CHAPTER 4
“I’ll take my whiskey neat.”
Henry
We did it. Don’t ask me how, because I have no fucking idea.
I mean, it was months of hard work, drained savings, and more headaches than I can count, but we did it.
The Howling Grizzly is officially open for business, and thanks to the singles’ night booking Austin accepted, we are having one hell of an opening night.
Would I have chosen to decorate the place with plastic hearts and fake flowers for the event?
Probably not, but I’m also not going to complain, the place is packed and there is a line around the building.
I just hope that people don’t think that's the theme we plan to keep around after tonight.
Giving the leopard print atrocity that was here before, there is a high chance they haven't realised the business is under new management.
I’m perched high on a stool next to the stage and I can’t see the bar top over the throng of hopeful singles vying for the bartenders’ attention. It’s a good thing we acquired all of the staff from the previous owners, I doubt a trainee would survive down there.
The organizers of this event, who neither I nor Austin have met in person, were savvy enough to send a DJ, a host, and even had catering brought in for the mass of singletons in town. Not their first rodeo it seems.
Valleywood is a magical city, home to shifters ranging from bears like myself to teeny tiny field mice and every other supernatural creature in between, they considered every sized appetite and diet.
Raw meats and fish, blood bags, even some potted plants that I originally thought were for display purposes until I watched a guy chomping down on the leaves like it was perfectly normal.
With so many different aromas I expected my sniffer to be overwhelmed and my ability to differentiate scents rendered redundant.
However, the air is clean, void of all food smells.
I can only assume they have a caster on the team.
Magick users of that caliber for hire aren’t unheard of in a city like Valleywood, it’s just uncommon to feel the weight of their power in such a commercial setting, but they are available for contracts and are usually very well paid for their services.
I found it rather odd at first that the mystery client behind this event only ever communicated by email, but according to Austin, that's how things work in the events industry. Organizers are too busy for business meetings these days. I had my doubts that it was a legit booking until they not only paid the deposit, but they paid the full quoted balance in full, up front. Which was a gamble on their part considering we hadn’t even finished the renovations when they reached out.
Guess the egg is on my face for doubting, everything has turned out better than expected.
Austin, true to his word, dealt with everything front of house.
Or as I like to refer to it, the peopling.
I haven’t had to do anything tonight except sip a drink and enjoy the fruits of my hard work over the past few weeks.
Every email, financial spreadsheet, and minute spent on hold listening to hideous royalty free music has been worth it.
Seeing so many people here, dancing and chatting, creating exactly the atmosphere we wanted to bring to the place.
Fun, friendly, and welcoming to all. Choosing to open up a business after working for somebody else my whole life was a risky move.
I’m not too proud to admit I had my reservations.
There were many nights over the past six months that my fear of failure kept me awake. Even those were worth it.
A loud yawn almost cracks my jaw and I relent that maybe I should leave the rest of the night to Austin. I’m essentially sitting here like a gargoyle paid to man the stage right now, and since we hired a pretty incredible security team, I doubt my services are required or up to par.
Standing, I stretch my body, hearing the bones in my back cracking with the effort.
Fuck. I am getting old. Figuring I should at least let my partner know I’m fading fast, I look over the crowd hoping to spot Austin somewhere near the bar, since that’s where most of the happenings seem to be.
I start to head in that direction only to be distracted by the familiar scent of honey bread.
My head whips around looking for the source.
Maybe it's coming from the guy from the cafe that was flirting with me a few days ago. I don’t see him in the crowd though and I doubt even if he was here, that he would have bread in his back pocket at a bar.
I’m clearly over tired and hungry. That’s all.
Can you hallucinate a smell? Fuck if I know.
“You look like you need this,” Austin appears dressed every inch the club owner, with a grey suit that’s been meticulously tailored to his tall, lithe frame.
A dark teal shirt complete with a gem encrusted wolf head brooch in lieu of a tie and matching cufflinks.
His voice forces my focus back to reality while shoving a chilled glass quarter filled with a dark amber liquid swirling around heart shaped ice cubes “What’s on your mind?
Everything is going great and you looked like somebody kicked your puppy”
“I don’t have a puppy,” I say absentmindedly, a furrow creasing my brow as my eyes start tracing the faces in the crowd again, hoping to find that barista.
Austin scoffs, I can’t really blame him, I’m apparently incapable of letting this go.
I barely manage to look back at him just in time to catch him rolling his eyes at me before my head is up and searching again, taking in deep lungfuls of air.
“It’s nothing, I’m just tired, you’ve got a handle on everything here, I might just take off.
” I tell him as I take a sip of the whiskey he handed me without conscious thought, my mind still stuck on that scent.
Which is crazy because it's just a treat. I could probably make it myself at home and end this weird obsession I seem to have, but the idea of doing that doesn’t sit right.
All of my instincts are telling me I need to find the person behind that scent.
It’s not the barista, so the cafe must have a baker on staff.
Maybe if I can find that barista, I can ask who it is.
Austin shakes me out of my thoughts, forcing me to focus on him again. I forgot he was standing there. Fuck I’m losing it. “Are you sure you’re alright? You look kind of spacey man.” He asks, concern bred from years of friendship written all over his face.
“I'm good, Aus, just getting this weird sense that I’m missing something.” I can’t say I've ever had the smell of baked goods take over my thoughts quite like this. I have a major sweet tooth, that is no secret, and I love all things honey, as stereotypical as that is, but never before have I had this kind of reaction. I feel like an addict jonesing for a hit, except I’ve never even seen this particular drug, nor can I get my hands on it.
Now my bear is getting involved, making his impatience known, he wants the treat as much as I do.
I’m probably going to have to buy a boat load just to placate him.
Maybe the fact my bear is so adamant I find the source of that scent is a sign this is something deeper.
Maybe he’s trying to warn me, maybe I've got it all wrong and he can sense something I can’t about the bread.
I’m giving myself a headache trying to work this out.
There is no way I am going to try to explain this to Austin.
He is not above getting my ass put on a seventy-two hour psych hold.
“Yeah, I think I’ll head out now, call if you need anything.
” I pat his shoulder, allowing my eyes to make one last glance around the room and force my feet to walk toward the door before my friend can ask questions I don’t have the answers to right now.
I am definitely not alright. Every time I catch that scent it seems to knock my brain into shutdown mode.
I can’t think past the notion of getting my hands on a treat I've never even tried before.
The whole drive out of the city to the Hera district and the solace of my cabin, my bear is restless, pacing inside me, demanding with huffs and growls that we go back.
I don’t understand what's wrong with him. He’s never been this pushy before, generally happy with solitude letting me take the lead, as long as he gets to wade in the creek behind the cabin on hot days.
It’s so unlike him to test the limits of my control.
It’s taking all I have to stop him from bursting out of me.
“Calm down, as soon as we get home I’ll shift.
” I tell him, pushing my foot harder on the accelerator, thankful for the empty back roads that lead to my property.
By the time I pull up to my cabin my hands are shaking, claws extended and fur sprouting.
I can feel the steering wheel crumpling like paper under my grip.
“Fuck,” I ground out as I swing on to my driveway and pop the door of the truck, practically throwing my body out of the confined space to land hard on my knees in the dirt.
My shift is fast and not without pain. Muscles expanding, body doubling, tripling in size, face elongating as dark, thick, coarse fur covers me.
For the first time since I was a teenage cub, I feel out of control.
My mind shoved to the side as my primal side takes over completely.
Raising up on two legs, my bear roars, angrily.
The sound seeming to shake the trees around us.
The only word he projects into our connection has me choking on my tongue. MATE.
Suddenly everything makes sense. The scent being so intoxicating, my overwhelming need to seek out the source and how I felt so off kilter at the club.
He must have been there. It’s my mate. My soul mate.
The one person hand-selected by the fates themselves to be my perfect match.
My bear knew, that's why he was agitated at The Den and why he is currently barrelling through the woods shoulder checking trees like they personally pissed in his Wheaties.
I can’t say I blame him for being angry with me right now. In his mind, I scented our mate and left without him. I should have made the connection sooner. All I can do now is let him run off his aggression then figure out a way to track down my mate.
First thing tomorrow, at the ass crack of dawn, I’m going back to the rainy day cafe and if I have to sit there all damn day, I will.
My mate is connected to that cafe, he could work there, or just be a regular customer.
Either way, I’m going to find him. Claim him.
Thoroughly, so that he never spends another day without my mark on him.
Bone deep determination flooding our connection is enough to prevent any further damage to the forest and assure him I’m not going to continue being an oblivious idiot, enough for him to slow his pace and make the trek back to our cabin.
The only thing on both of our minds now is our mate.
Is he tall or short? Does he prefer coffee or tea?
What sounds will he make when my tongue is lapping at his pretty little Omega hole?
I wonder if his slick will have the taste of honey like the scent that started it all. I can’t fucking wait to find out.