by Lauren Dawes
Katie squealed when she saw the shade of pink on her fingernails and clapped her hands together excitedly.
“Katie!” Neve said. “You’re going to ruin the finish. Let the damn things dry.”
But Katie being Katie, only ignored her. It was par for the course really. With only six months separating them in age, she was more like a sister than a cousin, and with the amount of time they spent together, they may as well have lived in the same house. Katie’s dad was Neve’s uncle, and thankfully, they only lived a few miles up the road.
She was Neve’s closest, and perhaps only, friend.
“Neve? Hello?”
She refocused her attention on Katie and smiled. “Sorry. What were you saying?”
“I was saying you need to find yourself a mate.”
She barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. “Why does every conversation come back to this?” Katie sounded just like Neve’s mother.
“Because this is what we talk about,” Katie replied. The duh was implied. Neve placed the lid back on the bottle of polish and sucked in a deep, calming breath.
“No, Katie, this is what you talk about.”
She got up and walked to the window, her sore muscles protesting with the movement. The self-defense training she’d done with Roman and Tailor that afternoon was brutal—a session involving hand-to-hand combat and disarming an attacker. She’d have bruises on her forearms by tomorrow. It was just one more thing for her mother to disapprove of. If it wasn’t the fact she wasn’t mated yet, it was the way she unashamedly wore her bruises and shallow cuts like badges of honor.
Neve peered out at the night sky, the slowly ascending moon mesmerizing her with its potency. Unlike weres, shifters weren’t subject to the whims of the lunar cycle. They were free to shift whenever they wanted and run through the forest at the drop of a hat. And right now, that was all Neve wanted to do…
Escape.
Escape from her responsibilities, from the expectations.
“So,” Katie began softly, almost hesitantly. “What do you think about Charles?”
Neve took a moment to smooth the disgust from her expression before she turned around. She couldn’t understand why Katie was still hung up on the male, since it wasn’t like he even knew she existed. “What about him?”
Her cousin’s face got all dreamy, like she was picturing their mating ceremony. Outside her door, Neve’s mother was getting busy with the Dyson, which given the time, wasn’t weird. Any spare minute was spent vacuuming the expensive wool carpets that covered most of the house, and right now, she had about half an hour to kill while the roast lamb she’d cooked for dinner was resting.
“Don’t you think he’s just perfect?”
Perfect for a human shield in a zombie apocalypse.
“Uh-huh,” she replied without meaning it at all. Katie had been crushing on the male for months now.
The whir of the vacuum got louder as Mom worked her way up the hallway. “Can’t you see it, though? Us getting mated…”
Yeah, she could see it. She could totally see her cousin doing exactly what Neve’s mother wished she’d do. The thing was, Neve wanted a little more from life than becoming someone’s mate and popping out the next generation of shifters. What she wanted she couldn’t articulate because it would mean letting down her father and disappointing her mother. She had to keep her aspirations to herself like some kind of dirty little secret.
“I think he’s perfect for you,” she said instead. It wasn’t a lie. Charles would make her the perfect mate, and her cousin would make the perfect wife, and they would make the perfect children.
But all of that wasn’t for Neve.
Katie glanced at the door, the high-pitched whine reaching its zenith outside. “Why is your mom vacuuming now? I thought she hired a housekeeper not that long ago.”
Neve couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously? You’ve known me my entire life, and you’re asking that question?”
A beautiful smile graced her cousin’s lips. She had the same dark hair as Neve, but her eyes were the blue of a clear spring day rather than Neve’s watery green. “Fair point. I guess she had a lull between cooking and serving dinner.”
“You got it,” she replied, folding her arms over her chest and leaning against the wall beside the window. “Are you staying?”
“Are you kidding? It’s roast lamb Friday. I’m definitely staying.” She wiggled her fingers back at Neve. “So, are you going to finish these for me? You know you want to,” she added in a singsong voice.
With a small smile, Neve pushed off the wall and picked up the bottle of godawful fuchsia, making sure the top was screwed on properly before giving it a little shake. Katie put out her hand, spreading out her fingers and grinning like she’d won an argument Neve didn’t even know they were having.
The sound of the Dyson cut and there was a knock on the door.
“Katie?” Mom called. “I take it you’re staying for dinner, hon.”
“Yes, please, Aunt Rose!” Katie called, not taking her eyes off her Palace in Wonderland nails.
“All right, well, it’ll be ready in ten.”
The vacuum started up, and Katie sighed. “I hope Charles calls me one of these days.”
Neve did roll her eyes this time, but kept them down on her work. They were back on this topic again? “I’m sure he will,” she replied, her voice hollow. “Do you think…” She paused, undecided whether she should even be bringing this up.
“What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
Katie snorted. “It’s never nothing with you, Neve. Spill it.”
Jogging the little brush into the polish bottle over and over again, she said, “Do you think you’ll ever want more?”
A small frown appeared between her cousin’s eyes, marring her otherwise perfect features. “More than what?”
Neve looked toward the window, toward the black expanse that hovered just outside the glass. “More than this life? More than what your parents expect of you, of what the pride expects from you?”
Her frown deepened. “Why would you want more than this? You’re the Leo’s daughter. You have everything you could possibly want.” She leaned forward as if the words she was about to speak were going to change the world. “You could have any male you want.”
But what if that wasn’t what she wanted? Katie couldn’t understand because she never wanted anything more than the life she had. All she had to look forward to was mating some male who would dote on her—and they would because her cousin was just too sweet not to—and have five or six children.
Blowing out a frustrated breath, she screwed the lid back onto the polish bottle. “Just forget about it.” Neve had the distinct feeling Katie was slipping through her fingers. They’d grown up together, laughed together, crushed on the same guys together. They’d navigated puberty and their first shifts together, but this right here, tonight, this was where their journey together ended. She could see it as clearly as if she was standing out in the forest. Before them were two paths, but their hearts were divided for the first time.
Katie, however, didn’t seem to notice. She was too busy inspecting her nails and cooing over sparkles that caught the light.
“Girls! Dinner!” Neve’s dad called out.
“Come on,” Neve said to Katie. “Let’s eat, then we can watch a movie before you have to go home.”
As they walked into the dining room, Neve found her dad sitting at the head of the table, a glass of amber liquid at his elbow. Dropping a kiss to his cheek as she passed, she took her seat to his left.
“Hi, Uncle Greg,” Katie said with a warm smile.
“Katie, what a surprise to see you here,” he said dryly, his mouth curling up in a grin.
Neve shook her head. “It’s not her fault our house is more exciting.”
Her dad threw his head back and laughed loudly. “My brother was always the boring one growing up.”
“Greg!” her mom
admonished as she swept into the room, all Martha Stewart graceful. She placed the roast lamb onto the table with a flourish and stood back, waiting for the praise to roll in.
“It looks wonderful, my love,” her dad said, holding out his hand to her mom. She stepped into him, and he snaked his arm around her back, pulling her closer. Her parents had always been this loving, but then again, they’d been lucky and had an actual love match—he had found his true mate.
“All right, all right.” Her mom waved her hand to dismiss the compliment she’d so easily teased from her mate. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
3
Avah pushed her reading glasses to the top of her head and squeezed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. This headache was in for the long haul—she could tell. Popping open the first drawer of her desk, she pushed the packets of gum, boxes of staples, and stray rubber bands around until she felt the familiar white and orange Motrin bottle glide against her palm. Unscrewing the cap, she shook out two capsules and swallowed them with a mouthful of cold coffee.
Hopefully, the drugs would kick in sooner rather than later. Refocusing her attention back onto the screen, she scrolled through the online edition of the Portland Observer, scanning the headlines for something she could work with. Unfortunately, articles about an art exhibition and a charity bike ride just weren’t getting her blood pumping. She needed something else, something she could sink her investigative journalist teeth into and prove she was more than just a fluff-piece writer.
She kept her finger moving over the scroll wheel, scanning the digital pages. There was a story about the number of homeless people who had been found dead in recent days. She skimmed through the article when an itch formed between her shoulder blades.
Glancing to the left, she found the reason. Phil Cross, her oldest friend and work buddy, leaned against her desk, his eyes crinkling with a smile. At least ten years her senior, he acted like he was a good decade younger than her, even though she could see the toll this job had taken on him.
“Whatcha doing there, Avah May?” he asked with a smile.
He was the only one who could call her that, because anyone else would be swallowing their teeth right now. Before she could answer, he stuck his finger up as if the idea just struck him. “Ah! I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah. You’re looking for the next big story, aren’t you?”
She turned to look at him. “Maybe you’re happy sitting in Obits, waiting for people to literally die, but I want more than fluff pieces and entertainment news.”
“Ouch. That hurt, Avah May. Right here.” He pointed at his chest.
She gave him a saccharine smile. “Come on, Pops, you’re made of tougher stuff.”
His brows rose. “Pops? How dare you, you young whipper snapper.”
Avah laughed and closed down the window on her screen. She saved the document she’d been working on and shut down her computer for the day. “Hungry?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Phil stood up, loosening the Windsor knot at his throat and pulling the tails of his shirt from his slacks.
“It’s dinner, not a blow job,” she joked, standing up and grabbing her coat. As she swung it on, she caught Phil’s smile.
“A man can dream.”
She snorted. “Come on. I know where we can get five-dollar pitchers and wings.”
“Now you’re talking my language,” he replied, offering her his arm.
Ignoring it, she slung her bag over her shoulder and led the way. They weren’t the last ones there. Andy Withers, the editor-in-chief, was still parked behind his desk, his eyes even more bloodshot than they had been earlier that morning. He glanced in their direction and gave a little wave. Avah knew he’d be there until his wife called his ass home a little before ten p.m.
As they got in the elevator, Phil pressed the close door button and hit G.
“So tell me about these wings,” he said with a salacious smile.
She laughed, dropping her voice a few octaves so she sounded like a phone sex worker. “Two kinds—honey soy and extra hot.”
“Stop it,” he said, holding a hand to his heart. “You’re killing me.”
The elevator car slowed to a stop, the doors gliding open smoothly. Over her shoulder, she said, “So are you buying tonight?”
“Of course I am,” he replied. “I’m a decent guy. I buy all my dates dinner.”
“Not a date,” she reminded him. “Or is that mind of yours getting foggy with age?”
“Another age joke? I’m only ten years older than you. Some women would say I’m in my prime.”
She made a show of looking around. “Which women? I don’t see any women.”
“You have so many jokes,” he deadpanned. “Why aren’t you writing the comic strips instead?” He held open the door for her, sweeping his arm out. With a short bob of her head, she stepped out into the cool Oregon night and shivered. Pulling the lapels of her coat closer to her throat, she turned in the direction of the bar. The weight of Phil’s arm was suddenly over her shoulders and despite wanting to get closer for warmth, she stepped away. Phil couldn’t get the wrong idea about them. He was interested in more than just a professional relationship, and although he was a very attractive man, she couldn’t see him as anything more than a friend.
He made a small sound in the back of his throat, something that could’ve either been sorry for overstepping or cock-teasing bitch. Either way, she felt horrible for shutting him down. She let out a relieved breath when the bar came into view up ahead. Someone stepped out, the sound of laughing and pool balls cracking together tumbling out with them. Grabbing the door before it shut, she held it open for Phil.
“That’s my job,” he said.
“Age before beauty.” She grinned when he smiled at her quip. Walking in after him, she glanced around the bar. It was maybe only two-thirds full, and considering it was a Friday night, she found that odd. The bar ran along the back wall of the space, all honeyed wood and sporting memorabilia hanging on the exposed brick walls. There were about a dozen tables between them and the bar, all round and half of them occupied.
As she took a seat at one of the empty booths at the other end of the room, Phil planted his palms onto the table and leaned in.
“The usual?”
“It’s scary that you know what I like to drink.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “How long have we been hanging out? I’d be a shitty journalist if I hadn’t noticed that you liked your martinis made with Hendrix and a lemon twist. I’ll be right back.”
He took off in the direction of the bar and she tracked his progress and the appreciative glances he got from a couple of the other women he passed, too. Why couldn’t she allow herself to be attracted to him? He was the only decent guy at work and probably the only man left in the city who wasn’t into other men. He worked out pretty regularly, his shoulders and chest filling out his button-down shirts nicely. His ass—
She halted her wayward thoughts there. Stepping over her self-imposed no-dating-colleagues line with Phil was a disaster waiting to happen. As if she needed the reminder, all of her previous workplace relationships flashed through her mind like a horror movie. No. She wouldn’t risk her friendship with him. She wouldn’t risk ruining everything.
She averted her eyes when he headed back, her martini glass in one hand, his beer in the other, and a couple of menus tucked under his arm.
“Thank you,” she said, taking a small sip.
“Anytime.” He slid into the booth beside her, dropping the laminated menus onto the table and taking a sip of his beer.
She picked one up and got busy looking. “Want to split something?”
He barked a laugh. “Don’t tell me you can’t handle your wings, Avah May.”
She narrowed her eyes on his face. “Oh, I can handle them, old-timer. I just wanted to make sure your heart could take the heat of the hot sauce.”
He leaned in wi
th a mischievous smile on his face and an invisible weight lifted from her chest. They were finally back where they needed to be. “I bet you can’t eat two pounds of wings before I can.”
She began shaking her head. “I’m not playing your games, Mr. Cross.” She was so playing his games. Dropping the menu, she shot back, “All right. What are the stakes?”
He sat back in his seat, folding his arms and looking smug. “If I win, we try this dating thing. I want to see if there’s anything more between us than a whole lot of flirtatious innuendos.” He arched a brow. “Unless you’re not willing to step up?”
The smug bastard.
“And if I win?”
He shrugged. “I’ll never mention the denial of your insane attraction to me again.”
“I accept, and I’ll be kicking your ass tonight.”
Avah rose and then walked over to place an order for two servings of two pounds of wings, knowing that without a doubt Phil Cross was going down tonight.
* * *
Two minutes and thirteen seconds after the contest began, Avah watched in horror as Phil dropped the remains of his last wing onto a heaving mountain of bones. She looked at her own less than impressive effort and threw down her half-eaten wing.
“You cheated,” she said, grabbing a wet wipe and cleaning the grease and sauce from her fingers. He only laughed, tearing the top off his own moist towelette and getting down to business cleaning between his fingers.
“Did I forget to tell you I’m a Hooters hot wing champion?”
She blinked. “Err, what?”
He laughed, throwing the wet nap onto the pile of bones. “Back in college, my buddies and I went to Hooters all the time to get wings. Let’s just say I honed my skills there.”
Shaking her head, she muttered, “I totally got played.”