do as he said. She backed toward the stairs, not quite trusting, and lowered herself to the second one, keeping a height advantage over him for the tiny bit of confidence that brought.
“Listen, Jess…”
The way he said her name made her toes tingle, even though the rest of her fretted about what might come next. Some terrible revelation, some dark secret, maybe.
“You have to be careful, Jess. They’re still out there.”
Her mind raced, trying to remember what existed outside the four walls of the saloon. She’d been so preoccupied with Simon and work, she hadn’t given anything else much thought.
“They’re still out there…” His voice was hoarse, and a chill ran down her spine. “No one can know you’re here. If Janna answers the phone like that, she’s putting your life at risk. If they find out where you are…”
She didn’t have to ask who they were. The rogues who called themselves Blue Bloods. The ones who’d murdered her family. The mad shifters who’d chanted as they watched her home burn.
Purity! Purity! No shifters shall mix! None shall taint shifter blood!
It was a miracle she and Janna had slipped away. But word must have gotten back to the rogues and their madman of a leader, Victor Whyte, because they’d hunted the sisters ever since. She and Janna had moved from one place to another, wondering where it would all end. And the first place she’d felt halfway secure was here. The wolves of Twin Moon pack were strong — so strong, that even out here on the fringes of their territory, a couple of packless she-wolves could feel reasonably safe. Couldn’t they?
“No excuse to yell at my sister,” she blurted, trying to hang on to the last scrap of her pride. “And anyway, what do you care?”
“I care,” Simon barked. He didn’t raise his voice, but the words still jolted her. “I care,” he insisted. “I would die for you.” His shoulders sagged with an unbearable burden, and his voice wavered. “I’d have done anything for you.”
It was the truth he was choking on — his eyes said as much — and all she could do was stare.
“But you hate me.”
He shook his head. “I don’t hate you, Jess.”
But he did. Didn’t he?
“I just never knew how to explain,” he said, so quietly, she nearly missed it.
“What is there to explain?”
He laughed bitterly. “Everything.”
They sat for another minute, letting a heavy silence invade the room. Then Simon finally spoke — softly, barely chipping away at the edges of it.
“Remember what we promised?”
How could she forget? “We promised to work on convincing our families that an alliance would be a good thing. A blood alliance…” She trailed off there. She’d done her part. Why hadn’t he done his?
“And we did it. We succeeded.”
“Sure did,” she said bitterly. Was he about to rub her face in his rejection again?
But Simon went on, gradually gathering speed. “The clan held a council meeting where my grandfather announced it. In front of everyone…”
She wondered why he sounded so bitter when that was supposed to be her job.
Simon’s voice dropped an octave as he imitated his grandfather’s scratchy voice. “I have spoken with the wolf pack, and they agree. The older Macks daughter—”
That was her. Did he have to drag the torture out so much?
“Shall be betrothed to one of our own clan. Voss blood, mixing with new blood.” Simon paused and spoke in his own voice again. “Voss. Me! You know how happy I was?”
She remembered how happy she’d been when her father made the same announcement. And how hurt she’d been when Simon turned the cold shoulder.
“In three years, our clans shall come together again,” Simon continued mimicking his grandfather’s gritty tone. “To celebrate the mating of Jessica Macks and Soren Voss.”
Jess was so consumed by bad memories, she’d have missed the punch line if Simon hadn’t repeated it in his own growling tone. “Soren fucking Voss.”
Her chin snapped up. “Soren?”
He grimaced. “Soren.”
“But…but…”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “That’s what I said.”
“So why didn’t you do anything?”
“I did everything, Jess. I tried. But their minds were made up. Your parents’, too. I tried talking to them, and you know what they said?”
Simon had had the guts to approach her parents after that?
“They said ‘second son is second best,’” he grunted. “And second best wasn’t good enough for you.”
“But…but…” she mumbled it a couple of dozen times. “But I didn’t want Soren!”
“Believe me, he didn’t want you.” Simon’s hands shot up. “Wait, I mean, not like that. He found his own mate. He wanted her.”
She stared at Simon. “Who?” Maybe if she focused on someone else, all this would be easier to grasp.
“Sarah Boone. Remember her?”
Barely. Soren was a few years older than her; Sarah, too. “Sarah, from the little shop in town?”
Simon nodded.
“Sarah, the human?” Jess gaped. “Holy…” She always thought she and Simon had their work cut out for them, convincing their shifter species to let them mate. But humans were totally off-limits. Then she gasped. “Sarah died…”
Simon shushed her with a harsh look at the doorway. “I know. He knows. They burned her alive. Burned the whole place down, just like they did with our clan and your pack.”
They. The same evil they. Her stomach turned as she recalled the gleeful cries of the Blue Bloods drowning out the screams of her packmates. Remembered them growing fainter as she grabbed Janna and ran and ran and ran…
The shadows moved a little, and she shivered until she realized it was Simon, reaching a hand out. Did she dare take it?
The headlights of a passing car stabbed through the room, then drew away, and she found herself reaching for him. Winding her fingers through his and hanging on.
“I was stupid,” Simon said. “So fucking stupid…”
Yes, you were, part of her wanted to snap. But now that she thought about it…
The bears have agreed to your betrothal to the Voss boy. That’s all her father had said, and she’d assumed Simon, of course.
Maybe she’d been stupid, too. In all that time she’d put in, all the carefully worded lobbying to her father about the advantages of an alliance, she’d never mentioned Simon. Never dared mention Simon, because it was too early to admit that they were in love. Her pack was old-fashioned and needed time to swallow the idea of a wolf mating with a bear. But once they’d jumped on the idea, it had taken off like a runaway train.
And God, she’d been ignorant of the truth this whole time.
His breath came in uneven rasps, and she was about to speak when a voice came from the hallway, making the
m both look up.
“Simon?”
It was Soren. Nowhere near as ferocious as before, but curt enough to drag them out of their thoughts.
Simon looked at her. Squeezed her hand. Pulled it closer until he had it pressed against his chest.
Her eyes slid shut. That contact was her anchor. Her hope. Her one chance not to lose it completely while she tried to process everything he’d said.
“Simon,” Soren called again.
Simon sighed wearily and called quietly back. “Be right there.”
He pushed himself to his feet and held a hand out, helping her to her feet. God, she felt a hundred years older, but none the wiser.
“There’s so much more I have to say,” he whispered.
She nodded mutely. Yes, there was. But what she’d just heard was overwhelming enough. A minute or two — better yet, a week or two — to catch up with her racing emotions probably wouldn’t hurt.
“Simon,” Soren called.
She blinked at the hallway. Soren, she wasn’t quite ready to face. Soren, the man her family wanted to marry her off to instead of the man she loved.
It made sense, in a convoluted, barbarian way. She was the eldest Macks child. Soren was the eldest Voss, the one poised to take over the clan someday. Bringing their families together would be a win-win. But Christ, hadn’t anyone bothered to ask her? To even tell her?
God, if her parents were alive, she’d have marched right over and given them a piece of her mind. But they were dead, and she couldn’t summon any anger any more. Only bewilderment.
Jesus, she couldn’t even imagine being mated to Soren. She’d never, ever wanted anyone but Simon. Never.
Second son, second best? Her grandmother used to joke that about a cousin’s marriage into another pack. Jess had never linked it to Simon, though. To her, he was always the best. The only.
Simon stepped away. She didn’t even notice his hand was still wrapped around hers until it slipped out, and then the absence was striking. Painful, almost.
“I have to go out,” Soren said as Simon drew near, and they both turned down the hall.
She hung back in the shadows, not ready to face Soren just yet. She detoured to the ladies’ room. Maybe she could get herself together again.
