Chapter 1
1
T he trouble with serving alcohol to supernaturals was that it was very hard to gauge tolerance.
After years of practice, Tanner was generally decent at guessing when to cut someone off, but there was always the tricky case.
Take Butch, for example, hunched over the end of the bar, his broad shoulders wide enough to take up two spaces.
He’d just downed the last dregs of his fifth pitcher of beer—every drop consumed all by his lonesome—and Tanner had zero idea if Butch was even remotely incapacitated.
Ah, fuck.
He should probably check, shouldn’t he?
It would be a foolish thing to lose his liquor license over a case of being too lazy to walk to the other end of the bar.
Tanner set aside the limes he’d been cutting and strolled over.
“Hey, Butch. Stand up for me.”
Butch blinked at Tanner over his pint, thick brows furrowed.
Tanner was pretty sure he was a were of some kind, maybe wolf or bear.
Or hell, maybe ox.
Something big; that was for sure.
Tanner was by no means a small man, and he was still certain Butch could toss him over his shoulder, no problem.
“Why?” Butch asked, his voice rough and deep enough that Tanner added a tally to the bear shifter column.
“Just do it.”
“Why?” Butch asked again.
The repeated one-word responses could be a sign that Butch had left sobriety far behind, but then again, a lack of chattiness wasn’t that out of character for Butch.
Tanner rested a hip against the bar, crossing his arms.
“’Cause I need you to.”
“Hm.” Butch slowly—so very slowly—set down his empty glass.
He placed his catcher’s-mitt-sized palms down on the bar and stood from his stool.
He immediately toppled to the ground, the crash reverberating through the bar.
It sounded like a tree had just been felled indoors.
“You’re cut off,” Tanner told him cheerfully, leaning over the bar to make sure the poor guy was still conscious.
Butch was already sitting up, rubbing at his head.
“Hmph.”
“Go home, Butch.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Fiancé’s gonna kill me.”
“Max?” Tanner asked with surprise.
“Isn’t he a dryad? Not exactly the murdering type.” They were, in fact, a notoriously peaceful species.
“I lost track of the moon,” Butch said, staring listlessly at the ground.
“Shifted in the living room. Broke the couch.”
“Yeah?” That answered Tanner’s unasked question: Butch was a werewolf, tied to the lunar phases.
He was just a very, very large one.
“It was brand new.” Butch’s brow furrowed as he sighed.
“He loved that couch.”
“And you think stumbling home drunk is gonna help the situation?”
Tanner’s question was greeted with more blinking.
Well, damn.
Tanner hadn’t planned to stretch his wings as a couples counselor tonight.
“Hey, Butch,” he said conversationally.
“Contracting’s going well, right?”
“Right.”
“Go buy your fiancé a new couch.”
“Oh.” Butch blinked a few more times.
“Right.” He stood unsteadily and lumbered out the door.
“I’ll put it on your tab!” Tanner called after him.
But he wasn’t exactly worried about it.
The town was small, and Tanner could easily track Butch down if he needed to.
Or better yet, Max.
One stern word from the sweet dryad and Butch would come running to settle his debts, his proverbial (or literal) tail tucked firmly between his legs.
Tanner cleared away the empty pitcher and glass.
That left two patrons in the bar tonight, both humans who looked ready to clear out soon.
Maybe Tanner would close up early, pour himself a beer, and watch some sports replays.
He turned to start capping the liquor bottles, only to hear the door open not two seconds afterward.
There went Tanner’s plan to close down early.
“Anywhere you like!” he called out without looking.
There was a singular haughty sniff.
“I see I’m not starved for choice.”
Tanner froze, one arm outstretched to the top shelf.
He was lucky he didn’t drop the bottle.
Tanner knew that voice.
He knew that voice intimately.
The fae that came with it too.
At least, Tanner had known him, almost four months ago now.
For one glorious night, he’d known him quite well.
He’d known how he sounded when he was crying out in pleasure.
He’d known how he sounded when he was sobbing his release.
He’d known how he sounded when he was recklessly demanding, “More,” “Faster,” “ Harder , damn it!”
Tanner turned to face the front of the bar, wiping his palms on his flannel.
And there was Bracken Riverstone, in the flesh.
Tanner only even knew his name from his bar tab.
When Tanner had asked for it directly, the prickly fae had scowled at him, asked, “Whatever for ?” and promptly gone back to trying to eat Tanner’s face off.
Figuratively, that was.
Tanner was pretty sure all fae were herbivores.
They’d been making out, was what he was trying to say.
Bracken looked gorgeous.
He was gorgeous, with golden skin the color of rich honey, and long light-green hair with little braids at the front to keep it out of his beautiful face.
A face with pretty pink lips, delicate features, and pointed ears adorned with equally delicate gold jewelry.
A face that was now contorted into a look of complete and utter disdain.
At least Bracken was consistent.
He’d had that same look on his face when he’d first walked into the bar four months ago.
The thing was, Tanner didn’t fuck his customers.
Not ever.
The town was too small, and he had no interest in being known as the lecherous barkeep always down for a good time.
But he’d been intrigued by Bracken, a rare stranger passing through.
The petite fae had come by three nights in a row, drinking dewdrop essence by himself at the bar each time, and then he’d looked up at Tanner on the last night, frowning ferociously.
“ Well ?” he’d sniped, a green brow arched haughtily.
“Aren’t you going to try and have your way with me?”
It had seemed rude to do anything else.
Besides, Tanner had found Bracken fascinating, even in that short time together.
All fae had a certain kind of arrogance—that part wasn’t anything new—but usually there was nothing underneath it.
The arrogance ran all the way through to the bone, and it was boring to bear witness to.
But Bracken’s pride was a thin veneer.
It was so obvious even after one small conversation that it did something strange to Tanner’s heart.
Bracken was soft underneath the condescension.
Easily wounded.
It made him snarky and defensive and rude, none of which were boring in the least.
Not to mention that, after his initial prickliness, Bracken had responded beautifully to tender words and a commanding touch.
Tanner had taken him four times before their night together was done.
It hadn’t felt like enough.
And now Bracken was back.
Right after Tanner had finally let go of the hope that he was ever going to return.
Bracken was scowling, one long-fingered hand on his hip.
He was wearing silk pants with a matching tunic, something like a waistcoat mixed with a corset on top.
“Surprised to see me?”
Tanner leaned over the bar, unable to help wanting to be as close as possible.
“Very.”
“I thought as much,” Bracken said, his lyrical voice laced with satisfaction, like he’d just caught Tanner out on something.
He sauntered over to the bar, then sneered at the barstool like it was covered in filth instead of freshly wiped down.
He took a seat gingerly, letting as little of his body touch it as he could.
Tanner’s grin was wide enough to hurt.
“What can I get you?”
“A rabies vaccine, possibly. This place reeks of wild dog.”
Tanner had to keep his hands folded in front of him so he didn’t do something stupid, like touch Bracken’s pretty face.
“Are weres particularly prone to rabies, do you think?”
Bracken gave him a fierce look.
“Please stop your leering and fetch me an essence of dewdrop.”
“Right away.”
Tanner couldn’t stop grinning as he turned to get the nonalcoholic beverage for his newest patron.
This was turning into the best night he’d had in months.
Four months, to be exact.