Chapter Three #2
Bayne’s nose twitched, pulling in the dark roast with just a whiff of warm citrus from the dish soap.
Overhead, a bulb hummed, and the clatter of a single mug on a counter gave the room a lived-in vibe.
He folded his arms and leaned into the kitchen doorway, surveying the scene.
He could get used to this. He might have already gotten used to it.
Clint stood at the counter, hunched over the coffee maker.
For a moment, Bayne just watched. His mate’s hair stood up in the back, probably from sleep or a cat attack.
The man’s posture screamed exhausted, shoulders loose and focus turned all the way down.
Even the way he held the mug, both hands wrapped around the handle, said he hadn’t slept enough.
“Appreciate the clothes,” he said. The cotton clung like shrink wrap, fabric snug over his thighs and pulling at his biceps with every small movement.
Clint straightened so fast one elbow clipped the paper towel roll, sending it spinning across the counter.
“Jesus,” he muttered, catching it on the rebound.
“You’re quiet for a guy your size.” He eyed Bayne or maybe the fit of the borrowed T-shirt on Bayne’s arms. Color spread across Clint’s cheekbones, and Bayne felt the heat behind his own ribs notch up.
“I guess I should’ve left an instruction manual with the wardrobe. That shirt’s not threatening to strangle you, is it?”
Bayne glanced down, rolling the sleeve between two fingers. “Never been strangled by a T-shirt. Might be a new experience.”
Clint snorted, a real laugh this time, and set about pouring a mug with the focus of a bomb tech. Mabel patrolled the edges, tail straight up, watching every move. When Clint handed Bayne the cup, their fingers brushed. Heat flared, instant and sharp. Clint pulled away, his cheeks coloring.
Starting to think my mate got lost in the mail. Bayne stilled, wondering where that thought had come from.
He took a long swallow, letting the coffee burn off the ache in his head. “This stuff could probably dissolve a penny.”
“Needed it strong after last night. I came home thinking I’d just crash, then you showed up.” Clint sipped without grimace, as if he’d built immunity to caffeine-induced heart attacks long ago.
Bayne let himself lean against the doorframe, pretending he didn’t want to reach out and keep his mate within arm’s length. “Sorry about the mess.”
Clint shook his head, setting his mug down with a gentle thunk. “Not your fault. You had a rougher night than I did.” He eyed Bayne, some of the weariness giving way to clinical curiosity. “How’s the leg?”
Bayne bent his knee, rolling his weight from heel to toe. No twinge. “Like it never happened. Shifting did the trick.”
Clint gave a sharp, approving nod. Then he asked, “The burns? You had electrical scars when I was bandaging you.”
He touched his side, remembering the way they tangled under fur and the pain. “Gone. Or mostly gone. Nothing slows us down for long. Not unless…” He broke off, catching himself before he wandered too close to topics Clint wouldn’t want to touch.
Clint watched him over the rim of the mug. “Not unless it’s silver or… something else?”
“Yeah. There’s always something worse,” Bayne said, keeping his tone casual. “Last night felt like something was chasing me. Something fast.” The next words felt odd in his mouth. “Didn’t expect to end up here.”
Clint’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t ask what was out there. “You remember any of it?”
Fragments hovered on the edge of Bayne’s thoughts. Tearing past trees, earth slick underfoot, his pounding heart, and a feeling of desperation he didn’t want to own up to. Running. Pain in his leg and fire at his side, snapping like a livewire under his ribs. Then… nothing. Blankness.
Had anyone ever called him by a last name? Did he work somewhere? Was someone out there wondering why he hadn’t dragged his ass home last night?
He doubted it. Instinct said he’d been alone for a while. Pack or no pack, he was pretty sure his drama didn’t bleed into anyone else’s, at least not on purpose.
He shook his head. “Not much. Running. Pain. Then you.”
The memory of Clint’s hands, moving steady despite the wreckage, hovered near the surface. Not just patching him up. He’d been talking, keeping Bayne grounded, telling stories about poodles and why sensible people never wandered outside in the middle of the night.
Something about that had stuck.
“Any idea why you were in my yard?” Clint’s tone was half-joke, half-worry.
“Fate,” Bayne deadpanned. “Or maybe I wanted to steal your Netflix password.” The words came so easy. Maybe the banter worked because it put distance between them and what had really happened.
Clint smirked, glancing sideways. “I don’t have Netflix. I pirate everything.”
Bayne let out a low huff of laughter. “That’s illegal, you know.”
“So is bringing a bleeding predator into your house and not calling someone.” Clint tapped a finger on the counter, looking oddly pleased at his own retort.
This was nice. This was normal, except for the wolf in sweatpants and the mate who didn’t know he’d just changed the course of two lives with a single act of decency.
Bayne studied Clint, noting the creases at the corners of his honey-colored eyes, the way his hands curled loose around the mug. Not a hint of fear. Just tired, a little guarded, but so damn alive.
He could get used to this. No reason to rush, but no reason to pretend he wanted to leave, either.
He wanted to stay right where he was.
Stay close.
Better to keep Clint in sight, safer for them both. He still couldn’t shake the sense that something was out there, sniffing for his trail, waiting for him to slip.
The wolf wanted to keep his mate safe, no matter what came next.
“You don’t have to let me hang around,” Bayne offered, testing the ground. “If it’s weird, I can disappear. But it might be a while before I figure out where home is.”
Clint shrugged, nonchalant. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”
Sunlight hit Clint’s hair in a way that made Bayne’s chest feel too tight, too full. No, not his chest. Heart, maybe. Or his entire damn soul. But he wasn’t about to get dramatic about it.
He just drank his coffee, letting the silence pool again, warm and steady.
As Bayne glanced at the microwave, a syringe surfaced in his mind, but was gone too fast to latch onto. His gaze landed on the counter, and faint laughter echoed. More than one voice, but again, the memory didn’t last long enough to figure it out.
“You wanna eat breakfast?” Clint asked, breaking the moment.
Bayne rolled his neck, considering. “If you have it. I’m still a little…hungry.” The word meant more than it should’ve, but Clint didn’t seem to notice.
He nodded and moved toward the fridge. “Got eggs. Maybe a bagel. Or a leftover pizza, but it’s questionable. Your call.”
“Pizza’s fine. I’m not picky.”
Slices hit the plate, cold and stiff. Bayne didn’t care. Food was food, and his body needed calories.
He watched Clint move around the kitchen, fluid and precise, despite the exhaustion. Every little action pulled at Bayne, made him want to close the gap, pull Clint in. Kiss him. Fuck, just to see how his mate would react.
Not yet.
Time for that later.
For now, coffee and pizza and sunlight.
An hour in, Clint was already comfortable enough to lean his hip against the counter, grumbling about work and the backlog of patients. “They expect me to keep every animal in a ten-mile radius alive,” he said, shaking his head. “Little do they know I barely keep myself standing most days.”
Bayne hid a smile in his coffee. “You’re doing great, Doc. Still got all your limbs, so you must be ahead of the curve.”
Clint barked a laugh. “High bar. I set it there so I never disappoint myself.”
Nice. There it was again, the tug, the bond, that “I’d fight hell for you” instinct. It was getting stronger. Hell, Bayne didn’t even want to hide it, not really. He just didn’t want to scare his mate off by coming in too hot.
“Hey,” Clint said suddenly, bracing both hands on the counter. “I have to go to the clinic today for a few hours. You wanna tag along? There’s a break room. Coffee, WiFi, more food than I keep here. You can nap if you want.”
Bayne blinked, surprised. The invitation threw him. Not that he hadn’t expected to stick close, but to be asked…
He nodded once. “Yeah, sure. Unless you think I’ll scare the clients away.”
Clint looked him up and down, gaze lingering a beat too long on the way Bayne’s shirt clung to his arms. “If anything, you’ll get us more business.
Kinda like a mascot, except taller and less likely to pee on the floor.
” He schooled his face into neutrality, but Bayne saw the flicker of interest there, the twitch of a smile.
“Not sure about that. Depends on how strong this coffee is,” Bayne shot back, and Clint just shook his head, grinning.
Outside, the trees rustled, leaves backlit and trembling. For a second, nothing else existed but the smell of coffee, the low rumble of Clint’s voice, and the easy press of their morning together.
Bayne tried to pin down the feeling, but he couldn’t find the words. Maybe he didn’t need them.
Clint’s presence centered him, pulled the wolf into a calm that tasted like belonging. The ache behind his eyes? Not even worth mentioning now.
He wasn’t about to let that vanish.
Not when he was this close to something worth protecting.
Coffee finished, he rinsed the mug. Clint’s shirt smelled like him, and Bayne didn’t bother hiding the way he inhaled, low and deep.
Mabel circled his ankles again, purring up a storm.
He crouched, rubbing the top of her head, getting a small headbutt in return. “You keep this place running, don’t you, furball?”
Clint watched, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “She tolerates you. That’s a good sign.”
“Wish everyone was so easy to win over.”
Clint’s mouth quirked again, that half-smile that didn’t quite meet his brown eyes but was still real. “Give it time. Around here, things get weird fast.”
Bayne nearly said, “So do I.” Instead, he shrugged, tossed the towel in the laundry, and leaned against the fridge. “Let me know when it’s time to go.”
Clint downed his own coffee, shoulders slowly unknotting as the caffeine started to work. “Hour or so. I’ll call ahead, let them know I’m bringing backup.”
“You want me as muscle or just a second set of hands?”
“Depends.” Clint’s gaze slid over Bayne, assessing. “You any good at paperwork?”
Bayne grinned, flashing teeth. “I’m barely literate. Wolves don’t do forms.”
It was a joke, but the reward was worth it.
Clint smirked, placing the empty mug in the sink. “That’s what I thought. You can carry the heavy stuff, then. Maybe keep the animals off the paperwork.”
A small sound escaped Bayne, almost a laugh. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The banter was good. Washed away the ache under his ribcage and the confusion about last night. Nothing else mattered, not the gaps in his memory or the sense that shadows still hunted him. Not with Clint so close Bayne could taste his scent in the air.
He looked down at his arms, skin unmarred. Clint’s handiwork from last night was gone, replaced by the body’s own repairs. Bayne wondered if his mate realized just how much he’d already fixed.
“All right,” Clint said, voice breaking the quiet. “You showered, you ate, and you look almost human. Give me thirty for a shower, and we’ll hit the road.”
Bayne didn’t argue. He just nodded and made himself comfortable, stretching out on the battered couch with its pillows, old threadbare fleece, and sense of peace he was pretty sure he hadn’t felt in a long time.