Preston nudged him in the ribs playfully. Zeppelin smirked, squeezed his shoulder, and kept walking, calm, confident, the kind of swagger that didn’t need volume to be felt.
The rest of the pack fell in around them, still talking over each other, boots thudding, elbows flying, summer heat soaking into their laughter. They bunched up at the entrance of the Frothy Pine like a wall of sun, leather, and good mood, rolling inside as if they had absolutely nothing to worry about today.
And honestly? They didn’t.
The bar erupted around them like they’d flipped a switch. Conversations shifted, redirecting toward the pack like water finding its course. A few regulars raised their glasses in greeting, the kind of acknowledgment that came with knowing these men owned the mountain and everything on it.
Glasses clinked. Conversations overlapped. Ice rattled in a shaker somewhere behind the bar.
The pack flowed through the place with the ease of long practice, boots scuffing the worn wood floor in a rhythm that felt almost musical. Logan peeled off from the main cluster, heading for the counter while the others claimed booths and high-tops.
Preston dropped into the seat beside Zeppelin, already chattering about something that made the alpha shake his head with that half-smile he reserved for his mate. The rest of the guys arranged themselves around the table, leather creaking as they shifted and settled.
“The usual?” Ash called from behind the bar.
“You know it,” Logan replied, leaning against the polished oak. The wood was warm under his palms, worn smooth from years of elbows and hands just like his.
Ash nodded, already reaching for the good bourbon. The kind they kept for regulars. Logan watched the amber liquid fill the glass, catching the light like liquid gold.
Movement caught his eye. A waiter weaving through the crowd with a practiced grace that suggested experience. The bleached tips caught the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows, turning his dark hair into something almost iridescent. Lean frame, sharp cheekbones, a smile that looked like it cost him effort.
Logan’s breath caught in a way that had nothing to do with the bar’s temperature.
Then the small man stumbled.
Just slightly. A small stagger that would’ve gone unnoticed except Logan’s wolf had already locked onto him the moment he entered his field of vision. The tray tilted. A pint glass threatened to slip.
Without thinking, Logan moved, hand shooting out to steady the guy’s elbow. The contact sent a jolt through his arm, electric and warm and immediately addictive.
Logan was aware of everything at once. Sharp cheekbones. Full lips. The scent of him underneath the bar’s chaos—white tea and warm skin. His eyes were charcoal-dark with the faintest blue hidden in the shadows, like dusk right before nighttime fully settled.
“Careful,” Logan said, his voice rougher than his usual easy tone.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m...” The guy cleared his throat, steadying the tray. “Sorry. Just a stumble.”
But his hand trembled slightly against the tray’s edge. Logan noticed because he was looking. Because his wolf had decided this moment mattered.
“Logan.” He extended his hand, still holding the guy’s elbow with the other. Greedy. His wolf purred approval at the contact.
The handshake was brief but firm, fingers cool and slightly damp. Nervous energy radiated off him like heat shimmer off summer asphalt.
“Nick.” The name came out soft, a little uncertain. His gaze darted toward the back corner, locking onto something.
Logan glanced over his shoulder and spotted Sloane at the corner booth, Jamie tucked against his side like they’d been designed to fit that way. Sloane’s arm rested across Jamie's shoulders with casual possession, and Jamie looked at him like he hung the moon.
“You know Sloane?” he asked, turning back to Nick.
“He’s my old roommate’s boyfriend,” Nick replied.
Logan remembered Jamie mentioning his roommate in passing, some guy named Nick who worked at a diner. Except, apparently, he worked here now.
“I’m Sloane’s brother,” he said and watched Nick’s shoulders relax fractionally. Not much. Just enough to notice. “He’s harmless. Well. Mostly harmless. Depends on whether you’re threatening his boyfriend.”
Nick’s laugh came out shaky. “I already know. I threatened him once. When he took Jamie on a date. Told him he better bring my roommate back in once piece.”
A bark of laughter burst out of him, head back, eyes crinkling hard at the corners. “No. You did not.”
The image of Nick, maybe five-two at the most, threatening an apex predator who stood at a height of six-four? Logan wished to god someone had recorded it. He would have to ask Jamie later. Get the details. And roast his brother. If Nick didn’t look so nervous, Logan would’ve called his brother over right now to roast him.
