Gareth looked around the bar. The worn but comfortable furniture, the yeasty smell of beer, the easy smiles of both staff and customers—he took it all in. He needed to move on soon, but his reluctance to give up the unexpected solace he’d found in Wolfe’s Den stalled him.
“Gareth,” said a female voice, filled with warmth. He knew immediately who’d said his name. He looked up and saw the smiling face of Barbara Wolfe, the matriarch of the Wolfe family. She checked on him every now and again, and it felt good to be cared for … even if it was only for a little while.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I’m right as rain,” she said, sliding the coffee in front of him. “You’re the only furball in here who prefers coffee to alcohol. This is a bar, you know.”
He grinned. “I like being different.”
“That’s good,” said Barbara, her gaze sliding across the room. “Because I think that young lady wants different.”
Gareth followed Barbara’s unabashed stare.
Whoa. His heart tripled its beat—the result of an undeniable attraction to the woman sitting at a corner table near the windows.
His body strained toward hers as though they were magnetically connected. Every molecule in his being screamed, “Her. Her. Her. Now. Now. Now.”
“Well, then,” said Barbara. “My work is done.” She patted his shoulder and left him alone to drool at the gorgeous female within catching distance.
Gareth knew by her scent that she was a human. He never thought a human female would trigger his mating urges. The very idea baffled him. In the protected Wolfe territory, many outcasts made their homes in the forests and the small towns that comprised the area. Either the lovely lady was passing through, or she lived somewhere nearby. Not for the first time, he felt the urge to settle down, put down roots. But why? And with who? Making home with someone was a pipe dream.
Okay, moron. Get. A. Grip. He looked around the dark bar with its neon drink signs and empty stools. He tried to find something to take his mind—and libido—off the brunette. It took less than thirty seconds for his gaze to return to the woman.
His cock got hard. Rod-of-steel hard. And the fantasies his mind spun about the woman made his body rigid with desire. Gareth gave up pretense and stared openly at her. She was curvaceous, with the face of an angel. Her cheekbones were rosy, her lips fully kissable, her nose turned up just a smidge at the end. There was shimmering beauty about her. Abstract and untouchable. Goddess-like.
Lust heated his blood, thrummed through his balls and did more damage to his cock. Her flawless skin required little make-up. Her hair was the color of milk chocolate and her eyes sparkling amber. She was medium height, luscious beyond reason, and dressed for the cold weather in boots, jeans, sweater, and a leather jacket. She sipped her coffee and read something apparently riveting on her tablet.
She lifted her gaze and caught him in the act of checking her out. Schmuck! Get out of here before you do something really stupid. Like tell her, “Oh, I think you might be my mate. By the way, I’m a shifter. Let’s get busy.”
His stomach clenched. No. No way. He’d been banished from the territory where his family lived. His brother had made sure his banishment had been public, humiliating, and permanent. Gareth had been the only threat to Craig’s claim to alpha. His older brother had always been a soulless dick.
Gareth slid out of the booth, put on his coat and put a $5 on the table to cover his untouched coffee. As he reached to push open the front door, he found long, pale fingers wrapped around his wrist. Startled, he looked into the gaze of the woman who had tilted his world on its axis.
“Hello,” she said. Her eyes sparkled with humor and intelligence and — oh shit — attraction. His gaze drifted down to the hand on his sleeve. Her nails were neatly trimmed and coated with clear polish.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her smile revealing a dimple near her right cheek. “I didn’t realize you were mute.”
“I’m not,” he said.
“Ah. My name’s Angela Ross. And you are?” She had a Southern twang, which was delightfully softened by her honeyed voice.
He cleared his throat and managed to say, “Gareth Harper.”
Angela leaned close, and the floral scent of her perfume drifted around him. “Would you be up for a little experiment, Gareth?” she asked. “I’ve never been with a werecougar.”
Shocked, he stared at her. How had she known about his dual nature? “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, sugar, you don’t have to lie to me. I know you’re not a shifter like those portrayed in movies.” She spoke in the same tone one would use to discuss the weather. Gareth drew in her scent. Definitely human. And pure delicious female. He tended to forget that some humans knew about shifters. Members of his colony kept themselves under wraps. Too many assholes had tried hunting them—and gotten dead for their efforts.
But here, in the Wolfe’s territory, it was different.
“Angela.” A tall man joined them, his mossy green gaze assessing Gareth. His eyes held curiosity, not hostility. Still, when the fellow wrapped his arm around Angela in a clear show of possession, Gareth wanted to bare his fangs and rip off the guy’s limbs. He tamped down the urge. The man had silvery blond hair tied back in a leather thong. His skin was pale, almost luminescent. He was dressed in the same
