Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

W ith a rolling cart beside her, Moya was shelving the new books that'd been delivered this week. The titles were already entered into her inventory system and just had to be put out for sale.

It was already noon, and the task was taking longer than normal—mainly because she was exhausted. After getting home last night, she'd been too wound up to fall asleep. Had felt weirdly uneasy for some reason. So, with a cup of chamomile tea, she opened a new paranormal romance—and hadn't turned off the light until the wee hours.

Honestly, Moya, you know better.

This morning, she'd tried to meditate as usual—and fell asleep instead.

I need more coffee.

Unfortunately, Talitha had left Fell alone in the coffee shop. And she just couldn't deal with him. He was too… masculine, too potent, too self-assured. Too much for her, that was for sure. She stared across the room, watching him hand over a coffee to Noreen from the wilderness store. Noreen chatted away while Fell offered a rare word here and there.

His black Henley clung to his powerful chest and shoulders. His tanned face looked harsh, not softened in the least by the blond stubble along his jaw.

Then he looked over, his gaze meeting hers, as she stared at him. He'd seen her looking. As her stomach dropped a foot, she flushed head to toes.

Gah, she was an idiot.

Turning away quickly, she picked up a book from the cart.

Just ignore him and do your job, wolf-girl.

Determinedly, she found the right place in the line of titles and tucked the book in. Then another and another, breathing the unique fragrance of new books.

Oh, hey, this was one she'd wanted to read, about?—

"Yo, sis."

She startled so hard she almost dropped the book.

Her brothers strolled across the room toward her, and she smiled fondly. They were both just a smidge under six feet. They'd been skinny cubs. As adults, construction work had packed muscle onto their broad shoulders.

Zorion had light brown skin with disconcertingly blue eyes. His collar-length hair, dark as hers, was tousled by the wind. A day-old beard shadowed his jaw…and she almost, almost looked over at Fell to compare.

No, uh-uh, not going to look at the lethal shifter-soldier.

Instead, she eyed her other brother. After getting his long hair caught in a power tool when he was a teen, now he kept his medium-brown hair ear-length and, despite the late night, his jaw was freshly shaved. Typical of her rule-abiding—and bossy—brother.

Although he and Zorion owned their construction company together, Ramón gave the orders. In contrast, Zorian was rebellious, unconventional, and preferred to follow rather than lead.

She fell somewhere in the middle. Quieter, and not particularly submissive. Back when Heather met a newly changed shifter who'd been in the human military, Moya'd been intrigued and done some research. So fun. Heather, with her practical, hands-on nature, would make an excellent gunny. Moya, though, would've ended up being an executive officer, serving under a naval captain, someone like Ramón.

Zorian would undoubtedly spend his time in the brig.

"Hey, you two. Why aren't you at work?" She set her book down on the cart, checking their clothes for fresh blood.

"We're calling this a lunch break." Ramón gave her a one-arm hug, and she saw worry in his dark brown eyes. "We wanted to give you the news since you and those strangers left early last night."

News? Her muscles tensed. "What's happened?"

"Remember how Roger hit little Alvaro, and the shifter-soldiers jumped in?"

And hadn't that been a satisfying sight? She nodded. "Fell knocked him down; he tried to attack, and Patrin tripped him."

"Roger hit a log and got half-knocked out. He was kind of unfocused when he stood up and looked like he'd hurt his back. He wasn't moving well."

Moya snorted. "He hasn't been in good condition since Pete went feral—not physically, not mentally. Where are you going with this story?"

Ramón could keep a tale going for a long, long time—and was good at it. He was very popular whenever his crew went out for drinks.

Zorion snorted. "The story is that Brett challenged the alpha."

Moya froze, dismay filling her. "No. No, no. Brett didn't win, did he?"

The grim line of Zorion's mouth confirmed vicious Brett was now the alpha.

She touched her chest, realizing there was a missing bond. No wonder she'd felt so uneasy last night—a new alpha had taken over the pack bonds and cut Roger out of them. The wolves tied into the pack more closely had probably been even more unsettled. "I thought Roger was stronger than Brett."

Ramón shook his head. "Roger fought as sloppy as a drunken pixie. He never had a chance."

"Brett didn't k-kill him, did he?"

"No, probably only because a death would've brought the Cosantir down on him. Instead, he ripped Roger out of the pack bonds and kicked him out of our territory."

Moya was appalled. "He hasn't even gotten over losing his brother."

"S'okay, sis." Zorion patted her shoulder. "Quintrell says he'll probably go join his sister in Wyoming. He'll manage."

"If Roger was already hurt, he shouldn't have had to fight." Moya pulled in a breath. "Didn't anyone try to stop the challenge, to say it wasn't fair?"

Zorion snorted. "Quintrell did, and Caleb punched him hard enough to knock him out. Unfortunately, no one felt particularly loyal to Roger. He was a crappy alpha."

"Still…we should have stopped the challenge." Ramón's face was hard. "No one wanted to fight to save Roger's tail. It's a shame; Brett's going to be an even worse alpha."

"Understatement of the year," she muttered. Brett was obsessed with returning to the traditional ways. Back when females' sole purpose was to have babies for the pack.

And he wanted her to have his.

Shaken, she pulled in a long breath. "I feel like I just landed with both paws in an iron-toothed trap."

"I bet." Zorion scratched the dark shadow on his jaw. "It's why we wanted to give you a sniff at what might be coming down the trail."

"Brett's going to harass you about living alone." Ramón squeezed her shoulder. "You can move in with us."

"As if. You know having me in your home would turn into a mess." With the Daonain, male littermates lived together, sharing houses and a mate. But a sister would move out as soon as she reached her first heat at around twenty or so. Because females were territorial, and if brothers brought a lover home, even if just for a night, it could get ugly.

Moya had thought the stories were exaggerated until she tried to share a house with them here in Ailill Ridge. It was after her first heat—and as far as she was concerned it was her den. When Zorion had come home with a female, Moya shifted to wolf and almost bit the poor werecat.

"We'll see what happens." She managed a smile. "Thank you for coming to tell me."

"Hey, you're our sister." Ramón kissed her cheek. "Whatever you need, just tell us."

Slinging an arm around her shoulders, Zorion gave her a squeeze. "If you want us to overnight at your place as a deterrent to Brett, you got it. Anytime."

They'd step between her and the new alpha, even if it got them in trouble. She blinked to keep the tears back. "You guys are the best. Thank you."

As they headed back to work, she concentrated on shelving the new books. Trying to find an interest in what she'd bought.

Her fears kept piling up, one after another.

For years, Roger had been trying to make her live in the pack house. It was true that females could live together when they all knew it was temporary. But living somewhere any pushy male wolf could just walk in? Uh-uh.

She sure hadn't wanted to deal with Roger's displeasure when she avoided him. Let alone Brett and Caleb, who thought they were entitled to her time and interest. And got mean when she didn't want them.

Roger eventually backed off.

Brett, being a vindictive brute, wouldn't. What a mess. She scrubbed her hands over her face as if that would wash away her problems.

Didn't work.

She glanced over at the coffee bar and saw Fell taking a customer's order. Had he and Patrin heard about the challenge?

It wasn't their fault Roger lost. With his declining health, he wouldn't have stayed alpha much longer. Her mouth tightened. Had Brett been biding his time, waiting for Roger to weaken, before challenging him?

Yes. Yes, he had been. Moya scowled. She'd never realized quite what a cheating coward Brett was. An alpha was supposed to be the strongest and the best. Roger had been horrible enough. Now they had an alpha who was not only cruel and cowardly, he was also…devious.

The pack deserved better.

She picked up another book and tucked it onto the shelf.

Last night, she'd had a wonderful time. Aside from Brett and Caleb and the few weaselly bullies who followed their lead, the wolves were good Daonain. Friends. A healthy pack served as a source of strength to its members. She'd grown up running around with the pack in Stanislaus Territory. Which was why it'd hurt so much when…

Shaking her head dislodged some of the memories.

The cart empty, she pushed it over to the box against the wall and refilled it with puzzles, maps, and mugs.

Even as she worked on setting everything out, she couldn't stop worrying. She put her hand over her increasingly queasy stomach.

How am I going to handle Brett being the alpha?

Avoiding him was the first thing to come to mind. But what about her promise to Talitha to support the cubs?

Yet, the more she attended pack activities, the stronger the bonds would get to the pack—and to the alpha. Bile rose into her throat. She knew exactly how it felt to be emotionally assaulted through pack bonds.

"Hey, are you in charge here?" A loud baritone made her jump. A bulky man in a red sweatshirt and jeans stood at the front of the store. Walking over to her checkout counter, she discreetly sniffed the air. No forest fragrance; he was human. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I'm returning this book for a refund."

She glanced at the oversized, coffee-table book about glamorous houses. It probably sold for close to two hundred dollars. "I'm sorry. That's not a book the store carries."

"Bullshit. I bought it here." He stepped closer, raising his voice. "It was probably the last one. That's why you don't have more."

Fear dried her mouth. Her hands fisted. "We've never had that book. You'll have to return the book at the store where you bought it."

"I bought it right here," he shouted, "and I want a refund." Far taller than her, he pushed into her personal space.

Her fists rose. "Show me the receipt."

"I lost it." He scowled. "Doesn't matter. I want a fucking refund. Now."

"She said no." The interruption came from a voice so cold and deadly it cut the very air. "Leave."

The man spun, showing Fell standing right behind him.

Moya felt a tiny flicker of amusement as Fell loomed over the customer the way the man had loomed over her. How do you like it, you pus-filled maggot?

"I…I?—"

"Fucking crook." Fell's voice dropped to a terrifying growl. " Run ."

The human ran as if his tail was on fire.

"Wow. You're very effective." Moya smiled. "Thank you."

"You should've called for me."

"I what?" She shook her head. "I was handling it. If he'd kept being obnoxious, I'd have kicked him out."

He snorted. "Tiny female." His gaze swept over her, then his mouth twitched. "Did you figure to punch him first?"

When he grasped her left hand, her heart rate spiked, and her other hand came up. He didn't move, just waited, his icy gaze trapping hers, until the violence drained out of her.

"Better." His hands were warm and strong as he gently pried open her clenched fingers.

Oh fairy farts, now she felt stupider than a gnome. When she glared at him, his blue eyes filled with laughter.

Gods, he was right. She'd been ready to punch a customer—and Fell too. Feeling totally hopeless, she sagged back against the counter.

"Hey, hey." Fingers under her chin, Fell lifted her head. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's nothing."

There was no softness in the hard angles of his face. "Pisses me off to be lied to."

Mother of all, he was stubborner than a moose in rutting season. "It was a polite means of trying to get you to drop the subject."

"Didn't work." He raised his eyebrows.

He was certainly pushy, but her panic was gone. She breathed out, feeling almost as if she'd like to tell him about her problem. And wasn't that just crazy?

Or maybe not. He'd gone out of his way to keep Alvaro from being hurt last night, then had stepped in to help her this morning. "Okay. Maybe later we can talk."

He tipped his chin toward the coffee bar where Renee, a dark-haired human who Talitha had hired last month was brewing coffee. "I'm off duty."

So stubborn.

Then again, maybe she should ask for his help. The meditation and stuff weren't working…or rather, it wasn't meant to cure a person in a couple of days.

She glanced around. As usual on a Monday, the bookstore was quiet. "All right."

"I'll be back." He left her, crossing to the coffee shop side.

Definitely not the chatty sort. Shaking her head, she pushed the cart to behind the checkout desk where it wouldn't be in anyone's way.

Returning, he handed her a coffee and kept one for himself.

She took a sip and blinked. Vanilla latte, one of her go-to drinks. He'd taken the trouble to get her what she liked. "Thank you."

A corner of his mouth pulled up in what seemed to be the Fell version of a smile. He motioned toward the bookstore's comfy couch and chair sitting area near the front window.

Okay, I can do this. She sat on the couch.

He took the chair, almost dwarfing it with his size.

How in the world could she ask someone like him for help? Her chest felt tight, and she tried to pull in a breath. When he frowned, she held up her hand and took another breath.

Everything inside Fell tightened. Seeing a female so obviously anxious kicked off all his protective instincts. "Take your time."

"No, no, I'm good." She straightened her spine and met his gaze. Her brown eyes were beautiful, big and lustrous—and vulnerable.

Every protective instinct he had woke up.

"I'd like your help with something, only I'm uncomfortable having it one sided, and I don't know what I could do for you in return."

Interesting kind of dilemma, and one that said a lot about her character. He'd met more than a few humans and shifters who had no problem taking without giving back.

Yeah, he liked this little wolf. "Ask. I'll think." As usual, his voice seized up.

Dammit . He'd gotten better. Sometimes, he could manage entire sentences. Other times—none at all.

Fucking brain.

"Well…" She rubbed her hands on her jeans. "My problem is if I get scared, I lash out. And sometimes at the wrong person or the wrong time. Like I did with your brother at the Gathering."

Before he could ask what'd caused the problem, she looked away and wrapped her arms around herself. Whatever set her on this trail must have been traumatic.

Through his teens, he'd lived in a barracks filled with grieving, brutalized shifters. He had plenty of experience with trauma of all kinds. And he knew that with them being essentially strangers, she wouldn't open up about her past. Not today.

It would happen. Damned if he wouldn't make sure it did.

He rubbed the back of his neck as he thought. On the way down the mountain last night, he'd seen her scared when a rock gave way over a cliff, almost taking her with it. She'd scrambled for footing, and once balanced, had given them a wolfy grin and pranced down the path.

He'd seen her stare down the alpha female without a quiver.

But… With him, she was anxious. Was it just him?

Hmm, no, she reacted to other males also. With the aggressive customer, her hands had fisted. At the Gathering, she'd punched Patrin, thinking he was Brett—and Brett was an extremely pushy wolf. Even more, she stayed out of arm's reach with Patrin, whose dominance was impossible to conceal.

Yes, he was on the right trail here. "Set off by belligerent males?"

Her mouth dropped open. "How did you know?"

He shrugged. "How can I help?"

Her expression changed from irritation with his nonanswer to relief. "I…I'd like you to jump at me."

What in the God's green forests?

"Startle me. Scare me." Her jaw was set tight, her gaze determined. She'd put a lot of thought into this. It wasn't an impulsive request. She knew what she wanted.

Why me?

Perhaps because she did know him somewhat, enough to know he wasn't a total weasel, yet he was enough of a stranger she might still be somewhat frightened if he got aggressive. Which was her goal, wasn't it?

Confirming his guess, she added, "Not just once. Lots of times. Off and on." She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it away from her face, as if irritated by…everything. "A bunch of small scares is supposed to eventually diminish my reaction. With enough repetition, I guess I learn to stay in the present and not get tossed into the past and panic."

The logic wasn't unreasonable.

Back with the Scythe, the mercs had forced the teens to fight through terror and pain. Over and over.

Moya's plan was a variation of that technique. Although scaring a female went against all his protective Daonain instincts. "You sure?"

"André—the Cosantir—ordered me to work on it."

A Cosantir's orders couldn't be ignored, and Fell could see the determination in her big eyes.

He rose. When she started to stand, he bent to grip her shoulder hard and growled, "Stay put."

Her face paled. Her scent turned acrid with fear. She shoved at his arm, and when he didn't release her, her hands fisted.

Unmoving, he just waited as she started to swing at him.

She managed to pull her punch before it landed. As reason returned to her eyes, she dropped her hand. "Mother of All."

When she shuddered, he wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her. Comfort her.

A little female. Who was scared of him. Yeah, he was brainless as a gnome.

Resuming his seat, he stretched out his legs. The resting posture should indicate he didn't plan to push around a little wolf. "That what you had in mind?"

Still breathing fast, she scrubbed her hands over her face. "Ah." She swallowed, and he knew how dry her mouth must be. "Yes, I guess so." She hesitated before nodding. "Yes, you did exactly what I had in mind."

He nodded.

"I…I might hit you."

He shrugged. "I'll survive." Somehow. Scaring her would be difficult. She was just so appealing.

When he was a young pup, he had a favorite stuffed toy—a fluffy, soft wolf, perfect for cuddling. After the Scythe, even with the other shifter-soldiers, there'd been no cuddling.

By the Mother, he craved…tenderness. Yeah, everything about her drew him in.

No, Fell. Mustn't cuddle the little female wolf. Besides, she'd probably punch him.

"You'll do it?" she asked, obviously holding her breath.

"Yeah."

"Yes! Oh—what can I do for you in return?"

He felt laughter rise, because his first inclination was to ask for a hug after any incident. Unfortunately, the request would probably frighten her even worse. Females—and males—walked wary around him.

So what could he ask of her?

He did have something he'd planned to work on. But…with her? He tilted his head and studied her. Adorable, yes. Soft and pretty. And also gutsy. Stubborn. Fear made her fight, not flee. It might work.

She leaned forward. "You've thought of something."

And there, that persistence was what he needed. "Yeah. I don't…" No, this would be impossible. Obviously.

"Don't what?" Her gaze was on his face, then her lips tilted up. "Use your words, Fell."

He'd heard her say that to Alvaro when the teen was sputtering, so angry as to be incoherent. A trickle of humor ran through him at being classed with a cub. " That's the problem."

She looked blank for a second, then her mouth formed an "O". "You don't like to talk—or have trouble talking?"

He nodded.

Dimples appeared beside her mouth when she smiled. "This should be fun. After you scare me, I'll get to annoy you by forcing you to hold up your side of a conversation?"

Annoying would be the fucking right word. He nodded again.

Her smile grew. "I can't hear you, Fell. Did you?—"

Rising, he loomed over her again, heard her yip of fear, and caught her hand before she punched him. Waited until reason returned to her gaze.

She pulled in another breath, glared at him, then her eyes lit. "So, tell me, how did that make you feel?"

When he scowled, she burst out laughing.

By the God, he was doomed.