The Jaguar's Romance

by Emilia Hartley

  “Come on,” Nemoy called. He was already a few yards up the street.

  Nova stared down at the girl, wishing he could have done more for her and her friends. She began to stir. He was still staring at her when she opened her eyes. They were a startling slate grey, almost silver. And completely surprised to see him. “I’m sorry,” he said, though the words felt completely inadequate.

  “Nova!” Nemoy shouted again, impatient now. “Leave her. We have to go!”

  Reluctantly, Nova stood, taking one last look at her before loping off after his brother.

  Nemoy paced back and forth in front of his father’s chair, his face stern. “This could mean war, Father. One of the outsiders that attacked the human girls was the son of the Valley Clan’s alpha. Nova hurt him pretty bad; they’re going to retaliate.”

  “They were attacking the humans,” Nova shot back. His father merely surveyed him over the tops of his fingertips. “What else were we supposed to do?”

  “There’s nothing else we could have done!” Nemoy exploded. “They could have killed those girls! One of them may or may not survive. We did what we were supposed to do. And in doing so, we may have begun a war.”

  “You have not begun a war,” their alpha said. Both his boys fell silent. “We will meet with the Valley Clan, explain the situation, and renew the treaty.”

  Nemoy gaped at him. “You cannot be serious. They’ll never go for it!”

  “Father, the Valley Clan have been after our territory for years,” Nova said quietly. “This felt deliberate. They knew we would be there. They attacked those girls to provoke us. Father, there is no way they will renew the treaty.”

  “They will,” the Alpha insisted. Nova merely shook his head. Nemoy let out a cry of frustration.

  “Listen to your father.” Neveah, the female alpha of the Clan, stepped forward, her long, dark hair streaked with gray. She kept it tied back in a long plait down her back. Just his mother’s serene presence was calming to Nova. “We cannot jump to conclusions on this one. We must try diplomacy first.”

  Disgusted, Nemoy shook his head. “Diplomacy. Well then, Father, you have doomed us all.”

  Chapter 4

  Ten Years Later

  Amara stood before her full-length mirror, gazing at her reflection. Her long, dark hair fell around her shoulders in thick waves, cascading down her back. Tugging on her black tee shirt, she tucked it into her jeans, and threaded silver feather earrings through her ear lobes. No matter what she added to her appearance, she couldn’t erase that haunted look from her eyes, or the shiny mass of scar tissue at her collar bone.

  Compliments of the wolf she had believed didn’t exist.

  The attack had affected her more than she was willing to let on. Her grandfather had been right, she’d known that now. They never should have been out after dark. And Becca was nearly crippled because of it. Poor, sweet Becca. It had taken her years to regain full use of her arm and for her to walk again. She still had to use a cane. Amara had hardly been able to look Becca’s parents in the eyes, she had felt so guilty.

  And Zoe, well. Zoe had turned on her for a while, probably to relieve her own guilt. She’d come around, eventually, though not until sometime after high school. Now they only saw each other when Amara was at work and Zoe came into the bar to get a drink. Their relationship was strained at best, though they did try to behave cordially towards one another every year for Becca’s birthday. The one and only time they got along.

  It was hard to remember everything that had happened that night. Zoe hadn’t seen or heard a thing before the first wolf attacked her. Then the others had joined in. By the time the two wolves went after Amara, both Becca and Zoe had been unconscious. Nobody had believed her when Amara swore up and down that a boy had saved her. They thought she had gone crazy.

  Maybe she had.

  She’d gotten paranoid, she knew that for sure. She never went anywhere without a knife and had long since learned how to use it. She now believed every word her grandfather had spoken until his death two years back, and had soaked up all the legends their people had ever passed through the generations about the protectors of the town, of the tribe that once called Strathford home. The wolves that could turn into men.

  Her entire life, she had believed them to be just stories. She had agreed with the rest of the town that her grandfather was a bit off his rocker, and only listened to him to indulge him. But now…now she wasn’t so sure. She knew what she’d seen. It had been wolves that attacked them ten years before, yes, but it had been a human who had lifted her up and carried her back to her friends. It had been a human voice she heard telling the other one to ‘Come on.’ And it had been human eyes that had stared down at her, almost like an apology. Dark, worried, human eyes, imploring her to understand.

  That boy had saved her, she knew he had. She just couldn’t prove it.

  Grabbing her bag, she slung it around her shoulder before slipping the knife into the holster on her leg and pulling her pant leg down once more. Sufficiently armed, she pulled on her coat, locked her front door, and set off at a brisk walk down the street.

  Murphy’s was the local bar in Strathford, one of the main attractions for the unencumbered, unemployed, and unattached. Amara had been a bartender there since she’d returned from college to help her mother take care of her grandfather. It was only a few blocks from her apartment, so she had never worried about walking. No one ever bothered her, and she was armed, which was the only way she felt safe. Still, there were times when she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

  Like tonight.

  Quickening her pace, Amara was comforted that the only sound she could hear was the click of her boots on cement until she hauled open the heavy wooden door of the bar.

  “Hey Sam,” she greeted the bouncer. Sam was a big, beefy man with a bald head and a soft heart, whose company she enjoyed very much. He took the I.D. from the girl in line and smiled at Amara with his big, goofy grin.

  “Hey, Mara. Cold night tonight, huh?”

  “Freezing,” she agreed, taking off her coat and hanging it on the hook behind him. “Mitch in?”

  Sam nodded. “Behind the bar.”

  “Thanks.” Murphy’s didn’t usually get busy until at least eleven o’clock, and tonight wasn’t any different. The usual suspects sat in the booths having a late dinner, and a few of the college kids home on winter break sat at the high, scrubbed wooden tables, with a few of the regulars perched at the bar. When things picked up, every booth, stool, and table in the place would be full, Amara knew. And if she was lucky, her tip jar would do just as well.

  Mitch, the owner—and Amara’s high school prom date—was standing behind the big oak bar, wiping down a set of glasses with a white cloth. He was tall, his chestnut brown hair falling into his eyes, and a crooked grin curling his lips. He nodded at Amara when he spotted her.

  One of the regulars, a guy named Ole, turned around and leered at her. She could already tell he was a few drinks in, and knew from years of serving him booze that he was a sloppy drunk. “How ya doin’, Mara?” he asked, his words already beginning to slur.

  Amara put on her best bartender’s smile. “Doing just fine, Ole. Doing just fine. Hey, Mitch, did my spirits order come in this afternoon? They were two days late because of the snow, and we’re running low on tequila.”

  Chuckling, Mitch set his glass down and reached beneath the bar to pull out a bottle of amber liquid. “Checked in and unloaded. Shouldn’t have to worry about it for a while.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” she said, tying a small, black apron around her waist. She winked at the young guy at the end of the bar, knowing she could weasel a big tip from him if she played her cards right. With a smile, she asked for his order, then grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured him a shot. She slid it down the bar to him, praying he would catch it. “Nice work, honey,” she purred, grinning when he blushed scarlet.r />
  “Did you hear about the wolf sightings?” Mitch asked, keeping his voice down.

  “I heard,” Amara replied darkly, feeling the familiar trickle of fear whisper down her spine. “How many is that this month?”

  “At least ten.”

  “Damn. And what’s the Mayor doing, anything? Or the Sherriff?”

  Mitch shook his head gravely. “You know they’re trying, Amara. You, better than anyone, know what wolves can do. They don’t want that to happen again. Trouble is, for every wolf they kill, it seems like two more of them come back. Don’t you have that one that keeps following you around? Have you killed him yet?”

  Amara shifted uncomfortably. It was true, she did have a wolf who liked to lurk around outside her door. A gray and silver wolf, with dark, troubled eyes. Yet, even for as much as she hated his kind, she couldn’t help but think that this one was different. There was almost something…protective about the way he watched her sometimes. Like she was his to look after, though he never got too close.

  Mitch eyed her knowingly. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

  “Oh, bite me, Mitchell,” she shot back, but there was no heat in it. Mitch just chuckled.

  As the time got later, the bar started to fill up, and Amara’s shift became the way she liked it: more work, and less chatter. She was just handing a couple of beers to a couple on a weekend trip when a stranger sat down in front of her.

  He was dressed oddly for the weather Strathford was currently experiencing. Only jeans and a short-sleeved navy blue shirt. No coat, no hat. Almost as if the wintery cold didn’t faze him. His sleek black hair was slicked back out of his angular face, and while she appreciated the chiseled physique on the tall, muscular frame, it was his eyes that drew her in. Dark, tortured eyes that she swore she had seen before. And yet, she couldn’t quite place why he seemed so familiar.

  “What will it be, honey?” she asked, taking the tip the couple had left her and sliding it into the pocket of her jeans. It was coated in dripped alcohol from the bar, but hey! Money was money.

  The man stared at her for a moment, to the point where it was almost uncomfortable, until finally, Amara cleared her throat. “Whiskey,” he said, his voice deep and almost gravelly. She couldn’t help but find the cadence extremely sexy. “On the rocks. Make it a double, please.”

  Oh, yeah, she thought. Definite sex appeal. Too bad most men found her wolf paranoia to be a turn off. She poured his drink and set it on the bar in front of him. “There you go, handsome.”

  He watched her for a moment, as if he was deciding something. Then his lips curved in the echo of a grin. “Why don’t you have one for yourself?” he offered. “It’s on me.”

  Interesting. “Don’t mind if I do. Thanks.” She held a shot of whiskey up, tapping her glass to his. She smiled. “Cheers.” Then she threw it back.

  Chapter 5

  Nova watched her while she worked, inexplicably drawn to the grace with which she moved. She was a pro behind the bar, charming tips out of patrons, laughing easily with regulars and tourists alike. It was interesting how much of a people-person she could be at work, when he knew from his years of watching her that she had all but turned into a recluse since the attack.

  She rarely had company over to her small apartment, save the weekly visits with her mom, and the occasional Chinese dinner and movie night with Mitch. Though he suspected the bar owner had feelings for Amara, he seemed to understand the only relationship she was interested in was friendship. For some reason, this pleased Nova to no end.

  Not that he was interested. She was human, after all. The pack still had rules. And he still had to follow them.

  The door to the bar opened, bringing with it the icy breeze of the season, and a dark-haired woman in a long fur coat. Stripping it off, she kissed Sam on the cheek and hung it on the hook behind him.

  Zoe Hamilton.

  Nova would have recognized her anywhere. Since the attack, she had stayed around Strathford, bringing one scandal after another to the attention of the town. From what he could tell, Zoe hadn’t walked away from the Valley Clan’s attack as unscathed as everyone wanted to believe. While it was true that she had little more than a few scars down her back, and one small one lining her chin, Nova had seen firsthand the toll the attack had taken on her. It was rare to find Zoe without a drink in her hand or alcohol on her breath. He had frequently witnessed Amara haul her out to her car to take her home after a heavy night of drinking at Murphy’s. And it was common knowledge that Zoe Hamilton went through men the way other women went through socks.

  Not that he was surprised. Zoe was a knockout. Her long, dark hair and makeup were always pristine, her fit and toned body proudly on display. Looks, however, were unable to hide the fact that she was an emotional wreck.

  Nova chuckled to himself as he watched her saunter across the bar in her skin-tight jeans and climb up on a stool, flashing Mitch her signature sexy smile. Mitch nearly dropped the bottle he held as she leaned forward in her low-cut shirt, showcasing her voluptuous rack. Nova couldn’t stop the grin from creeping across his face.

  Amara followed his gaze. “Classy, huh?” she scoffed, filling a mug with beer. She turned the cup with an expert hand, keeping the foam to a minimum, and slid it down the bar to Ole. “I keep telling Mitch that one’s only going to end badly, but he refuses to listen to me.”

  Nova raised a brow. “You don’t approve?”

  “It’s not that,” she said, pursing her lips. “I just think Zoe is, well, Zoe. She’s a mess. And Mitchell could do so much better.” Stopping, she thought about it for a moment. “Okay, so maybe it is that.”

  “Sounds like you’re jealous.”

  “Hardly,” she replied with a laugh. “Another?” He nodded, taking the shot she handed him.

  Nova knew he was pushing his luck, being this close to her, but he couldn’t help it. After ten years, he could still see her lying there on the pavement, blood gushing from her neck. He had hoped that after he made sure she was safe that he would be able to leave her alone, yet he had found himself drawn to her over the years. His visits to her home had become more and more frequent, even though he tried telling himself he was just keeping her safe. He even found himself thinking about her when he was out on patrol. Or in a Council Meeting with his pack.

  He kept trying to tell himself that if he could just see her in person, talk to her as himself, that he could get over his infatuation with her. So far, no such luck.

  “So, Cowboy,” she asked, leaning against the bar, “do you have a name to go with that grin? Or are you the strong silent type who’s just going to sit and stare at me?”

  “Well, it’s working so well for me,” he said, tapping his fingers slowly on the bar, “why mess with success?” Her laugh was loud and boisterous, and he couldn’t help but want to hear it again. Snickering to himself, he held out a hand. “My name is Nova.”

  Taking his outstretched hand, she shook it. “Amara. Have you been in town long?”

  “I live a few miles out of Strathford, on my family’s estate.” Sort of.

  The door opened again, and Nova’s blood froze in his veins. The man who walked in was tall, and broad shouldered. His hair was a rich, chestnut brown against his deeply tanned skin. He had an angular face with a sharp brow and tawny eyes. Snow dotted the shoulders of his leather jacket, his grin was fierce and cruel when he spotted Nova.

  Kal.

  Nova’s expression turned hard and stony as he watched the heir to the Valley Clan weave his way through the tables. Anger rose to the surface, and Nova clenched his fist. What the hell was Kal doing there? He shouldn’t even be in town, much less in this bar.

  Kal leered at Nova as he sat down next to him. “Didn’t think you’d bother showing your face, Lowery,” he said, snaking Nova’s shot and downing it. Without a word, Amara filled another and handed it to Nova. The look on her face was carefully blank.

  “It’s my to
wn, Vann, in case you don’t remember. The border is twenty miles in the other direction.” Nova’s smile at Amara was quick and charming, but he knew it didn’t reach his eyes. He wondered if she noticed. “You know, in case you wanted to get the hell over it.”

  Kal chuckled to himself for a moment, his shrewd gaze not missing a thing. He lowered his voice. “You sure watch this one a lot,” he murmured, barely nodding his head at the bartender. Luckily, she was serving a patron a few feet away. “Why is that, I wonder.”

  Nova’s demeanor went hard as stone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But he couldn’t help the way his gaze darted to her face and back again. It was just for a split second, but it was enough.

  Grinning, Kal leaned forward, keeping his voice near a whisper. “Oh, I think you do. I think you’ve had a thing for this pretty little bartender for a while now. The only question now is, why?” He raised a brow. “I mean, she is attractive I guess. For a human. Dark hair, tiny frame, tight body. Ripe little prize for any man to win, I suppose. But a mate? My, my. What would your brother think? He is your Alpha now, is he not? Now that Daddy’s gone. Do you think he would approve of you fraternizing with the sheep you watch?”

  Closing his eyes, Kal sniffed the air as Amara walked by. “She does smell am—“ His voice trailed off as his eyes opened wide, and he gaped at Nova. “No. She isn’t.” Catching the flash of fear from his adversary, Kal rubbed his hands together, glee lighting his face. “Well aren’t you just an old hound? She isn’t just some girl, is she? She’s the girl. The one that got away from both of us.” He sniffed again. “Mmm, and Lowery, does she smell delicious or what? Tell me you’re getting some action from her.”

  Nova sat on the stool, as still as he could, willing himself to stay calm as his heart began to race and his blood boiled. The only outward sign that Kal Vann’s words had even gotten to him was his hands clenching into fists at his sides.