Broken-Hearted (Cold-Blooded Alpha #11)

Chapter 1

1

L ungs burning, sweat dripping down the side of my face, and my T-shirt on back to front, I scare the shit out of a woman driving a red Volvo when I burst out of the forest and fling myself into the road.

A scream tears from her throat as she slams on the brakes. Thankfully , I bounce off her bumper instead of winding up under her wheels.

The second my ass hits the road, I scramble to my feet, cast a hasty look behind me and rush for the passenger door, yanking it open as the woman stares at me.

“A-are you okay? Did?—”

“Perfectly fine,” I say, sliding into the seat. “I’m like an elastic band. I bounce off things and get right up again.”

She stares at me, breathing hard.

This is not good.

I do not have time for this woman’s panic attack.

“I’m Clara, by the way, and I need to get somewhere.” She jumps when I slam the car door shut. Again, not a good sign. “Do you mind giving me a ride?”

“A hospital?” Her fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “Oh God. You probably have internal bleeding and I?—”

“I’m good. Perfectly fine. Not a scratch on me. Where were you heading?”

“Uh, Colby. To see my brother. He’s getting married.”

Colby?

“Good for him. Where’s that?” I glance into the forest as I buckle up. No one has followed. Yet . But that could change any minute.

I’ve literally spent years bouncing across the country with my big sister Martha ever since shifters wiped out our pack, yet geography has not and probably will never be my strong suit.

“Kansas. About two hours away.”

Wish it was further, but I’ll take what I can get.

“I don’t have any cash, but I can choose music and I’m not a serial killer. Do you mind if I joined you?”

“To see my brother ?” She frowns.

“Uh… just somewhere between here and there is fine.” Here being Dawley, southern Colorado. Another peek into the forest reveals the coast is still clear. I’m wasting time, though. Someone is going to catch up to me sooner rather than later.

“Is someone after you?” she whispers loudly.

I seize on an excuse like a drowning man just discovered a desert oasis.

“Yes, actually. That’s why I was running. My boyfriend and I were camping in the woods. Honestly, boyfriend is being generous. We met through an app. I’m hoping he won’t catch up to me, but…”

“Apps are the worst. Some of those guys…” She shakes off her shock and puts her foot down. “This one guy dropped his fork, and I caught him trying to take a picture of my feet with his cell phone. Then he ran out of the restaurant and left me to pay for his steak.”

“Talk about creep behavior.” I breathe out a sigh of relief as she drives away.

Ivy, the twenty-two-year-old grad student who nearly ran me over, turns out to be a pretty decent driving partner. Her taste in music is a little too poppy for my liking, but she doesn’t ask probing questions, is generous with her snacks, and even better, drives me much farther than I could’ve run as a wolf.

Do I regret running out on Martha, my beloved big sister? Definitely.

But I had to go. She’ll understand.

Eventually.

After thanking Ivy profusely, I climb out in a small Colorado town called Rosenwood, on the ass end of nowhere. I drag myself up and down Main Street on a desperate quest for a job.

I need cash and I need a plan because wolves have sharp noses, and my sister will worry. She’ll track me down herself, or send someone else to make sure I’m okay.

It’s why I shifted to my wolf form as soon as I got away from Martha. I stripped out of my skinny jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers, bundling them together before I ran with them in my mouth to get to the road as fast as I could.

I heard a car approaching and shifted, quickly stuffed my clothes back on—hence the back-to-front T-shirt—and nearly got myself run over by Ivy.

When I spot a diner with a handwritten white sign in the window, a smile nearly cracks my face in two.

Hiring .

My first night at O’Shane’s Diner goes swimmingly.

The owner is nice; the night is quiet, and the patrons are polite to the diner’s brand new waitress.

O’Shane spoke with the motel owner, who gave me a room for free when I told him I didn’t have anywhere to stay since my boyfriend dumped me here and took off.

Yes, it was a lie. No, I don’t regret it.

It’s my second day, and my apron pocket is bulging with tips from generous patrons when the bell over the front door rings.

I turn around, and my nose is twitching before the shifter takes one step into the diner.

He’s tall with short, burnished red-brown hair, a black T-shirt, ropy muscles, and an amiable smile that contrasts starkly with the penetrating stare he’s aiming my way.

And he’s handsome. Definitely handsome.

I don’t know him, but he’s a shifter, and there is one… okay, two kinds of shifter after me.

This one isn’t tackling me to the ground and attempting to abduct me, so this must be the good kind.

I hope.

I keep my distance just in case.

“Can I help you?” I call out, hovering near the hatch that leads to a kitchen, and through that kitchen, a back alley. Escape, in other words, in case I got this guy all wrong.

“Just here for a meal,” he calls back.

He doesn’t move toward me as he speaks. Just lingers near the front door.

Can he sense my wariness, or is this a ploy to get me to lower my guard so he can grab me and drag me to Minnesota?

“Sure. Anywhere is fine. Menu’s on the table. Grab a seat wherever.” I gesture toward the half-empty diner.

“Thanks.”

I watch him walk over to a brown leather booth. He slides long, powerful legs under the table, and I pretend to wipe up an imaginary spill on the front counter as I observe him out of the corner of my eye.

He picks up a plastic-coated menu, takes his time scanning it, then returns it to the light gray Formica table to peer out of the window.

There’s not much to look at in Rosenwood, so it won’t take him long to get his fill. Thirty minutes prowling the streets on a hunt for a job was more than enough for me.

It’s one of those small towns meant for tourists. A place to eat, sleep, and fill up the tank, but not enough that they would want to stay longer than a night or two. It’s probably why O’Shane had a sign in his window that looked like it had been there for a while.

I guess being on the edge of Colorado and Kansas means Rosenwood is a bathroom break that punctuates the long journey between the two states.

I study the shifter’s profile as he stares out at the quiet parking lot. A couple of eighteen-wheelers have parked up outside. Their middle-aged, gray-haired drivers are sharing one of the booths, friends apparently, as they catch up between bites of their burgers and fries.

I grab the coffee jug, more to use as a weapon than because I think that’s what he wants, and walk over to his table. He turns from the window at my approach, his expression inscrutable. Up close, his eyes are even prettier than from a distance.

Seriously, Clara? You think now is the time to be noticing your potential abductor’s pretty eyes?

“Decided on your order?” I drag one of the small white cups on his table toward me. There’s no missing his scent this close. Warm cedar and soothing mint. He smells almost as good as he looks.

“Clara?” Pretty brown eyes sweep over me. Unless I’m mistaken, a spark of interest makes me think he’s appreciating the way I look the way I’m appreciating the way he looks.

“Who wants to know?” I wait to fill his cup with strong black coffee. The contents of my jug are going in his cup or on his face, depending on his answer.

“I’m Nathan.”

Why does that name sound familiar?

“Nathan?” I prompt.

“Blackshaw. I came down from Hardin to take you to… well. My family.”

His pack, he means, but you can’t go around talking about packs in public spaces without people thinking you’re mad or worse, believing you.

“I’m good here.”

I’d known someone would eventually track me from Dawley. Yes, I probably could have left the state, but I wasn’t looking to get as far away as possible for my benefit. I just want to keep my sister safe. That’s all.

“Your sister was worried when you took off.”

It would have been less painful for someone to punch me in the gut. Martha was a protective big sister when we had a pack. After our pack died, she was overprotective, and I can’t blame her for it. We’re all each other has in the world. She’d do anything to keep me safe, and she’d have been devastated when I sprinted off into the forest.

I mentally wince. “Yeah. I’ll call her once I’m settled.”

“So, you’re not going back?” His expression doesn’t change.

“That wasn’t my place.” I was supposed to be going to Hardin, home of the cold-blooded alpha, to see if it felt like home in a way that no place ever has. Regan, the Dawley-Stone Luna, arranged everything. She spoke to her old alpha, Dayne, and he’d agreed to send one of his packmates to come collect me.

Except, the moment Nathan set foot on Dawley-Stone land, someone tried to kill him. It was clear someone—namely an obsessed Minnesota alpha—was hanging around and wanted me to go nowhere.

I decided it was best to take on all the risk of looking after myself and run, leaving everything behind. Including my big sister.

I’m tempted to ask him about what happened in Dawley. He’s not bruised or half-dead so that attack on him hasn’t made him any less attractive.

You need to pull yourself together.

This is not my usual way of thinking, but I’ve been single for a while. It is not my fault my hormones are in overdrive. Since a conversation about people trying to kill him isn’t one we should conduct in a public place, I’m just going to have to stay curious about the attempt on his life.

“So you’re going to stay here?” he prompts, relaxed in his booth.

I shrug. “It’s an easy job and the tips are great. Did you want to order any food?”

He shakes his head, smiling faintly. “Nothing on the menu caught my eye.”

I ponder the cause of that smile as I fill his coffee cup and slide it toward him. “Well, enjoy. Feel free to leave the money on the table when you’re through. No need to wait for me to come back.”

There’s a hint in there for him. A big one. But will he take it?

His faint smile grows. “I get it. Thanks for the coffee.”

I relax.

Perfect.

Getting rid of Nathan Blackshaw is easy.

One of the drivers calls out for me, wanting more coffee, and I leave Nathan Blackshaw to serve him.

As I’m topping up coffee, the midday rush starts with a family of six, and I’m run off my feet trying to be in five places at once.

When I glance over at Nathan’s table, it’s empty and I spot a couple of folded dollar bills—more than the coffee costs—tucked under an empty coffee cup.

I smile.