Hrald extends his pointer finger, and to my amazement a claw pushes up from its tip, a full inch long. He spears it through the top of another beer, and with little effort cuts the thin aluminum and severs the top off altogether. Tossing it aside, he drinks from the ragged edge, not seeming to care if it cuts his lips.
I sit back. A werebear. That would explain his eyes. And the strange attraction I felt for Torben. The outrageous chemistry that scrambled my mind. Shifters can have that effect on certain women, I've heard. Something beyond the physical, almost spiritual. It means they're compatible. I find myself blushing. Torben and I are compatible? Did he feel it too? I don't think he did. Or if so, he hid it better than I did.
"So, anyways." Hrald burps. "Torben's like royalty. Of sorts. His dad was the alpha of our clan up in Canada. We're a roving group. Known as the Claws. We're... how would you put it." His smile leaves me cold. "A biker gang, I suppose. We defend a large stretch of turf. Do a little business on the side. You know how it is."
I absorb this as quickly as I can. Business on the side. Crime. Smuggling? Nothing good. So I just nod.
"Anyways. Torben's dad died a few years ago. Skirmish with some werewolves. Fucking scum. His elder brother, Ingrir, took the position. Led us pretty good, he did. But then he upped and got himself killed last month."
"Werewolves?" I hazard. I feel faintly ludicrous saying it.
Hrald nods. "The same. They're led by this one big bastard. Cold as ice and hard as iron. We want Torben to come back and lead the clan. Always been a Halderson leading us. We ain't about to let that stop."
"But." My mind spins. "Why is he running a bookstore in Honeycomb Falls, then?"
Hrald finishes his second beer. Crumples and tosses it. "Touched in the head, maybe. He ain't no Ingrir, that's for sure. Torben, he's soft. But a few months back on the saddle would set him straight. He's a killer. He just needs to be reminded."
"But he doesn't want to go," I say.
"That's what he says. But he'll come."
"Oh? And how are you going to make that happen?"
Hrald gives me his cold-snake smile. "I'm the first. An ambassador, if you will. I make a phone call, the whole clan will come roaring down. Sweep into Honeycomb Falls and take Torben with us. He and Soren can face me down. He and Soren will get whupped from here to Saturday if all thirty of the clan show up at his door."
I look across the bridge and up the cute little street that's lined with coffee shops, art galleries and restaurants. I try to imagine a mass of crazed killer werebears roaring down the street. Terrifying people. Probably trashing the place. Something basic at my core abhors the very thought.
"He'll fight you," I say, absolutely convinced.
Hrald nods. "Sure. We'll overpower him. Might have to kill that other werebear, but that ain't here or there. We'll have to do it quick-like, so that the local cairn don't get wind. In and out, before anybody's the wiser. So." He pops open the third can. None of them seem to be having any effect on him. "That's my plan. You got one better?"
I don't, but I find myself nodding. "Oh, yes. And it doesn't involve calling in your whole clan because I can't get the job done by myself."
Hrald's expression darkens, and I know I've scored a hit. He can call his clan, but to do so would be admitting defeat.
"I'm having dinner with Torben tonight. I'm going to convince him to go of his own free will." Brazen, bold, and falsely confident.
"Oh, yeah?" Hrald doesn't try to hide his skepticism. "And how's that?"
"I'll make him an offer he can't refuse," I say. "So why don't we do the following. You lie low today. Don't make any phone calls. I'll get in touch with you after dinner, or first thing tomorrow morning. If I'm right, you'll ride north with Torben without any fuss. If I'm wrong, you make your call."
Hrald stays quiet for an agonizingly long period of time, and then finally nods. "Sure. Why not. You got the balls for it. Maybe you'll come through. I'm staying at a motel ten minutes outside of town. If you need a place to stay, I'm sure I could make room for ya."
My skin crawls at his lecherous grin, and I stand up. "No, thanks. I'll meet you here tomorrow morning at eight." Before he can answer, I step down off the porch and quickly cross the bridge again, back onto the main street.
Chapter 5
My phone rings around six. I'm sitting in a small coffee shop called the Gypsy Cafe, sipping on a latte and staring out the window, chin on the palm of my hand. The coffee shop is cute, with an authentic indie vibe and a picturesque cast of tattooed college-age servers behind the counter who seem equally adept at wrangling their espresso machine as goofing around and engaging their customers in conversation. Good music is pulsing through hidden speakers, and if I squint my eyes just right I can imagine I'm just hanging out for the fun of it, see a life where I'm not owned and controlled. Where I'm a normal person doing normal things, living a life that's hers and hers alone.
But I'm not.
My phone rings, and I sigh, trying to fight down the spike in excitement. Is it him? "Hello?"
"Hi." It's him. His voice is a low rumble that sends goosebumps down my neck. "Saira Froud?"
"Hi, Torben." I feel on edge, fluttery and anxious in a way I haven't felt since high school. You'd think I was expecting him to invite me to the prom.
"Hey. So. Dinner."
Not the most romantic way to ask a girl out, but hey, I can't really blame him. I didn't give him a choice. "Dinner," I agree, not making it easy on him.
"Umm... Do you want to meet now? There's a nice place called the Wise Salmon just over the river."
"Sure, the Wise Salmon. See you there in fifteen?"
"Sounds good."
He pauses. He's achingly awkward, and I feel a rush of affection for him. Torben doesn't seem the kind of man who's used to this kind of situation. Does he have a girlfriend? I wonder for the first time if he's married, or... I know nothing about him. I think of Hrald, and amend that thought: next to nothing.
"I'll see you there," he says, and then hangs up.
Well. I set my phone down and sit up straight, taking a deep breath. I'm not exactly dressed to the nines, but this is a business dinner, not a date. I'll have to keep reminding myself of that. I step outside into the dusk, and pause to admire Bridge Street. Old-fashioned cast iron lamps line the road, their curved necks elegant. They make me feel wistful. The sun has dipped behind the western mountains, and I wonder what it would be like to live in such a quiet little town. So cute and charming. I study people's faces as I walk down to the river, trying to divine their secrets. They seem on the whole happy. Laughter is a common sound here. There seem to be a fair number of visitors to the town, come to admire the little galleries and restaurants, I suppose, but the air is relaxed, intimate. As if by simply being in Honeycomb Falls, each visitor has become complicit in the atmosphere of wholesome goodness and cheer.
I reach the river and take a second bridge, narrow and overflowing with flowers. It's a surprisingly gorgeous little garden that lines each side of the footbridge, and the bushes and plants have little placards identifying their genus and type. The river rushes fast beneath me, and on the far side I make out the sign: The Wise Salmon, the first building on the right. I can't help but glance at Mindy's General Store's porch. Hrald, of course, is gone.
Hrald. I have to convince Torben to return to his family. Not only for my sake, but to prevent Hrald's bikers from descending on this town. All kinds of responsibilities sit heavily on my shoulders. I push open the door and step into the warm restaurant, the air inside redolent with delicious aromas. The room is filled with an amber light, and the place is surprisingly small, only a dozen or so round tables clustered under the heavy oaken beams that hold up the ceiling. A fireplace burns in the back of the room, and dark windows look out over the river.
Torben is standing by the bar, wearing the same red and black plaid shirt from before under a worn brown leather jacket. He's holding a beer, which he finishes smoothly at th
e sight of me and sets aside.
"Hi," I say, feeling nervous.
"Hey," Torben says as he steps up, and to my surprise he seems nervous as well. Not nervous; awkward. As if he doesn't know where to put his hands. And my, he does look good. Even in his down-home clothing. There's something vital about him, as if he's more real than anything else in this room, painted with more vibrant colors and radiating a complex charisma that draws the eyes of those seated at the tables.
A server steps up and ushers us to the back, where Torben absentmindedly pulls out my chair for me before sitting down himself. I set my briefcase on the floor, and we study each other for a long moment, neither looking away as we allow the murmur of conversation and delicate clinking of glasses and cutlery wash over us. The firelight picks out burnished bronze and red in his beard, and makes his eyes almost glow.
"So," I say, taking a deep breath. "Thank you for agreeing to meet."
He cracks a wry smile. "Not like you gave me much of a choice."
"True." I give a one-shouldered shrug. "Still, you could have said no."
"My mother raised me right," he says. "Don't be rude to ladies."
"How do you know I'm a lady?" Where did that come from?
"I'm not exactly sure, to be honest." I can sense the ghost of a smile behind his serious expression. "It was a hunch. Nothing obvious gave you away, though."
"Well, I might urge you to reserve judgment. I'm pretty determined to have my way tonight, even if it means unladylike behavior."
The waitress steps up, but neither of us looks at her.
"I'm hard to shock," he says. "You would have to be pretty outrageous to impress me."
"Would convincing you to sell the Book Cave qualify?"
He leans back, spinning his empty wine glass by the stem. "Yes. I'd say that would qualify."
"Then get ready. I'm not going to give you a choice, I'm afraid."
"I'm not used to being pushed around," Torben says, a hint of warning in his voice.
"I'll make it worth your while."
"I'm not sure you can do that."
The waitress opens her mouth, then closes it.
"Oh, no?" I give him a dangerous smile. "I've got plenty of motivation."
He leans forward. "And what's that? Money?"
"No, though the money is important." I lean forward as well, so that our faces are but inches apart. "I've got a lot invested in this sale. On a personal level."
"I'll be back," whispers the waitress, and scoots away.
"So this is personal?" Torben raises an eyebrow. "How so?"
I stare into his animal eyes. This man is like none other that I've ever met. I'm getting hints and flashes from him. Instinct. Intuition. Call it what you will. He's unique. Against my better judgment, I feel like just telling him everything, opening up and being completely honest. His open, honest expression invites it. Instead I sit back and bite my lower lip, looking down at my hands.
"Maybe we should talk shop," I say.
Torben frowns and sits back as well. "If you want."
So I do. I open my briefcase and launch my spiel. Not in the broken, haphazard way I did back in the Book Cave, but with consummate ease, sketching out the parameters of the industry, its recent history, the rise of the big online retailers, how even brick and mortar chain stores are closing, how the future is digital.
Torben listens, arms crossed. I can't get a read on him. He's absorbing my words, sharply focused, but I can't tell if he's impressed. I take a deep breath and plow on, introducing Universal Books, talking about its brief history and ambitious future. Our business model that doesn't seek to compete against the online retailers but rather compliment their business models. How doing so can bring financial security and freedom to indie bookstores, and open them to the future while allowing them to maintain their idiosyncratic identities.
"So you see," I finish up, taking a sip of my water. "What I'm offering you is more than money. It's security. It's support. It's a ticket to the future. If you join our family, we'll make sure you keep your head above water, and that come what may, you'll continue to serve your loyal local client base while still participating on the global stage."
I sit back. Phew! Just under twenty minutes. I collect my papers. Torben hasn't asked for any of them to review. I neatly tap them into place and then slip them back into my briefcase, pick up my tablet and close the browser window to the Universal Books demo, then slip that away too. I sit back, eyebrows raised expectantly, and wait.
Torben purses his lips and takes a slow, deep breath. His chest swells impressively. "That's quite a speech you got there," he says at last.
"Thanks."
"Does it work?"
I quirk my head to one side. "Work?"
"Yeah." Torben taps a long, broad finger on the table. "Does it get others to sell out?"
"Buy in," I correct absently. "And yes. Every time so far."
"Hmm," grunts Torben, nodding his head. "And do you really believe what you're saying, Saira?"
"Of course I do," I say automatically. "If you look at the statistics -"
"Forget the statistics, and the quarterlies, and the predictions." His voice becomes hard. "I'm asking you. The flesh and blood woman sitting before me. The person. Do you on a personal level believe everything you just told me? About Universal Books having my best intentions in mind? About this being the only way to survive?"
I can't speak. His eyes bore into me. I feel like a deer in headlights. I know what I should say. The smooth assurances. They're there in the wings, ready to be delivered like I've done so many times before. But trapped in Torben's gaze, I can't muster the lies. So I cough and sit up, reaching for my glass of water.
"I didn't think so," he says quietly. "Which is to your credit."
"My credit?" I set the glass down carefully.
"My intuition tells me you're a good person. It's why I agreed to come here." His voice is a low rumble. "But the stupidity you're talking." He shakes his head. "It's slick. It's good. But it's a crock. If you really believed it, I'd say I was wrong about someone for the first time in my life."
Shit. Shit shit shit! I should immediately start doing damage control, but his eyes, oh his eyes. "Is that why you agreed to come, then? Because you thought I was a good person?" My voice is barely above a whisper.
Torben considers me. I feel so young. Vulnerable. There's a depth to his gaze that speaks of a wisdom beyond my comprehension. A familiarity with pain that I can barely understand. He's a shifter, I think. Who knows how he thinks, what he knows?
"I came because something inside me told me to give you a chance." The rest of the Wise Salmon seems to fade away. "A part of me I'm used to listening to said go. So I came. There's something about you. A contradiction. A paradox. You wear that suit and you carry that briefcase and you talk that talk like you mean it. But I don't think you do. Do you?"
I don't know what to say. So I stay quiet.
"This isn't you, is it, Saira Froud?" His voice is low, just for the two of us. "You're not this person you pretend to be. Who are you? Who is the real you?"
The real me. Even I don't know the answer to that question. Once I thought I did, but no longer. I'm now defined by what I'm not, always in the negatives. I'm not a free woman. I'm not a happy person. I'm not a believer in my father's lies. But take away the negatives, and what do you have left? I don't know. I feel tears prick my eyes. My breath catches in my throat. How is he doing this? Sliding past my walls and defenses with such ease?
"What about you, Torben?" My voice sounds cracked. "Who are you?"
"Me?" He sounds surprised, actually pointing at his chest. "I'm just the owner of the Bear's Book Cave."
It's my turn to give him a skeptical look. "Do you swear that's all you are?"
His brows lower, but he stays quiet.
"You're more than that." Anger spikes within me. How dare he push into my private life? How dare he shine a light in the dark spaces I don't want to ackno
wledge? "You're as much a simple bookstore owner as I am a saleswoman. Tell me the truth, Torben. Who are you?"
The air between us is fairly crackling with energy and tension. "It's really not any of your business," he says at last.
"No? Maybe not. But what about everybody else here?" I gesture to the rest of the restaurant.
Confusion. "What do you mean?"
"These people. Everybody in Honeycomb Falls. Isn't it their business?"
Torben shakes his head. "What are you talking about?"
My anger is getting the better of me. It feels like a swing of the pendulum, taking me from vulnerable to furious. "You act all righteous, but you're endangering all these people. You're lying to them. Do they know about your family? Do they know about the shifter bikers that Hrald is going to call to come collect you? What the Claws will do to this innocent little town?"
Torben's eyes flare wide. "How do you know this?"
I shake my head. "You're lying as much as I am. You're pretending to be something you're not. But whereas my lies only poison my soul, yours are a threat to everybody here."
"Hrald spoke to you? He told you this?"
"They'll come for you, Torben. All thirty of them. Are you going to risk a battle on Bridge Street? Is it fair to punish everybody else here for your own failure to live up to your past?"
I want to pull the words back into my mouth the moment I speak them. I feel awful for having said them out loud, and from Torben's expression I can see they've hit home. Language. It's my greatest weapon. He sits back slowly, blinking as if trying to bring me into focus. "This dinner hasn't turned out as I hoped," he says. "I'll be leaving."
"Tomorrow morning," I say. "Hrald will be waiting for you at 10 a.m. outside Mindy's General Store. Be there if you care at all about this town and the people who live here."
Torben stands up and without another word walks out of the restaurant. I sag back into my chair, biting my lower lip and staring into the fire. I feel exhausted. Wretched. My last sale, I think bitterly. One last life to crush. One last dream to destroy. I promised I'd say anything, do anything to earn my freedom, but this, this is too much. What is the value of freedom if earning it turns you into a monster?
Don't Judge a Bear by His Cover: (BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance) (Honeycomb Falls Book 6) Page 3