Page 29 of A Malicious Menagerie (Fangs & Fables #1)

The Hamburger and the Thief

O n my way to work the next day, I make a stop to pick up a special order, and the guard doesn’t think anything of me bringing in leftovers in a Styrofoam container for my dinner.

Once John and I have traded barbs and he’s left for his side of the menagerie, I sneak my way through the halls and out to the woods with the takeout box in hand.

Chase is waiting for me, and he visibly perks up when he sees what’s in my hand. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Picked it up fresh,” I tell him, stopping at the door to the enclosure.

I hesitate for a moment, but after thinking it over all day, I realized that Chase has been a werewolf since we met.

He was a werewolf yesterday, and the night of the gala, and that day I forgot the divider and he laid his head in my lap.

If he really wanted to hurt me, he’s had ample opportunity.

Instead, all he’s done is comfort me, flirt with me, and protect me.

With these thoughts in mind, I take a surreptitious breath before tapping my key card to the reader. The minute the door opens, I hold the box out to him, and he snatches it up with barely leashed glee.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” he drawls as he pops the lid. He peers down at the perfectly cooked burger, greasy bun, and golden-brown fries as if he’s actually witnessing the baby messiah in a manger. Then, he looks up at me with an expression infinitely more reverent. “Thank you.”

“No big deal,” I mumble, flushing .

“It’s not even from a fast food joint,” he notes in awe as he scrutinizes the burger from every angle.

“It’s from a pub down the street from me. Excellent bar food.”

He gives me a mock pout that’s hard to make out through all that beard. “Are you telling me you went to a bar and picked me up a burger but no beer?”

“If you’re so unhappy with it…” I reach out as if to take the box, and he turns to guard it with his body.

“Nope, never mind, this is great. No beer required.” Without further fanfare, he promptly drops to sit on the ground. I join him, grateful for my thick khakis as I pluck a twig out from under me.

Seeming to have no such discomfort, Chase drops the open box in his naked lap and goes to reach in before pausing. He glances up at me, his dark brows rising in question. “Are you hungry? Do you want some?”

Maybe it’s dumb, but the question makes my eyes burn and my throat tighten with emotion.

This man has been eating raw meat for every meal for over eighteen months, and the first time he’s been offered something more in all that time, his first thought is to share it with me.

“Maybe just a fry,” I choke out at last when his expression morphs from curious to downright concerned by my silence.

He holds out the box between us, and I pluck out a single crispy fry.

I shove it in my mouth before I can say something stupid like that, werewolf or not, he’s the sweetest man I’ve ever met.

Or that sharing a meal, even if I only accepted a single French fry, is so weirdly domestic that it makes my heart pitter-patter and my chest ache.

As I chew, Chase fishes the burger from its bed of Styrofoam and fries.

He makes a big production of breathing in the greasy scent before shooting me a grin that involves a whole lot of fang.

Then, he takes a massive bite, demolishing a third of the burger in one chomp.

He moans as he chews, his dark-fringed eyelids sliding shut with pleasure.

I can only stare at him, gratified and weirdly turned on by his enjoyment.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he rumbles before taking a more moderate second bite.

“You might be biased,” I tease him .

“Nah,” he replies with a grin. “It’s not that I’m biased. It’s all relative, right? First hamburger in over a year, not to mention the excellent company. Why shouldn’t this be the best burger I’ve ever had?”

His words make the flush I barely just recovered from rekindle. Eager to change the subject before I spontaneously combust, I stutter, “S-so, where were you when you had your last burger?”

He considers my question while he pops a fry in his mouth with another pleased hum. “I think I was at a dive bar outside Fairbanks.”

I squint at him. “Fairbanks, Alaska? Why?”

“Because I live there,” he says with a shrug.

“Oh.” I digest this bit of information, remembering that Mathis did say something about finding him in Denali. “Have you lived there all your life?”

“Except for presently, yes,” he answers dryly. “It’s where my pack is.”

“‘Pack,’” I repeat slowly. “As in… all werewolves?”

“Every one of us,” he agrees. “Well, except for a handful of humans, my mom included.”

“How’d she end up living with a bunch of werewolves?” I ask curiously.

He quirks a wry smile, that dimple coming out to play. “To quote her, Dad was a ‘handsome son of a gun.’”

My jaw drops. “And she knew what he was? When she married him?”

“When she mated him. Well…” He stops to consider his words. “I guess technically he did marry her. Since she was human, she wanted a wedding, and he wanted her to be happy.”

“Werewolves don’t get married?”

“Not usually.” He pauses to take another bite of his quickly diminishing burger.

“Unless their mate is human and they want the ceremony. The decision to commit is ceremony enough for a wolf.” Suddenly, he tilts his head in that lupine way of his before turning his amber gaze back to me. “Do you want a wedding?”

“I—what?” I blurt, sure I’m the color of one of the Mothman’s overripe strawberries by now.

“I… well… I’m…” I force myself to take a noisy breath in through my nose and stop stuttering.

“I mean, yeah, I guess I always thought somewhere in the back of my mind that I’d meet the right guy and get ma rried.

Wear a white dress and say my vows and eat cake and all that.

” I make a dismissive gesture. “Not that any of that’s been on my radar for a few years now. ”

“Hmm,” is all the response I get, and now I’m spiraling.

He definitely wasn’t asking because he’s thinking about marrying me.

Definitely not. I mean, we barely know each other.

Have only shared two conversations that he’s been able to actively contribute to.

I’m sure he only asked because he was curious and had a convenient human to poll.

Yep, that’s definitely all it was, and I am way overthinking things.

“Why not?” Chase asks suddenly, startling me from my whirling thoughts.

“Why not what?”

“Why hasn’t getting married been on your radar?”

“Oh, umm.” I tuck some escaped hair behind my ear to cover my awkwardness.

“Well, my mom was diagnosed with cancer when I was in high school, and I guess life kind of ground to a halt after that. There was no time or bandwidth to gossip about boys with friends between doctors’ appointments and chemo treatments.

And the time after she died was kind of…

hazy, if that makes sense. I thought things were starting to get back to some semblance of normal when I started college, and I even dated a little.

But…” I shrug. “Then Nan got sick, and it started all over again.”

Chase is quiet for a moment, and I glance up to find him staring at me with a thoughtful expression. “What?” I ask defensively.

“Nothing. Just… I’m sorry that you had to go through all that. It sounds… lonely.” Something about his expression tells me that he knows a thing or two about loneliness. A kindred spirit, though not at all for the same reasons.

“It was,” I agree softly. “Thank you.”

The silence between us is solemn, though somehow easy. Companionable.

Which makes it all the more startling when Chase breaks it. “So, who’s the right guy?”

“What?” I ask, completely lost now. The man certainly likes to keep me on my toes.

“You said before that you always thought you’d meet the ‘right guy’ and marry him,” he replies, his overly cheerful tone telling me that he’s trying to lighten the mood. “What would you want him to be like?”

Relieved to move on from heavier topics, I reply, “I don’t know. I guess what most women would want their husbands to be like. Kind. Loyal. Funny. Protective. Handsome, though not at the expense of the other things.”

Chase grins, light eyes sparkling like stars, and leans toward me until his firm pecs dusted with dark hair fill my vision.

This close, I can see faint freckles scattered across his sturdy shoulders, and I wonder how much darker they would be after a few hours in the sun instead of this perpetual artificial light.

“If you want to marry me so bad, Anna, all you have to do is ask,” he rumbles, voice husky.

And now I know he’s teasing me. Trying to make me feel better after my vulnerable admission. I roll my eyes and lean away, putting some much-needed space between me and his naked muscles and growly voice and heady scent of pine and clove. “Humble is on my list, too,” I say pointedly.

“Overrated,” he scoffs, returning to his few remaining fries. I take a surreptitious, steadying breath when his attention leaves me.

“So what about you?” I ask, aiming for nonchalance. I pick up the twig I abandoned before and run my fingertips over the imperfections in the bark. “Do you have a she-wolf pining for you back in Fairbanks?”

He snorts as if the idea is preposterous. “Nope.”

“Not a relationship kind of guy?” I wager, my heart sinking at the thought.

Not that it matters if he’s that type of guy. Not that he’d even be entertaining the idea of a relationship in here. God. Like he doesn’t have bigger concerns.

“Waiting for the right girl,” he replies, mirroring me.

“Well, I gave you my list,” I huff playfully. I bump his shoulder with mine and feel a zing at that brief flare of his warmth even through the cotton sleeve of my polo shirt. “So let’s hear it.”

“My dream girl is… fierce,” he finally says after a moment of deliberation.