Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
CARTER
Why did you leave when you could clearly smell she wanted us?
“She doesn’t want us—or a long-distance relationship. How many times do we have to go over this?” My blood heats at the thought of her. Not a day has gone by without something reminding me of Rose.
I pull the bike to a stop outside Delilah’s Divine Delights. The sweet scent of chocolate and sugar wafts into the street. Even a human without supernatural senses would catch it.
But we aren’t long-distance right now.
“I don’t want just another weekend fling.” I strap my helmet to the seat, my finger tracing the curve of its feminine twin before pulling away. “Besides, we’re here to find the girl, not get in bed with the witch.”
Who says it has to be a fling?
I shade my eyes, scanning up and down the street. Reaching for my magic, I draw in the air, but just like before, the jumble of scents makes it impossible to pick the shifter pup out.
You’d find Rose in a crowd. She’s ours, Carter. Don’t let her slip away again.
A phantom trace of blueberries and cream still clings to my skin from that brief touch earlier, fueling every instinct in me to claim her.
I’d sensed it a year ago, the moment she and her friend Netti walked into that conference center. My wolf went feral, and if it hadn’t been for my brother’s scarf around her neck, I would’ve lost control. I hadn’t felt that wild since I was a teenager.
“Fate may have marked her as ours, but I won’t force her into anything. We don’t even know if she feels the tug of the bond the way we do.”
She wants us.
I ignore him, grasp the cool knob, and step inside. The street smelled like sugar; the shop is a diabetic coma waiting to happen.
It’s a child’s dream brought to life: rainbow candy stripes glitter across the walls, glass jars overflow with bright sweets, polished shelves gleam under too-bright lights.
The air hums with a giddy, cloying euphoria.
Behind the counter, a plump, middle-aged woman beams, demi-pointed ears barely peeking through curly grey hair.
Her ruffled pink A-line suit makes her look as if she belongs to this candy-coated wonderland.
“Well, hello there, dearie.” She wipes down a gleaming bronze register—the only thing in the room not dripping with sugar. “How can I help you?”
“I’m looking for a girl—”
Her brows shoot up, lips pressing thin.
“We aren’t that kind of establishment, shifter. I don’t know where you’re from but—” Her ears flush bright pink as she glances around the empty shop.
“I’m not here for that. I have reason to believe a young member of my pack, the daughter of a friend, was recently in or near your shop.”
“I get plenty of young folk coming through for candy. My treats are famous for their… positive side effects.” She plants her hands on her hips.
I bite back my impatience, gesturing to the rows of jars. “I’m well aware of your candy and its magical properties. You’ve got an impressive following from both supernaturals and humans.”
She preens under the compliment. In my experience, most fae—especially halflings, as I suspected she was—are vain about their reputations.
“And why do you think she came here?”
“She sent a photo yesterday from a street nearby. One of the people in the background was carrying a bag with your shop’s logo.” I pull out my phone, zooming in on the image. “I can’t say for certain she came in, but kids and candy—it’s a magnet.”
The woman studies the photo, lips pressed tight. Finally, she nods. “Yes, I do believe I saw her just the other day. A beautiful creature, polite too. She bought a small bag of hard candies and went on her way.”
“Do you know where?” I step closer, eager.
“Sir, I rarely leave my shop. I only saw her turn left when she left. That’s all. You might try the paranormal hangouts. I hear the new club sometimes lets the younger ones in until nine.”
“Thank you. I haven’t tried there yet.” I turn toward the door, then pause. “Do you happen to have anything blueberry flavored?
“Blueberry? Of course. I’ve got lollies, saltwater taffy, licorice ropes—”
“I’ll take some of each, please.” I lay a bill on the counter.
Her eyes light up as she bustles around, filling a clear bag with sweets in every shade of blue and purple.
I can still see Rose’s eyes the moment she spotted the blueberry donuts in that little coffee shop the weekend we met—bright, unguarded, sparking with joy.
Her laugh, the sugar dust clinging to her lips.
She’d leaned close and whispered, conspiratorial, that blueberry was her greatest weakness, and I’d quietly decided to remember it forever.
A year later, I can only hope her tastes haven’t changed. Because mine sure as hell haven’t.