Chapter 2
The moment I step out onto the quiet street, I light a smoke. As the first drag hits my lungs, I shudder with relief. Nicotine threads through my veins, sanding down the toothy edges of my thoughts.
The vodka helps, too.
I take a long pull from the bottle and turn the corner, nearly stepping on a homeless man.
He sleeps in the doorway of a jewelry store, the windows dark. Closed for the night.
One eye slits open, his expression slack. Resigned.
As I dig through my pockets for money, his gaze narrows on my bottle of vodka.
“You think you need this more than I do?” I lean down. “I sold my soul to the devil for a woman, and I just watched my dad and my brother pull a train on that woman. But that’s a regular Saturday. The unspeakable things I experienced in an outbuilding last year would break your mind.”
He flashes a toothless grin and reaches for the bottle.
“Okay, fine.” I release my grip. “You win.”
He tucks it under his arm, and I continue along the sidewalk.
The small port town hums with the low murmurs of conversations, the occasional growl of a passing engine, and the buzz of streetlights.
For twenty-four years, my world was the Arctic. Harsh. Unrelenting. A place where silence wasn’t peace but survival.
Civilization is strange. Some aspects were easy to adopt. Warm meals don’t taste like freeze-dried fear, and the wolves here wear sweaters, walk on leashes, and don’t try to eat me.
But other things hit me out of nowhere.
Crowds. The sheer number of people, the way they move and crash their voices together in an overwhelming storm of noise, it’s maddening. Terrifying.
Traffic lights and car horns spike my pulse, too. Enclosed spaces like tight hallways and packed rooms squeeze me like a coffin.
Then there are the unexpected things that sneak up. The scent of freshly cut wood reminds me of firewood back home. The twinkle of stars over the island reminds me of the vastness of the hills. Snow collecting in my hair reminds me of those long polar nights.
Nostalgia. It creeps in and knocks the wind out of me.
Pulling a beanie from my back pocket, I shove it on my head.
I like nights like this. When all is quiet, Sitka reminds me of the solitude in the Arctic, but… Not. Amid the glow of passing headlights and random greetings from strangers, I’m learning how to exist in a world that isn’t trying to kill me at every turn.
Burrowing into my leather jacket, I tuck my hands into the pockets and head toward the tattoo shop, eager to start some new sketches.
Maybe Sleeping Beauty in an opium den with bruises under her eyes and a needle in her hand.
Or Cinderella’s stepsisters holding knives and cutting off their toes to fit into a bloody slipper.
Nothing like a moonlit stroll straight into a dark and twisted fairy tale.
Then, like magic, she appears.
A princess.
A real-life, honest-to-gods princess in a wedding gown runs full speed down the street like she just fled a castle and a life she never wanted.
Layers of white satin billow around her in a shimmering cloud. The harbor lights catch on beads and sequins, making her sparkle like a magical godsdamn fantasy.
Warm. For the first time in my life, I feel warm everywhere.
The wind plucks long hair from her bejeweled clips, whipping the gilded strands into a glorious tangle. Her huge, pale eyes brim with fear and determination, locking onto the darkness ahead as if she’s chasing, or being chased by, something only she can see.
I stop in my tracks, utterly spellbound.
My first thought? She’s a runaway bride. My second? She’s the closest thing to a real Disney princess I’ve ever seen. My third? I have to follow her.
She moves fast, but I keep pace. My boots echo against the pavement as I trail behind her, curiosity pulling me forward. She doesn’t glance back once, doesn’t hesitate or falter. She’s on a mission.
On the next block, I realize where she’s leading me.
To the tattoo shop.
She throws open the door and vanishes inside. Cautiously, I follow, stepping over the threshold just in time to see her tearing through the place in a fury. She upends chairs, shoves aside furniture, her frantic hands searching, searching…
For what?
I don’t have to wonder for long.
She dives behind the sofa and pops back up, holding a damn rifle.
“The fuck?” I’ve worked here for six months and didn’t know that was there. “How did you find that?”
“I lived with the son of a bitch half my life.” Her breath comes hard and fast, her entire body coiled. “I know where he keeps his weapons.”
“I’m sorry. Who?”
“Me.” A man steps out from the back room.
I don’t know him. But I know of him.
Jag Rath.
The mysterious owner of the shop. The man I’ve only heard about in passing, a shadow daddy wrapped in urban legend.
He stands in the doorway, staring down the barrel of a rifle held by the princess in the wedding gown.
The guy is ridiculously good-looking in a cruel, rugged way. Makes me wonder if he’s always been jaded or if life whittled him into this hard, unbreakable marble.
His light brown hair is thick, textured, and perfectly unkempt. Stubble frames a strong jaw. And his jeans… Hell, his denim fits him just right. He’s broad, imposing, late thirties or early forties, and carries the aura of a man who has seen too much.
His gaze slides between the gun and the woman holding it. No fear. No surprise.
“Dove.” His timbre is deep and growly. Dangerous.
So that’s her name.
Dove.
It fits.
She doesn’t lower the gun. If anything, her grip tightens.
“I’ll kill you.” Breath shudders out of her, and her voice cuts like a blade.
She means it. Every syllable drips with conviction and something deeper than anger.
Betrayal.
Heartbreak.
Reminds me of Frankie the day she watched the video of her husband—my father—banging another woman.
I step forward before my brain catches up with my body.
“This is awkward.” I lean against the wall, arms crossed. “I usually prefer a little foreplay before the bleeding starts.”
She angles her head just enough for me to see the fury blazing in those syrupy, honey-colored eyes. But I also see the hurt buried beneath it. And now I really want to know what the hell is going on.
“You must be Wolfson.” Jag gives me a slow, violating perusal.
“Shut up, you fuck.” She shuffles closer to him. “Look at me!”
“It’s always about you, isn’t it?” he drawls. “Poor little Dove.”
“I loved him!” she shouts, her voice breaking. Then, softer, quieter, almost to herself, “I loved him. Why did you have to fuck him?”
Oh.
Oh.
This just got interesting.
Jag’s expression doesn’t change. He closes the distance, ignoring the gun she still aims at his chest.
“Go back to California, Dove.” His tone is bored. “This isn’t your scene.”
“I have nothing to return to.” Her grip on the rifle trembles, her entire frame shaking. “You took him from me.”
“He’s a grown-ass man, capable of making his own choices.”
Her lip quivers, and for the first time, her finger falters on the trigger.
Whatever this is, it’s gutting her from the inside out.
“Look, I don’t know who he is.” I edge forward, prepared to disarm her. “But maybe shooting people isn’t the best way to work through this?”
Jag lets out a humorless laugh. “Stay out of this, kid.”
“Not a kid.” I scowl. “Just the poor bastard who stumbled in on your public therapy session. Feel free to keep unraveling, though. Especially if it leads to a public hate-fuck.”
Dove chokes. “We’re not—”
“I can be persuaded.” A mean smile tugs at Jag’s mouth. “Now that you’re single again…”
“Go to hell!” she shouts.
His features harden, and a beat of silence stretches between them, stiff and suffocating. I can’t decide if he wants to kick her out or rip off her gown.
“Stop looking at me like that.” She lifts the gun higher.
“Like this?” His gaze lowers down her body, giving her the same perusal he gave me.
“Stop,” she spits. “You’re my brother.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
Wait.
What?
“And I thought my family was fucked up.” I blink.
“Stepbrother.” Jag’s amber-gold eyes aren’t warm like honey or whiskey. They’re cold and threatening, like a predator watching from the tree line, deciding whether to pounce.
“We grew up together, you sick fuck.” She lowers the gun, her shoulders collapsing as whatever this is sinks into her bones. “You were my guardian.”
I hover at her side, completely enthralled, waiting to see if they’ll unpack their shit or let it simmer.
“So that’s it?” She flings out a hand. “You passed me off like I’m someone else’s problem. Didn’t even have the decency to tell me yourself.”
Jag says nothing.
She nods as if expecting that. “Gavin decided an hour before our wedding to tell me he was in love with you. Imagine my surprise when he said your name. I didn’t even know he knew you!” Betrayal blotches her pretty face. “Did you pay him to marry me? Tell me the truth.”
My brain spins to keep up. Gavin? The fiancé? In love with Jag? I glance between them, searching for clarification. This is some toxic, kinky family drama, and I’m here for it.
“Gavin and I had a fling.” Jag lifts a shoulder. “It was short and meaningless.”
He says this after she confesses that Gavin is in love with him?
Harsh.
“You fucked your sister’s fiancé.” I raise an eyebrow at Jag. “Then fled town and skipped out on her wedding? Bruh. That’s weak.”
“Sorry, who are you?” Dove turns to me, giving me her full attention.
“I’m Wolf, official member of Team Dove.” I grin in the glow of her honeyed glare. “You’re doing great, princess.”
She furrows her brows.
Jag’s face remains indifferent, but a shadow flashes in his eyes. Annoyance? Homicidal rage? Hard to tell. I file it away for later.
“You’re not telling me everything.” She scowls at Jag. “Gavin said you paid him to date me. To marry me. He needed the money, so he agreed, but all this time, he’s been in love with you.”
“Gavin’s feelings aren’t my problem.”
“You’re a real piece of shit.”
“Yet here you are, following me to Alaska like a lost puppy.”
That does it. Fury detonates in her eyes as she grips the gun tighter. “You always do this! You fuck my boyfriends. And my girlfriends. You ruin lives and walk away like nothing happened. The only person you care about is yourself!”
Rage steams off her as she trains the gun and starts to squeeze the trigger.
That’s my cue.
I launch forward, grabbing her before she does something she’ll regret.
She’s small and fragile compared to my brothers whom I fought my entire life. Taking her down is easy. Too easy. My arms wrap around her, and for a brief second, I register the warmth of her body and the velvety satin of her dress pressing against my skin. She smells soft and dreamlike.
My fingers dig into her arms, pinning her. She thrashes, seething, snarling, her fury vibrating against me.
This isn’t what I expected tonight, but hell if I let her throw her life away.
I shouldn’t be thinking about how beautiful she is, but I am. I’m obsessed with the beauty mark on her collarbone, the adorable little dot just begging to be kissed. She’s all sequins, satin, and rage, a fairy tale princess turned warrior, and I don’t want to let go.
She wrenches free, twisting from my grasp, and bolts for the door.
Jag shifts to go after her.
“Not a chance.” I step into his path.
“Move.”
“You’re not going near her.” My low tone delivers a steady command. Primal. Feral. Do not fuck with me.
That old familiar feeling rushes through me, swelling and heating, like I’m standing in the Arctic again, face-to-face with a bear, knowing there’s no room for fear, only instinct.
My muscles coil, every inch of me alert and ready. I’ve fought for my life so many times, and I’ll do it again.
Jag opens his mouth, but whatever he sees in my eyes makes his jaw snap shut.
That surprises me.
Most people don’t take me seriously. They see the punk clothes, makeup, and theatrics. They don’t know what lurks beneath the facade.
There’s a wild animal inside me. An unpredictable, unflinching killer who spent hours cutting up a man and didn’t feel a thing.
But Jag sees me. He looks past the fake smile and sees what others miss.
His eyes widen just a fraction, and he takes a slow step back. He’s bigger and stronger but smart enough to recognize a madman when he sees one.
I don’t break my stance. I don’t blink. I just watch him back off, feeling the savagery inside me settle. For now.
Then I turn and chase after the princess for a second time tonight.