CHAPTER 1
The small bell above the diner’s front door jingled as someone came in from the blizzard roaring outside. A gust of frigid air pushed in along with the late arrival. Tiny ice crystals blew against Leni Calhoun’s nape as she headed into the kitchen with the emptied plates from what she’d thought was the last customer of the night.
“Sit anywhere you want,” she said without slowing down or turning around.
Not that she actually needed to tell any of her regular customers that her tiny diner at the edge of the North Maine Woods was a seat-yourself kind of establishment.
Tonight’s big storm meant business had been slower than usual, but steady. The timber truckers and hunters who made up the bulk of the traffic on the private, mostly unpaved, two-lane that rambled for ninety-odd miles between Millinocket near the Interstate and the Canadian border to the west knew Wednesday was pot roast day at the diner. Not even a fierce February Nor’easter would keep many of them away from a plate of slow-cooked beef and vegetables slathered in gravy.
Leni assumed she’d be ladling up the last of her gran’s heirloom recipe for the straggler who’d just come in from the road. Grabbing the coffee carafe off the burner and one of the heavy white ceramic mugs still warm from the dishwasher, she walked back out to the dining area.
A couple of local men swung off their stools at the counter and told her goodnight as they shuffled toward the door. There were plenty of open seats left at the long bar, but the newcomer had bypassed them all to take the booth farthest from the half-dozen other patrons inside.
Leni didn’t know him. He sat facing the entrance, his head lowered slightly and covered by the deep hood of his snow-sodden, black parka. Inside the faux fur-trimmed opening, she could just make out the squared edge of his beard-roughened jaw and a stern, unsmiling mouth.
He was a big man. Even seated she could tell he was tall and muscular. Beneath the heavy winter coat, his shoulders were wider and bulkier than a linebacker’s. Probably a new guy pushing his luck trying to make a timber delivery to one of the sawmills before the week was out. Only seasoned local drivers and clueless newbies from away would even consider being on the unmaintained road in tonight’s weather.
“Looks like another storm of the century out there,” she said, making conversation as she set down the mug and began to pour the strong black coffee. “Then again, we seem to be getting one of these about every year, so—”
“No coffee.” The deep voice was clipped and toneless, but the baritone rumble vibrated straight into her marrow.
“Okay, no problem.” She stopped pouring and pulled the carafe back. “What else can I get you to drink, then? Coffee’s the usual around here, but I’ve also got water or fountain soda. If you want hot tea, it’ll take a few minutes for me to start a fresh pot of water.”
He shook his head and some of the melted snow ran off his hood like rainwater. “I don’t need anything to drink. Thanks.”
The acknowledgment sounded rusty, though not insincere. He swept the parka’s hood off his head with a big hand gloved in black leather. Leni wasn’t one to gape, but damn, it was hard not to. The face staring up at her was nothing short of gorgeous.
From beneath a thick crown of brown hair a few shades darker than her own, penetrating blue-gray eyes met her gaze. His beard-shadowed, squared jaw looked even stronger under the wan yellow glow of the pendant light hanging over the table. Razor-sharp cheekbones should have made his face seem harsh, but instead all those unforgiving angles were set against a downright sinful-looking mouth that made her heart pound a little faster.
Being trapped in the hold of those stormy eyes didn’t help.
Even though Leni with her brown hair and freckle-spattered cheeks had never been as pretty as her blonde, blue-eyed older sister, Shannon, she still got her fair share of second glances from men, both the locals and the ones just passing through. But this man studied her with an intensity that surpassed clumsy come-ons or garden variety ogling.
He looked at her as if he could see inside her with a glance. His gaze moved slowly over every feature of her face, from her hazel eyes and slightly upturned nose, to her mouth, which suddenly felt as dry as cotton. Then his gaze drifted lower, settling at her throat and sending her already drumming pulse into a gallop.
It should have unnerved her, the way he radiated dark power and a palpable, yet unspoken command. In a corner of her consciousness shewasa little rattled, because it damn sure wasn’t her nature to check her good sense into her panties every time a good-looking man came into the diner. Which, to be honest, wasn’t that often. As in, never. And this man was unearthly handsome.
God, what was wrong with her?
Leni picked up the half-filled mug he wouldn’t be using and rallied her focus. “All right, then. Nothing to drink. So, what else can I get you? I’ve got one serving left of my grandma’s famous pot roast, and I guarantee you’ve never tasted anything like it.”
The dark slashes of his brows furrowed a little over his unsettlingly intense eyes, even while the corner of his mouth quirked with wry amusement. “No pot roast for me.”
“You sure? If you’re thinking about heading for one of the mills near Jackman or St. Zacharie at the Quebec border, you’ll need something that sticks to your ribs. You’re looking at a hundred miles of dicey driving ahead of you.” She gestured with her chin to the blizzard howling against the window. “What might take you four-plus hours in good weather will mean double or triple that time tonight. If you make it at all.”
He grunted in response. “I’ll take it under advisement.”
She tilted her head, studying him now. He wasn’t heading to either of those places. In fact, she didn’t think he was a logger or a trucker, after all.
Working the diner for half of her twenty-seven years, first at her mom and gran’s side, then on her own once both of them had passed, Leni had developed something of a sixth sense when it came to the types of strangers who passed through Parrish Falls on their way to somewhere else. But her first impression about this man had been all wrong.
He was unlike anyone she’d encountered before, and not only because of his soul-searching eyes and impossibly handsome face.
Something about him had tripped a lot of switches inside her, including a few she didn’t want to acknowledge. When he took off his gloves and she spotted the unusual markings on the back of his strong hands, she understood why.
Holy shit.He was Breed.
Those tangled flourishes and swirls in a shade or two darker than his golden skin didn’t occur in humans. They were otherworldly markings.Dermaglyphsthat only appeared on the blood-drinking cohabitants of this planet who had lived in secret alongside mankind until about twenty years ago.
