THIRTEEN
“ There she is !” Courtney squeals from the far corner of the bar, pointing in my direction. It took a while for me to unbarricade my front door, even though I started questioning what I was doing while grabbing the heaviest furniture within reach. The book on supernatural protection conveniently left out werewolves— thanks for nothing, Lenny —but was added to the pile anyway. By the time I got to my couch, using all my weight to slide it on the laminate floors, I gave up. If Nikolai really wanted to kill me, he would’ve done so today, right? I gave him a golden opportunity to dispose of my body, and instead, he gave me the best orgasm I’ve had in years. Maybe ever. I am no safer hiding behind a clawed-up door than at this bar on the upper west side with Courtney.
“I’m not here to kill you, Natalia,” he had said. And in the moment, I think anyone would’ve been stupid enough to believe him. I did, but that could’ve been my bottom half taking the reins more than a single, rational thought. He’s a werewolf. It’s in his DNA to lure his prey to their death. A little light finger fucking and bam! I’m served to the pack with my hands and legs bound like the damsel in some movie from the 1940’s. Sure, it was probably the hottest thing to happen to me since the last heat wave hit Los Angeles. Of course, I enjoyed it, even thought about his hands on me once on my bed and another two times in the shower. But could I believe a word coming from Nikolai Vostik, the club owning werewolf? Not a chance.
I wave back at her with a grin and move closer to the corner they chose. They being Roman, Courtney’s latest conquest, and another man who seems to buy clothes from the same high-end shops as his male counterpart. He stands a bit taller than them all, give or take a few inches, but with the added height comes a lanky and unimpressive stature. It’s not that he’s unattractive. He’s just not— Stop it, Natalie. I need to stop comparing every guy I see to him .
Both Roman and his friend turn to face me, and embarrassment heats my cheeks. Here we go. It’s pretty easy to notice if someone will regret being set up the instant they see you. Their mouth might hang open in shock or pity. Their brows might furrow or raise high on their face. A quick peek in my direction followed by incessant phone tapping, presumably a barrage of SOS texts to get them the hell out of there. I’ve seen it all.
This man doesn’t, however. He smirks at me, his dark chestnut eyes fixed. His hair is short on the sides, evenly matching the color of his eyes, which are nice but … Stop it. I know what I’m doing, and right now, I’m making a mental list of all the ways to compare him to Nikolai. He’s handsome, sure. Well dressed. But there’s something about him at first glance. Maybe I’m nervous, or maybe it’s because he’s not Nik.
I approach them cautiously, doing my best to keep the dress from rolling up my thighs. Spend a night alone in my apartment panicking at every single noise I hear? Sit in a bar full of witnesses in case some creature decides to come out of the shadows and make me its next meal. Tough decision.
“Hi,” I manage weakly. Meeting new people, men in particular, has never been my forte. This sport is usually reserved for Courtney and her unmatched ability to gain the attention of any room she walks into. Me, well, I’m more the sit on the outside and observe kind of person. The ying to Courtney’s popular yang.
“Natalie,” she says and swirls her hands around him like he’s a new car ready for a test drive. “This is Landon. He works at Roman’s firm.”
Landon extends his hand to me and grins sheepishly. “Nice to meet you, Natalie. Courtney wasn’t lying. You are very pretty.”
I purse my lips and shake his sweaty palm. He’s nervous from the look of it. I’m not sure why. It’s not like the last person he dated was rich, successful, oh and turned into a three-hundred pound killing machine right in front of him. Even now, I can’t help but notice the stark differences between the two. You are stunning , Nik had said, a small hint of a growl in his voice. Those glowing eyes exuding confidence when he kissed my hand, and how he continued to stare as if he would lose me if he glanced away for even a second. Everything about him was so alluring and nothing close to the anxious man shaking my hand a few times too many.
“Thank you, Landon. That’s—uhm—really sweet.” I pull away and sit beside Courtney. When our eyes meet, she tilts her head. I know that look, and when she arches her brow, I can sense exactly what she’s thinking.
Her: So, what do you think?
I widen my eyes and fight the urge to roll them. Landon might see us and put two and two together. While I’m not sure if I’m interested in him, I’m also in no position to scoff at someone showing interest in me. Probably best to just stay neutral. He’s okay , I think, hoping she can read my thoughts just as easily.
A quick elbow to my side and a small yelp flees my lungs. Yeah, she can. If Courtney hit me any harder I might’ve ended up on the ground again, only this time I somehow doubted Landon would be strong enough to lift me back to my feet with the same grace Nik did. I shake my head at her in warning.
“Are … you guys having a conversation right now?” Landon asks, a somewhat confused expression puzzling his slim features. “Telepathically?”
“Yup,” Courtney says and sips from her glass, leaving lipstick smudges on the straw. “Natalie thinks you’re cute.”
Welp. There goes my fucking theory. Blood rushes to my cheeks and I stare forward, avoiding them both. She has no clue what I’m thinking, but honestly, that’s probably for the best. The less she knows about Nik and the wolf he hides beneath his designer shirts, the better. It’s not like I can tell her even if I wanted to. Hey, remember Nikolai? Well I walked in on him naked and chained to the ground. What would follow is Courtney asking how big he is, and if I thought it would fit. Never mind the chains, she would hear the word naked and everything else would vanish from the conversation entirely. As far as it fitting? More blush creeps to my cheeks unintentionally. No, I don’t think it will.
The bartender comes to my rescue, thankfully enough, and asks what we’re having.
“Martini, two olives,” I say, holding up my hand before anyone else has a chance.
Landon steps forward and leans against the bar. He rubs his sweaty palm against the fabric of his tailored slacks and places it on his hip. While he might be trying to give off a suave appearance, from where I’m sitting, the way he fidgets makes him look even more awkward than before. “You can put it on my tab. And I’ll take another vodka cranberry.”
I gnaw at my lip, fearing if I bite down any harder blood might be the only thing I’m drinking tonight. “I can buy my own drink, Landon. Thank you, though.” That was only partially true. My credit card will cover the martini, if it isn’t maxed out already. And the last thing I want to do is give him the wrong idea.
He places his hand on the small of my back and leans closer. “No, no. Don’t worry about it. I have you covered.”
It feels empty. Nothing like the intense heat traveling up and down my spine when Nik touches me. How a small fire could turn to hellish flames in a matter of seconds, radiating as high as my shoulders and as low as my thighs. Nothing about Landon holds a candlelight to Nik, and despite my many pleas to come here tonight with an open mind, I’m not sure if it’s something I’m capable of. Especially when all I can imagine is being back in that alleyway.
The bartender pauses for a moment and appears apprehensive. “Her, uhm, drinks are already paid for.”
There’s no way I heard that right. My drinks? Paid for? Roman must’ve picked up the tab for us all. He’s done it before. The hairs on my neck prickle to attention, and an eerie unease settles in my gut. “What do you mean paid for ?” I ask.
“Paid for by whom?” Landon adds, his expression as baffled as mine.
After another brief pause, the bartender points down to the opposite end where the solid oak bar cuts into the wall. There’re sports memorabilia strewn across the area, a few autographed photos, and even a glass case with a Dodgers jersey. But that’s not where my eyes land. No, my narrowed gaze fixes on the man sitting across from us, and he does little else than glare in our direction.
“Who is that?” Landon says, his hand still resting at my lower back.
No.
No, no, no.
This isn’t happening.
This is a dream.
I’m asleep in my loft with stacks of useless shit thrown in front of the door. But I’m not. I’m awake, and my eyes somehow widen an extra inch the longer I stare. He’s here. I grab the silver necklace, kneading the crescent symbol with my finger and thumb. A pair of golden eyes practically glow under the lights of the room. A swift crack echoes as another pool match begins; none of us pay it any mind. No, we simply watch one another from across the bar, him, that same confident smirk. And me? Well, I’m right back to thinking about being bound by my hands and feet. The man sitting not even ten chairs away cocks his brow, and a snarky grin works from one side of his face to the other. Then, Nikolai Vostik waves at me.