Page 9

O nce Jonah, or should I say Madoc, is gone, I climb in the shower, trying to process. The man who’d seen me through a heat episode was the same man who’d been hunting me down for years?

How did he slip past me? I never trusted strangers, and I certainly didn’t bring them back to my cabin, so why was he different? How did he get past my defenses so easily? Is it because he was handsome and an alpha?

No, I’d never let things like that sway me before. It was something about him.

I almost hadn’t believed Tawny when he’d told me, but then I’d looked across at him, reading his book, my book, and I saw it.

Jonas Smith didn’t exist. He never had. But a part of me already suspected that, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked him to do the background search to begin with. I guess I was just foolishly hoping that I’d been wrong about that niggling in the back of my mind and that Jonas was real.

Even after learning the truth, I still didn’t kick him out of my cabin. I should have confronted him and thrown him out. Instead, I’d swapped numbers with him and promised to talk to him later. And then we kissed goodbye, except it wasn’t just any kiss.

It was a kiss that had my toes curling and my heart feeling like it was going to jump out of my mouth. How could he be the same man who had followed me around Europe wanting to put me in prison for years? It wasn’t adding up. The pieces of this puzzle didn’t fit. There was something I was missing.

Under the hot water, I finally have a moment to take stock of every ache and pain. Every mark, made by teeth, nails and his stubble grazing against my skin.

I was sore and stretched out, but in all the best ways. The urge to breed was still there. The mating season thirst wasn’t quenched completely, but it was more manageable now that I’ve spent the last four days trapped on an alpha’s knot.

Even now, as I’m washing my hair, my cock is half hard just thinking about the way he touched me, the way he looked at me. My hands drift down my chest, my fingers stumbling from smooth, slick skin to raised, jagged scars. Would he still think I was beautiful if he could see the marks of the life I used to live? Would he still look at me in the same way?

That’s why I can’t seem to align the two men, Jonas Smith and Madoc Stirling, because in this cabin he had never looked at me with anything other than reverence, like I was his church and he was prepared to kneel at my altar and worship me for days. Someone who hated you and was hunting you down didn’t do that.

That’s why I wasn’t ready to confront him. It was also why I wasn’t already packing my bags to run away, even though that’s what a smart person would do. Like I said already, sanity has left the building.

There’s a strange hollowness in my chest as I soap myself up. It’s making me uncomfortable, as if something is missing. Is it him? I’d hated the thought of watching him leave earlier, so I’d forced myself to turn away. I'd been raised to shun any attachment outside of The Warren. Flirting and seduction were sometimes part of a job, but I never had lovers for more than a night or a heat episode. I didn’t even have friends until Tawny and Tuesday.

I had grown up knowing that I would be mated to whoever they chose for me. It would be someone carefully selected because not only was I a male omega, which was unusual for my species, but I was also a rare white hare.

The Warren was essentially a cult living under the rule of The Husk, and for some reason they had latched onto this insane idea that I was a symbol of new beginnings. The things they had put me through, the isolation, the training, the punishments—they said that was preparation to herald in the new future I would bring. But I’m not stupid. I know what that means. They used me to make them richer, wringing out every usable drop of me they could. Interpol wasn't the only organization on my tail and, towards the end, I’d become a high-risk asset.

Through the grapevine and whispers that he had collected on his wandering through the Warren’s computer systems, Tawny learned that I was to be matched to a member of The Husk for breeding. Those elderly fuckers were not going to pimp me out to some decrepit old man so I could have his babies. I was supposedly this symbol of power and vitality for the future of The Warren, and yet I wasn’t good enough to be considered as a marriage partner, only as a vessel to breed.

Prior to the Germany job, I had done a series of smaller home burglaries where I’d noticed there were a lot more eyes on me than usual. That’s how I knew they were preparing to put an end to the work I was doing and bring me back into The Warren permanently. I couldn’t let that happen, so we’d moved up my escape plans and made sure Germany was my last run as Gwyn Albin. He died that night, crawling into the burrow and someone else had emerged. It had taken a lot of work and three years on the run before I’d finally become Blue Aubin, so why was I ready to risk that for a man who lied to me about who he was?

Was that the beginning of love? Or just plain stupidity? How was I supposed to know? I’d never let anyone into my cabin until him. Never let anyone stay over and yet I hadn’t wanted him to leave.

There was time to ponder all this later. Right now, there was a grumpy cat shifter on his way to stir up some gossip in Aurora Pines. Plus, I hadn’t texted my boss since the drive home on Saturday night when I’d let him know I’d be taking some time for my heat. I’d have a bit of groveling to do to Ciro when I returned to The Antler.

Grabbing my truck keys, I head out towards the other side of town where the bus station is based. I never imagined someone like Tuesday would ever take the bus, but T had been tracking him, and apparently the pretentious cat had chosen public transport as his mode of travel.

When I pull up to the small station, he’s already standing waiting at the collection point beside a sleek black suitcase. A large suitcase. Just how long was he planning to stay in town for?

He’s wearing a pair of high-waisted black pinstripe trousers, paired with a black and white T-shirt, covered in what appears to be graffiti or doodles. His long hair is pinned up in a messy bun, kept firmly in place with a silver hairpin. I’d seen him stab an alpha with that pin once, when a theft had gotten a little off track. He couldn’t look more out of place for Aurora Pines if he tried. He’s not even wearing a coat, only an oversized black cardigan and a scarf.

Tuesday plays with one of his black snake bite piercings, looking unimpressed as I wind the window down. I didn’t make him take the bus. The man had to be richer than the President with some of the pieces he’d had his sticky fingers on, and yet here he was a little dusty and tired looking after taking public transport.

“It took you long enough,” he says as he climbs into the passenger side, leaving me to get out and grab his case. There are no traces of his French accent anymore, not that it surprised me. He had been trying to lose it ever since I first met him, something about France only leaving him with drama and scars, and he refused to be left with the accent, too. I guess I couldn’t really judge him for that. I left Russia behind years ago too.

“Well, Tuesday, if you’d told me you were coming, I could’ve been here to meet you right off the bus.”

“Well, Blue, my dearest friend, if you’d told me you had moved, then I could’ve visited a YEAR AGO.” He brushes some lint off his trousers before fixing me with another one of his sharp glares. “Instead, I’m here on a last-minute save-your-ass trip to the middle of nowhere.”

Save my ass? From who? Himself? Jona—Madoc? I didn’t need saving from Madoc. At least, I didn’t think I did.

Chuckling, I pull my belt on and start the engine back up. “I missed you, you know?”

“Of course you did, darling.” He pulls out a pair of sunglasses and glances around, scanning the area. I can tell by the way his jaw ticks, he’s unimpressed with what he sees.

“Didn’t you miss me?”

“Perhaps.” That was as close to an admission as I was going to get from Tuesday. This was the man who’d once said to me that emotions were like wet wipes, occasionally useful, nice to have to hand, but not necessary.

If I thought I had problems with forming attachments and keeping relationships, compared to Tuesday, I was perfectly fine. He would chew up his lovers and spit them out without a second thought. He didn’t like to be tied down, and caring for another person in the way most normal people would, was beyond him unless it was part of a scheme.

Tawny and I were the exception for some reason, but even our relationship wasn’t typical. We were friends, and that meant he would occasionally share information with me. Perhaps we’d have dinner if we were in the same city, but that was usually too risky. And he’d played a part in my escaping The Husk. He showed that he cared for me by making sure I was never caught, but would he ever say it? No, the man would rather be flayed alive with oyster shells.

“Where are you staying?” I start driving towards The Antler, thinking that perhaps we can grab a late lunch and then hopefully I’ll be able to see Jon—-Madoc. Madoc. When Tuesday doesn’t answer right away, I turn to glance at him as he stares out of the passenger window, avoiding my gaze. “Right. Of course.”

He clearly hadn’t booked a room at Betsy’s Inn, or looked online for any of the cabins out by the lake or in the forest—he’d been planning on staying with me the entire time. Sneaky bastard.

“It’s not safe to stay anywhere else,” he says quietly, as he rests his elbow on the door and rests his chin on it, watching the small town go by slowly through the window.

“What are you doing?” he asks as I pull into the small parking lot next to the general store. A little self-medication was clearly called for. I couldn’t survive tonight without something to take the edge off, especially after the last couple of days. My nerves were more frayed than the welcome mat at a whorehouse.

Plus, it would give my cabin a chance to air out since right now it was now steeped in pheromones. I silently thank the Goddess that I’d thought to open all the windows and change the bedsheets before I’d left earlier. I just hope it’s enough, or I think Tuesday might seriously kill me and bury my body in the woods.

“If you’re going to be staying with me, I’m going to need alcohol. And snacks. Lots of both.”

We manage to get around the store with only a few curious glances our way. A couple of people wave or nod their head in greeting, but other than that we’re left to our own devices. That is until we reach the checkout.

Nerys is quick to pounce, always hungry for gossip as she questions Tuesday about how long he’s in town for, whether he’s single, and why he hasn’t visited before. That question earns me some serious side-eye from the cat shifter.

We’re packing up the beer, wine (because Tuesday is a snob) and snacks when Nerys mentions that there are a few more unfamiliar faces in town right now. The statement is innocent enough, because the tourist season for Aurora Pines is about to begin.

From spring to summer, people come to hunt, fish and get away for the weekend with their families out on the lake. However, there’s still a couple of weeks to go before anything is really open for tourists, which makes alarm bells ring in my head. Tuesday and I share a look as I hand over the cash, and I know he’s thinking the same thing. Neither of us say anything, aware that there are always people listening.

Fully stocked, we finally make our way back to the cabin and while I’m unpacking the groceries, Tuesday wanders around touching everything. He picks things up, looking at them for a moment before putting them back.

There isn’t much here for him to look at. While I tried my best in terms of furnishings, I knew better than to fill my home with personal items when there was every chance I may have to leave at a moment’s notice. Putting up pictures of people who become important to me, that was a rookie error when you were living in hiding. It was handing over your weaknesses on a platter. Instead, I’d tried to find knick-knacks that reminded me of them.

Tuesday lifts a small needle felted cat keyring off my shelf, turning it over in his hands. It’s something that caught my eye at a market back in Newtown, when I lived there for three months. His eyebrow quirks up, but he gently places it back down next to the ceramic owl.

“We need to talk. Plan your next move.” I know he’s right, but I don’t want to think about it just yet. My head was a mess. I hadn’t had a chance to breathe, to think, to process. I knew the logical thing to do was to move on, even if I hadn’t been exposed yet, which was really unlikely given it was Madoc in my bed this morning. It was only a matter of time.

I lift a hand to silence him. “Not tonight, please.”

If I had to leave, I’d be leaving behind everyone at The Antler, Shep, Ciro and Maizie and even loudmouth Nerys. I’d have to start over again, in a new city, a new home, all alone. I wasn’t sure if I could do all of that again. I’d gotten too comfortable in the last year, putting down roots when I should have left after three months like every other place I’d ever stayed. It was my fault, my mistake for wanting more.

“Blue.” That’s all he says. My name. Except it’s not my name, not really. It’s the name I’d chosen for myself and tried to claim, but now I would be forced to give that up to. Blue Aubin would be no more.

Tuesday lives the same life as me. He understands. He knows how much this is going to hurt and I can tell, because the softness in that one word is more than he’s ever given me in our entire friendship.

“The bathroom is upstairs if you’d like to take a shower. The couch folds out into a bed, so I’ll grab you a quilt and some extra pillows for later.” I need to change the topic, and focus on right now. And right now, Tuesday smelled like a crowded, sweaty bus.

He comes down stairs a while later as I’m sitting out on my porch, wearing only a pair of black silk pajama bottoms and a towel draped around his neck. His long dark hair is still wet, clinging to parts of his skin as he moves. The white streaks at the front make him look like some sort of comic book badass. Both of his nipples pierced, the metal glinting in the early evening light.

I wonder what that feels like during sex. Should I get mine done? No, that would mean showing someone my marked chest. But...Madoc could easily tug them through my T-shirt, and I bet that would feel incredible. Maybe I should just pierce them myself?

“Like what you see?” he asks me teasingly.

Tuesday was not my type. He was too high maintenance, and he was an omega, just like me. It meant that we would never be quite sexually compatible since we both crave the same thing. That didn’t mean omegas didn’t pair up occasionally, and they certainly experimented with one another, but most of us also knew what we liked and that was a big fat alpha knot.

Quickly, I text Madoc letting him know that I won’t be at the bar this evening and I’ll reach out when I can. He probably thinks I’m trying to brush him off, but that’s not the case and I’ll just have to have a little faith that he’ll be patient with me.

“Who are you texting with a smile?” Tuesday pulls out a T-shirt from his suitcase and pulls it on before towel drying his hair a little more. Cautiously lifting the corner of the quilt, he sniffs suspiciously before taking a seat on the sofa. “Are they the reason this place smells like a brothel?”

Taking a tentative sniff, I can’t pick up anything, but cats have more sensitive noses than hares.

“I’m just letting T know you got here safely.” I lied. I’d already text Tawny a while ago.

Grabbing the wine, and digging around in the drawers for a corkscrew, Tuesday gives me a flat stare. “The owl already knows, and he’s jealous that he’s not here with us, even though he rarely leaves his little apartment these days.”

Frowning, I get to my feet and grab myself a beer, handing Tuesday a wine glass from the cabinet at the same time. I’m not even sure why I have wine glasses. It’s not like anyone ever came out here. Maybe I’d bought them one night when I was feeling particularly lonely and foolishly hoping that this time would be different.

Stopping my mind before it starts wandering down a morose and mournful path, I force myself to smile. “I’ve never had a sleepover before. Do we share secrets, eat junk food and braid one another’s hair?”

“I’ve seen the shit you use as shampoo in your shower.” Tuesday’s eyebrow lifts. I swear I’ve never met anyone with eyebrows as impressive as his. “I would rather eat a mouthful of bees than let you near my hair.

He sashays past me, wine in hand, and takes a seat on my sofa. Staring up at me with those intense green eyes, I know he’s going to want to talk about Madoc, The Husk and packing all my shit up and bailing on Aurora Pines. His face says business, but my brain can’t handle it.

“Hmmmm. Wanna practice kissing and talk about boys instead then?” I ask with a snort, earning myself a pillow to the face, but at least it distracts him. For now.