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WARNER

The bar smells different.

There’s the normal mixture of beer, leather, old wood, motor oil, and the scents of all my pack mates. Courtney and her sparkly boots brought some friends, and one was liberal with her grapefruit perfume. But she’s hung around The Rabbit Hole before, so I’m used to the smell.

The hint that lurks underneath all those is what catches my attention.

Something sweet and earthy. Like maple syrup tapped directly from the tree.

Doesn’t take long to realize what’s different about my normal haunt.

She’s sitting at the bar.

A few of the other guys notice too. Every one of them has as good of a nose as I do. As we settle in, multiple heads turn toward the stranger.

She keeps her face angled away from us, as if fully focused on her drink. The opposite reaction of Courtney and her two friends. We’ve barely got our butts in chairs before they’re mixing in with us.

The smallest of the group, one with red hair and big blue eyes, focuses on me. Not perfume girl. This one is new, although I’ve seen her around town.

Not like the woman at the bar.

The redhead’s interest is flattering, and another night, I might have folded myself into the larger group and flirted with her. But tonight, I want to solve the mystery of the newcomer with the tantalizing scent.

I sidle over to my older brother. Roderick leans against a wall, performing what I am convinced is his favorite activity—emulating the unmoving intimidation of a stone gargoyle.

But even as he holds himself still, I can sense the energy thrumming off him. We’re all a little high after our ride. Soaring down the open road on our bikes is almost as good as a full-moon run.

Still, as our leader, Roderick would never let his baser nature make him look like anything other than an unwavering hard-ass.

“Who’s that?” I settle on the wall next to him, a little too close on purpose, my shoulder knocking into his.

He doesn’t even wobble.

I’ll have to try some other way to set him off-balance.

He glances toward the woman at the bar, then shrugs. “Outsider.”

“Really? That’s your best guess?”

“She’s not from here.” My brother points out with a judgmental note in his voice. Anyone who isn’t a local automatically lands on his shit list.

“Wow. You are a fount of information. Seriously, you should charge money for that kind of insider knowledge.”

Roderick growls at me, and I smirk at him before retreating. Normally, his grumpiness wouldn’t faze me, but if I piss him off too much, he might decide to kick the stranger out.

Moose owns the bar, but everyone knows who’s really in charge.

“Hey, Warner. Why don’t you come sit with us?” Courtney has made her way over to me, grinning like she’s about to do me a huge favor. “My friend Missy”—she tilts her chin toward the redhead—“wants to meet you.”

“Of course she does. I’m a charming guy.” I offer my cheekiest grin, not making any promises.

Courtney and I have been friends since we were in diapers, and at some point, she made it her personal mission to act as my wingwoman. Probably because it exasperates me, which she finds hilarious.

“Nice boots, by the way. I’ve always dreamed of wearing a disco ball on my feet.”

She returns my smile with a saucy one of her own. “You like? If you ask nicely, maybe I’ll make you a pair.”

She stretches out her toned, tanned leg, letting the little jewels on her boot catch the light. Something in her movement snags the attention of the mystery woman. Her head turns, stare seeking out Courtney’s boots.

She’s cute.

If there was a battle for the descriptor of hot, Courtney would win.

But the woman still holds my focus with her dramatically curved Cupid’s bow lips. Probably aware of just how interesting that lip is, she went so far as to pierce it. A tiny golden stud, like a beauty mark, makes it hard to convince myself to leave off staring at her mouth.

Everything about her is brown and gold.

Brown eyes. Golden lashes. Brown and golden brows, bright against her pale skin.

She’s maple syrup poured over a perfectly cooked waffle.

Then, she meets my eyes.

Finding me staring at her, she jerks back slightly.

I expect her to blush, maybe duck her head. Or if she’s looking for a good time, give me an inviting smile.

Mystery Woman chooses none of the above.

Instead, she stares back, just for a moment, before tightening her mouth into a polite smile. Then, after a shallow nod that seems to say, I saw you staring, but we’re done with that now , she turns back to her drink.

“Ooh. Denied.” Courtney chuckles, having watched the barely existent exchange.

About to retort, I’m distracted when Mystery Woman reaches into the bag on her lap and pulls out what appears to be a mess of string. She fiddles with it for a moment, finally dislodging a metal implement. Her fingers manipulate the item until I realize she’s making something. Like she’s knitting.

In a bar.

A biker bar.

I … can’t.

I cannot see any reality where I end this night without speaking to a woman who brings crafts to one of the most dangerous places in town.

“I don’t give up easily,” I murmur, maneuvering around Courtney.

Unfortunately, on my way to meet Mystery Woman, the redhead named Missy acts as a roadblock, stepping into my path. I consider dodging around her too. But I’ve never been the type to blow people off. She deserves respect, even if I don’t want to date her.

Every woman is interesting in her own way, but none have ever knitted while they flirted. Maybe that’s why my hookups have dwindled over the past years.

“Hi, Warner, right? Courtney told me about you.” Missy blinks at me, hopeful.

“Don’t listen to anything she said. She’s a notorious liar.”

I smile so the girl knows I’m joking. And girl is the right word to describe her. This close, I’m able to see every detail of her sweet, round face, and I’d put money down that she’s only been able to legally get into a bar for a handful of months.

I might even guess younger, but everyone in this town knows it’s a colossally bad idea to try a fake ID at The Rabbit Hole.

“Oh, I don’t think so. I can already see she was telling the truth about some things.”

Her gaze trails up and down my body, and I try not to sigh in frustration.

Mystery Woman sips her drink. Her glass is almost empty.

When she finishes, will she leave? When she leaves, will she disappear?

“Jim!” I reach out to grab the arm of the newest member of the club.

He’s a nice guy. Nervous but nice. His eyes immediately land on Missy’s low neckline, but then quickly jump up to her face.

“Jim, this is Missy. Missy, this is Jim. Did you know that Jim got into a fight with a bear?”

I’m not even lying. It’s a badass story.

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows curve up. “Really?”

Jim reaches back to scratch his neck, self-conscious, but he grins at the girl. “Yeah …”

“I’ll let you tell it.” I give him an encouraging push, relieving myself of any guilt about abandoning the guerrilla-warfare dating setup.

The Rabbit Hole has never seemed so crowded before. It’s like every member in the club wants to call out my name or stand in my path.

By the time I reach the bar, it’s all I can do not to collapse into the stool beside Mystery Woman. Pulling myself together, I sit down and lean my elbows on the bar. Like I’m more interested in getting Moose’s attention than catching her eye.

My act crumbles the second she turns her head to look at me. I’m not about to play hard to get when all I want is to hear her voice.

Will it sound as good as she smells?

She’s fucking intoxicating. And she’s also silent, which means my mouth takes the lead.

“You looking to join the club? Because I gotta tell you, it’s a rigorous initiation process, and I’m not convinced you’re up for it.”

Her maple-brown eyes widen as she stares at me. “Which club?”

“The Dark Moon Riders.” I turn my back to her briefly, showing off the patch on my vest, then lean in close, doing my best to be subtle about the fact that I’m breathing in more of her scent. This close, I could easily drown in it and die happy. “You’re in our bar, you know?”

Some other guys here would add an edge to their voice. A warning.

But I keep my words light. She’s the last person I want to scare.

And why is that?

She glances behind me at the group that’s getting rowdier with every pitcher of beer, then scans the entire bar. There’s only a shadow of curiosity on her face. Not a single bit of fear.

Not that I want her to be afraid. But sometimes, fear is the smartest reaction to have.

“Is this a bar you all happen to drink at, or is it your bar?” She watches me, her fingers still moving, looping and hooking the yarn, as if all she needs is touch to create whatever she’s making.

“It’s mine. It’s ours. The Rabbit Hole is Dark Moon territory.”

I can’t take my eyes off her hands. The motion is hypnotizing.

I imagine her fiddling with her project in front of a warm fireplace, curled up in an overstuffed chair, the flickering light playing with the gold in her hair. And when the night grows cold and the fire isn’t warm enough to keep her from getting chilled, she’ll look around for a blanket. But I’ll have the only one, and she’ll have to crawl under it with me. So I can keep her warm.

“Territory? That sounds a little possessive. But I guess you’re not too restrictive on who you let in, right? Since the crochet club meets here?”

This stops my mind on its imaginary trip. I examine her face, trying to decipher if she’s joking. But there’s no playful smile or silly wink. She just watches me, waiting for a response.

“Crochet club?”

She nods. “I saw the flyer at the library. Sip ’N’ Stitch at The Rabbit Hole every Wednesday evening.” She holds up her yarn. “But I guess they canceled tonight’s meeting. Unless you all …” Her busy fingers take a break as she waves to indicate the group of bikers behind me.

I bite my lip until I have my grin under control. “Unless we all …”

“Do any of you crochet? Or knit?”

The hopeful rise of her brows sets off an excited buzz in my chest. I shake my head.

“Needlepoint?”

“Sorry. I think you’ve got the wrong place.”

Her face drops, a frown twisting her lips. “But the flyer … here, can you hold this?”

The craft she’s been working on gets shoved into my hands before she dives into her bag.

I sit patiently, grinning all the while.

She is blatantly uncaring that she’s not only making some kind of scarf in the middle of a biker bar, but that she also just asked one of said bikers to hold her project while she hunts through her purse.

Who is this woman?

“Ha! Got it.” She pulls out a phone and swipes her thumb across the screen. “I took a picture of the flyer. Look.”

Tilting the device so I can see, she zooms in on a neon-blue flyer.

“See? Sip ’N’ Stitch. Every Wednesday. Seven p.m. at the …”

When she pauses, I finish for her, “Wild Rabbit.”

“Damn,” she whispers, glaring at her phone. “Double damn.”

The curses are sweet on her lips. They make me want to hear more dirty words from her mouth.

After a weary sigh, she downs the last of her bourbon and retrieves her yarn creation from me, only to stow it into her bag.

“Are you leaving?” I can’t stifle the tinge of disappointment in my voice.

“Two rabbit bars? In the same town? Is there some theme I don’t know about?” she mutters to herself, ignoring my question and laying cash down beside her empty glass before typing something on her phone.

“That might help with tourism. Make everything in town revolve around rabbits. We could have a whole festival. Maybe a running of the rabbits. Fill the streets with them.” My jokes come out fast and desperate.

Because she’s leaving. I want to get her to laugh. Get her to stay.

She pauses, raising her eyes from her phone, awarding me with her full attention and a brief smile.

Only the expression seems sad. Which might as well be an energy drink for my curiosity.

“Thanks for … sitting in my vicinity, I guess. Have a good night, Biker Boy.”

Biker Boy?

She doesn’t know my name.

I never told her my name.

And she hasn’t given me hers.

This is not how this ends.

As she heads toward the exit, my instincts demand I do something. Anything.

Because the second her sweet scent teased my nose, filled my lungs, my wolf took notice.