Chapter 9 Wen
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Wen
I was watching a six-foot-nine werewolf in gray sweatpants hand out pamphlets to random people on the street, and I hated every second of it.
This had been my idea. My brilliant, malevolent, strategically genius idea. Use Malachar as bait. Draw people in with the promise of eye candy. Get them to stay for the books.
And it was working. God, was it working.
We’d been slammed since Wednesday. I’d never seen this many people in Woods & Pages, not even during the holiday season when my grandparents were alive and the store was in its prime.
Thursday had been chaos. Women pretending to browse while actually just staring at Malachar reorganizing shelves.
Friday had been worse. The compression shirt had been replaced with a fitted henley that somehow looked even better, and I’d had to restock the romance section three times because people kept buying books just as an excuse to linger near him.
The weekend had been a blur of ringing up sales and restocking shelves and trying not to think about how many women were staring at Malachar.
Asking him for recommendations. Giggling at things he said that weren’t even jokes because he didn’t understand human humor well enough to be funny on purpose.
Saturday he’d worn a burgundy sweater that made his eyes look more gray than red, and I’d watched no fewer than five women “accidentally” brush against him while reaching for books.
Sunday had been the black compression shirt again by popular demand, and I’d seriously considered closing early just to make it stop.
Now it was Monday, and there was a line.
An actual line of people waiting to get into my bookstore.
Most of them were women between the ages of eighteen and forty.
Most of them kept sneaking glances at the hot guy in the compression shirt handing out flyers about our new releases and upcoming book club events.
I should’ve been ecstatic and celebrating. My bookstore was thriving. Sales were through the roof. I’d made more money in the past five days than I had in the previous three months combined. This was everything I’d wanted.
Instead, I was watching women flirt with my werewolf and trying not to commit murder.
Not my werewolf. The werewolf. Who worked for me. Temporarily. Platonically.
Fuck.
The store was packed. Every chair in the reading nook was full, people browsing shelves, people taking photos for Instagram.
A group of college girls had camped out in the romance section for over an hour, whispering and giggling every time Malachar walked past. I should’ve been out there helping customers, managing the chaos, being a good business owner.
But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the window.
I needed help. The store was too full. I couldn’t manage this alone. People were waiting at the register. Someone was asking about special orders. Another person wanted to know if we did gift wrapping. I needed an extra pair of hands.
I needed to bring him back inside.
Not because I was jealous or because watching women throw themselves at him made me want to set something on fire. But because I legitimately needed help managing the crowd.
That was all.
I marched toward the door, ready to call him in, when I saw them.
Two women flanking Malachar with predatory smiles. Both gorgeous, wearing clothes that showed way too much skin for November.
One touched the tattoo on his arm, put her hand on his bicep and squeezed. Tested the muscle, let her fingers linger.
The other leaned toward him, angling her body to expose her collarbone. Running her hand through her hair in that way that was supposed to be seductive. “Are you single?” she purred.
My blood boiled. I could feel heat crawling up my neck, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. My vision went slightly red at the edges.
This was stupid. I was stupid for suggesting this. I was going to call the whole thing off. Fire him from marketing duty. Lock him in the apartment where other women couldn’t put their hands on him.
The first woman leaned in closer, her voice dropping to what she probably thought was a sultry whisper. “We’re new in town. We were hoping you could show us... around. The fun places, you know?”
“I do not know fun places,” Malachar said, his voice cutting through my internal spiral.
He shrugged off the hand on his arm with casual ease and took a step back to put distance between himself and the women.
“I am a mated man and my only entertainment comes from my woman. You should ask her. She certainly knows better than me.”
I stopped in my tracks.
Mated man. My woman.
He’d just told them. In public. On the street. In front of witnesses. Again.
My face was on fire. My heart was doing gymnastics in my chest.
He must have heard me approaching because he turned around. His eyes found mine immediately, and his expression transformed. The polite disinterest melted into warmth, into hunger, into that look that made me feel like the only person in the world. His smile was devastating, directed solely at me.
“Here you are, little mate.”
My heart stuttered. Actually stuttered in my chest like a dying engine.
The two women had their eyebrows raised, taking steps back. Looking between us with dawning understanding and disappointment. One of them muttered something to the other. They both shot me looks that were half envious, half annoyed.
“These ladies wanted to ask you about fun places,” Malachar continued, still smiling at me like I’d hung the moon. “I told them you were the one who knew.”
I snorted. Couldn’t help it. The absurdity of the situation hit me. “Right. Well. There’s a bar on Main Street. Movie theater two blocks over. Hiking trails up in the mountains if you’re into that. The diner has good pie.”
The women thanked me with tight smiles and left. Quickly.
I grabbed Malachar’s arm and tugged him toward the door. His skin was warm under my fingers. “That’s it. You’re not advertising this place anymore.”
“Why?” He followed easily, letting me pull him inside. The bell above the door chimed. Several customers looked up and stared. “Your plan is working. Look at all these customers.”
“It’s just-” I gestured helplessly at the crowded store. “It’s enough. We have enough customers. We don’t need any more women to touch-”
I cut myself off. Snapped my mouth shut.
Too late.
He stopped walking and turned to face me fully. That smile was back, slow and satisfied and absolutely wicked.
“More women to touch... me?” He moved closer. The pamphlets were forgotten, dropped onto the counter. His entire focus was on me. “Are you jealous, little mate?”
“No.” The word came out too fast and defensive.
“No?” He took another step. I backed up until I hit a bookshelf. The spine of a hardcover dug into my back. “You do not mind when other females put their hands on me? When they lean close and ask if I am available?”
“I - that’s not - you’re reading too much into this.”
“Am I?” He braced one hand on the shelf beside my head.
Leaned in. His voice dropped lower. “If you wish it, I will burn these clothes. They have borne the touch of another female. I do not require the touch of any other woman but you. You are the only one I desire. The only one I want. The only one whose hands I crave on my skin.”
Oh god. We were in the middle of a crowded bookstore. People were definitely staring. I could feel their eyes on us. Could hear the whispers starting.
“I just-” I swallowed hard. “They’re all here for you.”
His expression shifted. Softened. “Then I will make myself scarce.” He straightened and nodded once. “Problem solved.”
Then he walked away. Just turned and walked toward the back of the store, disappearing between the shelves, leaving me pressed against the bookshelf trying to remember how to breathe.
What the hell just happened?
I pushed off the shelf and headed for the counter where a customer was waiting with a stack of books. An older man with kind eyes and a friendly smile.
“Sorry about the wait,” I said, scanning his items. My hands were still shaking slightly. “We’ve been a bit busy.”
“No problem at all. I love what you’ve done with the place. It’s wonderful to see Woods & Pages thriving again.” He smiled. “Your grandparents would be proud.”
My throat tightened. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
“And that young man helping you - he’s quite dedicated. I saw him out front. Very professional.”
“Yeah, he’s-” What was Malachar, exactly? “He’s been a huge help.”
“I can see that. You’re lucky to have found him.”
I rang up his books, feeling something warm settle in my chest. Lucky. Yeah. Maybe I was.
Something soft brushed against my legs and I yelped, jumping back and nearly dropping the books I was holding. I looked down to find a massive wolf staring up at me.
Black fur with gray tips. Red eyes that were far too intelligent. A head that came up to my waist.
“Holy shit,” I breathed. I’d seen him as a wolf before, but that had been in the dark, in the chaos of Halloween night and then from afar in the following days.
This was different. This was broad daylight in my bookstore, right next to me, and he was huge.
Absolutely massive. Jesus Christ, how was this even possible?
“Oh my god!” The customer’s eyes went wide. “What breed is that?!”
My brain scrambled for an explanation. “He’s - it’s a mix. Great Dane and wolf. Very rare. Very expensive. Totally legal.”
Was it legal? Probably not. Whatever. I’d deal with animal control if they showed up.
“Can I pet him?” the customer asked, already reaching out.
A low growl rumbled from Malachar’s chest. Deep and threatening and absolutely feral.
The customer jerked his hand back. “Ah. Maybe not.”
“Yeah, he’s…Very protective.” I finished scanning the books with shaking hands. “That’ll be forty-two fifty.”