Shifter Wars: Supernatural Battle (Werewolf Dens Book 1) Read online

Rhona winked at me as I caught up to them.

  “Thought you got lost.” She hooked an arm around my neck, “Can’t go losing my best and only cuz. Just wait until you try Dad’s blueberry muffins, too. Oops, that was a surprise. He’s giving them to you tomorrow morning.”

  A grin spread across my face.

  I breathed in the surrounding pine scent, gaze snagging on the birds whipping overhead, and my heart squeezed in my chest.

  I desperately wanted to make the biggest mistake of my life.

  7

  I glanced both ways down the crowded street, saxophone clutched tight. Dimples wasn’t anywhere in sight, but I hurried just in case.

  Locking the front door, I walked to my busking bench. Leaping on top, I chucked my old cap down.

  My fingers flew over the keys in the familiar pattern of Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World.”

  Keeping watch for blond-haired giants with dimples made sense, but this song was about as beautiful as they came. Closing my eyes, I poured out the angst of the day—which ironically led me to illegally busk after 5:00 p.m. again.

  Rhona’s one friend turned into a car filled with friends that needed to be dropped off. She’d promised petrol money, but I learned long ago not to rely on family members.

  Illegal busking it was.

  I smiled and bowed to the clapping crowd, holding out my cap. The coins rattled. Hells yeah.

  The streets were packed again this evening. How the heck did The Dens pull such a crowd all the way out here? Were the drinks amazing? Did their hot staff put on a little show at midnight? Not that the scenery here didn’t warrant the trip, but this many people came regularly… that was a freakin’ business feat.

  I scanned the packed street.

  No sign of Dimples.

  “Rehab” by Amy Winehouse. I let my music soar, swaying with the beat as a few people sang along. I blasted the last note, leaping it an octave so the shrill sound bounced off the surrounding cliff faces.

  Grinning, I thanked those dropping money into my cap.

  Huh, no Dimples. Maybe it was my lucky day—

  “We meet again.”

  It was the voice.

  I mean, the man with the voice.

  My saxophone emitted a squeal in response to my tightening throat. I lowered the instrument, glancing back at the giant guy with honey eyes.

  My heart thumped, the beat tripping.

  I wasn’t scared as such. I’d just never had a response to another person on this scale. Every hair on my body stood on end. My skin prickled, urging me to remove my jacket to cool down—even with the sun setting and a slight chill to the air.

  My tongue unlocked. “How long have you been there?”

  “How long have you been playing?”

  I couldn’t put my finger on the emotion behind his words. His greeting—we meet again—was delivered as a statement. Not with any anger over my rule flouting. Or sarcasm. Just a quiet, literal statement.

  We meet again.

  The second part was easy to translate. He’d watched me the entire time.

  Stop overthinking shit.

  Not taking any chances for a repeat of last night, I stood on my cap. His warm gaze dropped to my sandalled foot and a slight curve graced his lips.

  Yeah, okay. His suit was expensive, and he didn’t need my busking shrapnel.

  Whatever.

  Ignoring him, I set my lips to the sax. “Killing Me Softly” by Roberta Flack seemed appropriate. Except, Killing me via Electric Fence was more on point with what I felt.

  The song wound around me like a heavy blanket but didn’t block my absolute awareness of the male behind me. Like, at all.

  He was doing what it usually took a few hundred people to achieve.

  Finishing, I scowled over my shoulder. “Do you have to stand there like that? It’s putting me off.”

  He tilted his head. “Tell me how I should stand. I’m happy to obey if you’ll play again.”

  Damn. That was kind of charming. Except there wasn’t any way this testosterone statue could stand that would put a wet blanket on my particular fire.

  “Can I help you with something?” My crowd was losing interest.

  “What will it take for you to work for me?” He was leaning against the fence.

  I set my jaw. “I told you that—”

  Cutting off, my mouth dropped. Shit. He’d offered me a job.

  Again.

  Only one thing stood between me and Deception Valley. Lack of income. Okay, understatement of the century. So many things stood in my way, but a job was the last major roadblock.

  He stepped closer, and I gripped my sax with both hands like the instrument could provide a force field between us.

  “What did you tell me?” Honey Eyes pressed. “I admit, our meeting last night is somewhat of a blur. You took me off guard, and all I can remember is your face. I don’t usually forget anything.”

  Uhm, what?

  Warmth stretched across my cheekbones, and I fidgeted. Men like him didn’t speak like that. Assholery was the absolute drawback of alpha types. Men like him were confident. Big dick energy. Emotions were a foreign language.

  Wrenching my gaze from his, I studied the chatting people surrounding us. How weren’t they reacting to this guy? Contrary to my issue, they kept a wide berth, focus averted from him.

  I shifted, resisting the urge to sigh. An hour jog sounded perfect right about now—and I wasn’t big on the pastime.

  “Are you alright?”

  He moved a hand to my elbow, and I yanked out of reach, nearly falling from the bench. His fingers curled, and his expression smoothed.

  Whoa. Why did I do that?

  Recovering my stance, I tried to appear relaxed.

  I shook my head. “Fine. I’m fine. Thanks.”

  “And what did you tell me yesterday?” he probed gently.

  Ugh, I hated acting like a moron. “That I was leaving on Monday, but that might not be the case anymore.”

  Air caught in his throat. I was sure of it.

  “Why the change of heart?” he said, attention resting on my cap, shoes, jean jacket, and sax in turn.

  Observant. To an unsettling degree.

  I jumped down from the bench, snatching up my cap. “I’d be interested in exploring employment. How much are you offering and what hours?”

  Playing saxophone in a bar was a fucking exciting prospect. Something that didn’t feel real. A job I could enjoy.

  There’s no way it would pay enough.

  “Maybe we could discuss details over dinner?” he asked, gesturing down the street.

  Did he mean that in a professional way or let’s dance the horizontal dance way? I took the safest route. “My boyfriend is expecting a call soon. Maybe another time.”

  His eyes flashed, and I blinked several times as the honey hue darkened toward black. He stepped back, and liquid honey flashed again.

  Oh my god. I was losing it. Laughter bubbled in the back of my throat.

  “A boyfriend. Will he join you in the valley?” His expression of polite enquiry was back. I didn’t believe it for a second.

  It was almost like he was forcing himself to remain calm—like me continuing to talk with him was of utmost importance.

  But that was crazy.

  The guy just had one seriously intense personality.

  Ignoring his probing question, I looked out at the river, admiring the water pouring down in the three large waterfalls from high above.

  A soft laugh left the muscled, suited man beside me. “No more personal questions. I can take a hint. None more than necessary if we’re to work together.”

  “Thank you,” I said, surprised when the words left my lips.

  He maintained a professional distance, leaning against the poor fence again. “You’d need to play Thursday through Saturdays. Nights, of course. Let’s say six until the DJ takes over—around nine-thirty. Sometimes, we have events on Sundays, but we won’t require
music on Monday and Tuesdays. I usually pay bands $100 an hour including set up time. Seeing as it’s a regular gig for you, how about $50?”

  That was double my hourly rate as a receptionist. Ten and a half hours guaranteed at $50, then there was tax.

  … I could count on $400 a week. More than two hundred less than I’d earned in my full-time reception job. Of course, my costs were less now without Mum to feed and care for.

  But how much would rent be? I’d need to talk with Herc or find somewhere else. Was food more expensive in Deception Valley? Petrol certainly was, and I also had that to consider.

  Budget first. Accept job later.

  “Is that your best pay rate?” I asked.

  His eyes gleamed. “What’s your proposal? There’s wiggle room. Remember though, it is regular work.”

  “And regular entertainment for your establishment. Seems like that’s hard for you to get out here,” I countered, not offended. Business was business. I understood that blind charity didn’t put food on the table. He wanted the best deal. I wanted the best deal. The best negotiator won—even better if they won without the other believing they’d made the larger concession.

  The man’s eyes roamed over me, and I didn’t imagine the heat and interest there. Yep, the dinner offer wasn’t the professional kind.

  And double yep, this guy was the yummiest thing I’d seen in a while.

  Not that it mattered. I was a taken woman and trust between partners was something I’d never shit on.

  “My music fits the vibe you’ve got going on in The Dens.” My gaze drifted to his powerful throat.

  What the fuck? His throat? Throats weren’t hot.

  Except…

  Stubble extended down past his chin and jaw a little, adding to that barely contained rulebreaker look he had going on. He definitely wasn’t a natural suit wearer. The guy wore it like he could burst out of it any second.

  Oh, yeah. I could totally have lumberjack dreams about this one.

  “My thought exactly.”

  I cleared my throat. Oh my god, was I drooling? I licked my lips to check.

  His brows lifted.

  Shoot.

  He was waiting for something… Which was…? Oh!

  I blurted, “I’ll get back to you on the figure, Mr…?”

  “Alarick,” he answered. “No Mister needed.”

  Old school, but not the weirdest name in this town.

  Big dick Alarick.

  My lips twitched.

  He placed his hands in his pockets. “Something funny?”

  Not to anyone else. “Nope. Should I come to the bar tomorrow night with my proposal, or is there a number to call?”

  I’d have a day to research living costs. I’d need enough money to visit Logan too.

  I slapped a hand over my mouth.

  Logan!

  “What’s wrong?” The hand reached for my elbow again, and I gasped, evading it.

  Alarick wrenched away as though burned.

  “Please tell me what’s wrong,” he said, stepping closer.

  I hadn’t even thought about Logan in this. I mean, staying in the valley wasn’t a viable option until three minutes ago, but still. Worst girlfriend of the year award.

  Groaning, I backed away from Alarick. “Nothing. I just remembered something though. Thanks for the offer. I’ll get back to you—” My heel caught on the bench leg and I barely prevented myself from sprawling over the pavement.

  I panted, pushing my thick hair back.

  Fucker was grinning.

  My temper flared, narrowing my eyes, but his grin didn’t abate.

  Ugh, guys who could handle my temper were a turn-on.

  “Goodnight, Alarick,” I said, spinning on my throbbing heel.

  “Goodnight...?”

  He didn’t know my name yet? Dimples either forgot it or neglected to pass it on.

  Grinning, I ignored Honey Eyes yet again, disappearing into the crowd.

  “It’s not finalised or anything. There are a few things to figure out.” Smiling, I glanced to where my budget rested on the bed.

  I could make things work with this job. The night hours left me free to get a second job too—full-time work if I wanted.

  When the house sold, it should negate Mum’s debt. I still had my student loans to pay off though, so I’d apply for another part-time job soon.

  Voices bubbled in the background, and I heard Herc’s footsteps and a muted thud before the sound faded. “Sorry, dinner time here. Now, do you need somewhere to stay? There are two rooms in the manor.”

  Herc’s glee wasn’t disguised in the slightest. Slight uneasiness thrummed through me at the renewed manor offer.

  “Hold on. I’m running away with myself,” he said. “There are visitors filling those next week. I can enquire about long-term rentals. Or if you prefer the apartment you’re staying in, you’re welcome to it.”

  Anticipation was a knot in my stomach. I loved this apartment. “I do like it. A lot. What’s the rent?”

  “Nonsense. It’s on me.”

  I suppose Mum took care of the bills at some point in my life, but I couldn’t recall the last time I relied on anyone else. “Thank you. I can’t accept that.”

  “Please do. I’d feel better about missing the first twenty-one years of your life.” He laughed sadly.

  “My mind is made up. Thank you though.”

  “Stubbornness comes with the hair colour in our family.”

  His answer startled a laugh from me.

  Truth.

  Herc added, “How about a compromise? One month rent free. After that, you’ll get the family 50 percent discount. Based on normal rates on that apartment, you’d pay eight hundred a month, utilities included.”

  I’d looked at accommodation prices in the valley earlier. Herc wasn’t taking off more than the family discount. Eight hundred a month in rent was doable on what Alarick offered—totally doable if I wrangled him up to my offered pay rate tonight.

  Except Herc’s offer involved a family discount.

  That had to have strings. Did I want to accept all the hidden family stuff tied to that?

  Surely I could maintain a certain distance with living in town. “Sounds good to me.”

  “Don’t mention it. Now, do you need a job? What’s happening with things back home?”

  His words rushed at me, and I started pacing the apartment.

  Too much.

  “All handled,” I said after a beat. “I might have a job at The Dens, playing music.”

  He inhaled harshly.

  “Herc?” I asked, stopping in my tracks.

  Silence.

  I pulled the phone away to stare at the screen. Still connected. “Hello?”

  “Andie. Sorry. I lost you for a moment.”

  “Can you hear me now?”

  “Fine, thanks. Did you say The Dens?”

  “Yeah, I’m in talks with the owner. The job is perfect.”

  Leaning over the sill, I smiled at the people milling below. The solitude of the valley was unreal, but the energy of the crowd was electric and enticing, too, a natural magnet. I wondered if Cameron and Wade frequented the bar I’d play at. We could have a lot of fun.

  I could have friends again maybe.

  Herc spoke again, “If the deal falls through, get in touch. I’m happy to put the feelers out.”

  I opened my mouth to ask him to do it anyway.

  Although playing sax and keeping my days free wouldn’t be such a bad thing for a few weeks, especially with a rent-free month. I could explore the area and get to know people. Maybe just chill.

  People my age did that, right?

  Chilled.

  Weird.

  We spoke for a few minutes more, and I mentally checked rent off my list when the call ended. I’d already checked Marie’s availability for cleaning. She’d pencilled me in fortnightly on Fridays and was awaiting confirmation.

  The last call to make was the one I most dreade
d. Which meant I’d make it over a drink. At a bar, no less because I was fancy as fuck—and because I didn’t have to pay for petrol back to Queen’s Way.

  Looking in the mirror, I half turned to check my ass in the steel-blue dress, studying the front after. A chrome zip ran from the raised midline of the mid-thigh hem to the low-cut neckline.

  Velvet—secondhand—hugging my curves in the right places. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d worn it. Maybe out to dinner with Logan?

  I partnered the man-killer dress with cream round-toe heels. If no one looked too closely, the chips and cracks in the colour would be missed.

  Running a brush through my thick, wavy hair, I checked my make-up and glared at myself for good measure.

  I shouldn’t be making this effort. I could lie to myself and say I was dressing this nice to be well presented for the job discussion—or to match the people down on the street. Or for myself.

  Yeah.

  Alarick hadn’t left my mind once since last night.

  That made me angry because it felt like a betrayal.

  I really needed to see Logan.

  Plus, there was attraction, then there was whatever I felt around the owner of The Dens. The intensity between us was too high for casual, too high for steady, and just too fucking high across the board. After two failed relationships, I knew keeping my head in a relationship was paramount. Giving men power over me never worked out.

  What Alarick made me feel? No way.

  No way.

  Love didn’t always feel good or make the people in a relationship better. Anything with Alarick had 50 percent disaster written all over it.

  I’d ogle the hot bastard from a distance.

  Logan was the guy for me.

  I scowled again and swiped my purse, checking my cards and phone were inside.

  Locking up, I set off for The Dens, anticipation clenching tight within. This could be my life. Playing music three nights a week. For a living. Waking in this oasis and immersing myself in what the valley had to offer—lakes, cafes, drinks with friends.

  Fuck. I wanted it so bad.

  For the first time in a long time, there were so many possibilities on the horizon. That didn’t make me as nauseous as it did a few days prior.

  “Holy shit, Andie,” I whispered to myself, executing a shuffle in my heels.