Those two nights. My bear remembers every second. He remembers exactly how she felt beneath me, around me, her nails raking down my back. How she tasted when I put my mouth on her. How perfectly we fit together.
The heat had made everything more intense, more primal. No wonder the separation feels like missing a limb.
“Billy Lennox?”
I turn to find a young wolf, barely out of his teens, jaw set with determination.
“That’s me.”
“You worked for Leon. Helped him do terrible things.”
The bar goes quiet. Conversations stop mid-sentence. I set down the glass I was drying, careful to keep my movements slow and unthreatening.
“I worked for my father, yes. Until I couldn’t anymore.”
“How do we know you’re not here to cause trouble? To spy for your clan?”
His friends shift nervously behind him, but he stands his ground. Brave kid.
“Because I betrayed them to save one of yours,” I say evenly. “That should tell you where my loyalties lie.”
The kid doesn’t look convinced. His hands clench and unclench at his sides.
“Leave it, Tom.” An older wolf places a hand on his shoulder. “Cooper vouched for him. That’s enough.”
They move away, but I feel the weight of their distrust settling on my shoulders. This is my life now. Caught between two worlds and fully trusted by neither.
The week drags on. Each shift blends into the next. I work, I sleep, I try not to think about Carla. But she’s everywhere. I pick up a faint hint of her in the scent trails around town, in the casual mentions by customers, in the empty ache where our bond should hum with her presence.
“Heard the Campbell girl is doing better,” someone says on my third night. “Maya’s been checking on her.”
I keep my face neutral as I pour their drink, but my bear perks up, desperate for any scrap of information.
“That’s good,” I manage.
“Shame what happened to her. Three weeks in that basement.” The wolf shakes his head. “Your father was a real piece of work.”
My hands tighten on the bottle. “Yes. He was.”
By day seven, I’m exhausted from fighting my instincts. My bear wants to patrol her territory, to ensure she’s safe. The protective drive is worse than any physical discomfort. It’s a constant need to watch over her, especially after what she’s been through.
I’m wiping down tables after closing when my phone rings. Unknown number.
My bear goes instantly alert.
“Billy? This is Maya. I’m with Carla.”
Everything in me goes still. “Is she hurt?”
“Not hurt. She had a panic attack in town. Pretty bad one. I’ve got her back at her cabin, but...”
A pause. I can hear muffled voices in the background.
“She needs you.”
I’m already grabbing my keys. “I’m on my way.”
The drive feels endless, though it’s only minutes. My hands grip the steering wheel hard enough to creak. What if she’s worse than Maya said? What if the panic attack triggered something deeper? Or what if she’s…
