by Dancer Vane
Then I remembered who I was. A predator. Top of the food chain. A member of a powerful pack. I was strong, and I wasn’t alone.
This guy, this poor little human, had no idea who he was playing with. Oh, he, or she, might have seen me shift. Might even have a picture on his pitiful, breakable cellphone. But, even if he had seen me as a wolf, he had no idea who he was messing with.
But first, before I could hunt him and take him down, I needed to find another place for Alanna.
Because, if they came for me with spikes and forks, like they had come for my kind many times over the ages… Alanna couldn’t be here, or closely associated with me. They would burn her alive if she was. And even if she escaped? I didn’t want her to see me in such an embarrassing situation. It’s not exactly glamorous to be torn to pieces by a mob.
I wanted her safe.
I would get that person. I would make sure I, and my pack, my family, were safe.
But first, I had to make sure none of them would go after Alanna.
Chapter Sixteen
ALANNA
“We’re closing, sir,” I said when the bell chimed and I saw his tall figure walking into the shop.
Blake looked up and glared at me. I grinned. I saw him soften; his shoulders relaxed slightly, and his face lost a bit of its hard lines and harder gaze. A bit.
“What kind of place would turn a client down?” His voice wasn’t soft, not exactly; but there was a playful quality in it I had rarely heard before.
Two women were having tea and an eclair each at a table together. They looked up at our exchange, looking surprised, and Blake’s face closed.
Well. That was interesting. He didn’t want anyone to notice we were now on friendly— well, friendlier — terms.
Why he was coming in through the street entrance, I had no idea. He walked around the side of the counter and for a second hovered over me uncertainly, not quite kissing, not touching, but hoovering there as if expecting… something. When I reached out and touched his arm with a smile, though, he practically jumped back.
“How was your day?”
“Fine, boss.”
Tiring, actually. I hadn’t been able to take a lunch break, or any other kind of break. Twice, when the place had been mercifully empty, I had locked the door and run — run, not walk — to the bathroom, and back. There was no telling if we had lost customers by closing briefly during business hours. We probably had.
And that shouldn’t have mattered so much to me; except that was the place where Blake spent half the night, and more than half the day.
Even the night before, he had come here, thankfully after bringing me to my own bed, and worked on a new confection. That I still hadn’t had time to try. This place mattered to him, and so I felt bad for my need to pee probably costing us sales.
But then, I wasn’t supposed to be alone in the shop all day.
“Yours?” I asked, and he made a face.
“Something came up. Something inconvenient.”
He glanced at the two ladies chatting over their éclairs. “But it’s fine.”
I thought about anything I should tell him, but the day had been uneventful.
Unlike the night before.
“The mayor was looking for you.”
“What for?”
“Not sure. Not sure if he came here because he doesn’t like me, or because he was really looking for you.”
His gaze rested on me, and there were fine lines around his eyes I hadn’t noticed before. His mouth looked hard, unforgiving. I remembered how soft and tender it could be, and shuddered.
“He doesn’t like you?”
“Nope. Says I bring bad people to this place.”
“I have a feeling the bad people were already there before you turned up. Any word from the police about the fire?”
I shook my head.
“There were a few calls I wasn’t able to attend because I was serving clients. But I don’t think the police would call here. Your friend Farnwood seems to have a direct line to them.”
Half a smile curved his lips.
“I would say Grant is your friend to. He likes you a lot.”
The two ladies had been silent, enjoying their coffee-flavoured éclairs, and I didn’t miss their glances at the billionaire’s name.
“I really don’t need that kind of rumours,” I said.
“No. No you really don’t.” He had said the words coldly, almost furiously, and I stared at him. What was that about? Nobody could accuse me of flirting with Farnwood.
Nobody could seriously believe the rich guy had any special relationship with me. Farnwood had his own rumour mill going, about his relationship with Lianne, and a lot of it was about her being with him for his money. He didn’t need another young, poor and venal relationship, and anyone who believed he was involved in Lianne — I did — would laugh at the idea he could be interested in me.
Could Blake be jealous? No, he didn’t care about me enough to be jealous. Didn’t he?
“I have nothing to do with Farnwood.”
Blake looked surprised. “Of course not. I know.”
Ouch. Apparently, he was among those who found the idea ridiculous.
“So?”
“So you don’t need people thinking you do. In fact…”
He shot a glance at the two ladies, whose conversation seemed to have died, and lowered his voice until it was barely a whisper. But a furious whisper.
“In fact, you can’t afford to be thought of as involved with Farnwood. Or me.”
“Oh.”
I hadn’t said that little word. It was more a little breath that had escaped at feeling punched in the chest.
“Of course we’re not involved.”
The older of the two ladies shot me a sly glance. They weren’t losing a word.
Blake shot me an agonised glance, and for a second I saw there was pain in it, but I didn’t have time to analyse, because he was growling, and it seemed to hurt his throat.
“Glad this is clear.”
“Clear as day. Boss.”
I turned my back to the two ladies so no-one would see my face, as I bit my lips and tried to get over my disillusion and hurt.
Blake was about to add something, and he reached out tentatively, but he looked briefly at the room, and reconsidered. He turned to go down the stairs to the basement, but stopped at the top:
“Come downstairs when you can. I need to speak with you.”
“I’m needed here,” I replied. “Given that you’re going downstairs. One of us must hold the fort.”
He looked at me for an instant, pain and something else flashing on his face, too fast for me to be sure of anything. To be honest, I was too lost in my own hurt, and my valiant effort to show him only a blank face.
Then he glanced at the shop, where a man was pushing the door and the bell chiming, he shook his head, and strolled down the stairs.
I kept busy tidying up the place upstairs, preparing for closing. The man was only buying breakfast muffins, but he was asking for healthy options, so it took a while. We didn’t do any healthy options, only the decadent ones. Blake seemed to have a taste for the indulgent, the sensual.
My throat closed and I stopped talking. In the end the man left with two banana-and-honey muffins, looking unconvinced.
I was off my game; another day, I was pretty sure he would have been the kind to appreciate something with salty caramel or nutty ganache. Working there, I knew how good intentions have a way of crumbling in front of temptation.
And wasn’t I the first to crumble?
The two ladies asked for their bill, and when I brought it, the older grabbed my wrist in a firm grip:
“Don’t be sad, honey. He’s really too old for you.”
I stared at her blankly. Off my game, really. Out of my depth in many ways.
“What you need,” she told me sternly, “Is to finish high school and find yourself a nice boyfriend, someone your age.”
; I felt offended for Blake — he’s twenty-seven, not ancient. But I didn’t want to get any attention on myself, so I answered meekly : “I’m nineteen. I’ve finished high-school a while ago.”
She examined me with sharp eyes.
“Yes. Sure you are.”
I shrugged. That’s one tip I could live without.
Well, not really. But I was exhausted, I hurt, and even if I felt sure she meant well, I couldn’t afford people to believe I was underage. I could practically feel the mayor breathing down my neck, and I had spent so many years trying to look older and escape being taken to foster care, my body panicked out of habit.
I couldn’t afford anyone believing I was underage. Not when the mayor was telling everyone around that I was practically living with Blake. That sure would be bad publicity for him. Not when I had escaped child services as a minor, and wasn’t sure if I could be jailed for this now.
Not ever.
Her gaze followed me when I shuffled back to the till.
“I really am,” I told her. Her smile in answer was indulgent. Like she would let it go because it didn’t make sense to fight with a child.
When I walked downstairs after closing, all was empty and dark. Blake had left without offering me a lift home. Great.
I usually refused anyway, so why would that affect me?
I took my bag out of my locker. As I was about to leave, my eyes fell on the raspberry pastry, now alone and a looking a bit soggy in the refrigerated cabinet, a sticky note stuck to the side of the plate. “Try this.”
What the hell… I wouldn’t be a model for Vogue anytime soon anyway.
The night before seemed like such a long time before, things had been so different, that I almost expected the pastry to have turned sour. Things had changed so much since the morning…
It hadn’t. The cream was soft and fluffy, and unmistakably white chocolate. As usual, it was a bit too sweet for my taste; mostly everything in this country was. But the tartness of raspberry made a good counterpoint. I practically moaned as I tasted it, alone in the darkened room.
Blake had brought me to my bed, and had come here to bake… this.
But was I honest, when I wondered how things had changed so much? because… just the day before, he had been distant and high-handed with me. Even threatening - watch out for my temper - but I was pretty sure that had been meant as a joke. His kind of humour.
But if something had been different and shocking, it was the night before, not his coldness tonight.
Blake never wanted to be involved with me, never touched me, even casually, never hinted at anything between us. That night had been a one-off, maybe as surprising to him as it had been to me, and now he wanted to make it clear it didn’t change anything.
I couldn’t say he had ever pretended otherwise. I had felt different while we were together, but that was the thing with sex. It’s intense, and it makes you think the other cares. At least, good sex. He was good at it and there was nothing else to it.
But how humiliating. Because… I had swallowed it all. I had felt, at least at the time, that he did care.
And he probably did. Right until he came.
After that… well, he could hardly leave me asleep in the woods. I had a sore throat today, that probably came from being naked in the wet grass for too long. I was glad he hadn’t abandoned me there, but did that really mean he cared?
No, of course not. It was just good bedside manners, and minimal ones. Don’t leave the girl you just fucked alone in the woods, naked and asleep. Who knows who could stumbled on her. Or what kind of animal.
But the wolf wouldn’t have hurt me.
I bit again into the delicious mix of sensations — tart and sweet, flaky and creamy, a heady mix — and thought about the wolf. Why wasn’t I more shocked that a wild animal would wander around town, and in the woods around Blake’s house?
But I already knew the answer. I wasn’t shocked, because I had listened to Mr. Burr and the gentle reproaches of Mrs. Betty, to what they were saying and what they weren’t. Look at the three of them, and tell me you don’t notice anything…
It wasn’t so much looking.
Oh God, this was delicious.
It was more a question of feeling, almost an aura. They were tall, fit and ruthless. Sure. But there was also the way the mayor, a bully if I’ve ever seen one, cowered in front of Farnwood.
That looked like pack dynamics to me, the little I knew about it. With Farnwood as alpha, and Blake somewhere high on the scale. Confident, strong, certain of his strength.
And here I was, thinking of my boss in terms of… pack dynamics? Oh dear.
But I knew. I could ask myself what was wrong with me, and maybe I couldn’t put it into words exactly, but I had listened around the campfire and I saw what Mr. Burr meant.
I hadn’t been shocked, or even afraid, to see a wolf close to Blake’s house. I had asked nothing when I had found Blake naked in the woods. And at the time it had seemed very natural to me. Partly because he was so comfortable in his skin, partly because my attention had been sort of driven somewhere else… but shouldn’t I have wondered what he was doing naked in the forest by the full moon? And I hadn’t. I hadn’t wondered anything at all.
Because I sort of knew already.
Was that why he regretted what had happened between us the night before? Because a lowly human wasn’t good enough for the kind of predator, or dominant shit, that he was?
Well, that stung. But… I had known that already. Even before.
I had never admitted to myself I was attracted to him, because I knew I wasn’t good enough.
Long before I ever heard the legends, or saw Blake with Farnwood, long before I ever saw a wolf for the first time, in that alley, I had already known he was too good for me.
Too rich, too confident. Out of reach. Maybe that’s why I was happy he was such a bastard: it helped me stay away from him. It would help me from turning into a pathetic groupie or something.
And look at me now.
I licked the last of the white chocolate cream on my lips. The pink note blinked at me from the side of the plate. “TRY THIS.” In big letters. Blake was never shy or subtle. Even when he wasn’t there, he was giving me instructions in all caps.
But he had been proud of his creation. And he had wanted me to try it, had been looking for my approval. Maybe a nice word about his talent.
Yeah. Right. Blake didn’t need my approval; he had known I would be curious about the new pastry and had given me permission to have one. After all, I could hardly sell it if I didn’t know what it tasted like.
It tasted like heaven. Like a caress, with a bit of bite.
I shook my head furiously, blinking as the plate, and the sticky note blurred. I was a fool. And he must have known it, at least this morning. Because tonight, he had managed to stop me from making a fool of myself, before I even got a chance. And no offer of a lift back home, tonight. I was on my own.
That was better anyway. I had a lot of experience with being on my own, while I didn’t have experience with riding in a car with someone who thought I was good enough to fuck, and not good enough for anything more.
But that pastry. That had been delicious. And he had wanted me to try it.
I took the sticky note off the empty plate, crushed it and threw it in the bin. I was more furious at myself than at him, honestly. Because he had never meant to fool me in any way; he had been his usual self the day before, and the day after, at least the five minutes he had shown up the day after. I couldn’t complain that his attitude had changed. A cold, haughty bastard before. A cold, absent bastard after. If I blamed someone, it was myself, for walking up to him in the clearing.
But I didn’t quite manage to regret it. That had been… beautiful.
I scoffed at my own foolishness. I put the plate and the fork in the dishwasher, grabbed my bag, and left myself out.
The two men stood in the alley, and I almost stepped back inside. Too late.
They had seen me before I saw them.
“We’re police!” one of them called before I could decide which way to run. He walked up to me hurriedly, badge in hand.
He was in uniform, at least I thought it was a uniform. He approached me as if I had been a wild cat, ready to pounce — and that was exactly how I felt.
The cop, if he really was a cop, looked young, with dark curls and deep blue eyes.
“We were trying to find which door belongs to the bakery. It’s just closed, but we’re looking for the owner.”
“Call him on his phone.”
“Do you work here? Mr. Farnwood told us there’s a young girl working here. But he couldn’t give us your name. You’re the one we would like to speak with.”
“I don’t know anything.”
He laughed. He had a soft, nice laugh.
“I know. We’re the one giving the news. Can we go somewhere else to talk?”
“No.”
Not polite, but I was still scared, poised to flee if he stepped closer. Blake had already left. We were alone in the alley. I was afraid of police, and even more afraid of them if they were lying about who they were.
My father hated the police. That’s no scoop, obviously, and over the years I’ve learned he had his own reason for hating them, which I didn’t always share.
However, between my dad and his friends, I had heard enough tales of police brutality, from rape to extortion, that I wasn’t going anywhere with these two.
The other was coming closer too, and I glanced around, looking for an escape route. It didn’t look good. The second one was older and rounder around the middle, so I had a good chance to make it if I turned around and ran. But I’m no athlete, and the youngest one would probably be faster on his feet.
“We understand there was an altercation here,” the younger one was saying, in a mild, soothing tone, that didn’t quite match his words. “That you were attacked by two guys early one morning. The owner of the bakery surprised them and they ran away.”
Was that what he had told them, then?
“Who told you?”
