Chapter Ten #2
A low, rumbling growl emanated from Ash’s chest. A sound Preston had come to recognize as distinctly shifter.
Since discovering Zeppelin’s true nature, he’d learned to pick up on these subtle signs: the growls, the heightened territorial behavior, the way their eyes sometimes caught the light at odd angles.
Was Ash a wolf too?
The bar had gone eerily quiet, all eyes on the confrontation. Preston became aware of movement around him as members of the pack materialized from various corners of the room, closing ranks. Quinn appeared at Preston’s side, moving around the counter to stand protectively in front of him.
“I-I was just being friendly,” Terry choked out, clawing ineffectually at Ash’s grip.
“Friendly?” Ash tightened his hold slightly. “Is that what you call it when you put your hands on someone who clearly doesn’t want to be touched?”
Terry’s eyes bulged slightly. “It was just a joke, man.”
“I’m not laughing.” Ash’s growl deepened. “And neither is Preston.”
With a final disgusted look, Ash released his grip, allowing Terry to slide down the wall until his feet touched the floor. The barback gasped for air, rubbing at his throat.
“Apologize to Preston,” Ash commanded. “Now.”
Terry turned toward Preston, his expression a mixture of fear and resentment. “Sorry,” he muttered, not meeting Preston's eyes.
“Preston,” Ash said, never taking his eyes off Terry, “you don’t have to accept his apology. That’s entirely up to you.”
All eyes in the bar turned to Preston, who suddenly felt very much on the spot. Part of him wanted to tell Terry exactly where he could shove his half-assed apology, but causing more of a scene wouldn’t help anyone.
He could recognize a predator instantly now thanks to Antonio.
Not the kind like wolves, but the type who targeted those they perceived as easy victims. Even if Terry promised to behave, Preston wouldn’t trust him.
Men like Terry and Antonio never stopped.
They simply searched for another victim to satisfy their twisted desires.
“Whatever,” Preston said with a shrug, trying to appear more nonchalant than he felt. “Just keep your hands to yourself in the future.”
“There won’t be a future,” Ash replied coldly. “You’re fired, Terry. Get your shit and get out of my fucking bar. Now.”
Terry’s face contorted with anger. “You can’t—”
Ash cut him off. “I just did. Out. Before I throw you out.”
For a tense moment, Terry looked like he might argue further, but a quick glance around at the pack members surrounding him seemed to change his mind. With a final glare at Preston, he stalked toward the back room, presumably to collect his belongings.
As Terry disappeared, the tension in the room gradually dissipated.
Conversations resumed, though noticeably more subdued than before.
The pack members drifted back to their tables, though Preston noticed they positioned themselves strategically around the room, eyes occasionally flicking toward the back hallway where Terry would eventually emerge.
Quinn turned to face Preston, concern evident in his expression. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Preston nodded, surprised to find it was mostly true. “Just another day in the exciting life of a small-town bartender, right? Broken glasses, spilled drinks, and the occasional workplace-harassment situation. Really keeps things interesting.”
Quinn’s mouth quirked up at one corner. “You’ve got a weird definition of interesting.”
“One of my many charms,” Preston replied, already turning back to the waiting customers, slightly shaken but still composed. “Now, who ordered the Long Island?”
Within minutes, the bar had returned to its previous rhythm. Preston fell back into the routine of mixing drinks and making small talk, grateful for the normalcy after such an unnerving confrontation.
Occasionally, he caught Quinn watching him with that assessing gaze that all the pack members seemed to share. That look that said they were checking for signs of distress or discomfort. It was both irritating and oddly comforting to be under such careful observation.
As he worked, Preston found himself relaxing again, the tension gradually leaving his shoulders. The incident with Terry had been unpleasant, but there was something deeply reassuring about how quickly Ash and the others had stepped in.
For someone who had spent most of his life feeling like he had to handle everything alone, having people actually stand up for him was a novel experience.
Maybe that was the strangest part of all this.
Not the werewolves or the vampires or even the mate bond that still made his head spin when he thought about it too hard.
Maybe the strangest part was simply having people in his corner, ready to fight his battles alongside him instead of leaving him to fend for himself.
* * * *
The bathroom door closed behind Preston with a soft click, momentarily muffling the sounds of the bar. At the sink, he splashed cold water on his face, letting it drip from his chin as he stared at his reflection. Not bad for someone who’d been on his feet for six hours straight.
Still, all he wanted now was to curl up against his mate’s warm chest and forget about everything else. God, he wished Zeppelin would hurry up with whatever he had to do.
“That was some show.”
Preston whipped around, water droplets flinging from his face. Antonio emerged from the bathroom stall, his smile dripping with smugness.
“How—” Preston mouth went bone-dry.
“Surprised to see me?” Antonio asked, taking a step closer. The smell of his cologne—that sickly sweet scent Preston used to think was pleasant—filled the small space, making his stomach turn.
Preston backed up until his hips hit the sink, fingers gripping the cold porcelain. The exit was too far away, and Antonio was blocking the path.
“What are you doing here?” His voice came out reedy, barely audible over the pounding of his heart.
The way Antonio’s lips curled as he laughed made it clear he wasn’t hiding his pleasure.
He moved until barely a foot separated them.
“I should thank you for causing such a scene out there. Everyone was so focused on the drama no one noticed me slip past.” His fingers traced the edge of the sink, boxing Preston in.
“You always were good at creating distractions.”
“How did you find me?” Preston stammered, gaze darting to the door behind Antonio.
“Haven’t you learned by now? You can’t outrun me, Preston.” His voice lowered into a seductive whisper. “I’ll always find you.”
Preston took a step back, trembling so badly his legs threatened to give out.
“I saw you with him,” Antonio continued, voice soft yet insidious. “That big biker piece of trash. Holding your hand while you picked out fruit.” His face twisted, the handsome features contorting into something ugly. “What would your father say, Preston, about dating some thug?”
Ice flooded Preston veins. Antonio had been watching him with Zeppelin. Every moment, every touch, every smile. All witnessed by those unblinking eyes that never truly left him. Like dark planets orbiting his life, always there, always waiting, even when he couldn’t see them.
“You’ve been spying on me,” Preston said, his voice a thread about to snap. “That’s sick, Antonio.”
Antonio’s smile spread slowly, like a bloodstain. “What’s sick is how quickly you replaced me.” Each word fell into the space between them like stones into still water. “After everything I did for you. After all the love I gave you.”
The air between them seemed to thicken, making it hard to breathe even before Antonio’s hand shot out.
Preston clawed at the hand crushing his windpipe, his lungs burning for air that wouldn't come. Antonio’s eyes had gone flat and dark, watching Preston’s struggle with the detached curiosity of someone observing an insect slowly drowning in honey.
A slow, satisfied smile crept across his face with each desperate scratch against his skin.
This was it. Antonio was going to kill him right here in this dingy bar bathroom.
An image of Zeppelin flashed through Preston’s mind—his gentle touch despite his massive strength, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, how he listened, really listened, when Preston spoke.
Zeppelin, who had shown him what real love felt like.
Not possession.
Not control.
Love.
Something hot and fierce surged through Preston veins.
Fueled by desperation, Preston drove his knee upward with vicious force, connecting solidly with Antonio’s groin. The vise-like grip on his throat slackened as Antonio doubled over with a choked howl, clutching himself in agony.
Air surged back into Preston’s lungs as he staggered away from the sink. The oxygen hit his system like a powerful jolt, fueling the rage that had ignited inside him.
“You little bitch,” Antonio wheezed.
Something inside Preston snapped. Months of terror, of fleeing, of constantly looking over his shoulder… It all erupted into volcanic fury.
“I never loved you!” he screamed, his voice raw and unrecognizable even to his own ears. Preston lunged forward, fists striking Antonio’s face, his chest, anywhere he could reach.
Antonio stumbled but steadied himself against the wall, his face twisted with pain and anger. “You ungrateful little—”
“Shut up!” Blood splattered across the white tile as his knuckles split open Antonio’s lip. “You made me think I was crazy,” he shouted, slamming a fist into Antonio’s gut. “Made me question everything I knew.” His voice cracked with the force of his words. “I was so fucking terrified of you!”
Antonio tried to grab his wrists, but Preston was beyond restraint now. He kicked and punched, his body driven by pure instinct. “You’re the monster,” he shouted, the realization hitting him like a lightning bolt. “Not Zeppelin. You!”
Antonio recovered quickly, wiping blood from his split lip with a slow, deliberate thumb. His eyes narrowed to slits, cold and reptilian. “I’m going to enjoy making you suffer for that,” he snarled, before launching himself forward.
His fist connected with Preston jaw, the impact sending a burst of white light across his vision.
Pain exploded through his face as copper flooded his mouth, teeth slicing into soft cheek.
But Preston refused to go down. Not now.
Not when he’d finally found the courage to fight back.
Not when he finally had something worth fighting for.
He staggered but remained upright, tasting blood and defiance on his tongue. “Is that all you’ve got?” he taunted, shocked by his bravery.
Antonio’s face contorted, veins bulging at his temples, eyes wild with murderous rage. His arm cocked back, knuckles white.
T he bathroom door exploded inward, tile dust raining from where the handle punched through the wall.
Zeppelin’s massive frame filled the doorway, tendons visibly straining beneath his skin.
When his honey-brown eyes locked onto Preston’s bloodied face, something ancient and merciless awakened behind them.
The growl that followed raised every hair on Preston’s body.
One heartbeat Zeppelin stood in the doorway, the next, his weight slammed Antonio against the far wall.
Antonio’s scream cut off abruptly as Zeppelin’s claws tore through flesh and muscle. Then he crumpled to the floor.
Preston stumbled forward, his legs suddenly boneless. Zeppelin caught him, strong arms wrapping around his waist, pulling him close.
“I fought back,” Preston whispered against Zeppelin’s chest, his voice tinged with wonder. “I actually fought back.”
Zeppelin’s hand came up to cradle the back of Preston’s head. “You did, sunshine. You fought like a fucking warrior.”
Preston leaned into the embrace, his body trembling with adrenaline and relief.
Over Zeppelin’s shoulder, he watched as the pack efficiently dealt with Antonio, carrying him out of the bathroom He should have been horrified by the violence, by the blood pooling on the tile floor, but all he felt was a profound sense of safety.
“He found me,” Preston murmured, his words muffled against Zeppelin’s shirt. “He was watching us.”
“And now he’ll never watch anyone again,” Zeppelin promised, his voice a low rumble against Preston’s ear. “You’re safe. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
Preston nodded, wincing as pain radiated from his bruised jaw.
Tentatively, he touched the tender spot where Antonio’s fist had connected.
It would be a spectacular bruise tomorrow, but he found he didn’t care.
The physical pain was nothing compared to the months of psychological torment Antonio had inflicted.
“Let’s get you home,” Zeppelin said, carefully examining Preston’s face. His thumb brushed gently over the swelling skin. “Chase and the others will handle this.”
As Zeppelin guided him out of the bathroom, arm protectively around his shoulders, Preston took a shuddering breath.
The monster was dead. And Preston was finally, truly free. He could put down roots with Zeppelin, his mate and the love of his life, and the furry family he’d inherited. Because Zeppelin was there now. He would always be there. He replaced that fear with absolute certainty.
THE END