Sliding onto a stool, I ordered a lemon drop. If I wasn’t going to get drunk, I might as well sip something that went down like lemonade. The bartender nodded and went to work. I leaned back against the bar, eyes drifting to the fighters in the ring.
They weren’t bad. One had decent footwork. If he’d only follow through on his left jab, he might even have a career. Show fighters only had two ways to make money: winning consistently or working the crowd hard enough to fill every seat. Otherwise, you were nothing but a punching bag with limbs.
“Miss,” the bartender called, sliding over a martini glass that belonged in a mixology lounge, complete with a flair of lemon garnish. It was almost too pretty to drink. I plucked it by the delicate stem and lifted it, the sugared rim on my lips, right as a smooth, cocky voice slipped in beside me.
“Now, isn’t that a sight? A gorgeous woman in boots and leather, drinking from a fragile martini glass.”
My eyes flicked toward him. I gave him the once-over without bothering to turn my body.
“And you,” I muttered over the rim of my glass, “looking like a hobo who stumbled into a billionaire’s mansion.”
His laugh was a velvet baritone that sank into my skin with the inevitability of smoke. It made my wolf bristle. That was the laugh of a man who had money and knew exactly how to use it. This kind of man always had a beauty draped on his arm, which made it strange that he was alone.
Like my words were an invitation, he slid in closer, ordered the same drink with a flick of his hand, and leaned against thebar in perfect mimicry of me. It was equal parts irritating and disarming.
I hated it.
“So,” he asked, “are you here for the fights, or are you with someone?” The end had a bite to it, like he hated saying it.
I gave him the truth. “I like fights. I came here with someone, but that’s not why I’m here.”
The bartender set down his drink. He downed half of it in one go then turned to face me fully, his back to the spectacle behind him. “Now,that’sintriguing. Tell me more.”
I almost told him to get lost, that men like him weren’t my type, but then I caught those eyes for the first time. A deep green, framed by burnt red-brown hair that looked messy in the best of ways. Words dried up in my throat.
My mind whispered, “Go, this man is trouble.”
My wolf argued,“Fall deep into those eyes and never let go.”
I wanted to step back, give myself some space to get a grip, but I refused to give him that kind of ground. To look that weak. Instead, I stepped closer, though unease crawled over me like static.
I inhaled openly, not caring if this human thought it was rude. It was simply how us wolves gathered information quickly. His scent hit me like a wall. Nothing. Blank. Humans always smelled like sweat, blood, fear—something. This man reeked of absence. Somehow, his very essence was locked away.
A growl rattled low in my throat. My grip tightened on the stem of my glass as I glared at him. No one masked their scent amonghumans, not unless they weren’t one, and I did not like being deceived.
He lifted his hands in surrender, but his eyes told a different story. They weren’t afraid. They were ravenous with hunger.
Warning bells screamed inside me. His sneakers-and-slacks combo. The long tan coat in the middle of summer. Every inch of him was wrong for a full-of-himself human billionaire with money to burn, and I couldn’t look away.
“I’m not going to harm you,” he said, reaching a hand toward me.
He thinks I’m scared of him? Me? Fuck that!With my pulse beating in my ears, muscles constricting, I told myself I needed to teach him a lesson.
I caught it, twisted his arm behind his back, and slammed his face into the bar before he could blink. Black-suited men surged toward me, but he spoke fast against the marble slab he was pinned to.
“Okay, it’s okay. I can see we started on the wrong foot.”
I flicked my gaze toward Zeth. He was already up, ready to go to war. He was a damn good second.
“Let me up, and I’ll wave them off. We don't want a spectacle in front of all these humans, now, do we?”
From the way the men circled, trying to stay discreet so as not to drag the humans’ attention from the fight, it dawned on me. This man wasn’t a guest. He owned this place.
Heat surged through me as if I’d grabbed fire itself, and I released him. Moving back to my spot, I picked up my drink anddowned the rest in one swallow, wishing for supe-grade alcohol to take the edge off. At this point, my mind and body were warring between killing him and fucking him. Neither extreme would help me at the moment.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled up that iron control of mine and squashed both instincts, nodding at him.
He straightened, waving off his men, and I motioned Zeth back with a shake of my head. If Mecariee leashed his dogs, I’d leash mine.
