CHAPTER 2
Seki
He didn’t stay long. Maybe thirty minutes, maybe less. He barely touched his drink, just watched the bar with a casual air that didn’t quite hide the predator underneath.
But he kept glancing at me. Not in the over way most men do. It was subtler than that. Thoughtful. Focused.
The third time I caught his eyes on me, I had to excuse myself. My hands were trembling, not from fear, but something harder to pin down. Something warm and frustratingly alive.
Ellie gave me a knowing smirk. “Go hydrate or scream into a mop bucket, boss. I’ve got this.”
I slipped into the back, locked the door, and braced my hands on the sink. The man’s gaze was still on my skin like it had been burned there. Why did he look at me like he knew me?
More importantly, why did it make my chest feel like it wasn’t mine?
I didn’t see him leave, but when I returned, his glass was empty and his stool was vacant.
Just like that, he was gone.
–
The next morning started with the sharp, hateful blare of my phone vibrating on the nightstand.
I groaned and rolled over, grabbing it before it could ring a second time.
Private Caller.
That could only mean one thing.
“Yeah?” I muttered, voice rough with sleep.
“You’re late on the last two payments, Seline.”
Loan collectors didn’t do pleasantries.
“I told you I’d get it this month. Business has been slow.”
“Business isn’t our problem. The debt is.”
I sat up, pressing fingers to my temple.
“I’m good for it. I always am.”
A pause. Then, “You’d better be. We know where your father is. Next time, we might collect from him directly.”
The line went dead before I could respond.
I stared at the wall, rage boiling low in my gut. My father hadn’t stepped foot in my life in years, but somehow he still managed to leave messes behind for me to clean up. Gambling, deals with the wrong kind of wolves, and debts with men who didn’t care who got hurt in the process.
And me?
I just kept sweeping up the shattered pieces.
–
The Howling Oak was quiet when I unlocked the doors that afternoon, the comforting scent of whiskey and lemon polish settling in my lungs.
Ellie showed up a few hours later, coffee in one hand, croissant in the other.
“You okay?” she asked, side-eyeing the bags under my eyes.
“Just peachy,” I lied.
But it was easier to push it aside once the crowd rolled in.
The next few nights passed in a blur of spilled liquor, broken chairs, and fae trickery. Normal. Comfortable.
Until he came back.
Same stool. Same drink.
Same look that said he didn’t come here for the ambiance.
"Back again?" I asked, sliding him a whiskey, neat.
He took it without looking away from me. "Maybe I like the atmosphere."
I arched a brow. "You like the fire hazard wiring or the constant threat of a vampire brawl?"
He smiled. It was subtle, the kind of smile you earn, not the kind you’re handed. "I like you."
I blinked. Straightforward. No games.
“That usually scares people off,” I muttered, wiping down the counter.
He sipped his drink, eyes never leaving mine. “I’m not most people.”
That much was clear.
He came again the next night. And the next. Always in grey or black, always exuding that same controlled calm that made even the drunkest wolves pause. He didn’t talk much unless I started it, but when he did talk, it was never small.
“You know you’re suppressing your shift, right?” he said one night, watching me clean blood off a barstool like it was just another Tuesday.
I froze. “Excuse me?”
He leaned forward, fingers wrapped loosely around his glass. “You’re wolfing. Probably been doing it for years. Your scent’s unstable. Your aura flickers when you’re agitated.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You think you can read me?”
“I can read you,” he replied. “You’re a lone wolf holding herself together with duct tape and grit. But your wolf’s restless. It’s only a matter of time.”
I hated how accurate that was. Hated it more that he noticed.
“How would you know what my wolf feels like?”
He tilted his head slightly, like the answer was obvious. “Because I’m an alpha.”
I stared.
“You’re a long way from your pack,” I said carefully.
He smiled again, small and dry. “Silver Fang doesn’t tie its alphas down. We travel when we need to.”
My stomach flipped. Silver Fang. One of the most respected and deadliest packs in the region. Neutral, fiercely protective of their own, and led by ghosts more than men.
“And you just happened to wander into my bar,” I said, skeptical.
He leaned back. “Maybe I was looking for something.”
“Found it yet?”
His eyes didn’t waver. “Getting there.”
Something about the way he said it made my wolf perk up.
He stayed longer after that. Talked more. Teased me when I forgot how many receipts I’d already counted. Argued about the best whiskey distillery in the country (he was wrong, by the way). Asked about my childhood not the painful parts, just enough to make me laugh at the good ones I thought I’d forgotten.
It had been weeks, and Lucian Vale had become a fixture in my bar and if I was being honest with myself in my thoughts.
And just like that, everything went sideways.
It was a Friday night. Loud and packed. The air buzzed with too many scents and not enough patience. Ellie was running drinks like a champion, and I was mid-flirt with Lucian about his ridiculously pretentious leather-bound notebook when I caught it.
Out of the corner of my eye.
Movement. A shape across the street just beyond the window’s edge.
I looked up and froze.
A man stood just outside the glow of the streetlight, half-shadowed but unmistakably present.
He was wearing tailored suit, arm crossed and he stood besides someone probably a member from his pack. His stance was too still.
My heart stuttered.
I hadn’t seen him since that night weeks ago. Since he stepped into the bar and looked at me like he knew me and I didn’t know him. He hadn’t come back. Not once. Not a call. Not a whisper.
But now, here he was. Watching.
Our eyes met.
My breath caught.
There was no smile on his face. No warmth. Just something unreadable and under it, something coiled. Like regret dressed in anger.
He looked exactly like I remembered. And nothing like I wanted to.
I didn’t realize I’d stopped moving until Lucian’s voice cut in, quiet but sharp.
“Who is that?”
I didn’t answer.
Lucian followed my gaze, and the shift in his energy was instant.
He stood, slow and deliberate. And I felt it, the weight of authority settling over him. Not bar-flirt Lucian. Not calm-drinks-and-smirks Lucian.
Alpha Lucian.
“Ronan,” he said, his voice hardening.
“Alpha of the Blackstone Pack.”
Blackstone.
My pulse pounded in my ears.
I’d heard of Blackstone, everyone had. Isolated. Violent. Traditional to the point of cruelty. A pack where strength was everything and weakness wasn’t tolerated.
Lucian’s voice was neutral, but his jaw was locked.
“You know him?” I asked, barely above a whisper.
“I know of him,” Ronan said. “He’s not someone you forget.”
When I looked back toward the window, Ronan was staring straight at us.
And he didn’t look pleased.
The kind of tension that raises hackles filled the room, though no one else had noticed him. Not yet.
Then, he started walking.
Not toward the door.
Just slowly past the window, eyes never leaving mine until the last second.
And as he passed, he glanced at Lucian .
The look they exchanged was pure voltage. Not recognition. Not respect.
Rivalry.
Enemies, maybe. Or something worse.
“Something I should know?” I asked, voice tight.
Lucian’s gaze followed Ronan until he vanished into the night.
“You should stay away from him,” he said.
“Why?”
He looked back at me. “Because I don’t like the way he looks at you.”
“And how do you look at me?” i challenge.
He smiled. But there was no heat in it this time.
“Like I don’t plan on losing.”