Practice for when your mate arrives.
A fated mate. The idea feels distant, impossible. Like something that happens to other shifters, not to a scarred, bitter bear who lives alone on a mountain and runs off anyone who gets too close. What woman would want this life? What woman would want me?
I drain the last of my water and push myself to my feet.No point in dwelling on things that haven’t happened. Right now, I have a more immediate problem.
Finding someone who can tolerate me long enough to stock a pantry.
Given my track record, it might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
2
IMANI
Ishove my hands in my pockets and keep my head down, but there’s no escaping the Christmas lights. They’re everywhere. Strung across awnings, wrapped around lampposts, blinking in shop windows like the whole town caught holiday fever overnight.
A man on a ladder strings white lights along the awning of the hardware store. His wife stands below, pointing and directing, their breath coming out in little clouds. They look happy. Content. Like people who belong somewhere.
I look away and keep walking.
Shadow Suds let out early today. Not much work when half the town is focused on holiday prep instead of hiring cleaners. Derrick said I could go, gave me that smile he’s been giving me more and more lately. The one that lingers a beat too long. I grabbed my things and left before he could offer to walk me to my car.
I’m not going down that road. Not with my boss. Not with anyone.
The shopping center is busy for a Wednesday evening. Families bundled in scarves and hats, carrying bags fromthe boutique. A group of teenagers laughing outside the ice cream shop that’s somehow still open despite the freezing temperatures. Everyone moving with purpose, with plans, with people waiting for them at home.
I stop in front of Stanley’s Diner.
The Help Wanted sign is back in the window. It’s always in the window. I’ve walked past this place a dozen times since I moved to Shadow Wolf Creek two months ago, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen it without that sign. What is it about this place? Bad management? Terrible tips? Some kind of curse?
I study the diner through the glass. Looks normal enough. Booths with red vinyl seats. A long counter with stools. A few customers scattered around, hunched over plates of food. A tired-looking waitress refilling coffee cups.
Part-time work wouldn’t hurt. I could use the extra money. My savings are growing, but slowly. Too slowly.
I keep walking.
The furniture store is three doors down. Cozy Corner Furnishings, the sign reads, with a little cartoon armchair underneath. I’ve been coming here after work at least twice a week, just to look. Just to remind myself what I’m working toward.
The window display has changed since Monday.
There’s a new reading chair in the center. Deep green velvet with a high back and rolled arms. The kind of chair you sink into with a book and a cup of tea and don’t move from for hours. They’ve staged it with a small side table and a brass lamp, a cream-colored throw draped over one arm. A little sanctuary in the middle of a store window.
The price tag faces outward. Four hundred and forty-nine dollars.
I stand there staring at it, doing the math in my head.How many more paychecks? How many weeks of packing lunches and skipping the little extras? Could I have it by February if I picked up a second job?
The sale sign in the corner of the window catches my eye. Twenty percent off select items through December.
Not that chair, though. The beautiful things never go on sale.
A group of women pass behind me, their laughter bright and sharp in the cold air. I catch a glimpse of their reflection in the glass. Dressed up. Heels despite the weather. Makeup done like they’re heading somewhere important.
I follow their reflection as they cross the street toward the Shadow Bar.
The neon sign glows blue and purple against the darkening sky, a red wolf outline howling beneath the name. Even from here, I can see the shifters gathered outside, huge guys crowding the entrance. The women walk up to them like they own the place, hips swaying, hair flipping over their shoulders.
I turn back to the chair.
That’s not why I came to Shadow Wolf Creek. I didn’t move across the country to chase shifters in a bar, hoping one of them might catch my scent and declare me his fated mate. I’ve seen the women who do that. Watched them parade through town in too-tight dresses and too-high hopes, convinced that destiny is waiting for them in the arms of some supernatural creature.
