by Lizzy Prince
I can’t entirely blame my wolf though, because I’ve started stalking her during the day, too. Stopping into her sweet little bakery multiple times a week has become a habit. At times, I have to forcibly keep from going there, making sure to volunteer my time elsewhere during the day when her shop is open. I’ve helped one of my pack dig a new well on their property, another put up a garage, and still another by picking apples at harvest time. None of those tasks kept me from her for long though. It’s as if my wolf and I are both crazed for her, but I don’t understand why. She’s not my mate. If she was, I would have felt the flash of a wolf’s bonded mate the first time we touched. Part of the magic of a wolf’s mating bond happens when a wolf touches his mate for the first time. It’s like a flash of knowledge that slams into you. It doesn’t predict the future or lay out a determined path of our destiny, but according to mated wolves, it’s like getting hit with a barrage of emotions and images. All centered around the life you could have together. I’ve heard it can steal your breath away and knock you to your knees.
That didn’t happen the first time I touched Bridget, and yet, I can’t seem to stay away from her. It doesn’t make sense. Especially considering how invested my wolf is in her. He’s been frustrated and twitchy since even before I met Bridget but being around her seems to soothe him. And me too, if I’m being honest. As soon as I leave her, I’m back to feeling like there are ants crawling beneath my skin. I just can’t figure out why this is happening.
My ears perk up when I hear the distant sound of someone approaching. Tipping my head back, I sniff the air and recognize the scent of my Beta, Vic. It’s not long before his wolf comes padding through the yard to come stand next to me. Even if I didn’t recognize his scent, I’d still recognize him by sight. His wolf is a little rangy, almost as though there was some hyena in his family line. His coat is light brown with black tips and a dark stripe that marks his snout. Though it’s not always the case, most of the time, wolves look like a version of their human half. That holds true with Vic. He’s slim and smaller in stature than me, but then again, who isn’t? His hair is medium brown, and it looks a lot like his wolf’s coloring.
What are you doing here? I ask through our pack link—the link allows us to communicate when in wolf form— as he comes to stand beside me.
Just thought I’d join you for a run. Vic answers as he turns and looks at Bridget’s house. Is there someone special in there?
I don’t want to talk about Bridget because I don’t even know the answer to that question myself. Who is this woman to me?
No, it just smells good. They must be baking inside. I deflect and take off, wanting to keep Bridget and her little house to myself. I don’t want to share them with anyone else. It’s that unreasonable thought that has me running hard toward an unknown goal that feels completely unattainable.
Chapter Three
Bridget
I’ve spent the last year studiously avoiding Silas. For a while, after the mess of Oktoberfest, I waited for him to come into the bakery to apologize. I may have even imagined him groveling at one point. I racked my brain trying to figure out how I could have been so wrong about him, or if I’d done or said something awful that repelled him. I didn’t even want to consider that the sex had been so bad that all he could do was take off after screwing me up against a wall. The thought might have crept in a time or two, but I squashed it down whenever it bubbled up. I wasn’t going to do that to myself.
My hopeful, optimistic side was giving me encouraging little punches in the shoulder, telling me to buck up and that it was all a big misunderstanding. But after a few weeks went by, my willingness to give Silas the benefit of the doubt slowly started to slip away like flour through my fingers.
When a few months went by and Silas still hadn’t been to the shop, I stopped trying to convince myself that there was a misunderstanding. I just got mad. My mornings became dedicated to taking out my anger on my baking. I would knead my dough for the day’s bread, slapping it hard on the table while I imagined Silas’s face.
This morning was no exception, and I hissed out the one-sided ass-chewing I’ve been refining for months. Practice makes perfect. “Why yes, I am on the pill, nothing to worry about, bucko. Thanks for asking before you nutted in me.”
Slap, smack, pound. I grind my fist into the dough, annoyed that I was still this angry after two months. But I couldn’t seem to let it go. Every time I think about that alley and all the freaking flirting that built up to that point, my face burns with embarrassment, and then I’m mad all over again. Time has surprisingly not eased my mortification. It’s like the longer it’s been since I’ve seen Silas, the more my embarrassment and irritation grows.
“Hey, no biggie that you screwed me without a condom, because I’m clean. How about you?”
These are the most reasonable parts of my monologue. The rest usually has me dissolving into tears, and I hate that Silas’s carelessness and distance can break me so thoroughly. I never told Remi what happened, although I suspect she figured it out not long after that night. She’s devious and sneaky like that. Instead, I wallow in my self-pity and pathetic-ness without telling anyone why I’ve been so out of sorts lately.
I’m bringing out some fresh muffins to restock the front display case next to the counter when who should walk in but the very man who I can’t seem to get out of my thoughts. Silas waltzes in, and annoyingly, he hasn’t developed a hump or gotten hideous in any way since I last saw him. His eyes dance around the shop like he’s never seen the place before. He’s all golden and gorgeous, and it’s really un-fucking-fair. I’m frozen at the case with my fingers smushing a muffin before I realize what I’m doing. There is no sound, and all air has been sucked out of my lungs. Then, like someone slaps me across the face, I turn bright red and panic.
I’m still trying to figure out an escape route when Silas comes up to the counter and orders a coffee and a donut. Millie is at the counter, and her eyebrows are practically part of her hairline they’re raised so high. Her eyes do a slow saunter over to where I’m still frozen, and I don’t need to be telepathic to hear her thoughts. She’s wondering why the hell I’m not drooling all over him. Or, you know, waiting on him. Silas notices her completely obvious look—because come on, who wouldn’t—and his gaze shifts to my direction.
Like a complete idiot, I drop to the ground, bashing my knee behind the counter in the process. I shove my hand in my mouth and bite it so that I don’t cry out in pain, because dammit, that really hurts. Millie fully turns to stare at me with an astounded look. I wave her off, casually straightening out some napkins and supplies beneath the counter as if that was my intention all along. Smooth. At least Silas can’t see me from where he’s standing, but that doesn’t mean I have any pride left. I’m a pathetic mess.
Once he’s gone, Millie comes to stand over me. “Want to explain what that was about?”
I pop up from my spot on the floor with a, “Nope,” then frown when I realize I’m still holding a mangled muffin in my hand and toss it in the garbage.
Silas is back the next week. At least this time when he walks through the door, I’m able to remain semi-normal. Except for my face, which totally betrays me. It’s burning bright red with embarrassment and only gets worse when Millie walks by, pinching my side. The nip of pain makes me squeak as she moves past me and hisses, “What’s wrong with you?”
The noise is enough to catch Silas’s attention, and it’s like history repeats itself. He scans me from head to toe, a slow, sly smile growing on his lips until his dimple makes an appearance. His mossy green eyes twinkle as he looks at me like he wants to gobble me up. Without a sound, I turn and flee to the back room, completely confused about why he’s giving me that look. After months of ignoring me, why would he think I’m interested in repeating history?
My traitorous eyes soak in golden good looks, and my stupid stomach starts doing flips of excitement while my heart races in my chest. Stupid body. Don’t you h
ave any sense of self-preservation?
After that, my anger grows like little demons are stoking the flames inside of me. They’re fanning my ire like angry little pricks jonesing for a hair-pulling, tear-streaked, foot-stomping fight.
Silas shows up again the next day, like my shop is his new favorite place. Again. All the signs are pointing toward history repeating itself, and Silas hasn’t even done more than smile at me. His flirty lightness is the last straw. Millie, conveniently, is nowhere to be found when the little bell above the door chimes, letting me know someone has entered the store. When I see who it is, I desperately look around for an escape but am officially trapped. Counting to ten, I take a deep breath and make my face a mask of disinterest.
“What can I help you with today?”
Silas flashes me that big, bright smile that can set panties aflame around the world. “I’m in the mood for something sweet.”
Oh, look at that. He thinks he’s being cute as he leans his hip against the checkout counter. He isn’t.
“We have suckers. You seem like someone who might like suckers.” My grin is brittle as I shove a little flowerpot filled with lollipops toward him. His smile falters as his eyes shift over my face.
“I was thinking something chocolate.” He angles his head toward me casually, turning his smile back up.
“I’d suggest some cake, but I’d hate for it to go to waste when you can’t finish it.”
“Who says I wouldn’t be able to finish it?” he volleys back good naturedly, but his brows are crinkled in a small frown.
I just shrug in response. “You just seem like the type to walk away from something mind-blowing.”
He’s staring at me now, without any remnant of a smile. I’ve gone from subtext to just plain old laying it out there, but Silas looks more confused than anything. As if uncertain why his flirtations have gone downhill so quickly, he orders a piece of chocolate cake to-go. Neither one of us speaks until he’s ready to leave.
“Thanks, Toots,” he says, and every muscle in my body freezes.
He’s already out the door before I turn around to look at him. My feelings are a crazy jumble of angry, sad, energized, and fragile. I don’t know what to make of him whipping out the nickname he always used before he learned my name. Did he forget my name? What the hell?
I’m determined to shut down my emotions, to become an emotional iceberg when it comes to Silas. Especially if he’s going to continue to play these sick mind games. We live in a small town, and the chances of seeing him around are high. I need to be prepared to shut my emotions down.
What can he possibly get out of making me feel like crap? Is he a sadist? Does he get off on torturing other people? That’s sadism, right? Groan. He even has my mind broken. I haven’t been functioning properly since he walked out of that alley and left me feeling like the cheapest used up piece of trash in existence. And then he meanders into my store, my store, and stares at me like we’re strangers. Unbelievable.
He keeps at it too. There isn’t a week that goes by that he isn’t popping in to get some coffee or a freshly baked loaf of bread. Sometimes I forget that I’m trying to be a stoic hard ass whose goal is to freeze him out of my life. When he gazes down at me with those beautiful green eyes, I lose all awareness of the world around me. I’m beginning to suspect he has a hypnotizing superpower. Remi is always going on about how the town is full of supernatural creatures, maybe Silas is a magician. Huh. That’s just a human who does parlor tricks. Well, whatever being has the ability to hypnotize with his eyes, that’s Silas. For sure.
More often than I’ll willingly admit—even if tortured—I find myself leaning in close to him when he speaks. Trying to catch a hint of his warm, fresh scent. Then I remember what a dick he’s been to me, and I try to be a bitch—emphasis on try because it really goes against everything in the core of my being to be rude to people. Usually, the worst I can muster is to not say you’re welcome when he says thank you. And even that irritates me like a stubborn splinter stuck in my finger. Half the time, I end up murmuring you’re welcome as quietly as possible before he gets to the door, knowing he can’t hear me. Although, I swear more than once he’s paused at the threshold of the shop, a trace of a smile ghosting over his lips. Why does he have to look so damn good smiling?
Our bakery has a booth set up every Saturday at the market. Other than those few months when Silas fell off the face of the earth, he’s never failed to stop by and get a cupcake.
“What’s today’s flavor, Toots?” He asks the same question every week when he stops at my booth. I really should start making Millie work the farmer’s market, but then Silas will probably just show up at my store instead. It’s like he has this twisted need to flirt with me while completely ignoring any of our history. It really messes with a girl’s head.
“I don’t think you’ll want any of these.” I blink my eyes, looking up at him as innocently as possible. It’s not hard because whether I like it or not, it’s the look I’ve got going for me. I’m short, like barely five feet, and a very light smattering of freckles dusts across the bridge of my nose. It’s not that I’m opposed to being called adorable, and it has happened more than once, but no one has ever looked at me and seen a sexy temptress before. I’m more the kind of girl who makes you chicken noodle soup when you don’t feel well and runs to the store to fetch medicine.
I’m not too proud. I’ll admit that I like the idea of a guy being so lost over me he can’t keep from touching me or tossing me over his shoulder to have his way with me. No one has ever lost control of themselves and wanted me so badly that they can’t contain their urges. No one except for the man in front of me, who doesn’t count because it was obviously just about the chase for him. And now he’s trying not to smile as he gets ready to tease me. I know that’s what’s coming, because it’s what he always does, and I both love it and hate it.
“So, you’re saying I should get all of them then?” His grin is cheeky, and his damn dimple is showing. With the strength of power greater than myself, I don’t let his golden smile penetrate the hardened wall around my heart. Okay, fine, it’s more like a flexible, flimsy protective coating that’s barely covering my heart, but I’m really trying to be strong.
“Sure. It makes sense that you’d like to sample lots of flavors, so that’s probably best. Would you like me to wrap up an assortment?” I pretend I’m being helpful and not taking a shot at him.
“I think I’ll like whatever you suggest,” he practically purrs back, and I turn around to contain the rolling of my eyes as I get his cupcakes together.
“See you soon, Bridget.” Silas says my name as I hand him the box, and my heart stops. He’s only called me Toots since the sexy-time incident. Damn if my heart doesn’t start tripping all over the place again as I watch his too-fine ass walk away. Mother effer.
Chapter Four
Silas
It’s a good thing my wolf runs hot, because if I was a normal dude, I’d weigh three hundred pounds with all the cupcakes and baked goods I’ve eaten lately. Every time I see Bridget, I find myself peppering her with questions about what she’s baking just so I have something to talk to her about. She always looks like she’s battling with herself. As though she wants to talk to me but is also trying to keep her distance. It’s driving me crazy because I can feel her eyes on me whenever I’m not looking in her direction. As soon as I turn my gaze on her, she avoids my eyes and blushes, usually drops stuff, too. Huffing in annoyance when I catch her looking.
After the farmer’s market, I head home, feeling just as unsettled as I always am lately. Dylan, one of my Betas, is waiting for me outside my house when I come to a stop in the driveway. My Betas have been with me for the last century at least. Vic first and then Dylan about ten years later when I realized I needed more help to oversee all of the daily tasks of the pack that I just didn’t have time for. Dylan is a statuesque blonde, with olive skin and warm brown eyes. I’d found her abandoned in the woods, ba
dly beaten and barely breathing.
She’d been thrown out by her original pack because she refused to submit to the Alpha’s will. He had a policy within his pack that unmated females were essentially open season, and any of the males should have free access to them when they came of age. She’s never told me the full extent of her history, but I knew from the moment I met her that she was strong, stubborn, and fierce as hell. Once she gives her loyalty, it is complete and utter, but don’t lose that goodwill. It’s a real bitch to dig yourself out of a grave with Dylan.
She came to find me because she heard rumors of my fairness to everyone within the pack. Not just the men. Our pack was progressive, and it made me sick when I encountered others that treated women like slaves, made for nothing more than satisfying a man’s appetite. In both the bedroom and kitchen. Archaic fucks.
Once she healed, I started training her in self-defense, and she took to it like it was her calling. It wasn’t long before her perseverance, loyalty, and dedication made her the obvious choice as my second Beta. Vic hadn’t been quite as pleased with the additional help. He fought me over it for months until I finally pulled the Alpha card and told him the decision was made, conversation over. He had no choice but to submit or challenge me, but he’s no match for me and would have been a fool to think he could take me down.
Vic had been with me from almost the beginning of my reign as Alpha. He was part of the pack when my father was Alpha but mostly stayed out of sight then. My father died when another pack attacked him, and Vic offered to be my second when I challenged the Alpha of that pack.
