Chapter 002 Thokk
We left the general store, the bell above the door chiming a cheerful farewell that seemed at odds with the tension radiating from the small woman beside me.
Cassidy walked with a deceptive casualness. To anyone else, she might have looked like a tourist taking in the rustic charm of Dusty Gulch’s wooden boardwalks. But I saw the way her eyes darted to the alleyways, the way her shoulders hitched whenever a door slammed in the distance. She was scanning for exits. She was calculating threats.
Someone had hurt her. Badly.
The realization made a low growl build in my chest, a vibration I barely managed to suppress. My hands curled into fists at my sides.
I adjusted my stride to match hers, shortening my steps significantly. As we walked, the cuff of my uniform shirt rode up slightly, exposing the skin of my right inner wrist. There, gleaming against the sage-green of my flesh, was a golden circle. Complex, interlocking geometric lines formed a symbol that hadn’t been there this morning.
The Mating Mark.
It had appeared the moment I saw her through the office window. When I’d taken her hand—when I’d lost my mind and licked her palm—the gold ink had seared beneath my skin like a branding iron. It was a pleasant burn, a tether pulling me toward her, demanding I claim what the ancestors had decided was mine.
She didn’t know. Humans didn’t understand our biology, and I had no idea how to explain that she belonged to me without sounding like a monster.
We passed an older human woman on the boardwalk. She paused, her gaze flicking between my massive frame and Cassidy’s petite one. Her lips pursed in a sour expression of disapproval, and she huffed, skirting wide around us as if we were contagious.
I instinctively shifted, placing my bulk between the woman and Cassidy. It was a small movement, a realignment of geometry to block the line of sight. Cassidy didn’t seem to notice the woman’s judgment, or perhaps she was too busy watching the rooftops, but the slight relaxation of her posture told me she appreciated the shield.
"The Red Fang Saloon," Cassidy read as we approached the double swinging doors. She tilted her head, looking up at me. The movement exposed the graceful line of her throat, and my pulse hammered a heavy rhythm against my collar. "You have white tusks, not red, and they’re not fangs, are they?"
I touched the tip of my left tusk with my tongue. "No. They are ivory. And we don’t use them to bite like your mythical vampires."
"That’s comforting," she said, though her tone was dry. "Considering the name."
"My brother Krug thought it sounded formidable," I explained. "Marketing strategy."
"Effective. Sounds like a place you’d go to get eaten, or get a drink. Fifty-fifty odds."
I chuckled, a rough sound that seemed to surprise her. "Only drinks and food here. Safe."
I reached for the door, holding it open. The scent of roasted meat, stale beer, and sawdust rolled out to meet us—the perfume of the West, or at least the version of it we sold to tourists.
The interior was dim, lit by wrought-iron chandeliers fitted with electric bulbs designed to look like flickering flames. Rough-hewn wooden tables were scattered across the floor, arranged in a grid that was mostly orderly, though one chair near the back was twisted at a forty-five-degree angle that made my eye twitch. I made a mental note to fix it later.
Behind the polished mahogany bar stood Krug.
My brother was a wall of muscle, slightly broader than me, with a scar running through his left eyebrow that gave him a permanent skeptical expression. He was wiping a glass with a rag that looked comically small in his hand. beside him, perched on a stool so she could reach the taps, was Jessi.
Jessi was tiny. Even smaller than Cassidy. The top of her head barely cleared Krug’s lower ribs, yet when she murmured something to him, he leaned down instantly, his entire massive posture softening like wax near a flame.
"Krug. Jessi," I called out, guiding Cassidy toward the bar.
Krug looked up. His dark eyes scanned me, then shifted to Cassidy. He didn’t smile—Krug rarely smiled—but his nod was respectful.
"This is Deputy Cassidy Smith," I said. "She just arrived."
"Welcome to the Gulch," Jessi said, her voice bright and warm. She hopped off the stool and rounded the bar, wiping her hands on her apron. "I’m Jessi. This big grump is Krug."
"Nice to meet you," Cassidy said. She offered her hand, and Jessi shook it enthusiastically.
Krug remained behind the bar, but his gaze dropped to my arm. I hadn’t pulled my sleeve down. The golden circle on my wrist seemed to pulse under the saloon lights.
Krug’s eyes widened. He looked at the mark, then at Cassidy, then back to me. Understanding dawned on his heavy features, followed immediately by a flicker of sympathy. He recognized the signs because he’d lived them. He was the second of us to fall, and he knew exactly how disorienting the sudden rewriting of one's entire universe could be.
He gave me a subtle nod. I see. I will help.
I exhaled, a tension I hadn’t realized I was holding draining from my shoulders. The brothers were a pack. We handled threats together. We handled life together.
"So, Cassidy," Jessi was saying, oblivious to the silent communication passing over her head. "Where are you staying? The apartments above the bakery?"
"No, I... actually, I'm not sure yet. Thokk mentioned a hotel room for now."
"Top floor," I interjected. "Safe. Quiet."
Cassidy looked past me, her eyes fixing on Krug and Jessi. Krug had reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Jessi’s ear. It was a casual intimacy, a gesture so practiced it was unconscious. Jessi leaned into his touch, her hand coming up to rest on his forearm, grounding herself against his strength.
I saw the look on Cassidy’s face. It wasn’t fear. It was a profound, aching wistfulness. A hunger, not for food, but for that. For the safety of belonging to someone who would never let the world touch you.
The sight of her longing hit me like a punch to the gut.
I wanted that. I wanted it with a desperation that terrified me. I wanted to be the one she leaned on. I wanted to be the wall she stood behind. I wanted to wrap her in my arms and keep the nightmares at bay until she forgot what it felt like to be afraid.
But she was a bird ready to take flight at the first sudden movement. If I pushed, if I let the fire in my blood dictate my actions, she would run. And I would have to chase her, which would only terrify her more.
I had to be patient. I had to be the calm in her storm.
"Well, make sure you come down for your meals," Jessi said, breaking the spell. "They’re free for staff. Krug makes a mean steak, even if he looks like he’d rather eat it raw."
"I cook it perfectly," Krug grumbled. "Medium rare."
Cassidy managed a small, genuine smile. "Thank you. I appreciate it."
"We’ll let you get settled," I said, sensing Cassidy’s battery was running low. Her eyes were getting that glassy, thousand-yard stare again. "I’ll take her up."
"Good to meet you, Cassidy," Krug rumbled.
As we turned to leave, I glanced back. Krug met my eyes one last time. His expression was solemn, a silent vow of support.
Bronish males protected their family.
And as of today, Cassidy was definitely one of ours.
We walked toward the stairs at the back of the saloon. I kept my pace slow, my body angled to shield her from the few patrons scattered around the room. My wrist burned where the golden ink marked me as hers, a constant, searing reminder of the duty I had just accepted.
She was mine to protect. Even if she didn’t know it yet.