Chapter Five #2
The reptile section occupied the back corner, as far from the cute and cuddly mammals as possible.
Glass terrariums lined the wall, each one housing something with scales.
Two corn snakes, a ball python, and—Jamie’s personal nightmare—a California kingsnake that Emma insisted was “totally docile and great for beginners.”
Jamie stopped a safe distance from the enclosures, gesturing vaguely. “Here they are. We’ve got care sheets at the front if you’re interested in learning about their requirements.”
“I know about requirements.” The customer moved past Jamie, getting right up against the glass. His breath fogged the surface as he studied the ball python inside. “Been handling reptiles for years. Just need to see the temperament on these before I decide.”
Oh no.
“Actually, store policy doesn’t allow us to remove animals from their enclosures for customers to handle.” Jamie kept his voice level, professional. “We can answer questions about behavior and—”
“What kind of pet store doesn’t let you handle the animals?” The guy straightened, turning to face Jamie fully. Up close, he was even bigger. At least six-two, maybe six-three, with shoulders that could knock down walls. “How am I supposed to know if I want to buy it if I can’t touch it?”
Jamie took a small step back, maintaining distance. “I understand, but we have strict guidelines. For the safety of the animals and—”
“The snake’s fine. I know how to handle them.” He spoke louder now, an edge creeping into his tone. “Open the tank.”
“I can’t do that.” Jamie took another step back, hands rising slightly in a defensive, placating gesture. The same gesture he’d made with William. “Store policy is—”
“Store policy is bullshit.” The customer moved closer, crowding Jamie against the shelving unit behind him. “You really gonna make this difficult over a goddamn snake?”
Heat drained from Jamie’s face. His hands started trembling, fingers curling into fists to hide the shake.
Breath came faster, shallow gulps that didn’t seem to bring enough oxygen.
The customer’s size, his anger, the way he loomed—all of it crashed into Jamie’s nervous system like a flashback he couldn’t escape.
William’s fingers digging into his bicep.
William’s hand around his throat.
William’s voice promising consequences.
“I—” The word stuck in his throat. Jamie flinched when the customer shifted, a full-body jerk that made him hate himself even as it happened.
“What’s the problem here?” Emma appeared at Jamie’s side, all five feet two inches of righteous fury packed into overalls and determination. She planted herself between them, chin lifted at an angle that would’ve been intimidating if she didn’t look like an angry pixie.
“Your coworker won’t let me inspect the merchandise,” the customer said, gesturing at the terrariums. “I’m trying to spend money here, and he’s giving me attitude about store policy.”
“You need to leave.” Emma’s tone could’ve stripped paint.
“The animals aren’t merchandise. They’re living creatures.
Store policy states we don’t have to serve customers who harass our staff.
” She placed her hands on her hips, looking utterly ridiculous and completely fearless.
“So you can leave, or I can call the cops. Your choice.”
For a second, nothing moved. The customer stared down at Emma, jaw working, hands flexing at his sides. Tension coiled through the air, thick enough to choke on.
Then his expression shifted into something uglier. “You really want to push this? Over a fucking snake?”
“I really want you to leave.” Emma pointed toward the front. “Now.”
“You little—”
Everything happened too fast.
The guy lunged forward, one hand shooting out. Emma tried to dodge, but he caught her shoulder, shoving hard. She stumbled backward, arms windmilling, crashing into a display of dog treats. The whole thing toppled, bags scattering across the floor as she went down.
“Hey!” Jamie moved without thinking, launching himself between the asshole and Emma. His hands came up, shoving at the guy’s torso. “Don’t touch her!”
Knuckles grazed the side of Jamie’s head, a glancing blow that still rattled his teeth and sent stars exploding across his vision. Pain bloomed hot and immediate, radiating from his temple down through his jaw.
“Jamie!” Emma scrambled to her feet, sprinting for the front counter. Her voice came from somewhere far away, muffled like he was underwater. “I’m calling the cops!”
The guy stood there, chest heaving, fist still clenched. For a second, Jamie thought he might come at him again. But then he seemed to register Emma’s threat, the phone pressed to her ear, the reality of the situation.
“Crazy bitches,” he spat. “Both of you. This place is a joke anyway.”
He stormed toward the exit, boots heavy on the floor. The bell jangled violently as he shoved through the door, and then he was gone, disappearing into the rain.
Silence crashed down. Jamie slumped against the shelf, his hand pressed to his temple, where pain pulsed in time with his heartbeat. When he pulled his fingers away, they came back clean. No blood. Just hurt.
“Jamie!” Emma was at his side, phone still clutched in one hand. “Oh my god, are you okay? Let me see.”
“’M fine.” He wasn’t. His head throbbed, his hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and his stomach felt like it might rebel at any moment. But Emma looked terrified, and someone needed to be okay right now.
“You’re not fine. He hit you!” Her voice wobbled dangerously. “I already called 911. They’re sending help.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“Yes, I did. That guy assaulted you. Both of us.” She guided him toward the front, steering him into the chair behind the counter. “Sit. Don’t move. Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?”
“Just rattled.” Jamie lowered his head between his knees, trying to breathe through the adrenaline still flooding his system. His temple throbbed with each heartbeat, a reminder of how quickly things had gone wrong.
Emma crouched beside him, one hand on his shoulder. “You were so brave. Stupid, but brave.”
“You shoved yourself in front of him first.”
“Yeah, well. I’m allowed to be stupid. It’s in my contract.” Her attempt at humor fell flat, voice still shaking. “I can’t believe he did that. Who the hell gets violent over snakes?”
Jamie didn’t answer. He was too busy trying not to think about William, about violence, about how quickly a normal day could turn into a nightmare.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out with trembling fingers, Jamie saw Sloane’s name on the screen.
Want to grab lunch? Know a place with decent sandwiches.
Any other day, Jamie would’ve said yes without hesitation.
But right now, his head hurt, his hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and he could still feel the impact of that fist grazing his skull.
His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. Typing felt surreal, like trying to bridge two completely different worlds.
Instead, his fingers moved on their own. Can’t. Guy just assaulted me and Emma at work. Waiting for cops.
Emma returned with a water bottle, pressing it into his hands. “Drink. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’m fine,” he repeated, but he took a long drink anyway. The cold helped, grounding him back in his body.
“You’re not fine. You’re shaking.” Her voice softened, losing its earlier fury.
“I just...” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t explain how William had rewired his fear response, how every raised voice now felt like a threat, how he’d spent the last twelve hours trying to pretend he was okay when he absolutely wasn’t.
His phone buzzed.
Sloane’s response came through almost immediately.
Where are you?
Jamie’s throat tightened, something warm and terrifying unfurling in his ribs.
You don’t have to do that. We’re fine. Just shaken up.
Another buzz.
Address. Now.
* * * *
Sloane pulled in behind the police cruiser parked outside Pawsome Pets.
The store's cheerful yellow building and paw print window decals barely registered through the red haze clouding his vision. His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel as he fought to control the primal rage surging through him. Someone had hurt Jamie. His Jamie. Sloane’s wolf snarled, ready to revoke the bastard’s existence.
Mine. Hurt. Kill.
The instinct slammed into Sloane so hard his vision pulsed red at the edges.
He shoved his wolf down into the pit of his stomach, locking it behind bars of iron will, but the rage remained.
Images of Jamie, frightened and hurt, flashed through Sloane’s mind.
The guy who’d done this had no idea what he’d just unleashed.
Halting at the door, Sloane took a deep, controlled breath. Jamie didn’t need to see him enraged. Right now the only priority was making his mate feel safe.
Pushing through the door, smells hit him instantly—kibble, cedar shavings, that faint musk of caged animals. But underneath, sharper and metallic, adrenaline. Fear. Jamie’s fear. The scent twisted in his gut like broken glass.
His gaze swept the interior, taking in every detail with predatory focus. Overturned dog treat display near the back. Bags scattered across the linoleum. A small woman with curly hair stood near the counter, arms wrapped around herself. And there, slumped in a chair behind the register, was Jamie.
Alive. Breathing. Trembling.
Relief and rage collided so violently Sloane’s jaw locked to keep from making a sound.
Every muscle in his body coiled tight, ready to spring, to hunt, to tear apart whoever had done this.
His wolf clawed at the restraints he’d built, demanding blood, demanding justice, demanding he protect what belonged to him.
Not now. Not here. Not in front of Jamie.
Movement to his left caught his attention.
A uniformed officer stood near the fish tanks, notepad in hand.
Large frame, broad shoulders, the kind of build that came from years of physical work.
Or genetics. Sheriff Owen. Lion shifter.
Decent guy. A shifter in law enforcement who understood how to work with the pack without stepping on territory lines.
Owen’s eyes flicked to Sloane, recognition sparking instantly. One eyebrow lifted slightly, a silent question.
Crossing the floor felt like wading through quicksand. Each step required focus, control, measured movement when every instinct screamed at him to rush forward. Jamie’s hazel eyes tracked him, widening slightly as Sloane approached.
Bruising had already started along Jamie’s temple, a dark shadow spreading across pale skin. His hands shook where they gripped the water bottle. The trembling wouldn’t stop, fingers twitching against the plastic.
Sloane crushed the thoughts down, buried them where Jamie couldn’t see. Right now his mate needed calm, needed safety, needed someone who wouldn’t add to the chaos already tearing through him.
“Hey.” The word came out rough around the edges. He stopped a few feet away, giving Jamie space. “You okay?”
Stupid question. His mate was clearly not okay.
But Jamie’s shoulders dropped anyway, tension bleeding out like someone had cut the strings holding him upright. His eyes went glassy for a second, his relief so profound it made Sloane’s throat tight.
“You came,” Jamie whispered.
“Yeah.” Always. Forever. Until the universe imploded. “Can I see?”
Jamie tilted his head slightly, exposing the bruise. Not bad. It could’ve been worse, but the fact that someone had touched him at all, had gotten close enough to land a blow, made Sloane’s vision pulse red again.
Owen approached, moving with the careful confidence of someone who’d spent decades reading dangerous situations. Up close, his presence filled space—six-four, maybe two-forty, all muscle and authority. But his voice came out gentle when he addressed Jamie and Emma.
“I know this is hard,” Owen said. “But I need you to walk me through what happened. Start from when the customer came in.”
Emma jumped in first, words tumbling over each other as she described the guy’s entrance, his demand to handle the snakes, his escalating aggression. Her hands gestured wildly, punctuating each point.
Sloane turned to her, studying her for injuries. No visible marks, but she held herself stiffly, favoring her right side where she’d been shoved.
“You hurt?” he asked.
Emma blinked, clearly startled he’d addressed her. “Just bruised, I think. Nothing serious.”
Jamie’s head swiveled toward Sloane, surprise flickering across his features. Like he hadn’t expected Sloane to care about anyone besides him.
“Good.” Sloane’s attention shifted back to Jamie, taking in every detail. The way he hunched slightly, protecting himself. The rapid rise and fall of his ribs. The white-knuckled grip on the water bottle.
“Do you have security cameras? Any footage we could pull?” Owen asked.
“They’re just for show,” Emma admitted, voice small. “We can’t afford a real system. The owner keeps saying he’ll upgrade, but...”
She trailed off with a helpless shrug.
Sloane understood cutting cost when it came to running a business, but safety shouldn’t be one of those sacrifices.
Owen’s expression didn’t change, but disappointment flickered across his features for a heartbeat. “All right. Can you describe him? Height, weight, distinguishing features?”
Emma and Jamie exchanged glances, and then Jamie spoke, voice hoarse. “Big. Maybe six-two, six-three. Built like he lifts. Dark hair, slicked back from the rain. Stubble. Leather jacket.”
The description painted itself in Sloane’s mind, every detail locking into place. It fit someone dangerous. Someone who’d escalated to violence over nothing.
Sloane breathed in slowly through his nose, filtering through the layers. Emma’s floral body spray. Jamie’s familiar citrus-and-something-warmer smell. Owen’s leather and coffee. Kibble. Animals. Cleaning products.
And there, underneath everything, sweat, aggression, cheap cologne trying to mask cigarette smoke. Male. Human. Distinctive enough that Sloane could lock it into his memory.
Jamie watched him, brows furrowing. “What’re you doing?”
“Just thinking,” Sloane murmured. “Trying to picture the guy.”
Not entirely a lie. He was picturing him. Picturing exactly what he’d do if he ever found the bastard.
Owen continued questioning them, methodical and patient. Emma described how the guy had shoved her, how Jamie had intervened, how the punch had been thrown. Her voice cracked when she got to that part, eyes going shiny with unshed tears.
“He could’ve really hurt you,” she said to Jamie. “He was so much bigger—”
“But he didn’t.” Jamie’s attempt at reassurance fell flat, undermined by his still-shaking hands.
Sloane moved toward the back without thinking, following the scent trail. It led him past the small animals, past the birds, straight to the reptile section. Glass terrariums lined the wall, snakes coiled inside.
Jamie’s fear had been strongest here. The smell saturated the air, clinging to the shelving units, the floor, everything.
Crouching near the overturned display, Sloane inhaled deeper this time. Let the scent map itself in his memory. If this guy came back—when he came back, because men like that always did—Sloane would know him instantly.
“Find something?” Owen called from the front.
“Just looking.” Sloane straightened, turning. “Making sure he didn’t leave anything behind.”
Jamie still watched him, that strange expression on his handsome face. Curiosity mixed with confusion, like he couldn’t quite figure Sloane out but wasn’t sure he should ask.
Smart instinct. Some questions didn’t have answers Jamie was ready to hear. Not yet. Sloane couldn’t tell him they were mates and that he was a wolf. His pumpkin just might implode.
Owen finished his notes, flipping the pad closed. “I’ll file the report and put out a description. If he comes back, you call immediately. Don’t engage. Don’t try to handle it yourselves.”
“It’s not like I woke up this morning and decided I’d take on the biggest guy I’d ever seen,” Jamie squawked.
“We won’t,” Emma promised, nudging Jamie and wearing the look of an annoyed parent.
Sloane didn’t promise anything. If that bastard showed his face here again, Owen’s report would turn into a coverup story. You didn’t fuck with a mate. Period. Especially not Sloane’s.
The sheriff headed for the door, pausing to clasp Sloane’s shoulder briefly.
“Keep them safe,” Owen murmured, too quiet for human ears.
“Always.”
After Owen left, silence settled over the store. Rain still drummed against the windows, but it was softer now. Emma busied herself picking up scattered dog treats, giving them space without making it obvious.
Sloane moved back to Jamie, who hadn’t budged from the chair. “I’m staying.”
“You don’t—”
“I’m staying.” Not a request. A statement of fact.
Jamie opened his mouth, probably to argue, then closed it again. His lips pursed like he was giving it heavy thought, and then he nodded. “Okay.”
“When’s your shift end?”
“Six.”
Four hours. Sloane could manage four hours of controlled restraint. Probably.
He could manage four hours of being near his mate. Definitely. It would give him a chance to watch his mate in his natural habitat.
He’s not a wild animal.
“I’ll be here.” He pulled over a stool from behind the counter, settling onto it within arm’s reach of Jamie. Close enough to intervene if needed. Close enough to provide protection. If he thought he could get away with it, close enough to pulled Jamie into his lap and pepper him with kisses.
Emma sneaked glances at him while she worked, trying and failing to hide a smile.
Jamie had to have talked about him. Emma knew something, recognized something, saw whatever thing existed between them even if Jamie hadn’t named it yet.
Good. Let her see. Let everyone see that Jamie had someone now. Someone who’d burn the world down before letting him get hurt again.
Mine.
The word echoed through Sloane’s skull like a drumbeat, primal and absolute.
His mate.
His responsibility.
His to protect.
And heaven help anyone who tried to hurt him again.