She glared at me, but there was a wound behind the hard shell of her anger. “So, I’m prey. You think I’mprey.”
I nodded slowly. “Just like I was.”
“Oh my god.”
“Davey—”
“I’m notyou, Charley! My life isn’t about you! I’m as sorry as I can be about what happened to you, but that’s not going to happen to me, because I understand the threat. I know how to watch my back. In large part because of you.” She huffed, and the sound carried a bitter note. “And it’s not like it hasn’t all worked out for you, anyway.” She gestured with one out-flung arm at the bar. “This place isours, in case you’ve forgotten. Not yours. Mom and Dad put you in charge, but they signed it over tobothof us.”
True, but our circumstances had changed since then, as had ownership of the bar. When he’d named me marshal, Titus had bought thirty percent of the Fat Cat just to help me out, and his minority share had been the only thing keeping us in the black until word spread through the shifter community. Until business picked up.
Our parents wouldn’t even recognize the clientele, if they were to drop by for a visit.
“It was your decision to turn this place into a shifter sanctuary, but the truth is that I was here long before any of your zone members. Ibelonghere,” Davey snapped. “So you can’t run me out. Not even to protect me.”
“I’m not trying to run you out. Iwantyou here.”
“But only on your terms.”
“They aren’tmyterms. They’re logical terms.” A familiar nausea churned deep in my gut. Rising toward my throat. “Safeterms. I know you don’t want to think about it—maybe you don’t even think it’s possible—but it happened to me. It happened to Yvette Graham-Mattheson, and who knows how many others. And I’m the exception, Davey.”
“I know.”
“You don’t, though.” I sighed as I sank onto one of the barstools. “You don’treallyunderstand.”
“I understand that you survived scratch fever, and now you have superpowers. Now you have this whole community. All these friends who’d basically take a bullet for you.”
“That’s not…”Entirelyinaccurate. “That’s not the whole story.”
“It is, though. And it’s the same for Robyn.” Titus’s wife. “If you two survived, I could.”
“You could. But you probablywouldn’t. The cold, hard truth is that for every human woman who survives infection…” And I’d only ever heard of three, including myself. “…there could be a hundred who died. Surviving is very rare. And I’m not going to risk you—”
Davey rolled her eyes again. “But that’s just it. I’m not taking risks. It’s not like I’m standing in the middle of the street naked, daring some asshole to bite me. I’m just living my life. Trying to, anyway. And I don’t need you to order your enforcers to watch me. I’m not going to go near the psycho widower or that other guy. The brother?”
I nodded.
“I don’t need you to tell me that, because I’m not an idiot. Nor am I suicidal. So why don’t you just…back off.” With that, she scooped up her hat and her laptop and stomped through the kitchen, boots echoing across the floor. A second later, the back door squealed open, and a moment after that, I heard her car door slam and her engine rev to life. Then Davey was gone.
I resisted the urge to track her phone. To make sure she went straight home. Because she was right. She was an adult. And thiswasas much her bar as it was mine.
“She’ll be fine,” Vance said, and I looked up to realize he was standing six feet away, holding a fresh rag. Ready to resume cleaning the soda guns. Shifters could move nearly silently when they wanted, but Vance wasreallyproficient at stealth. “No matter what she says when she’s mad, she knows you’re just worried about her. That it comes from a place of love.”
“I hope you’re right. But you’re still going to keep an eye on her.”
He nodded. “As always.”
Tucker knocked on my door at ten-thirty a.m. I recognized his distinctive double rap, and by the time I’d stumbled out of my bedroom into the small living room, I could smell the aromas of fresh coffee and a small assortment of pastries.
“Hey,” I said as I opened the door to find him on the landing, the stairs behind him descending into the Fat Cat’s kitchen.
“Hey.” Tucker took in my bare legs and lack of bra with the same disinterested amusement he gave my disheveled hair.
“Thanks.” I plucked the coffee from his grip as I stepped back to let him in. “Don’t you dare laugh. I didn’t get to bed until three am.”
“That’s why I brought Danishes.” He’d been out the door by eleven last night and probably in bed by midnight, since he wasn’t closing.
I gulped from the steaming cup, then set it down and grabbed a cheese Danish from the bag. “You’re the best.”
