Page 3
I smell her before I see her.
Beneath the stench of stale beer, cheap cologne, fried food, and too many men who don’t know how to bathe, there’s something else.
Something sweet.
Something pure.
Something mine.
Fuck. No.
I slam a mental fist against the thought, but it doesn’t matter. That word lingers in my head, in my blood, in the part of me that isn’t human enough to ignore what she is to me.
I can’t have her. I know I can’t.
But I can’t stay away, either.
For weeks now, I’ve been lingering outside, parked just far enough away that no one notices, just watching. Protecting.
She works too damn hard. Almost every night, I watch her wipe down that bar, pick up after assholes who don’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.
I want to help. I want to do something.
But what the hell am I supposed to do? Walk in there and tell her she belongs to a monster?
Yeah. That’d go over real well.
Arliss doesn’t know I’m here.
No one does.
She’s my secret.
My addiction.
The curvy little goddess who has no idea she has an animal like me wrapped around her finger.
But tonight, I break my own rules.
Because I see some drunken fuck as he stumbles out of the bar, still on his phone, reeking of beer and piss.
Missed the urinal, huh? Classy.
I wouldn’t have given him a second glance. But then I heard what he said.
“Yeah, she’s here. The one with the fat ass. Yeah, I’m gonna make my move. Ol’ Freddy Love got something all the girls need. Don’t you worry. Imma fuck that one good. It’s a bet!”
My vision goes red.
My Bull snarls inside me, pawing at the ground, already itching to charge.
Did this fucker just?
Oh. Fuck. No.
I don’t even realize I’ve moved until I’m inside the bar, settling onto a stool like I belong here.
I don’t.
But she does.
And I’ll be damned if I let some walking infection lay a hand on her.
I sit at the bar. I wait.
And then— she sees me.
Her baby blues flick to mine, and my Bull lets out a satisfied snort.
I swear I see something flicker behind those eyes.
Recognition?
Interest?
Annoyance?
Hell, I’d take any of the above.
Because she noticed me.
And I’m such a fucking sap, I don’t care why.
I just sit there, staring at her like some love-struck idiot, because fuck, she’s so goddamn pretty.
And if Freddy Love so much as breathes in her direction tonight?
I’m going to show this town exactly why you never piss off a Bull Shifter.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Romeo.”
Her voice is dripping with sarcasm, but I swear to God, it shivers down my spine like a fucking caress.
I should play it cool. Should not sit here grinning like the idiot I am.
But I do.
Because it’s her.
“Evening, Mo Chroí ,” I reply instantly, the Gaelic slipping out like a truth I didn’t know I was waiting to say.
Her brows knit together, curious. Intrigued. “Moe Kree?” she repeats, tilting her head in that way that should not be sexy.
But fuck, it is.
Her shoulders move in the smallest shrug, an elegant little lift, and I swear I almost groan.
Are shoulders even supposed to be sexy?
I don’t fucking know.
I’ve never thought about shoulders a day in my goddamn life.
But hers? Perfect.
Just like the rest of her.
The cascade of blonde curls brushing the curve of her throat. Those brilliant blue eyes, framed by inky lashes long enough to make a man believe in sin.
Her mouth is soft, lush. A bow of perfect temptation.
I wanna lick it.
Hell, I wanna stamp myself all over her. Every fucking inch of her.
Because all of it is just darling. Every morsel—sublime.
And every part of me wants to ruin her.
Mine.
“I said, what can I get you?”
She’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Shit. Maybe I have.
How many times has she asked me that?
“Uh, beer,” I say, even though I couldn’t care less about a drink.
“Beer. Okay. What kind?”
I blink. She’s still watching me, expecting an answer.
“Oh, uh, whatever’s on tap is fine,” I say quickly, like I haven’t just been sitting here imagining how soft her skin would feel under my hands.
“It’s nice out tonight.”
I don’t know why I say it. Maybe to make myself seem less .
Less intense.
Less obsessed.
Less fucking starving for her.
She makes a noncommittal sound, and I wonder what it means.
It’s like my anxiety is giving me fucking anxiety and I wonder if she can feel it.
But Arliss isn’t shook.
Not the way I am.
She just turns her back on me, going about her job like she isn’t driving me insane.
And I shouldn’t look.
I should not fucking look.
But my eyes betray me.
Zero in on the perfect curve of her ass hugged tight in those sinfully fitted jeans.
A little black apron cinches her waist, the strings tied in a bow that rests just above the swell of her ass.
She’s a fucking present.
Wrapped up just for me.
And I think I might actually be drooling.
“Here you go,” she says, setting the beer in front of me.
I force myself to meet her gaze. “Thanks.”
I open my mouth, desperate to say something, anything to make her stay.
But she’s already gone, moving down the bar, tending to the next customer like I’m nothing more than another guy in a seat.
It’s gonna be a long night. I know that already.
I should leave her to it.
But I can’t. I won’t.
I hear the asshole at the table behind me, running his mouth about her to his buddies.
Then I scent them.
Shit.
These fucking cowboys aren’t just drunken idiots looking to cause a scene.
They’re Shifters.
Something feline.
The musk of predator and arrogance curls in the air, a sharp contrast to the booze and greasy food.
Cougars, maybe? Jaguars?
Doesn’t matter. What matters is there are four of them and one of me.
But I’m big.
I’m tough.
I’m mean.
I’ve fought worse odds before. Hell, I lived worse odds.
Only now, I don’t have to.
Because I have something I never had before.
A Crew.
I take a slow pull of my beer, my muscles loose, my expression easy. Then I reach for my phone, dialing the only other unmated male at Motley Crewd Ranch.
The line picks up after one ring.
“How the fuck did you get my number?” Zeke snarls, his voice laced with something inhuman.
I wince at the deep, guttural sound.
“Aw, don’t be like that.” I smirk, baiting him because I can. “I know you’re part of our friendship text circle.”
Silence.
Then a pissed-off growl. “We do not have a fucking friendship text circle, Meat.”
I chuckle because he’s wrong. We totally do.
Zeke is just in denial.
The overgrown lizard is a big softie—he just doesn’t know it yet.
“Seriously, Meat. What the fuck do you want?”
I grind my teeth at the nickname but shake it off. This is just his affectionate way of communicating.
“Well, I just thought you should know we got some pussies in town,” I say, keeping my voice light. “And they’re stinking up the watering hole.”
Zeke exhales hard. “You at that bar again, Meat? Damn. I never knew you to take so long to bag a broad. Why don’t you just take that girl home and fuck her out of your system already?”
My Bull sees red.
My fingers tighten around the phone.
“Hey, be fucking respectful, Zeke. That’s the only warning you get.”
There’s a pause. A low hum of understanding.
Then his tone shifts. “I see. Okay. Pussies in town. Got it. I’ll tell Max and Emmet, though you could’ve called them yourself.”
“Nah. It ain’t worth bothering them. But I figured someone should know.”
“You need backup, man?”
I pause. Because, holy shit, that’s a Dragon Shifter offering help.
And I’m touched. Really.
“I don’t think so. Thanks, though.”
Because let’s be real.
I’m built for this shit.
I spent most of my life fighting, and I can handle a few overconfident cats.
But what I can’t seem to handle?
Arliss.
I can’t seem to steer clear of that buxom blonde beauty.
My Bull is obsessed.
But that fear, the one that’s kept me running my whole life , grips me by the throat.
I sit in that bar and two things are clear as goddamn day:
Arliss is human. She isn’t part of my world.
My Bull doesn’t give a single fuck about that.
Which is how I end up on my feet before my brain even catches up.
And the cowboy who just ran his mouth about her has his face slamming into the bar top before anyone else even notices.
It goes down like this, see, he stands, saunters up to the bar where my girl is wiping down glasses.
He leans in, voice dripping with sleaze. “Hey there, what time you getting off, Pumpkin? So I know what time we’ll both be getting off.”
“Really?” Arliss shakes her head in disgust.
“Come on, girlie. You don’t wanna miss this,” he says and grabs his dick over his jeans in a lewd gesture.
“I’ll pass,” she replies.
“You mean you’ll pass out when you get a taste of all this here action, right?”
The bastard laughs.
Like he thinks he’s funny.
Arliss frowns, opening her mouth— probably to tell him to go fuck himself because she’s a total fucking badass who can handle herself —but I don’t give her the chance.
My hand is already around his neck.
And his face is already meeting the bar.
Hard.
The whole place goes quiet.
I lean in, voice low, dangerous.
“Is that any way to talk to a lady?”
The cowboy groans, sputtering, his cheek mashed against the wood.
Arliss is staring at me, eyes wide, lips parted.
And fuck me if she doesn’t look just the slightest bit turned on.
I might be going to hell for this.
But at least I’ll go there knowing she’s mine.
“Oh my God! Did you just?—”
Arliss is staring at me, shock written all over her face, those soft lips parted like she can’t believe what she just saw.
I don’t look at her.
Because if I do, I’ll get distracted. And right now?
Right now, my rage is still simmering.
“Don’t worry about him. I got it.” My voice is steady, smooth.
Like I didn’t just nearly put this prick through the fucking bar.
I haul Asshole to his feet, ignoring his pained groan, and frog-march his sorry ass right back to his table.
Then I shove him at his friends, making sure they feel the weight of his bruised, bloodied body.
I want them to feel it.
I want them to remember.
“Listen up, fuckheads, ‘cause I’m only gonna say this once. Leave. Her. Alone.”
The table erupts.
“The fuck you do to Tim?!”
“You fucking bastard!”
“He knocked out my goddamn tooth!” Asshole, aka Tim, yelps, spitting the bloody thing into his palm like he expects someone to fix it.
I glance down at it.
Fucking gross.
Then I look back at them, keeping my voice calm.
Controlled.
Deadly.
“Unless you want to start a fight that’ll bring the Council down on our heads, I suggest you stop spitting and hissing like a litter of kittens and shut the fuck up.”
I let that sink in.
One second.
Two.
Then I lean in just enough that they can feel the heat rolling off me—the weight of my Bull, my strength, my absolute fucking certainty that I’d take them all apart if they so much as blink the wrong way.
“Now, when Asshole Tim recuperates, and you all decide you do want a fight, my name is Kian O’Malley.”
I let my name hang there, heavy, undeniable.
“I work for Motley Crewd Ranch. You can find me there any day of the week.”
I scan their faces, memorizing each and every one of these pricks.
“Now, like I said, leave this bar and leave that woman alone. Got it?”
Silence.
Tense.
Fuming.
“Goddamnit! My other tooth is loose!”
Asshole Tim groans like a kicked dog, staring down at his palm full of blood while holding one of his molars in his hand.
Again, gross.
I tilt my head.
“He might need a dentist,” I offer, completely straight-faced.
“Fuck you.”
I smirk.
“Not my type, pussycat.”
One of the bushy-haired bastards stands, his hackles still raised.
“This ain’t over, pal!”
I don’t even blink.
“It is for now, pal . Now. Get. Out.”
My Bull snorts and my eyes roll. I can sense them trying to feel me out, so I let some of my heaviness leak from my body like water from a spout.
The table crunches beneath my hands, and I know they’re aware of what I am.
They might outnumber me.
But have you ever seen an angry bull take out an opponent?
They know they’ve lost.
One by one, they slink toward the exit, dragging their wounded like the cowardly little shits they are.
I don’t watch them go.
Because the second I turn back around, Arliss is still staring at me.
And this time?
There’s something in her eyes that wasn’t there before.
Something that hits me like a punch to the gut.
I don’t know what it is.
Curiosity? Maybe even desire?
Whatever it is, it’s dangerous.
To me.
To her.
To the razor-thin control I have over my Bull.
I swallow down a tendril of something too close to fear. Because fuck yes, this woman terrifies the shit out of me.
Not because she’s dangerous.
But because she isn’t.
Because she’s good. Pure. Untouched by the darkness that shaped me.
Because she could ruin me with a single soft look.
And I’d let her.
I force my feet forward, walk back to the bar, and slap a couple of bills down, enough to cover my beer and the mess I caused.
Then, I make an executive decision.
I need to leave.
But fuck, it’s not easy.
Every muscle in my body is coiled tight, screaming at me to stay.
And my Bull?
He’s damn near goring me to death with his horns.
His need to claim, to stake his territory, is a wild, feral thing clawing up my throat.
Stay. Stay. Protect. Keep her.
I grit my teeth, bargaining with my beast.
Need to make sure those pussies leave . Don’t want them causing her trouble , I tell him, forcing logic into the storm of instincts slamming against my ribs.
He snorts, uneasy but accepting.
For now.
God knows I am no good for Arliss.
But knowing that doesn’t mean I can stay away.
Doesn’t mean I can undo whatever has already started here.
I don’t want to corrupt her.
Guilt slams into me, knowing that is exactly what will happen if I go near her.
And I refuse to drag her into my world, into the chaos that lives in my blood.
But keeping her safe?
That’s not a choice.
That’s something I have to do.
And for once, both sides of me, man and Bull , agree without question.