Page 2 of The Reluctant Mate (Shifters of the Three Rivers #5)
Chapter two
Sofia
T he Friday night crowd at the Bottley Bar pressed against the counter three-deep, their scents a dizzying mix of perfume, sweat, and the metallic tang of Shifter energy that always intensified as the moon waxed fuller. Music thumped through the speakers, audible even over the constant roar of voices demanding drinks. I could pick up every conversation, every clink of glass, every burst of laughter. Being a werewolf had a lot of advantages but on nights like this, my enhanced hearing wasn’t doing me any favors; after eight straight hours on my feet, my head was throbbing.
Shannon had called in sick again, leaving me short-staffed on one of our busiest nights. I’d bet my next paycheck she was skinny-dipping in the Whispering Willow River with her latest boyfriend. The thought made my chest tight. Everyone seemed to be moving forward with their lives—Mai was pregnant with twins, Wally and Thomas were busy with Amara and Ben, the siblings they had adopted; even Shannon was doing something fun with her life with her endless stream of romances. Meanwhile, I was here, pulling another double shift.
Don’t get me wrong, I freaking loved working here, loved being the manager of the Bottley Bar and Coffee Shop. This place and the people who came here meant the world to me. They were my extended family, and I had their backs when they were lost, or lonely, or just needed to see a smiling face. It was just that lately, I had been wondering more and more if there was something else out there for me. And if I didn’t try to find out, would I sit in my rocking chair when I was eighty and regret it?
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marsha Tun, one of the new teachers at the high school, hold her hand up and wave, trying to get my attention.
“Hey, Sofia, can I get two Renegade’s Iced Teas and a Lunar Eclipse?”
“Sure thing,” I called back, ignoring my aching feet and forcing brightness into my voice. Renegade’s Iced Tea had been my own creation and had been a huge hit with the Bottley crowd. Made with a mix of white, dark and spiced rum, orange liqueur, and cola and served with a wedge of lime, it was my favorite drink to make. For a moment, I forgot my aching feet, forgot my unruly hair was once again escaping its ponytail, and that I had another five hours until closing, and just let my hands make the magic. I loved creating new drinks, loved it when people liked them and ordered from me.
I gave Marsha her drinks as Frankie Erwee caught my eye from his usual spot at the end of the bar, his fingers wrapped around an empty bottle as he gestured for another one. I’d need to call him a cab later, make sure he got home safe.
My wolf whined, craving a run through the forest, wanting to shed this human skin that felt too tight, too confining to her. I pushed her down, like always lately, and kept moving, kept smiling because that’s what I did. I was Sofia Miller, the one who held everything together, who never let anyone see what was really going on inside. But between covering for Shannon’s frequent absences, helping Mrs. Patterson with her weekly groceries, and making sure my brother Jase actually ate something besides pizza, I was starting to admit to myself that I was running on fumes, and I wasn’t sure how long I could keep this up.
A familiar scent cut through the chaos of my thoughts. The sharp, clean bite of pine hit me first, crisp and wild, like the air in an untouched forest after a storm. Then, underneath, something darker, richer came through—the earthy warmth of moss clinging to stone that made me think of ancient woods and untamed places. It wasn’t just a scent; it was a presence, raw and alive, curling around me like a whisper of the wild he carried within.
Derek Shaw. The Beta of our Pack.
My fated mate, if you believed all that destined-to-be-together bullshit. I mean, yes, I saw that it worked for Mai and Ryan, and for Shya and Mason, for Wally and Thomas. They were meant to be together; you just had to spend thirty seconds with them to see how much in love, how devoted to their mates they were.
But that wasn’t what Derek and I had. No, he’d once made it clear he didn’t want that with me, ghosting me for months. And now? He might have changed his mind, but I hadn’t. The image of Derek crushing my heart in his hand, sprinkling it into a whiskey, and then drinking it rose in my mind. Yeah, I wanted nothing to do with him. Of course, Derek wasn’t making it easy.
This evening, he was in his usual booth, the one Wally had nicknamed the Booth of Brooding, laptop open, pretending to work while he watched everything around him. Always watching. Always present. Always a reminder of what I couldn’t have, what I’d been stupid enough to think was mine for one perfect night before he’d disappeared without a word.
The memory of that night flashed through me, as it often did these days, no matter how much I tried to put it in a box and set fire to it. His hands in my hair, his mouth on mine as the Ferris wheel carried us above the lights of Three Rivers. The way he’d whispered against my lips before making me come apart under the stars.
Then nothing.
No calls, no texts, not even a passing acknowledgment. Just silence that stretched into weeks until I got the message—I might be his fated mate, but he had a taste and didn’t like it. I wasn’t worth sticking around for. Just like I hadn’t been worth it to my parents or to my best friend, Mai, when she’d run away for four freaking years. At least Mai had come back and apologized. Derek just pretended nothing had happened while showing up at my bar night after night, watching me with those intense gray eyes that gave away nothing.
I sighed, ignoring him for as long as I could, focusing on mixing drinks, on smiling at customers, on being the Sofia everyone expected. But my eyes kept finding him in my peripheral vision.
It wasn’t just that he was tall—though, at 6’2”, he was—it was the way he sat, all controlled strength and effortless power, a predator constantly assessing its surroundings. Every movement was deliberate; he was calculated, precise, but with a clear undercurrent of tightly controlled violence. You took one look at him and knew if you crossed him, he would not hesitate to end you. Not in an out-of-control-Friday-night-fight sort of way, either; no, you got the impression he was constantly assessing everyone around him to work out the most efficient way to put you down.
It was scary as hell, especially since I’d known Derek and his twin, Sam, my whole life. Had known them as teenagers, playing harmless pranks, like rigging all the lockers in the teachers’ lounge to play the Imperial March from Star Wars whenever they were opened. But that was before Derek joined the military and came back with bulging muscles and that look in his eyes that said he was sizing you up for dinner.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Derek lean back in his booth, his arms flexing slightly with the motion, the fabric of his dark Henley pulling taut across his biceps, and the shirt doing nothing to hide the sculpted ridges of his torso. Damn him and his perfect body and his perfect hair, and his stupid smirk and the way he made my pulse race even after everything he’d done. Damn the Moon Goddess for making him my fated mate, for tying me to someone who could walk away so easily.
Finally, unable to ignore him any longer, and knowing if I did, he would come and find me, I made his usual order—black coffee with a shot of Aberlour whiskey—and made my way to his table. His eyes followed me, making my skin tingle in a way I refused to acknowledge.
“Your usual,” I said, setting down his drink with slightly more force than necessary. “Though I don’t know why you bother with the coffee. It’s almost midnight.”
A smirk played at the corner of his mouth—the same mouth that had kissed me senseless before he’d ignored me for months without so much as a text message to say thanks, but no thanks.
Urrrggg. I so had to get over it, over him.
“Worried about my caffeine intake?”
“Worried about my profit margins. You only have one drink every two hours. Most people here drink four times that much in the same time. If you’re not here for the drinks, maybe you should find someplace else, someplace quieter, to work.”
“Maybe I enjoy the view here.” His voice dropped lower as his eyes bore into mine, giving me no doubt as to what view he was referring to.
“Well, the view has work to do. Unlike some people who apparently think looking mysterious in corners counts as a job.”
His grin widened, making him look way more sexy than any man had a right to. “You know, I give a mean foot massage. In case all that running around catches up with you.”
The thought of his warm hands caressing my aching feet almost made me pull up a stool and plonk my feet in his lap. But I knew if I felt his hands on me, I’d want to feel them everywhere on me.
I turned away quickly, needing to get out of there. “I’ll be sure to let Mrs. Henderson know. She was just telling me how her arthritis is acting up.”
I would, too. I heard his chuckle as I walked away, just as I felt his stare following me back to the bar. Heat crept up my neck, and I hated myself for reacting to him at all. He’d had his chance. One perfect date, one mind-blowing orgasm at the top of the Ferris wheel, and then radio silence for weeks. Derek Shaw might be my fated mate, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.
Or him.