by Knox, Abby
Everywhere except her fangs.
Wait. What?
Of course. How could he be so stupid? Of course, she had fangs. She was one of Rosemary’s cousins. Had to be.
This was not going to go over well with some of the wolf shifters he knew, but at least he had the pack to back him up. Ash was marrying a panther shifter. Vann was imprinted on another one. That Band-Aid had already been ripped off. But there were some, especially in his tattoo shop, who didn’t approve of all this mixing of the different breeds of shifters.
Well, they’d just have to accept it and move on. Plenty of shifters had already married non-shifters, or Normals, as they called them. The bloodlines were already dwindling. And who cared? Maybe the more they mixed, the less chance there would be of kids carrying the cursed genes to the next generation.
His thoughts wandering into the future gripped his heart. He knew he was in trouble. Gavin never thought about the future, never cared about what came next.
All he could think now was finding her as soon as he could and claiming her for himself. He didn’t know what she looked like, but he knew she belonged to him body and soul.
He was now getting hungry—for her and for beignets—and knew he had to find her. Fast.
But first, he had to conjure up a memory of learning how to make homemade beignets.
* * *
Charlene, Ash’s mom, had been the best substitute mom he could have hoped for growing up. She’d taught all the young wolves how to cook and bake, and was the person that their chef pack mate, Vann, credited for inspiring his love of all things food.
These weren’t the best beignets, but they were the best that Gavin could do at the moment.
And then, his guts turned to mush as a memory of shifting came back. Yes, that’s right. He had started to shift right there in front of her, and that’s why he’d found himself alone, naked, in the woods, without her. He had somehow lost control of his emotions and fled, for her safety.
Just then, the rumble of the GTO came within earshot. Gavin looked up and saw Ash parking right outside the bar.
Gavin decided he’d better make nice with Ash. Because if his girl turned out to be a feline, then Ash would be his only ally on that front. As much as Gavin appreciated expanding the gene pool of eligible mates, it would be a hard sell for some people in the wolf clan. He shoved the key back into his wallet and stood up.
“Find Bobby?” Gavin asked his friend.
“No. And listen, I’m sorry for being a douchebag back there. I’m just super freaking out about the wedding. Rosemary’s got me…well, I am not going to go into details, but let’s just say blue balls don’t help my attitude.”
Gavin put up his hand. “Too much information about your balls.”
Ash sighed. “Fine, no more talk about balls. I just came here again because I’ve been everywhere, and I can’t find him. But I’m glad you’re here because I’m gonna ask one more time if you’ll come with me to the brunch. I need at least one dude from my wedding party there, or Rosemary and her mama are gonna freak the fuck out. I don’t need yet another hoop to jump through before my wedding night.”
“The fuck are you talking about, brother?” Gavin asked. Now he was genuinely curious about what was going on between Rosemary and Ash.
Ash shook his head. “Forget it. Will you come?”
Gavin agreed, only after warming up C’s coffee and sticking it into a double-walled cup of Bobby’s that he took out of the kitchen, and he bagged up some of the hot beignets.
“Fine, let’s go,” he said. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
And then he texted C one more time.
Chapter Seven
Chastity, 9:45 a.m.
She knew she could call a car before even thinking about checking her text messages—surely her daddy and Uncle Lionel back at the mansion would pay for the rideshare—but she was just too tempted to address the double digits on the little red dot.
So, of course, she tapped it.
Messages from Rosemary were at the top of the list.
You look like you’re having fun. Just be warned, Gavin is not like us. You know that, right? He’s like Ash.
And then, two minutes later: You are expected at the house in the Garden District in the morning, so please check in. And be careful.
And then again: Seriously tho, I just heard you were hell-bent on losing your virginity tonight. Jeebus. OK, but do you have BC? Condom?
OK, girl, do what you want, but just remember, watch out for those claws.
I am not your mama, but do you know what you’re doing? Do you realize you could eat him alive?
OK, I don’t mean eat him alive in that sense. I mean, literally take a bite out of him. You’re still young and wild and you don’t know how to control it when you get emotional. Just because tonight’s not a new moon doesn’t mean the panther won’t come out. Like when you’re drunk and horny, your mom and dad told you about that, right?
They had not. And it was no surprise to Chastity that her parents had not schooled her on this little detail about her sexuality. Purity Ball dads and their wives were not that forthcoming about empowering their daughters, shapeshifters or non-shapeshifters.
She read on. More texts from Rosemary. Give it up, girl. Sheesh.
You do know that cats are unpredictable. Until you learn how to control it you probably shouldn’t be doing it at all with a person who doesn’t know what he’s getting into.
OK, listen. I feel responsible. Mama told me to watch out for you and I should have had you back at the mansion in lockdown about two hours ago. Please text me asap.
Finally, she got to the last one. Rosemary sure had gotten uptight in this bridezilla phase of hers. She typed back and sent:
I’m OK. Trying to find a ride back to the mansion.
She had only one text from her mother, sent late last night:
Hope you’re having a fun night, sweetie.
For some reason, this gripped Chastity’s heart in unexpected ways. No demands to know how much she’d had to drink, or if she’d arrived back at her aunt and uncle’s house at a decent hour. Just well wishes. Wow, she thought. Maybe my mother is lightening up and starting to see me as an adult. Or maybe, Chastity needed to give them a break. They were only working with the parenting tools they had been given by their parents.
And then, she took a deep breath and tapped on the name G.
If she thought Rosemary was long-winded, she had nothing on this guy.
She read all of his texts in order after she’d made her way over to a park bench, for which she was exceedingly grateful. Her feet were finally starting to hurt. She had to scroll up quite a ways to get to his first message.
If she wasn’t already falling for the guy, she was falling flat on her face with her heart outside her body with his very first text to her.
Hey, this is Gavin. Friend of Ash. I think you’re cute. I got your number from…well, a very drunk relative with poor judgment, and I’m not gonna throw any of your friends under the bus. And then a wink emoji.
About five minutes later, the second text.
Hey, I saw you dancing on the bar. Do you need a ride home?
Sweet.
I sent you that drink, which maybe I should not have done. I’m the big dummy in the corner with the long brown hair and the beard, but I’m way less scary than I look.
Chastity smiled dumbly at her phone and scrolled down. She was vaguely aware of dancing at Bobby’s last night and having drinks. So many drinks. Too many. God, she smelled coffee and beignets coming from somewhere.
The next one was interesting. It had been sent two hours after the first one. All it said was:
I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry. I wanted to wake you with breakfast in bed. I had to leave. I feel like a jerk, but trust me when I say it’s better that I left. You’ll understand later. I know my place is a hovel compared to what you might be used to, but please, whatever you do, don’t le
ave.
Why had she left? Hadn’t she known as soon as she’d woken up that she should stay and wait for him? Should she go back now?
Then the next one, which was a couple of hours later, shortly after she’d woken up:
Hey, it’s me. I feel like a jackass. I’m not totally sure what happened, but I need to see you so we can sort this out. Please stay wherever you are. Are you at my place? Let me know.
Chastity made a mental note: always have a charger, at all times, when out raising hell with her cousins in New Orleans.
She looked up and stretched her neck from side to side, which was stiff from staring at her phone. It was then that she saw the loud, black, classic GTO that she was pretty sure belonged to Rosemary’s fiancé.
Holy shit!
She forgot about her aching feet and her exhausted body and pounding head. She tossed her ridiculous heels to the curb and sprinted after the car, calling Ash’s name.
It was no use. He didn’t see her and didn’t hear her. But people on the street were seeing and hearing and staring at her like she was some kind of a freak making a scene. Which, technically, she was.
She calmed herself down enough to attempt to call for a car to get her somewhere. Anywhere. As her hand moved over the screen, another text message from Gavin popped up. Reading it, she knew from his words he was the one she wanted. Not just for another night. But for life.
And then, just as hunger, thirst, and her pounding headache were about to conspire to buckle her knees right there on the sidewalk, she heard a set of tires screech, followed by a familiar female voice.
“Get in, loser. We’re going to brunch!”
It was her cousin, the soon-to-be-bride, Rosemary.
Chapter Eight
Gavin
“My, my, my. What a sparse little wedding party you have brought into my home this morning, Ashton. And where is this mysterious celebrity chef friend of yours?”
Betsy DuChamp sipped her mimosa, her face bright-eyed and perfectly painted.
Gavin glanced over at Ash, who shot him a look.
Ash replied, “He rolled in late last night from a TV shoot in Seoul. He’s jet-lagged AF. I gave him the day off.”
Betsy arched an eyebrow. “AF?”
Rosemary entered the room looking as fresh as a daisy. “It means ‘as fuck,’ Mother. The chef is jet lagged as fuck. We excused him from brunch.”
Betsy made a disgusted tut-tut noise at her daughter’s rough language. “And what about our GiGi? And Chastity? Don’t tell me they’ve all caught the jet lag as well?”
Rosemary sighed as she plopped down in her dining chair next to Ash. “No, Mama. I believe the illness that’s going around is a hangover from the raging party last night, and they ain’t coming to your ill-timed brunchy-brunch.”
Betsy now raised both eyebrows at her daughter. “Is that so? Well, in my day, when one is invited to participate in activities surrounding a family wedding in which a person is directly involved, one makes a point to—“
Rosemary grunted through a mouthful of breakfast ham and eggs. “Mama! Nobody wants a lesson in wedding etiquette. We’re all quite hungover. Those of us that are feeling human enough to be in this room under your godawfully bright chandeliers would just like to eat in silence, okay?”
Gavin downed his glass of water from the crystal goblet in front of him, wondering what kind of a nightmare future mother-in-law would plan a wedding party brunch the morning after a bachelor/bachelorette party.
If Chastity’s mother was anything like this woman, he was in for a rough road ahead.
At least he felt a little less hungover with a belly full of food.
“You must be the tattoo artist I’ve heard so much about. Ashton sure does have some colorful friends, I must say.”
“Mama…”
Gavin looked up and met Betsy’s eye. “Yes, ma’am. I own my own business. Come in anytime, I won’t even charge you. Much.”
Rosemary snorted. Ash had to stare straight down at his plate to keep from making eye contact with Gavin.
Betsy did not seem to register what he had said and instead pointed to the wrinkled brown bag and mug of coffee next to his plate.
“Not every day a man brings his own food when invited to a meal,” she purred.
Gavin nodded. “I know this looks strange, but it’s for a girl. A woman. I, uh, heard she liked beignets and this particular kind of coffee. Ash asked me to pick it up for her.”
“And who might that be?” Betsy asked.
Rosemary, always one to cut through the niceties, replied. “Come on, people. It’s Chastity. He’s looking for Chastity. She’s in the guest wing, sleeping it off.”
Betsy sighed in relief. “Well, thank God for that. Her mother and daddy were not very enthused about her attending a bachelorette party last night. I gave them my word that she would be safe and that you all were just going out dancing for a little while with the girls. Gavin, you may leave the coffee and that brown sack of whatever here with me. I’ll see that it gets to our niece. She missed her favorite wake up call this morning.”
Rosemary snorted again. “That’s right. Dancing. With girls. One hundred percent with the girls. All night. Dancing so lively she’s still tuckered out since I brought her home ‘round midnight. Right, fellas?”
Glancing between Betsy and Rosemary, Gavin tried to pick up on whatever it was that was being communicated. Then Rosemary caught his eye and mouthed, Guest wing. Then her eyes darted to his left.
He wasn’t the brightest of men, but this, he understood.
The chair scraped as he stood up and excused himself. “Ma’am. Thank you for the brunch. It’s been a pleasure. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to.”
Gavin did not give himself time to wait for a response from Rosemary’s mom, but instead picked up the bag of pastries and the mug of coffee and made his way as quickly as possible to the guest wing of the mansion. To the left, as Rosemary had indicated with her oh-so-subtle hints.
Out in the hallway, he found her scent again and followed it to a long, ornate hallway with a series of doors. Lucky for him, all the doors were open except one. He scanned the area. No one was around. He knocked on the door as his heart nearly busted out of his chest in anticipation. He was going to meet her, finally. Or, again.
There was no answer. He tried the knob, but the door was locked.
The key. Of course.
With shaking hands, Gavin took out the mysterious key from his wallet. She had, at some point, given this to him so he could come and spring her from her gilded prison. Leave it to this weird family of Rosemary’s to lock a person inside her room. Locking someone in from the outside seems to be is very much illegal, if he understood anything about his own business’s fire codes. Unless, she also had a key, in which case…
None of that matters now. Just open the door, you big Wookiee.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside.
There she was, sound asleep on a bed three times the size of his paltry little twin bed. He had found her.
After making sure the door locked behind him again, Gavin set the bag of beignets and the mug of coffee down on the night table. And then he just watched her sleep.
Her hair was splayed out over the pillow as she slept on her side. A satin sheet was draped over the curve of her hip. Her breast was nearly spilling out of the top of her dress. The little hint of sequins that he saw triggered another memory, this time of her dancing on the bar. He smiled. His girl was fun, but if she ever did that again, the wolf would be carrying her home over his shoulder, caveman-style. Nobody else was ever going to watch his drunk-ass wife do a sexy dance on the bar, not as long as he had something to say about it.
Wait…wife? Yes. Wife. Watching her sleep wasn’t creepy because she was already his wife, as far as he was concerned. There could be nobody else but her.
Even after a night of partying like it was 1999, this girl looked like an angel. He wanted des
perately to touch her, but he did not dare do that to her while she was passed out or asleep.
He watched her for several minutes until she started to stir awake. Bleary-eyed and unaware of his presence, Chastity rolled over and instinctively grabbed her phone. She muttered to herself, “Any more texts from the mystery man?”
Chapter Nine
Chastity
It was only about an hour of sleep, but it was still nice to wake up in her special room at the mansion. The four-poster bed, comfortable mattress. And miracle of miracles, she smelled coffee and pastries, as always.
She rolled over and opened her eyes, feeling around for her phone on the night table. Grabbing it up, she muttered to herself as she checked for any more texts from Gavin.
She decided it was time to text him back.
I feel exactly the same. I’m at Rosemary’s. You have the key. Come find me. I can’t unlock it. My relatives are psycho.
About two-tenths of a second after she hit “send,” there was the sound of an alert.
Wait a second.
Her heart leaped into her throat, and she sat straight up in bed, wide awake.
She looked across the room. He was there. Sitting at the foot of her bed. The brown-eyed, long-haired god whom she’d evidently slept with last night—this morning—had been watching her sleep. And by God, yes, he did have a beard.
“It’s you!”
He smiled. Oh, sweet Moses, that was a smile. He was a hulking man whose arm muscles were busting out of his threadbare tattoo-shop logo T-shirt, with the best-looking grin she’d ever seen. It was the only face she ever wanted to wake up to again.