by Eve Langlais
Shit.
Determined to find something to fill her time, she turned to face the wall of jewel–toned liquor bottles. It had been awhile since she’d taken them all down and done a deep cleaning.
She squatted low and turned up the volume on the little CD player housed in one of the cabinets, letting the strains of Fitz and the Tantrums fill the cozy but empty room. Rolling up the sleeves of her cable–knit sweater, she dove in.
Half an hour later, some of the tension had finally started to ease and she found herself singing along as she worked. Once she finished up here and treated herself to a steaming mug of hot chocolate before bed, she might have a shot at getting some rest tonight after all.
The music was too loud to hear the bell, but the frigid air washing over the back of her neck clued her in to the fact that she had a new customer. She leaned down and lowered the volume just in time to hear his greeting.
“Evening, there.”
The silky baritone sent a wave of heat through her despite the open door and she froze in place, terrified to face him and confirm what her heart already knew, but just as afraid not to.
“You okay back there, miss?”
She turned slowly, every nerve–ending alight, and connected the face with the voice. And there he stood.
Nicklaus Maslov.
Former packmate.
Former lover.
The man who had ruined her for anyone else.
The man she’d vowed to kill if she ever saw his face again.
All rational thought sizzled away under the fire of her rage as a haze of red clouded her vision. She crouched low and sprang forward, clearing the bar in one leap, teeth bared.
“You son of a bitch.”
Chapter Two
He didn’t know what he’d expected when he stepped into Caroline’s Restaurant, but physical assault definitely wasn’t it.
His adrenaline surged as a woman lunged at him, all teeth and snarls. He barely turned his face in time to avoid having fingernails raked down his cheek. He wrapped his arms around her waist as they tussled until he finally pinned her against the floor. And when he did, bodily harm was the least of his concerns.
Petra Stevens glared up at him, gorgeous green eyes flashing with unbridled fury. His stomach bottomed out even as the immediate and insistent need to be inside her assailed him. In spite of the initial shock of it, he was like an alcoholic who’d been sober for three years and found himself laying in a whiskey fountain.
All he had to do was open his mouth and taste…
“You have a lot of fucking nerve coming in here, you bastard,” Petra hissed from beneath him, the fury rolling off her in almost palpable waves.
“Would you believe I had no idea you worked here?” he asked, trying to keep his voice low and steady so as not to rile her further. Even in human form, he was far stronger than she was, but he could see it in her eyes. She was one false move away from shifting, and if that happened, she could do some major damage. Not to mention the fact that, despite the lack of customers, it was still a public place. Anyone could come in at any time.
Not the way he’d hoped to alert his packmates that he was back in town.
“No, I wouldn’t believe it. Because you’re a liar and I don’t believe anything you say.” She struggled beneath him, bucking her hips to knock him off her, but he knew her well enough to know that letting her up now would be a mistake. She was a raging ball of fury, and until that energy was spent, she’d be a powder keg.
God he missed her.
The familiar scent and feel of her lithe body against his was causing a physical response he couldn’t control and he moved, angling his hips away from hers.
Using the hands he had circled around her wrists, he pressed her more firmly into the floor, holding her gaze. “I can’t afford to have you flying off the handle again. We can stay like this all night or you can calm down. What’s it going to be?”
“Screw you,” she snarled, fighting him like he knew she would, twisting, jerking and thrashing. If he’d been a lesser man, things wouldn’t be looking good for him. As it stood, though, she was no match for him, and eventually, she stilled, her breath coming in short pants.
“Do you feel tough now, Nicklaus? Because you can dominate me?” she asked, her tone dripping icicles that made the Montana winter seem warm in comparison.
He shook his head slowly and let off some of the pressure on her wrists. “Nope. I feel like a fucking jerk. I’m so sorry. I never would’ve come here if I knew I would see you here.”
The cheeks that had been flush with rage went bone white and her face went stark with pain.
“Shit, that’s not what I meant. If it was called Petra’s I’d have known…”
He swallowed the rest of the sentence because the damage was done. She continued to skewer him with her stare as it came to him. Caroline’s. Named after her late, beloved grandmother and one of the pack elders.
Before he could form yet another inadequate apology, hinges squealed to his far right.
“I don’t know what’s going on here, but in any case, I’m going to need you to get off my friend.” An athletic–looking blond stood in the open doorway of the kitchen. She held a cell phone in one shaking hand and a butcher’s knife in the other. “I’ve got a burly, male friend parked out back, 911 cued up, ready for me to hit dial, or I can come get this asshole off you myself, Petra. Talk to me, sweetie.”
He and Petra locked gazes again and her thoughts burrowed into his. He’d been a one–man pack for so long, the intimacy of the mental touch stole his breath. It took a second to shift his focus from the sensation to her message.
Let me up so I can handle this. She doesn’t know about our kind and this looks bad.
He eased back as Petra shook her hands loose.
“It’s okay,” she said to her would–be protector, shimmying until he knelt away from her so she could sit upright. “We know each other.”
“Yeah, well, I know a lot of guys, but most of them don’t get to pin me on the floor like that without buying me dinner first,” the other woman said, taking a menacing step closer.
“It was a misunderstanding is all,” Petra said, pushing herself to her feet with the grace he’d always admired. “I promise. It’s okay.”
He rose to stand beside her and held out a hand to the crazy lady with the knife.
“Sorry for the scare. I’m Klaus Maslov. Nice to meet you.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits as she stared at his hand like it was a live scorpion and palmed the knife. If anything, the introduction had made her look even less stable.
“The offer stands, Petra. I’m still willing to dice him up. Your call.”
He let his ignored hand fall to his side, waiting to see how this was all going to play out. Clearly, Petra had mentioned him, and whatever she’d said wasn’t good.
In some twisted way, though, he found himself glad that she’d mentioned him at all. A part of him had always wondered if she’d weathered their breakup better than he had. Judging by her reaction and the reaction of her friend here, he was guessing not.
He’d told her before he’d left Stone Creek that he wanted her to move on. Find someone else. And, if pressed, he would’ve sworn on a stack of bibles that it was true. Now, though, seeing her in front of him, all honey hair and lush curves? The thought of coming back to find out that she was completely over him would have killed him.
Because he wasn’t even close to over her.
“I can take care of it, Lita. I swear, it’s cool.” Petra reached out and gently extracted the knife from her friend’s hand. “Your date is waiting. Why don’t you go ahead. I’ll finish and lock up, and then I’ll call you when I’m home, okay?”
The two women exchanged long, searching looks before Lita finally nodded, slowly. “Okay. But I want to go on record. I’m not happy about this.” She turned and leveled him with a dagger–shooting gaze. “And if she doesn’t call me in an hour, I know your name,
I know what you look like, and I will hunt you down.” She jabbed an index finger in his direction before turning on her heel and heading back into the kitchen.
For a tense moment, the room was silent but for the new sound of ice pelting the windows.
“I apologize for losing my temper,” Petra said softly, turning to face him. The fury snapping in those bottle green eyes was gone, leaving behind a weary sadness that made his gut ache. “Can we blame it on a long day and sheer surprise at seeing you here out of the blue?”
“It’s not your fault. I should’ve checked before I got to town. I thought you were working for the pack heading up the marketing department at the brewery.” The second the words were out, he wanted to snatch them back. Maybe she was too shaken up to have caught it.
She stiffened, her gaze flying to his.
Annnd, maybe not.
“I only took that job two years ago. Have you been spying on me?” she asked, her tone flat.
Now he had some explaining to do, but it was almost worth it to see the anger back. Mad Petra, he could handle. Sad Petra? Made him want to tear the fucking place down with his bare hands and punish the person responsible.
This time, though, the only one to blame was him.
“Every so often, I poke around a little just to make sure everything is all right. Not just with you. With the whole pack.”
There were eighteen of them left, but it wasn’t hard to keep tabs. They all stuck together, lived in the same area and all worked for the same company. Until now, apparently.
He should have let it go. Apologized again and headed back out the way he’d come.
Instead, he found himself pressing. “Why did you leave the brewery?”
She picked up the white rag on the bar and began bustling around, wiping away imaginary crumbs and re–aligning stools. “I bought this place with a friend. Needed a little space.”
He heard that. As much as he missed aspects of being in a pack, the constant togetherness and all the rules took a toll on a body.
“I’m happy for you.”
He watched her as she moved, trying not to focus on the twitch of her round hips or the scent of her hair as she passed by him, but it was impossible.
He really should go. Get the hell out of there before he said or did something truly stupid.
“I missed you, Pet.”
***
The room seemed to pitch, like a Tilt–A–Whirl, and she grabbed onto the nearest stool for purchase.
“You don’t get to call me that,” she whispered, barely able to squeeze the words out past her too–tight throat. “Not anymore.”
Why was this happening now? Just when she was finally getting her legs back under her. She’d gotten up the nerve to set some boundaries with the pack and forge her own career path. She’d gotten her own place, started a business and made a human friend. All huge accomplishments that she wouldn’t have been able to even attempt a year before. She was still so broken after Klaus’s abandonment then, the idea of trying to start fresh seemed impossible.
So maybe she still dreamed about him. And sure, there were times she felt hollow inside. But there were other times she was happy.
Or at least content.
His presence now shook the very foundation of the oh–so–fragile stability that had taken the better part of three years to cultivate.
“I don’t know why you’re back, and frankly, I don’t really care. I just need you to stay out of my way while you’re here.” She tossed the rag onto the bar top and faced him again, heart thrumming in her chest as she tried to steel herself against the power he had over her. “You owe me that much, Klaus.”
She ignored the pull she felt as his scent filled her nostrils. Pushed aside the draw of those milk–chocolate eyes as he watched her. Tamped down the desire to curl her fingers around those wide, muscular shoulders. Instead, she focused on that ache inside her. That desperation and sense of self–preservation, and pushed it outward, touching his consciousness with hers for the second time.
Please go. Please go.
She focused only on those words…that feeling, until it was like a chant in her mind crossing a bridge into his.
Suddenly, a sense of loss so deep it stole her breath flooded her and she took a reflexive step back, bumping her hip sharply against the stool behind her. She was familiar with the texture of her own pain. Knew it so intimately that it only took a second for it to register.
The pain she was feeling at this moment wasn’t hers at all. It belonged to Klaus.
She stared into his fathomless dark eyes, her emotions rioting out of control. Before she could react and throw up a mental block to protect her thoughts, the connection between them wavered and then snapped, leaving her alone with her own consciousness once again.
Klaus held up both hands in surrender. “Message received. I’m going. And I won’t bother you again. I’ve got some business with Niles and then I’ll be on my way.”
He turned to go and the words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them. “What was that I felt, Klaus? Did something happen while you were gone?” Damn her stupid mouth. It was none of her business. He was none of her business.
“Shit, I’m sorry. It’s been a long time since––” He broke off, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m out of practice. Please believe it wasn’t intentional. That’s the last thing I wanted you to see.”
Maybe he was still suffering from Ivan’s death? The accident had been years ago, and she and the rest of the pack had suffered the loss of his twin right along with him. She knew how hard he’d taken it. Had laid next to him in bed, and shared in the heartache.
But it never felt like this. This was different. Like an open wound instead of a years–old scar. A new hurt? Maybe a woman had broken his heart while he was away.
It would serve him right.
Even as the mean little thought crossed her mind, it evaporated. She didn’t feel that way deep down. In fact, she hated the idea of him being in that kind of pain.
“We’re about to close and there is a gallon of today’s soup left in the pot,” she found herself saying. “We’ll likely be closed tomorrow due to weather and it will only go to waste. Let me put some in a to–go container for you.”
She didn’t wait for his answer. Instead, she headed for the kitchen, doing her best to ignore the zap of electricity that arced between them as she brushed past him.
The second the door swung closed behind her, she pressed her fingertips to her temples and rubbed in an attempt to ward off the headache creeping up the back of her neck. Her emotions were so volatile, she was giving herself internal whiplash. If she didn’t get a grip, she was going to dissolve into pathetic sobs before he left the building.
That would make for great conversation when he met with their alpha. She could just picture it.
Klaus would be all, “Ran into Petra last night.”
Niles’ wince would barely be visible through the chestnut–colored beard that seemed to cover most of his face. “And how did that go?”
“Great. She assaulted me, gave me soup and then burst into tears.”
Wouldn’t exactly support the whole, “I can stand on my own two feet,” stance she’d taken with Niles ever since she’d moved out last year.
But she was a different person. A stronger person, and now was the time to prove it, if only to herself.
“You got this, girl,” she muttered under her breath, straightening her shoulders.
She’d give Nicklaus his soup, wish him a polite farewell, and get back to work. And when she laid her head down to sleep that night, she would block him out of her mind completely. Like it never even happened.
She could almost hear the little devil on her shoulder snort–laughing now…
Chapter Three
The best thing he could do––the right thing to do––was to walk out now. Just head through the door and not look back.
A growl rumbled low in his chest as he cursed
himself a fool. How the hell had he gotten himself into this? Not back in town for twenty–four hours and already fucking things up.
So then why aren’t you leaving, asshole?
He pinched his eyes closed and jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Walking away from Petra had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do, second only to burying his twin. Even that had come with a sense of finality. Ivan was gone and there wasn’t shit he could do about it.
This thing with Petra was unending. A pain that roiled in his gut because she was alive and out there breathing the same air as him and looking up at that same Montana sky as him, but he couldn’t be with her.
It was so stupid, so pointless, but their kind could be stubborn when it came to letting go of tradition. His father, Niles, had been progressive in so many ways. He stood strong with the pack of Pray when they’d risen up against the Kotke to save a woman’s life. He banned the hunting of humans on their land. But when it came to his son, he was as immovable as a mountain.
With Ivan dead, Klaus was in line to be the next alpha once Niles stepped down. Which meant that his bride would be chosen for him from a select group of females, one of whom Petra was not.
His option? Stay in Montana and continue falling more madly, deeply, crazy in love with her, or walk away from her now before having to do it killed them both.
Now, here he was, with her standing not five feet away, being nice to him on top of it. Or, as nice as she could be, anyway. Which, considering how he’d hurt her, was saying something. It was only now, seeing her after all this time, that he wondered if he could’ve handled it differently. The result would’ve been the same either way. Only she would know that he had been at least as wrecked as she was by the breakup.
A breakup that neither of you wanted, his subconscious chimed in.
“I put some bread in the bag,” Petra said as she walked back into the room, the swinging door closing behind her. “People seem to like it.”