Accidental Lover (Wolven Moon Book 3)

by Dany Rae Miller

  Jesse’s tone tells me he’s looking for trouble. Sensing it, too, Wes makes eye contact with his bouncer, also a Norse.

  “I already told you to call me Victor.”

  “Alright, Victor. This power show of yours may be a fun little game to you, but you’re fucking with a sweet, innocent girl.”

  Oh, I’m fucking her, alright, and she isn’t as innocent as she was.

  I smile at the thought of mi ninfa naked, the way she screams my name when I make her come. Jesse scowls at the look on my face.

  “You’re a douche,” he says.

  “Watch it, kid,” I say, gritting my teeth.

  “Why her? Cherie’s very naïve, totally inexperienced unlike the skanks you’re probably used to.” His wolf in his eyes, the kid looks around the crowded bar. “There are a dozen women right here, seasoned veterans willing to get you off any kinky way you want. Look at ‘em. They’re practically throwing their panties at you.”

  “Skanks aren’t my type.” I take sip of my drink.

  “Yeah. Abusing innocents is more your speed.”

  I throw him a quizzical look. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “I saw the bruises on her wrists, Victor. I know you’re the one who put ‘em there.”

  Bruises?

  My jealous assault on her this morning.

  Fuck.

  I turn away from him, swirl my bourbon, take a big swallow.

  “I’ll be damned. Victor Santana has the capacity to be ashamed.”

  Looking me square in the eye, Jesse leans in like I’m supposed to be afraid of him.

  “Consider this your warning. Hurt her again — in any fucking way, and I’ll break your fucking kneecaps,” he sneers.

  Off the stool, I get in his face. “Are you threatening me, punk?”

  Again, I have to give the young wolf credit, he does not back down. Quick on his feet and stronger than he looks, he shoves me back several feet, my back slams into the brick wall.

  “Naw man, I’m making you a promise. If you think you just hired yourself some in-house bootie to bang at will, you better think again,Victor. Cherie deserves better than being treated like some bimbo. You want to take advantage of her, you’re going to have to go through me to do it.”

  “Boy —” I use my shoulder to push away from the wall.

  I let my beast emerge slightly. We’re in public, so transitioning isn’t an option.

  Jesse’s eyes darken, his wolf right at the surface. The kid takes the swing at me that he’s been dying to take since we met.

  He connects hard with my jaw. I deflect his second punch, grab the front of his shirt with both hands and spin him against the wall.

  Cherie and Gabby rush in the door, toward us, their friends in tow.

  “Stop it!” Cherie grips my right bicep with both of her tiny hands. “Don’t you dare hit him.”

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” I say. “Yet.”

  Gabby, too, tries to pry my hands off Jesse’s shirt.

  “Let him go, Vic,” she says through clenched teeth.

  “Santana,” Enrique Cruz, my Nation’s prime, for fuck’s sake, murmurs from behind the girls.

  Slowly, I drop my hands, warning the kid with my body language that if he swings again, I will, too.

  “Are you okay?” My girl and Gabby comfort the punk.

  When he nods, Cherie turns and advances on me.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, Victor?”

  “Stand down, blondie. You cannot blame Santana.” Wes points to Jesse. “He swung first.”

  In shock, Cherie looks at the kid. “Why would you do that?”

  “Someone has to protect you from that pompous asshole,” he says.

  “Jesse.” She’s annoyed. “I’m a big girl. You do not have to protect me from Victor.”

  “The hell I don’t,” he says, making another move for me.

  Gabby steps in front of Jesse, grips his arms. “Stop.”

  Wes motions to his bouncer. “That dude is leaving. Now.”

  As Jesse gets thrown out, my cousin, who’s supposed to be team Vic, glares at me, then at Cherie.

  “You gotta tell Jesse the truth, C. Even if it means losing his friendship,” Gabby says.

  Cherie looks away. “I just don’t know —” She blows out a breath. “I don’t know what to say to him.”

  I couldn’t care a fuck less about Jesse. But the agony on mi ninfa’s face? That kills me. Whether I like it or not, she cares for the kid. She doesn’t want to hurt him. Fairly certain that can’t be helped in this case.

  She’s mine.

  Lauralynn rubs Cherie’s back, hugs her shoulders. “It’ll be okay. We’ll help you come up with the right words at dinner.”

  “I’ll meet you next door,” Gabby says. With one last glare at me, she walks down the street where Jesse stands. He looks back into the window of the Saloon.

  I test my jaw, rub it with a hand. “Kid’s got a mean hook,” I say.

  “He hit you?” The kid forgotten, the concern in Cherie’s baby blues is for me. “Are you hurt?” She searches my face for damage.

  At the moment, I wish he’d cut my lip just so she’d tend to it.

  “It’s a little sore.”

  She caresses my jaw. Cherie is touching me in public. Better yet, the punk is watching her do it. He turns to stalk away, leaving Gabby staring after him.

  “I’m sorry I accused you. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” Cherie caresses where the kid slugged me.

  “The way I’ve been acting, I don’t blame you, sweetness.”

  Given my raging jealousy lately, she has just cause to think I’m responsible. I glance at her wrists. Sure enough, they’re faint but there — blue marks on both.

  Fuck me.

  Guilt slams my gut. Had anyone else done that to her, I’d do much worse than what Jesse did. He should beat my ass to a pulp.

  I hug my girl, kiss the top of her head.

  “Do brides and their maids come to bachelor parties, now?” I ask, rubbing her back, wanting to ease her stress, convey that I’m sorry for so many reasons.

  Cherie shakes her head no. “We were walking to the restaurant next door. Through the window, Gabs saw you grab Jesse.”

  “I see,” I say.

  “Speaking of which, we’re late for our reservation and I haven’t eaten since seven a.m. Let’s go.” Lauralynn shoos the girls out the door.

  As they leave, my dream girl looks back at me with a small smile. I smile back and wink. As she steps out, I notice she’s still wearing the stockings.

  Good girl.

  “You want a drink, Cruz?” I ask.

  He thinks about it before shaking his head no. He watches the girls enter the restaurant.

  “Relax,” Wes says to Cruz. “The place is owned by my sister and nephew. The entire staff is our kind.”

  Cruz blows out a tired breath, slips onto the stool next to mine. “Tequila.”

  I sit back down to my bourbon.

  “Sorry for the show, Wes.”

  “No harm done. Blondie sure is hot.”

  I grin. “Scorching.”

  Wes laughs, goes back to his work.

  Cruz and I chat — most of the conversation is in code. We’re in public after all. I let him know that the rumors of what happened in Morrison have spread to this part of Colorado, that everyone is keeping an eye out for Kennedy and try to reassure him that no hunters have set foot in Telluride for over fifty years.

  “We’re in a box canyon, Cruz. They know they’d be trapped

  “Our girls are safe here.” I stand. “Wes, on my tab?”

  “You got it,” he says with a wave.

  I shake hands with Cruz and walk back to the Av.

  Nearing the portico, I see Jesse in the lounge peeling a label off a beer bottle. Once inside, I approach him. The punk stands, ready to give it to me, again.

  “Whoa, vaquero. Sit the fuck down. Let’s talk about this lik
e adults.”

  The beast in him grunts, radiating animosity. After a moment of posturing, he sits, swigs the last of the beer.

  I sit in the club chair opposite him. When the waitress comes, I order a bourbon for me and another beer for the kid.

  “Cherie is precious,” I say.

  He nods.

  “I am not using her. She isn’t a bimbo or just a bootie call.”

  Though her bootie is exceptional.

  Jesse glares at me. “I don’t believe you.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you believe. It matters what Cherie believes. And if I hurt her, I will help you break my kneecaps.”

  I own up to my guilty conscious, vowing to cut off my knees if I ever mar her delicate skin again. He was right to come at me. He should have aimed for my nose.

  “I appreciate you looking out for her, Jesse, even against me. I hope that she can continue to count on you, no matter what happens.”

  It’s my attempt to pave the way for the conversation that Cherie’s going to have with him. At that thought, I do feel a little sorry for kid. Just imagining Cherie choosing another man brings my wolf to his knees.

  Our drinks arrive. The kid and I take a few swallows of our beverages, size each other up.

  The kid looks right at me. “Always. I’ll always be there for her. Cherie means the world to me.”

  He’s been chasing her for almost a year, yet can’t say the words ‘I love her’? I give him a tight smile, pleased as fuck that she got the wrong room. Jesse doesn’t deserve her.

  “I love her,” I say, meaning it with every cell in my body. “I want to make her my mate.”

  “That’s bullshit. You just met her two days ago,” he says with a skeptical look.

  I nod.

  “Two days ago, I would have agreed with you. Now I know better. Time doesn’t mean squat.”

  I swirl the liquid, take a sip.

  “Consider it arrogant, pompous - what the fuck ever. But I’m pursuing Cherie with everything I have.”

  Probably couldn’t stop myself if I tried.

  I slam back the rest of my bourbon, set the glass on the table and stand.

  “And I will win.”

  I leave him sitting there nursing his beer. I wander across the lobby to my office. Time to plan the main event of Operation Romance.

  First, I book the best DJ in town for Cherie’s party. “Email me a list of all your 80s songs. I want a certain play order.”

  Next, I call the Avs go-to party planner. She’s excited when I tell her the theme.

  “Video games, Rubiks cubes, vinyl records, cassette tapes, boom-boxes — we’ll just load the place with iconic 80s items. And glitz, lot’s of brassy sparkle.” She laughs, promising to call prop houses to see what she can find on short notice.

  Waiting for the dinner rush to subside somewhat, I get some hotel work done. After an hour or so, I head back to the kitchen to talk to Monbeau.

  He glances up when I enter. The French wolf is huge. Over six-six and shoulders as wide as a line backer.

  “Do you have a minute, Chef?”

  He gives a few orders to the staff, walks over to me — totally unafraid.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How would you like to throw Cherie a surprise birthday party?”

  Smiling broadly, Monbeau is instantly on board. We move to his small office in the corner of the kitchen to discuss menu details.

  Monbeau knows her culinary tastes, tells me stories about feeding her years ago. Jealousy pokes at me. I poke it back down.

  “I’ll defer to you on the food. However, let’s present it 80s style. It’s an 80s theme party.”

  Chef creases his brow in confusion.

  “Cherie’s into 80s music.”

  “Oh.”

  Satisfied that I know something about her that he doesn’t, I pass along the party planner’s ideas and give him her number so they can coordinate.

  “Rubik cube cakes, cheese in pac-man shapes.” He laughs. “It’ll be fun to see what my staff can come up.”

  Monbeau volunteers to talk to the pastry chef.

  “Her favorite used to be carrot cake. We’ll serve white cake as well. Not everyone enjoys vegetables in their desserts,” he says.

  “I wouldn’t have thought of that, thank you, Chef.” I stand, shake his hand. “You need anything — special ingredients, whatever it takes, let me know. Charge it all to me.”

  He nods, takes a deep breath.

  “So, you and Cherie — ”

  “We’re a couple,” I say, not missing a beat.

  Whether she admits it or not.

  I want there to be no doubt in his mind who she belongs to. There is, though. Rubbing his chin, a squint puckers his brow. I reign in a sudden urge to punch him. I don’t care how fucking big he is.

  Monbeau walks me through his kitchen, places a hand on my arm at the swinging out-door.

  “All due respect, sir, she’s a sweetheart. Make sure you treat her as such.” His eyes send me a warning.

  My girl has a lot of people who love her. That’s a good thing, I tell myself. I smile. “Couldn’t do otherwise, Moon-bow.” I use her nickname for him.

  His face crinkles in a smile. He pats my shoulder, goes back to work.

  chapter twenty-four

  JESSE ATTACKED VICTOR. That’s insane. Jesse is as nonviolent as wolves come.

  Opening her menu, Gabs keeps shooting me looks.

  “What?” I ask her.

  “You went from virgin to having men fighting over you in a day,” Gabs says.

  She tries to smile, but it doesn’t make it to her eyes.

  Covering my face with my hands, I blow out a breath. “God. What is wrong with them?”

  Fallon shakes her head. “Men, especially the Lycan kind, are supremely territorial.”

  “And competitive,” Amber says. “Jesse lost. Seems to me that’s his problem.”

  “It is not.” Gabs defends him. She looks at me. “How could that be when he doesn’t yet know for certain that he lost?”

  The waiter comes to take our drink orders and explain the daily specials. The other girls order alcoholic drinks. I get a water.

  “Tomorrow, you will be completely legal.” Lauralynn smiles.

  I do a little dance in my seat. “I know.”

  “Now. We need to figure out what you should say to Jesse.”

  “Be blunt,” Amber says. “Tell him you’re fucking Victor and not him. And can you still be friends, please? End of story.”

  “That’s cruel,” Gabs says.

  “It’s what you did to David.” Amber challenges her.

  “That was different. David was an asshole. Jesse isn’t,” she says.

  “Speaking of assholes.” Lauralynn smirks. “How’s your groom, Gabs? We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him. Why the hell didn’t he back up Jesse against Victor? The two of ‘em could have taken him.”

  “Hey.” I can’t believe Lauralynn just advocated beating up my boyfriend.

  Boyfriend?

  Gabs reads her menu.

  “Well, obviously Baldwin wasn’t there or he would have. He’s fine. We’ve decided to avoid each other for most of the week and be celibate until our honeymoon to make the wedding night more special.”

  “Aren’t the about-to-be-married couple supposed to be totally hot for each other?” I ask.

  “Oh, please. I’m surprised that you of all people buy into that chick-flick stereotype,” Gabs says.

  “It’s not a stereotype,” Shavone says. “I know what love is now. Whatever it is that you have with Baldwin —”

  “You’re mated, S. That’s different,” Gabs says. “As soon as Baldwin and I consummate with venom, it’ll be fine.”

  Be fine?

  Thinking of how Victor makes me feel physically, I’m sad for Gabs. Who needs mating venom? Or marriage, for that matter? If he can’t satisfy her now, who’s to say he ever will?

  One look at the other girls a
nd I know they’re thinking the same thing.

  I clear my throat. “Gabs, we’ve had this discussion between the two of us – over and over again. Let’s have it one more time with the La Mousquetaires present.”

  She glares at me. I don’t care.

  “Be mad all you want. Your happiness is important to me — to us. Are you absolutely, positively certain marrying Baldwin is what you want to do?”

  Instead of her typical instant yes, she hesitates this time.

  Lauralynn swallows a sip of wine. “That pause speaks fucking volumes.”

  “Shut up.” Gabs glares at her and me. “Yes. I’m sure I want to marry Baldwin,” she says without much conviction.

  Lauralynn starts to say something and Gabs cuts her off. “Drop it, Ells. It’s all set. I’m getting married and that’s final.” With her eyes, she dares any of us to say another word.

  Breaking the silent tension, the waiter comes to take our food orders. Once he’s gone, Lauralynn says one more thing about it.

  “Go ahead, Gabs. Get married and screw up your life. If and when you need us to help pick up the pieces, we’re here, come what may. We stand by you now and forever.”

  “Speaking of forever,” I say, and tell them about the idea that Gabs had this morning.

  Thirty seconds later, we’re laughing and awkwardly wrapping six pinkies, to promise that we will get together as group in person at least once a year.

  Our food arrives and as we eat, we talk about what we’ve been up to, the status of our goals and the projects we’re working. Lauralynn turns the topic to men — my sudden sex life being the hottest topic of conversation. The girls just keep circling back to it. I dodge a lot of the too personal questions. Telling them about the dinner we had at Mr. A’s last night, all five girls’ jaws hang open.

  “Victor is a miracle worker,” Shavone says. “A, getting you to go on a date at all and B, convincing you to ride the gondola.”

  “Oh, I rode it alright,” I say, giggling like a school girl.

  Lauralynn let’s out a shriek. “You didn’t?”

  I nod with a big grin as a punctuation for the admission. Gabs is speechless. Fallon and Amber laugh.

  “You are my hero.” Lauralynn fist bumps me.

  “The whole night was quite romantic,” I say.