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7

WREN

I tucked my Arcane tee into my jeans, smoothing out the invisible wrinkles like I’d smoothed my hair half a dozen times. There was no denying I was on edge. Sleep hadn’t come easily or for long. And when it did, it was punctuated by nightmares of Bastian finding me and dreams of Kingston that were far from nightmarish. Hours later, my skin still felt overheated.

Crouching down, I ran my fingers along the floorboards until I found the one I’d strategically loosened. Pressing on one side, I flipped it up and pulled out the worn shoebox, taking a deep breath before opening it. Inside were all the things that made me feel safe.

A pay-as-you-go phone. An untraceable tablet. Cash. Extra IDs.

I counted the dollars. It wasn’t enough to get me that far, and as much as a part of me wanted to run fast and far, I knew it wasn’t the smart play. There’d be wolf shifters everywhere I went. And maybe if I had one in my daily life, I wouldn’t be as at risk for my beast to tip over into feral territory.

I’d heard the warnings countless times. About how going lone wolf could lead to insanity or your animal taking the reins permanently. I’d felt how hard I had to battle my wolf into submission each time I shifted lately. Maybe this would help her.

She let out a haughty huff in answer as if to say, “Like that’d do the trick.”

I knew what she wanted. What a part of me wanted, too. To know what it was like to lose myself to Kingston. To feel his fingers digging into my hips as he took me. To truly let go.

But it was more than that. I craved the feeling of strong arms around me in a simple hug. To know I was safe. Cared for.

Those were the more dangerous dreams. Because they meant trusting someone, and that was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

My eyes burned as I put everything back into place and tested the board to make sure it was secure. I’d run a check on Bastian’s pack last night in an attempt to set myself at ease. There were no signs that he or anyone else was anywhere near the-middle-of-nowhere Colorado. It should’ve been a relief. But it hadn’t eased a damn thing.

Pushing to my feet, I smoothed my shirt again and headed for the door. I took nothing with me except my phone and keys when I worked a shift. Having both allowed me to bolt to my vehicle, where I had a separate stash of IDs and cash. I always divided things. Never put everything in one spot. It was too risky.

Slipping out of my apartment, I took the time to lock both the deadbolt and the doorknob. Then, I steeled myself and headed downstairs. I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to put my armor into place. We didn’t open for another thirty minutes, and it wasn’t like Kingston would be waiting for me.

Just thinking his name had images of one of the dreams flashing in my mind—one hand fisting in my hair, the fingers of the other digging into my flesh. His—I let out an oomph as I crashed into what felt like a cement wall.

Stumbling back a few steps, someone caught me by the arm to keep me from falling. The surprise of it all had my emotional shields slipping just like my damn guard had last night. The contact of the hand on my bicep had icy claws of agony ripping through me. Physical touch when my shields were down, meant that everything was intensified—the good, the bad, and the ugly. Or in this case, the tortured.

“Easy, Birdie,” a deep voice said, one that was all smoke and whiskey coated in a British tenor.

I jerked my arm free, slamming up my mental shields and trying to take in the man in front of me. Nothing about his appearance or expression read emotional agony , but I’d felt it, nonetheless. The man opposite me was almost as tall as Kingston, and he had to be six foot five. This guy was broader and slightly stockier, but he was also in shape. His biceps looked like they could crack walnuts or human necks.

His blond hair was slightly disheveled as if he’d repeatedly run his fingers through it. There was thick scruff along his jaw that said he hadn’t shaved in days, and those green eyes... They pinned me to the spot with a mix of mirth and concern. But it was the scent that had me frozen.

Smoky whiskey and wolf.

I stumbled back a few more steps, my fingers itching to reach for the blade hidden in the waistband of my jeans. “Who are you? We aren’t open.”

The man grinned, straight white teeth practically blinding me as amusement filled his expression. “I’m Puck. You must be Wren. Dina told me all about you. Well, minus that you’re fucking gorgeous. But I’m not surprised there. She always leaves out the important details.”

My head spun. Between his pain still ricocheting through me and the allure of his scent, I was about to lose it .

“You look like you need something to eat. Come on.” Puck reached out as if to take my arm again, but I jerked away.

“Don’t touch me,” I snarled.

Puck instantly retreated, holding up both hands in surrender. “All right, Birdie. I’ve got a friend who’s the same way. Hands off, I promise. But I do make a mean grilled cheese, and I feel like you could use one.”

My eyes narrowed in his direction. “Who. Are. You?”

He didn’t seem offended in the slightest, simply flashed that easy grin again. “I told you. I’m Puck.” He tapped the Arcane emblem on his tee, which seemed far more worn than mine. “Resident bartender.”

Surprise flared as my brows rose, not doing a damn thing for the headache I was currently rocking. “The one who was off climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro?”

“That was last time, but it’s good that Dina’s been bragging about me. She said she wouldn’t miss me, but I knew she was lying.”

It was clear that Puck was a charmer, someone used to talking women into anything, but his chatter was too much on top of everything else. “Could you stop talking for just a minute?”

“You’re the one who keeps asking me questions, Birdie.”

I snapped my mouth closed at that.

Puck inclined his head toward the kitchen and headed in that direction. Like an idiot, I followed. But if he made a move, I had my blade and my fists.

He gestured to one of the stools on the opposite side of the island. “Headache?”

Another wave of surprise hit me as I slid onto the stool. “I get migraines.”

Puck winced. “I’ll get you fixed right up. Caffeine, food, and pain pills.”

“Over-the-counter only, and I get them from the bottle.”

His green gaze roamed over me, trying to read beneath my words. The study was so similar to Kingston’s that I knew they had to be from the same pack. It made sense. Both had been out of town at the same time. I wondered if they actually had a security company. Maybe it was simply pack business.

Puck bent, opened a cabinet, and grabbed something from inside. As he straightened, he slid a bottle across to me. “Here you go.”

I caught it easily and read the label. Over-the-counter. That was good. I never risked anything stronger because I couldn’t afford to have my reflexes dulled. The last time that’d happened, I almost ended up dead.