Soft Shatter (Wolven Moon Book 1)

by Dany Rae Miller

  For a few seconds, Antonio openly shows his appreciation — his lecherous gaze roaming her body, only averting his eyes at my low growl. Even the old man can’t deny the beauty before us, the awareness mixes with disapproval on my uncle’s face.

  Near the stage, I stop shuffling backwards. “Stand here.” I release her hand. She’s directly under a light. If there were a pedestal, I’d lift her to it.

  I take a seat at the nearest table. For long minutes, I study the little witch. She’s slightly shy, but doesn’t seem overly self-conscious at my perusal.

  Shavone tilts her chin up and squares her shoulders. As far as I know, she is completely unaware of her lineage, yet she carries herself with the dignity of it. Excellent.

  Around her neck is the pendant — a spiral carved into vivid coral. The last time I saw it close like this, it floated as a beacon on the water, guiding me to her.

  “Turn around,” I command softly.

  Slowly, she pivots a quarter turn sideways and then another quarter turn to show me her back.

  “Stop,” I murmur.

  Calf muscles and lean thighs attest to her physical fitness, her back a swath of smooth skin. She’s selected a ridiculous panty that hides the sexy shape of her ass.

  “Face me.”

  She does. My eyes caress where my hands long to be. Touching her would be a grave mistake.

  Not one ounce of humiliation in her eyes, quite the opposite, fortunately. She’s confident, the brazen attitude sexy as hell. I want her now more than ever.

  “Let your hair down,” I say.

  She rolls her eyes. The little witch doesn’t like her hair down? Too bad. I want to see it.

  The pins gone, the strawberry blonde tresses fall softly around her shoulders.

  “Beautiful,” I whisper.

  Mistake or not, I can’t resist the seduction of her creamy skin. The chair legs scrape the floor as I stand. I do nothing to hide my obvious arousal. Oh and she notices. It’s a quick peek down on her part, but look she does.

  “Yes. Miss Gentil.” I glance down at my crotch, my cock painfully hard. “You have proven your point, haven’t you? You are quite attractive.” My gaze travels up and down her body. “In fact, I’d say you are exquisite.”

  I move right in front of her, invading her personal space. “Now that you’ve affected me so, what are you going to do about me?”

  She steps back. “I can handle over amorous men.”

  “Are you sure about that? If you are to work here, the men you’ll serve are going to be aroused, just like this.” I indicate my crotch, but she doesn’t look this time. Oh, she wants to. “Ignoring your effect on me doesn’t make it any less so.”

  I pick up a strand of her silky hair and lean in to her. Closing my eyes, I inhale as deeply as I can. It’s as I remembered only more mature, the sweet essence calling to the carnal side of my beast. He wants out, now. My eyes burn with the effort it takes to force the wolf back. Each exhale from her shallow breathing surrounds me with her fragrance, making it that much more difficult.

  “I thought the rule is no touching at the Dollhouse, Mr. Cruz.”

  “You are correct,” I rasp out. Desire radiates off me. Of course she senses it. Nothing I can do about it. She’ll have to deal with it if she were to work here.

  She closes her eyes briefly, giving me a glimpse of what she may look like raptured.

  “However, on busy nights our bouncers won’t always be immediately at your side to remedy a situation such as this.”

  I will be, though. Anyone who touches you will deal with me.

  My hand moves from her hair to her arm — to skin so incredibly soft. With a barely there touch, my fingertips caress her bicep, my forefinger grazing just to the inside — to the marks left by a young cub long ago.

  “You have scars here,” I say.

  Eyebrows go up. She’s surprised that I noticed. After fifteen years, the evidence that canines inadvertently broke her flesh is barely visible.

  “What caused these?” I ask, carefully judging her response.

  “I don’t remember precisely. I was very young when it happened.”

  I will never forget.

  I wait a moment for her to expound, perhaps giving a clue to what she recalls from that fateful night. Her mouth says nothing, but her eyes hint at a vague memory.

  “Interesting,” I murmur.

  Almost of their own accord, my fingers travel up to her shoulder, across her clavicle and along a slender throat on the other side to an enticingly soft earlobe.

  Shavone goes completely still except for tiny shivers that tremble through her.

  “You are either frightened by me or you enjoy my touch, Miss Gentil,” I whisper.

  Both. I smell her fear and her essence — an essence that my beast desperately wants to taste. Her fear angers my wolf and saddens me. I wish I could tell her, show her, that fear of me is ridiculous.

  My fingertips slide back down to the pulse point beating wildly on the side of her throat.

  “This is not an appropriate response.” I hiss through my teeth.

  Blinking rapidly, her exceptional eyes leave mine.

  “Look at me.”

  The confusion in her eyes when her lashes flutter up conjures every protective instinct I have — for a mate and for a witch.

  “Customers could assume your rapid heartbeat means you like this. As such, they will take further liberties that I’m certain you would not welcome.”

  With the back of my hand, my knuckles lightly trace her elegant jaw.

  “If you had experience, you would know how to handle this situation without alienating a loyal customer. What are you going to do, Miss Gentil, to stop my amorous advance?”

  “Is kneeing a customer in the balls an acceptable reaction?”

  With a shadow of a smile, I slowly shake my head. “No, Niña. Not for a simple caress.” I continue to touch her face, tracing cheekbone to brow bone committing the contours to memory.

  A solution dawning on her, she smiles, the curves of her lips tempting my wolf further.

  “For greater offenses I can? I promise to give fair warning. Like this.” Keeping her smile and tilting her head, she takes my wandering hand between both her small ones. Gently, she pats my hand and places it back at my side. “Mr. Cruz, a gentleman who wants to remain fertile keeps his hands to himself.”

  I chuckle, the sound so rare that Antonio starts and Uncle audibly gasps. She softens me, Shavone’s femininity a soothing balm on the blisters that life has left on my spirit.

  As quickly as it came, I force the enjoyable emotions away. I resurrect the hard persona and turn away from my life’s love. It pains me that I must discourage her.

  No, my wolf seethes.

  I’d love to have her here every day, but it puts her at risk.

  It puts her under my protection.

  I sigh inwardly at the conflicting justifications in my heart and mind.

  “Very well, then, Miss Gentil. I’d like a drink as would my imaginary guests. Antonio will fix them.” I nod in his direction. He walks briskly behind the bar while I resume my seat at the table. “You will bring the drinks to me.”

  She nods and, not to disappoint, sways her hips as she walks away from me.

  chapter three

  EVERY SPOT THAT Cruz touched tingles. He scares me to death for a number of reasons.

  Focus, Shav, focus.

  This place is a hive of Natives — one of which dated Val. I’m here to get a job so I might be able to locate that wolf.

  The boss wants a demonstration of my skills. He’ll get one. I make eye contact with Antonio and smile, seizing an opportunity to form a friendship with the younger, less volatile brother.

  “Antonio, how are you this pretend evening?” I murmur.

  Antonio suppresses a smile. “Just fine, Miss Gentil.”

  I watch the brawny man fill four glasses with ice and soda water.

  “Oh, dear.” I giggle. �
�I won’t get good tips if the Dollhouse serves such watered down drinks.”

  The bouncer-slash-bartender abruptly barks a laugh at my joke. The older bouncer scowls at me. He doesn’t like me, but at least Antonio finds me amusing.

  “Miss Gentil.” Cruz calls angrily from across the room. “Flirting with the staff is prohibited.”

  Kidding around is flirting?

  “Yes, Mr. Cruz,” I call over my shoulder.

  I roll my eyes for Antonio’s benefit only. He flattens his mouth in an effort to appear stern. With humor in his eyes, he places the glasses on a cork lined tray.

  “Thank you, Antonio,” I say with a smile.

  “My pleasure.” He nods once, a shadow of a grin on his lips.

  I turn to walk back to Cruz — his knuckle strumming that bottom lip.

  The beautiful man’s gaze is on my face for a few seconds before wandering to my breasts, down my body to my belly, my legs and back up again. I bend to place napkins and then the glasses of water on the table.

  “Your tits have a sexy natural shape when unrestrained by a bra,” Cruz says.

  Heat flushes my face. Not over embarrassment of my body, but embarrassment at my disloyal nipples tightening at his libidinous appraisal.

  “I enjoy your blush as well. The innocence is an interesting contradiction to nipples hard enough to cut diamonds.” He shifts in his chair, showing me his tented trousers.

  Light annoyance quickly morphs into angry indignation. Asshole.

  “Ah, and now she’s furious that a man would dare appraise her so carnally, yes?”

  Only you.

  Cruz leans back casually in the chair. “My words are mild, Miss Gentil. There will be untold levels of vulgarity leveled in your direction at the Dollhouse. Men are crude. This is what you must put up with working here. Your flashing eyes and scowl is not permissible on a doll. No matter how a customer addresses you, you must smile and smile sweetly.”

  I let out a frustrated breath. At the same time, I plaster a smile on my face.

  Cruz smirks. “A valiant effort, Niña. But it’s not so easy for a dignified young woman, is it?”

  Before I realize what I’m doing, I shake my head no. Shit. Why am I admitting this to him?

  Sympathy flits across his expression. “Ah, Miss Gentil.” He shakes his head, exhales a deep sigh and the knuckle returns to his lips. “I do not understand why you’re here. Why does an intelligent girl like you want to work at the Dollhouse? Degrading yourself like this? It’s obviously far beneath you.”

  The acrimony is an act. He’s purposely being harsh, intentionally making me uncomfortable. I’m floored as I realize this. Why would he do that? To see how tough I am? Whether I can take the vulgarity he’s talking about? Of course I can.

  “I hear that the tips are good, Mr. Cruz.”

  “There are dozens of fine restaurants in Denver where the tips are good,” he counters.

  “Not as good as in a club such as this.”

  He grunts, shaking his head a few more times. Jesus. Why does he have to be such a dazzling man? Why can’t he be knife scarred and evil looking? He’s an alpha. Hasn’t he been challenged, been in fights?

  He looks at the ceiling and around the interior of the club. Cruz and the critical older man exchange a look. Cruz looks at Antonio who shrugs an answer.

  I get the sense that Cruz is thinking of what to do next. With another deep sigh, he brings his gaze back to me. He stares into my eyes for so long, I begin to get uncomfortable, again.

  The index finger stills over Cruz’s lips. Meanwhile, his thumb takes over the constant stroking – this time under his chin. The long silence is unnerving. I need to break it. He thinks I’m attractive and wolf-men are infamously competitive. Why not try a touch of reverse psychology — see if I can push him to a decision?

  I place the tray on a table behind me and step back. I sigh as though rejected. “Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Cruz. I’ll go apply at the Kitten Club.” I turn toward the dressing rooms.

  “Stop!” He roars and stands abruptly, the chair falling back.

  Shit. My heart skips several beats.

  I turn back to him, to an enraged glower on his face. This expression isn’t so handsome. It’s menacing. Antonio, standing near the bar, has a similar look on his face.

  “You will not step foot inside that sleazy place. I will not allow it.” Cruz’s voice is a venomous growl.

  How presumptuous. I raise my eyebrows at him. He’s calling another strip club sleazy? Classic. The kettle calls the pot black.

  “Don’t look at me that way, Miss Gentil. You can barely deal with my soft touch. At the Kitten Club you would experience far rougher interactions. Worse, the management there provides no protection from the animals they cater to. You will not work there. Do you understand me?”

  Who the hell does he think he is?

  “With all due respect, Mr. Cruz, this is a free country.” I take two steps backwards and start to turn away.

  Cruz wraps one hand around my upper arm and pushes his other into my hair at the nape, pulling my head back.

  “Ahhh.” My jaw drops open in startled shock more than pain.

  Antonio, apparently as stunned by Cruz’s actions as I am, takes a step toward us. Eyes flashing, Cruz warns him off with an alpha snarl. Antonio stops where he is.

  I bring my free arm up in a U-maneuver that Nash taught me. Using my elbow, I try to break Cruz’s grip on my head.

  Either I do it wrong or it doesn’t work. Cruz simply pulls my hair back further and pushes tighter against me, essentially trapping my free arm straight up between us.

  He’s not hurting me — yet. The helpless feeling is awful. A whimper of frustration escapes my throat.

  “Enrique,” Antonio says.

  Cruz ignores him. “Do you enjoy being treated like this, Miss Gentil?”

  I shake my head no.

  He softens both grips and his voice. “These are the kinds of things that happen to girls there. You will not work at the Kitten Club. Ever. I will make sure of it.” His eyes bore into mine.

  There’s a quiet fury in his deceivingly calm expression. Why the hell would he care where I work?

  He releases me gently, putting an arm around my waist to keep me from falling.

  “I regret the harsh demonstration, Miss Gentil. Again, you would experience much worse at the Kitten Club. Many of their girls have been hurt, several so severely they wound up in the hospital.”

  I breathe deep to get control of my lungs.

  “Follow me please.” Cruz removes his arm from around my waist and walks to the back table where he was sitting when I first walked in. He pulls out a chair. “Sit.”

  As I ease myself onto the chair, I vow to work at perfecting the U-maneuver.

  Somewhere a cell phone chimes.

  “Emmanuel,” the older man answers brusquely. Listening for a few seconds, he makes eye contact with Cruz. The bouncer holds the phone out for Cruz to take. “It’s Jack.”

  Cruz simply shakes his head. “Later.”

  Emmanuel puts his ear back to the phone. “He’ll get back to you.”

  Whoever Jack is, he’s biting Emmanuel’s ear off. The bouncer mumbles something into the phone and ends the call. A snarly frown, he doesn’t look at Cruz or me.

  Enrique Cruz retrieves a folder from under the bar. I watch him with a wary eye as he returns to sit across from me.

  “Please don’t be frightened of me, Miss Gentil.” His expression is earnest. “I assure you I meant you no harm.”

  Shit. He’s a wolf, one with a ruthless reputation. If Cruz had truly wanted to hurt me, he easily could have. A lifetime of Krav Maga training wouldn’t have helped me.

  I nod.

  “Please say something.” His eyes beseech as much as his words.

  “I understand.” It’s all I can manage at the moment.

  The man is over the top attractive — tall, dark, handsome and physically fit. Immens
ely successful, he’s CEO of Cruz Entertainment. The company owns the Dollhouse and dozens of others like it across the country as well as music and video production houses from Denver to the west coast.

  Rumor has it that, as a side business, Enrique Cruz provides shifter protection to humans who can afford it. That’s in addition to the responsibilities as alpha of his pack, and Prime to the Native wolf nation.

  French wolves have told me that Cruz is responsible for a lot of bloodshed. All wolf nations are responsible for a lot of bloodshed, if you ask me. One of my best friends is a Native and I’d never hold that against her.

  This pack centered here at the Dollhouse is the only lead to Val that I’ve come up with. Francisco migrated to this pack and Val said she was leaving with him. Tilting my head up, I stare into the dark eyes of a man I suspect knows where they are. Again, there’s a strange familiarity in those depths.

  “Before I officially hire you, I have a few more questions,” Cruz says.

  Oh, he’s going to say yes. The tightest of the tension eases out of my shoulders a little — I relax just a smidgeon.

  “Miss Gentil, I need to know about your love life. Are you seeing anyone at the moment? Anyone serious, that is?”

  “That’s none of your business,” I snap, still upset at being grabbed and immobilized so quickly.

  The corner of his mouth twitches up slightly. “Oh, but it is. You see, we men are territorial creatures. We do not care for our women being on display for other men. Because of that, we prefer dolls to be unattached. It avoids altercations between jealous lovers and customers.”

  “Oh.” That actually makes sense.

  He smirks. “If you want to work at the Dollhouse, you must keep your tart tongue in check.”

  I swallow. My emotions are all over the place with this guy. I better cool it or it could cost me this job. “Yes, Mr. Cruz.”

  He grunts and pauses, looking at me expectantly. He wants my answer to this relationship question.

  “No. I’m not seeing anyone.”

  One eyebrow raises in disbelief. “A beautiful girl like you doesn’t have a boyfriend?”

  “No.” I haven’t had a regular boyfriend since Dillon.