Page 2

Chapter

Two

M ia stormed into Bertram's office like a hurricane in designer boots, her entrance dramatic enough to make the supernatural clients in the waiting room collectively jump. One pixie actually dropped her coffee, the ceramic mug freezing mid-air as her magic kicked in.

"Sorry!" Mia called out, not sorry at all. Her wolf was having opinions about everything, and right now those opinions involved property damage.

Jasmine had converted a cellar at the back of the vineyard into Bertram's private investigation practice—all exposed brick and moody lighting that screamed 'noir detective' meets 'angelic intervention.

' The scent of old wine barrels mixed with something uniquely Bertram: vanilla and ozone, like heaven's bakery during a lightning storm.

When he'd been human, Bertram was a detective in Melbourne Central, not a single supernatural thread in his perfectly pressed suits.

Then he met Jasmine, got turned into a hybrid angel during a fight to protect her, and discovered that wings were apparently optional accessories he could manifest at will.

He looked completely normal—midnight dark eyes and brutal handsomeness aside—until he decided to remind everyone why picking fights with angels was inadvisable.

He was calm, analytical, and had that typical cop trait of being annoyingly fair and procedural. He was also Jim's best friend, which right now made Mia want to throw something at his stupidly perfect face.

One look at her and Bertram's lips quirked. "The news has reached you, I assume." His smile was far too knowing for her liking.

"Jasmine would never hurt you, but I will, Bertram." The threat would have carried more weight if her voice hadn't cracked on his name.

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm like expensive whiskey. "You're too rational to hurt a messenger."

"Which message then, for what I haven't already known? He grovels? Wants me to take him back? Sends his angelic bestie to plead his case?" Her hands clenched, nails biting into her palms.

"Oh, he's definitely groveling," her wolf commented. "The question is whether we want him to grovel more or just mount him against the nearest wall."

"WOLF!"

Bertram sat down, leaning back in his chair with that irritating grace that came with the angel package. "That's not what I was referring to."

"Oh, what then?" Suspicion crept into her voice like fog rolling in from the bay.

"They denied your pack a seat at the round table of the next Hunter Summit."

"Oh, sons of b—" The curse exploded from her lips before she could stop it. Her wolf helpfully supplied several more creative options.

Bertram chuckled again. "That's the reaction I expected for this news. You hate your pack being disadvantaged because your profile doesn't exactly fit the standard alpha model."

"Yes, I am damn right pissed about that.

" Her skin prickled with indignation. First female alpha, former deadline wolf, running a pack while they still wanted her in a 1950s housewife box.

"What's their excuse this time? My ovaries?

My formerly broken shift? The fact that I use psychology instead of just growling at problems? "

"But it's fixable," Bertram continued smoothly. "They didn't say no. They just said you need proper ritual acceptance from the pack?—"

"I take that to mean I need a proper mate." The words tasted like ash in her mouth. "Then put on a ceremony that would cost an arm and leg, while my pack's finances are tighter than my jeans after stress-eating ice cream."

"Yes, that's what they meant. Finance isn't an issue. You have friends, allies, and support in Wolf Valley. The mating issue?" He spread his hands in a very human gesture. "Nobody can help you. Including Jasmine, Beatrice, myself, or even Jim."

His name hit her like a physical blow, making her wolf whimper and snarl simultaneously. The scent memory of pine smoke and storms flooded her senses so strongly she had to grip the chair arms.

"He said his name," her wolf noted. "That means he's talked to him. Recently. I can smell the guilt."

Bertram continued, oblivious to her internal chaos. "The Supernatural Council knows about our relationships, so they've sent a note to your close circle, requesting we not get involved in your mate selection process."

She sighed hard enough to ruffle the papers on his desk. "If that's what you expected me to come here about, then you haven't heard about... him..."

His perfect brow furrowed, but she caught the tell—a tiny twitch near his left eye. Angel or not, Bertram had tells. "You are talking about... Jim?"

"So you didn't know he's back... oh no, look at you." She waved her arms like a demented air traffic controller. "Of course you knew! You're buddies. Bros. Mates. Whatever you testosterone-poisoned immortals call each other. So now you can't help me with the reason I came here for... what now?"

"I don't understand. Are you talking about the Council, or Jim?"

"Before—Jim. Now—both. The cosmic joke that is my life.

" She slumped in the chair, all fight temporarily leaving her.

"Look, because of the very reason you mentioned about my alpha status, my pack is pimping me out for an alpha mate.

They're running a contest where contestants tear each other to shreds to claim me like I'm some kind of supernatural lottery ticket. "

"That's pack tradition. Everyone knew." His tone was maddeningly reasonable.

"Yes, precisely. Everyone knows, including Jim." The words came out in a rush, like ripping off a bandaid. "He put his name on the list of contestants. I came here because I thought you could help me disqualify him using your angel connections. Turns out the stupid tradition beats me to it."

Bertram's eyes darkened to pitch black, a sign his angelic side was not happy. "The idiot Jim Miracles wants to fight pure-blooded alpha wolves to be your mate?"

"Yes." She bit back tears that had no business existing. Mia Lee never cried. Not for this. Not for him. "We can fix this, right? You can talk him out of this? What did he say when you spoke to him last?"

"Just that he's back in town." Bertram's voice carried carefully controlled emotion. "He'll explain to everyone, including me, why he left. But now is not the time."

"I don't care about the reason." Lie. Such a lie her wolf actually laughed. "I just want him to stay out of this. He's not pure blood. He wasn't even born a wolf. They'll destroy him."

"And we care because...?" her wolf prodded.

"Shut up!"

"How... how did he look?" The question slipped out before she could stop it, her voice small and vulnerable in a way that made her want to crawl under Bertram's desk.

Bertram's expression softened. "He looked... like Jim. Dry humor intact, still trying to be everyone's anchor." He paused, and something in his hesitation made her stomach drop. "Though I did notice a fresh tattoo on his left arm."

The words hit her like a sledgehammer to the chest. Her wolf howled in recognition of what that meant.

"Fresh ink," she whispered. "He only... when he's stressed..."

Jim had been a tattoo artist when they met, his skin a canvas of beautiful stories. He'd stopped inking himself when they got together, said he didn't need the outlet anymore. She'd traced every line on his body, knew every design by heart. Fresh ink meant...

"He rarely gets stressed," Bertram said quietly, confirming her thoughts. "You know that. He's usually my anchor, my sounding board. Unshakeable Jim Miracles with his dry wit and steady hands."

"But he's inking again." Her voice broke completely. "God, Bertram, what happened to him?"

"Losing you, probably," her wolf said softly. "Same thing that happened to us."

"Mia, Jim never does anything without reason.

I don't know why he left, but he loves you.

Always." Bertram leaned forward, his very human-looking form radiating angelic sincerity.

"So if he thinks putting his name on the list and competing is the only way he can be your legitimate mate, that's what he'll do. "

"But we were together before." Her voice cracked like thin ice. "I can forgive him for whatever stupid reason he left. He doesn't need to compete."

"You really don't know, or you pretend you don't know..."

"The latter!" her wolf chimed in, trying to lighten the crushing weight in their chest. "We're excellent at denial. Professional level, really."

"Shut up, Wolf!"

Bertram smiled sadly. "Your wolf speaks the truth, doesn't she? The only way Jim can become your true mate is to compete like everyone else. Otherwise, he'll just be your..." he paused delicately, "paramour. And that's an insult to love. For both of you. Because I know you care for him too."

"Care is a weak word," her wolf muttered. "Try 'would rip out our own heart and hand it to him on a silver platter if he asked nicely.'"

Mia sank deeper into the chair, all her fury deflating. "It's suicidal, Bertram."

"These challenges aren't to the death?—"

"They can be." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper, fear coating every word. "You know the tradition. A contestant can push it to that level if they choose." She met his dark gaze. "And you know Jim. He won't back down. Not when he thinks he has something to prove."

"Especially not when it comes to us," her wolf added. "He'll die before he lets another alpha claim us."

Bertram rubbed his forehead, probably fighting the urge to manifest his wings and fly away from this mess. "That stupid asshole has a hard head."

"And a death wish, apparently." Mia stood abruptly, needing to move before she completely shattered. The image of fresh ink on his arm—black lines carved into skin during sleepless nights—made her chest ache. "When did you last see him?"

"Mia—"

"When, Bertram?"

"This morning." The admission came reluctantly. "He's staying at the Moonrise Inn."

Her heart performed acrobatics that would qualify for the Olympics. He was here. In Wolf Valley. Breathing the same air, walking the same streets, probably covering his stress in fresh ink instead of talking about it like a normal person.

"He promised me," she whispered, her hand unconsciously moving to her ribs where he'd tattooed a crescent moon their third night together—his mark, his claim, back when promises meant something. "He promised no more pain tattoos."

"People do desperate things when they're trying to survive, Mia." Bertram's voice held too much knowledge.

"Survive what?" When he didn't answer, her voice sharpened. "Room number?"

"I can't?—"

"It's okay, Bertram. I'll find him." She turned toward the door, her wolf already tracking that pine-and-storm scent through the valley. "One way or another."

"What are you going to do, Mia?"

She paused, her hand on the doorknob, claws extending just enough to leave marks in the wood. "He has forty-eight hours to withdraw his name from the list before it becomes binding. He can do that voluntarily." She looked back, letting her eyes flash gold. "Or I'll use my fangs until he does."

The bottles on Bertram's shelf rattled at the alpha command in her voice.

"Mia, you know threatening a contestant is?—"

"Against the rules?" She laughed, dark and bitter. "So is entering a suicide mission. So is breaking promises. So is coming back after—" Her voice cracked. "Forty-eight hours, Bertram. Tell him that if you see him first."

"And if he refuses?"

Her wolf answered before she could stop her: "Then we'll have to save the stubborn bastard from himself. Again."

As she stormed out, leaving confused supernatural clients in her wake, she heard Bertram mutter, "This is going to end badly."

He was probably right. But then again, when had anything with Jim Miracles ever ended well?

One year, two months, fifteen days, and approximately seven hours since he'd shattered her world.

Time to find out what had shattered his.