Chapter Twelve #2
Kayden gives me a sideways look, one brow rising like: And with what money, sweetheart? Spirit points?
Jace opens his mouth again, indignation all but vibrating off him, when Winston sets a glass down on the bar with a heavy clink. The sound cuts through everything like a judge's gavel.
"I'm still the owner of this bar," Winston says slowly, each word weighted, "and the head of this pack."
Jace straightens like someone just tugged on his spine. His mouth shuts, tight as a knot.
Winston's eyes land on me, gentler now. "If the traveler here is in need of help, she'll come with me to the back. We'll sort it out."
"I'll go with—" Asher begins.
Winston doesn't even turn. "We can manage without you, Colonel," he says, voice smooth and melodic as old jazz. "Can we, miss?"
I nod, quiet, but certain.
Winston's gaze flicks to Jace. "You. Stay here. Serve these gentlemen what they like. And breathe."
Jace exhales hard but doesn't argue. Just mutters something about not being a damn butler under his breath and heads toward the espresso machine.
Asher meets my eyes, gives me a small nod—supportive, but watchful. Kayden just smirks at me like I've earned my first real badge in supernatural politics.
I follow Winston, weaving past the bar, past the booths, through a storage room that smells like stale ale, smoked wood, and something peppery. We walk through a narrow hallway lit with a single hanging bulb. At the end of it, there's a heavy wooden door with two thick locks.
Winston pulls a ring of keys from a rack and begins unlocking it.
"I really am sorry," I say, the words scratching out of my throat. "About what I did. I—"
He pauses just long enough to glance over his shoulder, his voice even and calm. "It's all right. We all hit rough patches in life. When the world tightens its grip, we do what we must to keep breathing."
The second lock clicks. He flashes me a wide, honest smile, the kind that makes the guilt sting sharper. "And that pup of mine? He needed the lesson. Can't let a pretty girl talk circles around him without learning how to hold on to his wallet."
I grin, sheepish. "Yeah… I guess he learned the hard way. You saw it?"
"I saw it before it happened." He chuckles, shaking his head as he pushes the door open. "You've got the talent. Our kind's fast and sharp-eyed, but we got our blind spots."
The heavy door creaks inward, and he flicks on the lights. I brace for a dusty back room with teetering boxes and maybe a few forgotten tomes. What I get is… something else entirely.
Rows upon rows of shelves stretch before me, perfectly aligned, each packed with books of all sizes, some modern, some ancient.
Leather spines, cracked bindings, gold leaf glyphs, handwritten titles.
A subtle hum comes from the corner dehumidifiers, and the air smells like aged parchment and the faintest trace of cloves.
"Whoa…" I murmur, stepping inside. "This is… not what I expected."
Winston smiles, clearly pleased. "Most don't. Been building this collection for decades. Started out with one shelf behind the bar. Then folks started bringing more—strays, travelers, folks looking to trade. You'd be amazed what walks through that door."
My hope rises like a tide. Maybe there's something useful here.
He watches me for a moment, then speaks, slower now, more gently. "I won't press you. I can see you're running from something, and it ain't my business unless you make it so. I can leave you to it if you want. But if you let me in, I might be able to help."
I pause to consider. He's a coyote shifter, probably my blood doesn't affect him the same way it does vampires. Nothing about him feels predatory.
Besides, the vampire brothers already know the truth.
"I'm a nymph," I say finally, letting the words settle between us. "And I'm looking for something that might shield me from the influence of a satyr."
His eyebrows rise, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well now," he says with a low whistle. "Didn't expect that. But… this town's been full of surprises ever since our Colonel planted roots here."
He walks toward one of the far shelves, muttering to himself. "Greek mythology… fae bloodlines… woodland compulsion…"
I take the opportunity to pry a little. "How long has Asher been living here?"
"Eight years," Winston replies without missing a beat, eyes scanning spines, fingers brushing familiar bindings like old friends. "Came through town looking for a quiet place. Turns out folks like him don't stay quiet for long."
"And this… sanctuary for supernaturals? It's the real deal?"
"As real as it gets." He pulls a worn leather tome off the shelf, checks the inside cover, and tucks it under one arm.
"He's helped plenty—runaways, outcasts, the wounded.
Some pass through. Some stay. I reckon more'll come.
He's good people, Asher. One of the rare ones you can trust without looking over your shoulder every five seconds. "
I smile faintly because that's exactly the impression I had of him from the start, but I never let myself trust it.
Trust is dangerous. Comfort more so.
"How about his brother?" I ask, before I can stop myself.
Winston lets out a sound somewhere between a grunt and a chuckle.
"That boy's straight trouble. Blew in a few months back like a hurricane and hasn't slowed since.
Stirred up everything from gossip to brawls.
Asher's patient, but he'll only put up with so much.
Brother or not, he's not gonna let one wildfire undo what took years to build. "
"You don't seem too fond of him."
Winston glances at me, a slow, curious smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I've seen men like Kayden before. Pretty on the outside, reckless underneath. They don't change unless they got a reason to. Something—or someone—worth changing for."
I shift on my feet, suddenly self-conscious. "I'm… I'm not that someone."
He raises a brow, that smile deepening. "Didn't look that way from where I was standing." His tone stays easy, but the words land heavy. "The way they both stood between you and Jace? That's not just protection. That's instinct."
Both. He said both.
I press my lips together and choose not to reply. It's too complicated.
Instead, I pivot. "It's funny, you talk about Kayden needing to grow up like he's a teenager, but the guy's a few centuries old."
Winston chuckles, rich and warm. "Some folks don't grow up at a thousand. Especially men. Don't let the age fool you—it's never about time. It's about will."
I laugh under my breath. "I guess immortality doesn't guarantee wisdom."
"Hell no." He pulls two thick volumes from the bottom shelf and hands them over. "I don't usually let these outta my sight, but…"
"I'll be careful," I promise, gripping them close. "And I'll bring them back."
He nods once. "Good. You check those. I'll dig through the rest. Some obscure corners might hold more than they let on."
Before I can thank him again, he lifts a hand. "And don't worry, I won't tell anyone what you are. Town's full of creatures, but no one'd believe I met a real-life nymph anyway. They'd just say old man Cole's finally lost his marbles."
I smile, something warm and honest blooming in my chest. "I appreciate that. More than I can say."
Winston locks the back room carefully before we step out. The bar's a little busier now, soft conversation humming through the air. Asher and Kayden are exactly where we left them, each nursing a mug. When their gazes lift to meet mine, I feel a strange weight settle in my chest.
Jace turns too. His expression is still tight, lips pressed into a line, but he doesn't say a word.
"Got some homework, I see," Kayden says, nodding toward the books in my arms.
"Yeah. Mr. Cole was kind enough to let me take a couple back," I reply.
"Oh, please, call me Winston," he says with an easy smile.
"All right. Winston." I smile back.
Then he turns to Asher. "You planning to call the Assembly about this?"
"Assembly?" I echo, head tilting.
"When a new supernatural settles in, we gather the others who live here," Asher explains. "It's a way to make introductions, talk needs, boundaries, offer support."
He turns back to Winston. "We will if she decides to stay."
Winston gives me a pointed look. "We'd be glad to have you. These are good people, Sage."
I nod slowly. I understand what he's offering. A place. A second chance, even after what I did.
But that's the problem. Good people. And I'm a walking storm front. Bringing danger is the one thing I do best.
Kayden hops off his stool with a stretch. "Come on, let's head out before this turns into a jerk circle of 'Oh Asher, thou art great and wise," he says, his palm landing lightly between my shoulder blades to nudge me forward.
"Classy as ever," Asher mutters dryly behind us.
Jace says something too, low and bitter. I pause and turn to him. "I'm really sorry, Jace."
He gives a short, tight-lipped nod. I can tell he wants to let it go, but pride doesn't heal that fast. I can't blame him.
A thought sparks. "If I stayed," I say slowly, turning to Winston, "could I take a shift or two here? To repay you. For the coffee… and the other thing."
Winston's eyebrows rise in pleasant surprise. "We could use an extra set of hands on weekends. Evenings get busy."
"Thank you," I say, meaning it. "For everything."
"Don't mention it. You stay safe now."
As we step out into the light, Kayden leans closer. "You've got a knack for making impressions wherever you land, huh?"
"My one true supernatural ability," I say with a huff.
Asher opens the car door for me. "While I appreciate the thought of you staying here," he says calmly, "bartending in a public spot doesn't pair well with laying low."
"I know," I mutter. "I just… wanted to do something. To repay Winston. Jace too. And if"—I emphasize the word—"if I stay, I can't be locked up in your house."
"I wouldn't mind that," Kayden murmurs behind me.
I ignore him, eyes on Asher.
He watches me for a moment, then gives a slow nod. "We'll discuss it. When you decide."
He closes the door gently once I'm inside.
I sit, clutching the books to my chest like some kind of fragile armor. There's still so much I don't know. About them. About myself. About what comes next.
For now, I focus on the pages in my lap. One step. One answer. One day at a time.