Chapter 6 #2
The interior smelled like cinnamon, apples, and old wood.
Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, packed with everything from groceries to hardware to what appeared to be hand-knitted socks.
A record player in the corner played an old country song about pickup trucks and cowboys.
The store could have come from the set of a Hallmark movie—except Hallmark movies didn’t usually have the snow-white head of a yeti bobbing over a display of garden rakes or a fairy trailing blue glitter as she hurried down the aisle.
Smiled to herself, she grabbed a basket and started browsing. She needed more tea, maybe some fruit, definitely those cookies that smelled divine—
She came to an abrupt halt. Victor stood in the canned goods aisle, studying labels with the same focused intensity he’d probably use reading medical journals.
He’d traded his formal clothes for dark jeans and a grey Henley that clung to shoulders she absolutely should not be noticing.
His hair looked slightly mussed, like he’d been running his hands through it.
He glanced up and their eyes met. For a heartbeat, something flashed across his face—heat, hunger, something that made her skin tingle. Then it shuttered, gone so fast she might have imagined it.
“Miss Bennington,” he said, as coolly as if they were barely acquainted. As if he hadn’t carried her up the stairs in his arms the previous night.
“Dr. Jackson.” She managed an awkward smile. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I needed—” He looked at the can in his hand. “Soup.”
“Right. Soup.”
They stood there, the moment stretching uncomfortably, as the music changed something slow and yearning. She finally cleared her throat. “Well. I’ll just—”
“Of course.” He stepped aside, giving her plenty of space, and she told herself she wasn’t disappointed. His concern the previous night must have been purely professional. That feeling of connection had probably been her pregnancy hormones making her see things that weren’t there.
She forced herself to nod politely and move past him. A little further along the aisle, she stopped, reaching for a can of tomatoes on a higher shelf. Her fingers brushed the metal but she couldn’t quite grasp the can. A big hand reached over her shoulder and easily plucked the can off the shelf.
“Thank you,” she said, turning.
He stood closer than she’d expected, close enough that she caught that spicy scent again. His eyes were carefully neutral, but his jaw was tight.
“You shouldn’t be reaching overhead,” he said sharply. “Not this far along.”
“I’m only six months. I can still—”
“The baby’s weight pulls your spine forward and shifts your center of gravity.”
She sighed. “I didn’t realize grocery shopping required medical supervision.”
Something flickered in his expression—amusement, maybe, or exasperation. “Just be careful.”
He turned and walked away, leaving her standing there with her can of tomatoes, torn between irritation and something warmer.
Overprotective didn’t begin to cover it, but part of her—the part that had been alone through this entire pregnancy—found it oddly sweet.
She continued shopping, acutely aware of his presence in the store.
Every time she turned a corner, he seemed to be there. Not hovering, exactly. Just… close.
When she started to bend down and grab a bag of rice from a lower shelf, he beat her to it.
“I can—”
“I know you can.” He set it in her basket. “Humor me.”
As he raised his hand their fingers brushed, and the contact shot heat up her arm.
He pulled back like she’d burned him, his eyes flashing green.
Definitely, unmistakably green. He turned and strode away before she could react.
She stared after him, her heart doing complicated gymnastics.
What kind of Other was he? The green suggested something feral, something wild, but he seemed so controlled. So carefully, rigidly controlled.
She finished gathering her items—tea, fruit, those cookies, some crackers for her persistent morning queasiness.
When she headed to the register, she found him already in line ahead of her, his basket containing exactly one can of soup.
Had he just been looking for an excuse to be in the store with her? The thought made her bite back a smile.
The clerk was a tall, good-looking male with an impressive set of muscles beneath a snug blue flannel shirt and dark hair that fell into amber, inhuman eyes. When he smiled, his teeth were slightly too sharp. Werewolf.
“Afternoon, Doc.” The clerk rang up Victor’s soup with a cheerful smile. “That’ll be two-fifty.”
Victor handed over the money, and she could see the tension in his arms.
“And hello there.” The werewolf’s smile widened as she reached the counter, amber eyes drifting slowly over her body. He didn’t seem the least bit bothered by her obvious pregnancy. “You must be new in town. I’d remember if I’d seen you before.”
“I just moved to Fairhaven Falls.” She set her basket on the counter and smiled back, trying for friendly but not flirtatious. “I’m Chloe Bennington.”
“A pretty name for a pretty lady.” He tilted his head, something wolf-like in the gesture. “I’m Jasper Cabot. My family owns this place.”
“It’s lovely.”
“Not as lovely as you.” Jasper began ringing up her items. “You settling in okay? Need any help with anything?” He winked. “I’m real good with my hands.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “That’s kind, but—”
A low sound rolled through the store. It wasn’t quite a growl.
It was deeper than that, more primal, raising every hair on her arms. She looked up to find Victor standing frozen two feet away, his entire body rigid.
His eyes blazed with green fire, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white with pressure.
When he spoke, his voice came out… wrong.
Like two voices layered over each other.
“She’s not interested.”
Jasper’s smile vanished and his own eyes started to glow, his wolf rising to meet whatever Victor was. “I was just being friendly.”
“You were being—” Victor’s jaw worked, and a muscle jumped in his neck. “She doesn’t need your help.”
The air crackled with tension and her pulse was racing, but not with fear. With something else, something she couldn’t name. The baby rolled, pressing against her ribs.
“Victor,” she said quietly, and those burning green eyes snapped to her. For a heartbeat, she saw something—someone—else looking out at her, both protective and possessive, hungry. Then he blinked and the green flickered, fighting to recede.
“I apologize,” he said roughly. He started to stride towards the door, then turned back, scooping up her grocery bags like they weighed nothing. He didn’t look at her, didn’t speak, just carried them straight out into the afternoon sun.
“Wait.” Grabbing her purse, she shoved money at a scowling Jasper, but before she could move away, he caught her arm.
“Fucking Jekyll,” he muttered. “You watch out for him, Chloe Bennington. He’s dangerous.”
“I’m fine,” she said automatically, and he released her, but as she hurried after Victor, her mind raced.
Jekyll? As in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? The story Victor’s great-grandfather had written about—control, the guardian, a weakness—suddenly clicked into place. She’d thought he’d been talking about a spiritual burden. But he’d been writing about the monster inside him.
A Hyde. A Hyde whose eyes glowed green and who growled at flirtatious werewolves. A Hyde who seemed determined to protect her—and why didn’t that terrify her? Instead, she found herself smiling as she went to find him.