Chapter Three
One year later…
Mistletoe Falls, Wyoming
“Aw, someone is sad dogging it tonight, huh?”
Oliver tightened his hold on the glass before him. The last thing he needed on this nightmare of a night was for the bartender to start giving him shit. “Do not mess with me right now.”
“Is it because you’re a werewolf?” A wise nod, as if the fellow understood. “You guys get so touchy about the dog bit, but I mean, if it looks like a dog and it barks like a—”
Oliver’s low growl stopped his words. Oliver glared at the bartender, but the fool just smiled back at him.
Oliver had stumbled into this bar moments before, leaving a trail of snow in his wake.
The night was a monster, the winter storm seeming to come from nowhere, and seeking shelter in the rundown bar had seemed like a good idea.
Light had blazed from the faded windows and promised Oliver a bit of warmth.
Instead of warmth, he was having to deal with this jerk’s BS. “I am not in the mood.”
The bartender hummed and stepped closer. He also added a bit more amber liquid to Oliver’s glass. “Rough night, eh?”
More like rough fucking year. The whole year had been shit because Oliver had lost everything that mattered to him. His human life. The woman he loved. He’d wound up bitten and transformed, and since then, everything good that he’d had—it had all vanished.
“Why don’t you tell me about it?” The bartender was all friendly as he propped one elbow on the bar and put his chin in his hand. “Not like there are other customers waiting.”
No, there weren’t any others. The sole occupants of the place were Oliver and the annoying bartender. “I’m not the sharing sort.”
“That’s okay. I am.” His smile came again. “Name’s Cael.”
Oliver drained his glass. He put it back down with a heavy clink and rose to his feet. His hand shoved into his pocket as he dug out some cash.
“It’s on the house, Oliver.”
Oliver narrowed his eyes as tension snaked through him. “How the hell do you know my name?”
A shrug. “Same way that I know you’re a werewolf.”
Yeah, about that…He put his hands on the bar and leaned forward. “Just how did you know?” Some humans were in the know, but he hadn’t exactly been flashing fang and claw when he strolled inside this joint. What had tipped off the bartender?
The guy smiled. “What if I told you…I was here for you?”
Dammit. Oliver had let down his guard. He’d thought that he’d defeated the enemies on his trail, but they just kept coming. No matter what he did, they popped up over and over. Oliver drew in a bracing breath. “Then I’d say I’m sorry, but you’re about to get your ass kicked.”
Cael threw back his blond hair and laughed as if Oliver had just told him the most amazing joke ever.
Poor sonofabitch. He must be crazy because Oliver had not been kidding. He never kidded. Not since…
No, stop. You’re not supposed to think about her. Even though Gia had been able to make him laugh. Only Gia.
The bartender’s laughter slowly faded while Oliver waited and tapped his foot.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Cael quickly said. “It’s not like that at all.” He poured himself a healthy drink and drained it in one chug. Then he proceeded to cough up a lung.
Oliver kept waiting, but his claws started to extend.
Cael’s eyes watered. “That goes down strong.”
“That’s because you’re not supposed to swallow that much at one time. Not exactly a shot glass there, genius.”
Cael looked at the glass. Then back at Oliver. “I will remember that.” He beamed at Oliver. “It’s your lucky night.”
“I don’t have lucky nights.” He had dangerous nights. Blood-filled nights. Death-soaked nights. Not lucky ones.
“You do tonight.” Cael nodded and looked so excited that Oliver expected the guy—a fairly short fellow, and one on the thin side, one who was wearing a really shitty, out of date suit, of all things—to start bouncing. “You see, I’m your guardian angel.”
Oliver waited, but there was no punchline. Figured that he would stumble into the one bar staffed with a madman. “This has been fun.” It had not. He tossed some cash on the bar. “Good night.” Oliver turned and headed for the door.
“You don’t believe in angels?”
“Why the hell would I?” Oliver didn’t stop.
“Well, you’re a werewolf. Most humans wouldn’t believe in you. But, seeing as how you are magical, I would have thought that you would open your mind to all of the possibilities out—ah!” Cael’s words ended in a high-pitched scream because Oliver had bounded back across the room.
In a flash, Oliver had his razor-sharp claws at Cael’s skinny throat. One swipe, and the bartender—correction, angel—would be missing a head. “I’m not magical.” A rough, lethal snarl. “I’m a monster.” Ask anyone.
Or…ask the person who mattered most. Ask…her.
His ex-fiancée.
Fuck. Why did he keep thinking about Gia? Oh, yeah, because…one year ago, I lost her. He damn well hated Christmas Eve.
“Even…m-monsters get guardian a-angels…”
He brought his face even closer to Cael’s. “I can’t decide if I should kill you or dump you in a psych ward.”
Cael’s mouth tightened. “How about option three?”
“I don’t remember giving a third option.”
“I-I’ll give it.” A sniff as Cael’s nostrils flared. “Option three, you let me grant a wish for you.”
He pulled his claws away from the angel’s neck. “I thought genies did that bit.”
“Oh, fine. You believe in them, but not in me?” Cael definitely sounded insulted. “Can’t believe you’re my final test. Talk about a serious challenge.” He pointed at Oliver. “But I will not fail. I want them too desperately.”
Okay, so the option of dumping the guy in the nearest psych ward? Looking better and better by the moment. Yet, oddly curious, Oliver heard himself ask, “What is it you want so badly?”
“My wings.”
Sure. Yes. Made sense. Oliver nodded, then proceeded to jump over the bar.
He grabbed the most expensive whiskey he saw from the shelves that were overflowing with liquor, yanked off the cap, and downed a satisfying gulp.
“Why not?” Oliver stared into the bottle.
“Not like angels are supposed to come equipped with those things.”
Cael snatched the bottle away from him. “Like you’re suddenly the expert on supernatural creatures? A year ago, you didn’t know jack.”
Tension knifed through Oliver. “I’ve made a point of learning plenty.” During all of those sometimes brutal lessons, he’d never heard any talk of angels. “How did you know that I didn’t realize paranormals existed a year ago?”
“Because!” Cael huffed as he set down the bottle and then fisted his hands on his hips. “Because I am your—”
“Guardian angel.” Oliver rolled his eyes. “The angel without wings. So, does that make you like…what? An angel intern or something?”
“You have to earn wings, werewolf. You earn them by helping a charge. By stopping the charge from—” But he stopped. Clamped his little lips together.
Oliver could only sigh. “I am not drunk enough for the things happening this night.”
“You shouldn’t waste time getting drunk at all.”
“Uh, huh. And what should I be doing?”
“You should be finding Gia. Staying close to her. Fighting for the life you—ah! Would you keep those claws to yourself?”
Oliver had his claws raised again. Oliver looked at them, then at Cael. “How do you know about—”
“Guardian. Angel.” Cael pointed to himself. “Why is this concept such a challenge for you?”
Why? “Because for the last year, I’ve had to fight with every bit of strength I have to maintain my sanity and to keep my ass alive.
Other werewolves wanted to challenge me everywhere I went.
The packs all see me as an outsider because guess what?
Most shifters are born as werewolves. They grow up in the pack.
They grow up learning how to control their beasts.
I’m some kind of freakish genetic throwback.
My wolf only awakened when I got bitten.
Because of that, the others think I’m unstable.
They think I’m the enemy. They think they have to take me out. ”
But Cael shook his head. “They think you’re something special. They’re right.”
Delusional. “I should have never come in this bar.”
“They challenge you because you’re an alpha. If they beat you, they become alpha. Only no one has beaten you…yet.”
“No one will.” Not being arrogant. Just stating a fact. Oliver had heard the alpha crap before. He didn’t give a shit about it.
“You need a pack of your own. A family. Have you tried to—” Oliver’s growl cut Cael off. “Right. Ahem. That would be why I am here.” He looked up at the ceiling. “More of a warning about him would have been appreciated.”
Oliver looked up. Who the fuck was Cael talking to? He just saw some cracked and peeling paint.
“What about that wish?”
His focus jerked back to Cael.
“Why not just make a wish?” Cael wheedled.
“What can it hurt? If I’m crazy, nothing will happen.
But if I’m the real deal, then your life will change, and you’ll be super grateful to me and suddenly, I’ll have wings.
” He pointed over his left shoulder. “They’ll sprout back there. Don’t you see? It’s win, win.”
“Nothing about this night feels like a win.” He vaulted back over the bar. Shoved a stool out of his way. Once more, Oliver headed for the door. But…
What if?
“What do you have to lose?” Cael called behind him. “Just tell me…what is your fondest wish? What do you want the very most?”
His fingers hovered over the doorknob. This was total BS, but Oliver tossed an angry glare over his shoulder at Cael. The angel wanted to know what he wished for? All right. “I wish that I’d never become a werewolf.”
Cael’s lashes fluttered. “Oh, dear.”
Seriously?
“That is not what I was expecting. Very, very troubling. Um…” Cael’s right hand fanned his face. “How about you re-wish? A do-over? I’m sure we can make an exception in this case.”
“Knew this was shit.” Oliver yanked open the door. The bell over the door—a bell that he had not noticed before—gave a little, happy jingle. The sound seemed to jar through him. A half-forgotten memory from childhood slipped through his mind. “Did you just get wings?”
“That’s not exactly how it works.” Cael’s sad voice. “You have to change the outcome first. Right now, I’m just granting the wish. I hope it’s what you want.”
Snow drifted through the doorway. Teased Oliver’s face. Cooled his overheated skin. “Being human again is the only thing I want.” But that wasn’t really true.
She’s what I want. Gia.
“Then…wish granted.”
Nothing happened. There was no flash of light. No sprinkling of fairy dust or angel dust or any crap like that. There was absolutely nothing.
“As expected,” Oliver muttered and marched forward.
“Come back if you need me!” Cael cried.
As if that would ever happen. Oliver stomped away as the snowfall thickened.
The night had gone from bad to worse. All he wanted to do was get back to his crappy home and wait out Christmas.
When the holiday passed, maybe he wouldn’t feel so damn melancholy.
Maybe he’d stop longing for all that he’d lost.
Except…
There was a Christmas tree lot right across the street. Oliver blinked. He didn’t remember seeing the lot earlier. In fact, Oliver could have sworn that it hadn’t been there.
He found himself hurrying toward the lights of that lot as the memory of another time—another tree lot—swirled through his mind.
The first time I met Gia. He’d rushed inside the lot because he’d needed something to perk up his house. Something to make it feel like a holiday.
He actually already had a damn tree at his house. One he’d put up because of her. A foolish impulse.
And why the hell was he suddenly rushing inside this lot? Why was he—
A big, seven-foot fir came toward him, a fir being half-carried, half-dragged by a woman with long, dark hair. Before he could move out of the way…
The tree and the woman barreled right into him. They all tumbled into the snow.