“This is ridiculous.” His voice was getting louder. The other customers glanced over. “What kind of bookstore doesn’t have basic business books?”
“Sir, we’re a small independent store. I can’t stock everything. But I’m happy to order-”
“This place is a joke. No wonder it’s empty. Look at this.” He gestured around at my bookstore, at my grandparents’ legacy,at everything I’d been killing myself trying to save. “Half these books are ancient. The organization is a mess. You’re running this place into the ground.”
My hands clenched into fists. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“I’m not leaving until you help me find what I need.” He stepped closer to the counter, getting into my space. “Maybe if you actually knew how to run a business instead of playing bookstore owner, this place wouldn’t be such a disaster.”
“I said leave.”
“Pathetic excuse for a bookstore.” He was sneering now. “Should just shut down already and save everyone the trouble. Do the town a favor.”
A growl cut through the air.
Low. Deadly. Coming from behind me.
I froze.
The back door. The one that led to where he’d been sleeping. I hadn’t locked it.
Oh no.
“What the hell-” The finance bro spun around, and his face went white.
Malachar stood in the doorway, filling it completely. The blanket was wrapped around his waist, barely decent. His wounds were still visible across his chest and ribs, red and angry, not nearlyas healed as they should be after five days. His hair was wild around his shoulders.
But it was his face that made my heart stop. His eyes were glowing red. Fully red. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping. And his hands - his nails were lengthening into claws even as I watched. Fur rippled across his shoulders and down his back, disappearing under the blanket.
He was barely holding it together. Barely keeping the wolf at bay.
And he was staring at the finance bro with murder in his eyes.
Part of my brain was screaming. The rational part. The part that knew this was bad, that someone was about to die in my bookstore, that I should be calling 911.
The other part (the insane part that had apparently taken over my decision-making) was thinking that Malachar looked really good when he was protective and murdery. The scars. The muscles. The way his entire body had gone predator-mode because someone had insulted me.
Yeah, I needed therapy. So much therapy.If onlyI could afford it.
“What the fuck did you call her?” His voice was a snarl. Lower than I’d heard it before. More animal than man.
The finance bro stammered, backing up. “I - I didn’t - who are you?”
Malachar stalked forward. Each step was predatory, controlled and fucking terrifying. “You insulted her. In her own place of business. You called her pathetic.”
“I was just - look, man, I didn’t mean-”
“You will apologize.” Malachar’s accent was thicker now. His words clipped. Formal even through the rage. “Now.”
“This is insane. I’m not apologizing to-”
Fur rippled down Malachar’s tattooed arms. His claws extended another inch. A low rumble built in his chest that was definitely not human, and I realized with dawning horror that he was about to shift. Right here. In the middle of my bookstore on a Friday afternoon.
The finance bro looked ready to piss himself. The other customers had gone silent, pressed against the far wall.
I snapped out of my stupor. “Malachar. Stop.”
He didn’t look at me. Didn’t take his eyes off his prey. “He insulted you, little mate. Disrespected you. That cannot stand.”
