Page 4 of Chasing the Wolf (Dark Wing #7)

Chapter 4

Xavier

I 'm coming out of the bathroom from my shower to rinse all the schnapps out of my hair when there's a knock on the door and the bear phone next to the bed rings.

"You get the phone. I'll get the door," Colton says.

"Hello," I answer.

"Mr. Northwood?" a female voice asks.

"No, that's my friend. I'm Xavier Wilder."

"Oh, good. I hate to tell you this, but we would like to move you to a different cabin."

"Oh, I see." Mac's really afraid of the room's reputation. Interesting, believing in magic. I have no doubt that there are witches, but a cruise ship cabin blessed with bringing mates together? Definitely happenstance. But if Mac believes it, I'm hanging on to this room. "I rather like this cabin. We're here for Colton's sister's employee benefit. But what if I paid the rack rate for it?"

There's a pause at the other end of the phone. "It's an expensive room, Mr. Wilder." She says it in a respectful tone.

"I'm aware."

"I . . . Can you hold please?"

"Sure." I glance over at the door. Colton's wheeling our luggage in. I hold on to the receiver and pop my bag open until I find something more casual than the outfit I had on this morning. I drop the robe on the side chair and get dressed while I wait.

"Mr. Wilder," the woman says, "you can stay in the room."

"Do you need my credit card?"

"Not at this time. Have a pleasant vacation."

"Thank you." I squint at the receiver as I put it back down on its little bear-belly holder.

"Now we can get this party started." Colton flashes his eyes at me.

I unpack my clothes and pull out my nighttime spray. Yes, I run a men's skin care product line. But all I use is beard cream, soap, and my nighttime room spray. Honestly, I bring all our products with me. It's a habit. But the only one I can't live without is the nighttime soothing sleep spray. We spent months making it. Getting the right scents. It comes in three scents, but cinnamon nightshade is my favorite. Sleeping without it has become a problem for me. I pull the sheets back and give them a spray.

"Holy hell. What is that? It smells like... like... I don't know. Barf." He coughs, rushing past me to the bathroom where he turns on the fan and then opens the door to the balcony. The noises of the harbor clang around the room. "No, you know what it smells like? Not barf. That's a bit strong."

"I'd say so. This is one of our bestsellers. It made twenty percent of the profits last year. I'd love to make another ten or more products like it."

"Okay, okay. Hear me out. It smells like my fucking sister. That's why it makes me want to gag. That's evolution at its finest. It would be weird if I thought my sister smelled good. Kind of gross, actually." He coughs again.

It smells like Mac? The sleeping scent I'm addicted to and the only thing that helps me sleep through the night smells like his sister. I suppose I'd really forgotten what she scented of. It's been a decade since I've been in the same room with her.

"Yes, I suppose you're right. You know, I need to talk to you about something really important." Another knock sounds on the door. "Are we missing any other bags?" I'm still reeling from the significance of me making a scent from a memory I didn't know I had and making it smell like Mackenzie.

"No, this is what I brought." Colton points to his small hard-shell bag.

I latch my belt and answer the door while Colton's throwing his clothes into the armoire and the dresser.

"Good afternoon. You're Xavier Wilder." A female in a Dark Wing uniform, one that looks vaguely medical, stands at the door.

"Yes. I'm sorry, have we met?"

"No, not really. But yes. I run the spa, and I heard you were on board. Forgive me for intruding on your vacation. I was wondering, before you get too busy relaxing, would you be willing to come and talk to the spa clinicians about Raw Timberline Skincare?"

"Go," Colton says. "Do your billion-dollar empire thing, and then we'll chill like the two losers we used to be, working at the old mill while we were in high school."

"Sounds good." I grab my wristband from the dresser and head out the door with... "I'm sorry. What's your name?"

"Brianna Williams. We really are thrilled to have you on board." She punches the button on the elevator.

"How did you know I was going to be on board?"

"It's all over Raw Timberline Skincare's social media account."

"Oh, is it now?" I smile at her, pulling out my phone. I haven't been in charge of the social media for Raw Timberline since before we pivoted—and pivoted hard, going from a paper mill to an upscale skin product company. But there it is. A picture of me in front of the Dark Wing. A very photoshopped picture of me in front of the ship. "Look at that." I flash it to her.

"Yeah, I mean, that's a horrible photoshop job. But you're still here, and we can get some better shots of you up at the spa, holding products."

"Wow, that's wonderful. You know what they say: there's no such thing as bad publicity. But I wonder if we could keep me being here more private, at least until after I'm off the ship?"

"Oh, yeah. Of course. We host lots of celebrities, and we never post anything without their approval and the approval of Dark Wing’s PR," Brianna says.

The clinicians are standing in a semi-circle when I enter. I've been on cruise ships before. When a cruise line buys into our products for their spa and cabins, it's a big deal. Usually before the ship leaves the dock, they make the spa open for passengers to tour. It seems like it's no different today. And while Brianna said she wasn't going to post anything, the guests touring the spa are under no such promise. I count at least three phones pointed toward me. I smile and put my best Raw Timberline Skincare product face forward—something that has been happening ever since I started starring in commercials and print campaigns.

"Thank you so much for spending an hour with us," Brianna says as I finish shaking hands with the last clinician.

"It's no problem. And I'll make sure my assistant gets you those new lines to try."

Brianna claps and hops, her waist-long chestnut hair swaying with her enthusiastic movements. "That really is so exciting. Thank you."

"Not a problem. I loved seeing how excited everyone was. And I believe in our products."

She smiles at me. "They're easy products to believe in."

I smile back at her and head up to the pool deck. I need to find out some more about Mac. Like where she works and where her cabin is. My first stop is the tiki bar where I got my drink shower. The petite bartender and her wolf shifter counterpart are still working the bar. Only it's a heck of a lot busier now. I find an opening at the end of the bar that has no view of the big screen.

The male wolf shifter comes over to me first. "What can I get you?"

I nod. "A beer, whatever's on tap."

"Oh, I didn't recognize you without the drinks poured over you. On the house. Since the drinks have already been on you." He pushes a beer across to me and brings out a new basket of dried tropical fruit trail mix.

"Thanks." I tip the beer back. "It's good."

"One of my favorites. A microbrewery local to here in Florida. That's Alligator Alley Brew. Dumb name, good product."

"A good name is important." I take another sip of beer and tilt my head, getting an inch of the giant screen and the game on it. "How was Mac after all the drama?"

"Mackenzie?" He shrugs, the ease in his demeanor gone. “Okay.”

"Thanks, but I got it. " I drop a hundred-dollar bill on the bar and push it across.

He glares at the bill and doesn't pick it up. "Who are you to Mackenzie? I've never seen her so upset before. Throwing a drink on a passenger? Yeah, that's not something she does on a normal cruise."

"Fair enough." It's good that she has real friends. People who want to protect her. Fuck, that's all I've ever wanted to do. Even when I was being a downright asshole, I was protecting her from my asshole father. And to a point, her parents. Though I think they were just reacting to the situation we were in. The mess that is our pack. That will be cleared up soon. My brother and I will handle Dad. Recreating the economics of the town had to happen first. "You've known her for a while?"

"Listen, you can't be all bad. You took a drink thrown on you multiple times with grace. You've got alpha vibes but not enough to set Rama's Alpha Sensitivity Syndrome into a tailspin. But I'm not going to give you insider trading knowledge on Mackenzie. 'Cause like I said, she doesn't throw drinks on people. And she sure as hell doesn't talk to anyone or anything from her last pack. So you can buddy up all you want, drop bills on the table all you want. Her friendship with Rama and me means more than that C note."

"Heard. Excellent beer, though." I raise the bottle to him. Alphas and ASS can be tough for a lot of shifters.

"It is. Let me get those guys over there, then I'll get you my second favorite."

"Sounds like a plan." I glance back at the coffee shop raised above the pool deck. There's smoke coming out of the Java Lava sign.

I sit for a while, taking in passengers wandering around the pool deck. There's a father chasing a cub who's run away from a pregnant female holding her belly. She's trying to get some sleep in a lounger while another cub plays with the mother's hair. Me from ten years ago would be upset, thinking this was a booze cruise and not a place for mixed generations. I never wanted cubs. Not back then. But I think I just didn't want them with Venus. She's rigid. I can't imagine her letting a cub braid her hair while she closed her eyes. Or a house full of laughter. It would be too much like how I grew up.

Not sure how, as an alpha, I pictured never having a cub. But that's where I landed. But now, seeing Mac? Just for a minute, after seeing the passion in her eyes when she threw the drink, I've got to wonder, does she want cubs?

I'm getting ahead of myself. A barstool opens up with a view of the Kunyon game I don't care about. I take my mostly finished beer and the basket of dried fruit and sit down. I've told the office that I'm not to be contacted, but I pull my phone out to give them a warning about possible pictures of me at the spa.

There's a message from Colton.

Colton: Where are you?

Me: Pool deck, back at the tiki bar. Any word from Mac? I erase Mac and write , your sister?

Colton: No, so she can't be too mad then. I'm going to take a nap.

Me: Hey, can you give me Mac's phone number so I can apologize?

Colton: Apologize? She's the one who threw the drink at you.

Me: We're going to be running into her while we're here. I should have her number.

Colton: Why?

Fuck.

Me: I don't know. What if you fall overboard?

Colton: Why would I do that? Are you planning on pushing me?

Me: Maybe.

Colton: Fine.

Her info pops up on my phone. He's got her labeled as "Mac-Attack, aka pain-in-my-ass" in his contacts. I transfer her info into my phone and label it "Mackenzie Northwood." There's some residual anxiety about making contact with her. Worrying for her safety. Putting her number on my phone makes it real. Makes the danger from my father real. Things are a lot different from ten years ago.

My thumb hovers over her name. I'll just send her a quick message...

No. I need to keep things light for now. She doesn't have ASS like the petite bartender working on the other side of the bar—or, if she does have it, she’s doing a really good job working through her discomfort, because I'm not the only alpha type around.

Mac doesn't want to hear from me. Not yet. I put my phone back in my pocket. There's no one I want to hear from. No one who has my number.

"Pete," the bartender says, taking away my old bottle and setting down a new one.

"Xavier."

"Ah, no. I'm Gordon. The beer's called Peet. It's got an earthy undertone."

"You mean it tastes like dirt? What are you doing to me, Gordon?" I laugh.

"It's good. Give it a try."

"I'll trust you." I take a swig, and the crowd rises up, their yellow and black towels spinning above their heads. Pittsburgh fans. Doesn't matter the sport, they're all nuts. The beer's good, though. Really good. Earthy doesn't necessarily mean dirt. Throwing a drink at someone doesn't mean you hate them.

Fuck it. I pull out my phone and text Colton. But then I decide to finish my beer and go talk to him.