8. Ava

Déjà vu.Maybe what I'm feeling isn't exactly déjà vu, but it's darn close.

I feel a tingle race down my spine as I slump farther down in the passenger seat, the leather cool against my skin. The neon lights of the town flicker outside, casting a kaleidoscope of colors into the car…or maybe it's just the way today's craziness keeps replaying in my mind.

I can't help feeling a bit miffed. Eloise and I made our hospital escape like a pair of stealthy ninjas, only to find ourselves in this unsettling calm. I mean, is it too much for a girl to expect a bit of drama? A dashing chase, perhaps, with cops tracking us down, weaving through the bustling streets? It's not like we've been super secretive.

Here I am, in the back seat of Eloise's vintage Beetle, its quirky charm lost on me as I brood over the lack of excitement. My expectations in relationships aren't that sky high.

Speaking of which, Eloise's current rendezvous with Mr. Red Mutton Chops across the street seems like a circus act. He is clearly nervous, with all his twitching. I tear into my Twizzler pack, each bite a mix of sweet and sour, much like my current mood. Nursing broken ribs and a broken ankle isn't exactly conducive to playing spy. I won't even get started on the stitches I keep pulling in my leg. In the last hour alone, I've hobbled into Eloise's retro chic house, navigated through her collection of quirky antiques, and then made it back to the car for her so-called date. The takeout, a promise of spicy Thai cuisine, sits forgotten on their table, where I glare at it.

She chose not to bring it out to me, that bitch.

I peer through the binoculars, the lenses bringing Eloise into sharp focus. She's sitting in front of the restaurant window, her silhouette framed by the cozy, dim lighting of the place. She's lavishing attention on Mutton Chops—more than he deserves, with that cartoonish hair and those sideburns that need a trim.

"Mutton chops," I mutter under my breath. His facial hair looks even more absurd through the binoculars, like something out of a bad 70s movie, and his hair is a mess of red curls, gelled to a stiff peak that defies gravity.

My stomach growls louder than the distant hum of the city night as I watch the burly man maneuver his drink, his bear-like hands enveloping the delicate glass. Eloise said he's a shifter, right? He has the burly, brooding look down pat.

Suddenly, Eloise's expression changes. She slaps the table, a dramatic gesture that's all Eloise. Her eyes dart toward the car, wide with alarm. That's my cue—danger or drama, here I come. I lurch forward too eagerly, pain shooting through my ribs as my binoculars clatter onto my foot, and I fumble for the taser in the glove box, its metal body cold and unyielding.

A tap on the window startles me.

I'm too slow. Busted.

I glance back at Eloise, who's now in a full-blown argument with Mutton Chops. Her hands slice through the air, punctuating each heated word, her cheeks flushed with emotion.

"Ma'am." Another knock, firmer this time.

Gulping down my panic, I press the button to roll down the window. "Officer, what a surprise on this lovely Saturday evening," I say, my voice dripping with feigned cheerfulness.

He leans against the door, his shadow falling over me. His eyes, a deep shade of brown, scrutinize the taser in my hand, and he lets out a sigh that speaks volumes about his long night. "Is that a taser, miss?"

"Oh, this little thing?" I wave it, trying to seem nonchalant while internally cursing my luck. "Nope," I say with an exaggerated pop, aiming for casual defiance.

He gives me a look that says he's seen it all. I'm caught in the act, but I'm not about to fold. I'm far too stubborn for that.

"One more time, miss. Is that a taser?" His voice is calm and steady—the voice of someone who's dealt with far too many wild nights.

"Look, officer, I'm practically a sitting duck here," I blurt out, frustration lacing my words. "Broken ankle, broken ribs. I had a run-in with a rogue snow globe. I need some form of defense." Accidently, I press the taser button, sending a brief, crackling arc into the air for emphasis. Oops.

"You're going to end up zapping yourself," he warns, just as the taser slips and lands in my lap. I freeze, thankful it doesn't discharge. He continues, "We got a call about someone spying on a couple in a restaurant."

Caught red-handed, I drop the fa?ade. "See that woman?" I nod at Eloise. "She's on a wild mate chase, and I'm here to make sure she doesn't cross any lines and land in hot water."

"He's Lance," the officer reveals, a hint of weariness in his voice. "He works in the station down the road. I don't think he's the type to cause trouble for your friend."

"But can you really be sure of that?" I ask, clinging to a sliver of doubt, my gaze locked on his, searching for certainty.

He pauses, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes me. "I assure you that Lance won't hurt your friend," he says, his voice low and steady. He clears his throat, a hint of discomfort in his posture. "Also, he intercepted her date. He's not who she came here to see."

Disappointment curls in my stomach. "Sir, can I call you sir? That's pretty clever, and a bit underhanded."

"When you're dealing with vampires on the prowl for mortal women, you have to be a step ahead," he murmurs, the weight of his duty etched in the lines of his face. "Are you Ava Martinez?"

"Nope," I lie, batting my eyelashes with feigned innocence.

He gives me that look—the one where I can almost hear the gears turning in his head. "License plates belong to an Eloise Harper. She's the assistant vet tech to Ava Martinez, right?"

"Some might call that stalking," I retort, trying to keep the mood light.

"I'm an officer, not a stalker."

"Tomato, tomato." I slip up, saying it the same way twice, and feel my cheeks flush with a hot wave of embarrassment.

"Right." He stands just as Eloise storms through the front door, her presence like a whirlwind of fury and exasperation. Her hair, usually so neat, is a wild cascade around her face.

My eyes zero in on the lone bag of takeout perched on a table—a tantalizing promise of relief. "Psst, Mutton Chops," I whisper, throwing a hopeful glance his way. Oh, he can't hear me either. This is all wishful psychic thinking. "Snag that food for me, will ya?" I ignore the tempest that is Eloise and keep my gaze fixed on Mutton Chops. When he finally scoops up the bag, I squeal. "Yes, bring it here. Mama is starving."

Especially with the pain meds I swallowed earlier starting to do a number on my empty stomach.

"Ava," Eloise snaps, her voice sharp as she flings open the driver's door. She slides into the car with a force that echoes in the cramped space. "Do not talk to that man." She slams the door shut, sealing us in a bubble of tension.

"Ms. Harper, I'd think twice about leaving," the officer warns, his silhouette framed by the glow of the streetlights. "I'll pull you over and book you."

"I had no clue Mr. Undercover was crashing our party," Eloise mutters, slapping the steering wheel in a burst of annoyance. She peels off her falsies, a move that's both horrifying and hilarious. "Wasted my best lashes on him."

"That's just… No, El," I groan, trying not to think about the eyelash graveyard now forming on her dashboard.

I overhear Officer Firefly on his radio, his voice an inaudible murmur. "Yeah, see you in five."

"Who's coming in five?" My curiosity piqued, I roll the window down farther, sticking my head out for a better view. "Who?"

"Did you or did you not make a grand escape from Mystic Med earlier?" he asks, his eyes betraying his exhaustion beneath the brim of his hat.

"Wasn't me," I lie again, my voice dripping with mock shock.

"Cut the act, Ava." Eloise leans over me, her finger poised over the window button. "Who did you call?"

"Her doctor," he replies, his tone nonchalant as he tips his hat at us. "Stay put, ladies."

"What do you think? Is he bluffing?" I turn to Eloise, considering our chances of a high-speed getaway. "I've got a ticking clock on my freedom here." Every part of me yearns for the chase. What is wrong with me?

"You?" Eloise slumps back in her seat, a pout on her lips. "Thanks to him, I'm not getting any tonight, and that makes me one unhappy lady." She sticks her tongue out at Mutton Chops in a childish display of defiance.

"You're really channeling your inner five-year-old," I chide her, shifting in my seat, only to wince as pain lances through my ribs. "Seriously, I need that food. Commandeer it from him."

"Are you kidding me right now?" she squeaks. "After his little charade?"

"He's literally holding my dinner hostage."

"Then you get it," she tells me.

Challenge accepted. "Fine."

"Fine," she echoes, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

This might be worst fight we have ever had. I wrench the door open, my face burning with determination. Awkwardly, I balance on my good leg and curse under my breath as I maneuver the other encased in its cumbersome red cast.

"Ava, stop being ridiculous," Eloise says, exiting the car with a roll of her eyes. "I'll get it."

"Hold up!" I stop her as another car rolls into the now bustling parking lot, this one just curious about the cop cars. Well I did want them to chase me. I fix my gaze on Lance. "Hey, Mutton Chops!" He looks startled when I call out. "Yeah, you! Hand over the food. I'm not just hangry—I'm in agony here!"

"Yeah," Eloise says, her voice a perfect blend of amusement and a warning that's not quite serious. "You won't like her when she's hangry."

Lance, leaning against the wall with the casual grace of a panther, rolls his eyes, but then, in an act of pure theatrics, he jiggles the takeout bag enticingly. My stomach growls, a clear sign of my desperate need for sustenance. He's unwittingly waving a red flag at a bull, and I'm seeing red.

I let out a low, involuntary growl, fed up with this culinary standoff. I came on this wild excursion for one thing only—food. Otherwise, I would have stayed at Eloise's apartment under a pile of blankets.

Just as my patience wears thin, a sleek black car pulls up, cutting through the tension like a knife. Ethan steps out, his aura dark and stormy, his anger palpable, even from a distance. He's the epitome of a furious wolf, yet his rage seems misplaced because, honestly, I'm the victim here.

I spare Ethan a brief, wary glance. His brows are knitted in a frown, and his jaw is set in a line tight enough to snap, but my rumbling stomach reminds me he's not my concern right now. My gaze snaps back to Lance, who's now as still as a statue, caught in Ethan's intense glare. The worst part? He's still holding my food hostage.

"Yo!" I snap, my frustration boiling over. My vocabulary has taken a hit, thanks to this hunger strike. "Mutton Chops! Yes, you!" Lance's nose twitches, a clear sign of confusion, and his Adam's apple bobs like he's struggling with words, but his gaze remains stubbornly locked with Ethan's.

I decide to hobble over myself. Each step is a battle, my crutches feeling more like a clumsy dance partner than a support, probably because they are Eloise's and not adjusted to my height. I'm aiming for Lance but looking more like a pirate with a peg leg.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ethan plants himself in front of me, a towering obstacle.

Big mistake, wolf-man. "Get out of my way," I demand, channeling every ounce of anger I have. I swing my crutch at Ethan's shin, hoping for some reaction, but he's immovable and unfazed by my attack. In my mind, he was supposed to topple over in defeat.

He looks down at his shin, then back up at me with a raised eyebrow. "I repeat, what do you think you're doing, tempest?"

"Food," I grunt out, my patience wearing thinner by the second.

Ethan's nostrils flare—probably smelling my desperation and annoyance. In one smooth motion, he reaches back, snatches the bag from Lance, and hands it to me.

Balancing precariously, I rip the bag open and retrieve a spring roll, shoving it into my mouth with less elegance than I'd like to admit. The taste is a heavenly blend of crispy, savory perfection.

"Don't choke," Dr. Dreamy, also known as Brody, says as he steps up next to Ethan. Now, with a bit of food in me, I can fully appreciate the absurdity of the situation. They are here, in this nondescript parking lot, like some bizarre welcoming committee. "I'd hate to have to do the Heimlich maneuver."

What does it say about me that their appearance pleases me? I'll never tell them that though.

"What's this about?" I ask, gesturing with my spring roll as if it's a magic wand that could conjure up some sense.

"Well," Brody begins, his cheeks flushing a shade of pink that clashes with his professional demeanor, "since you snuck out of the hospital" —he throws a glance at Eloise, who's now the picture of impatience, not looking at all guilty, tapping her foot— "I'm not convinced you're capable of making rational decisions."

I almost choke on the spring roll. "Excuse me?" I take another bite, savoring the crunch as I process his bold words. I was starving.

"You see," Brody continues, seemingly unaware of how his words are dangling over my head like a guillotine, "doctors' orders were a week of bed rest before you put weight on that leg. You might have set yourself back even further."

His words hit me like a two-by-four. My vet clinic is my world, so walking away isn't an option. Sure, dragging myself out here might not have been my brightest idea, but Eloise needed me…kind of, and I'll stand by that decision until my last breath.

Hoes before bros.

From the corner of my eye, I catch a scene straight out of a drama flick. The third musketeer of their brooding trio pulls Eloise aside, away from the others. Despite the looming presence of two hunky wolves, it's Eloise who steals my attention. What the hell are they saying to her? She's a whirlwind of emotions, her face transforming from shock to unbridled amusement. She gasps dramatically, then lets out a laugh so robust, she doubles over, slapping her thighs as if she's at the world's funniest comedy show.

"Oh, that is rich," she wheezes out, struggling to catch her breath.

"What's the joke over there?" I inquire, snagging a fried noodle and tossing it into my mouth with an air of nonchalance. My eyes dart between Eloise's animated display and the men. "Why's she laughing like she's lost it?"

"Just Ty giving her the lowdown," Brody answers, smoothing his hair back in a move that appears more like a nervous gesture. "Now, about you being a so-called danger to yourself?—"

"I'm totally fine," I cut in, my stomach fluttering with nervous butterflies. He can't seriously think he has any say over me, can he? "See?" I say, trying to look stable on my good foot, but I probably resemble a flamingo on a tightrope.

Brody looks at me with an expression that screams he isn't buying it. "The moment you decided to go AWOL from the hospital, you triggered a special clause."

"That's the biggest load of bull," I retort, my skepticism cranked to the max.

Ethan grunts, remaining as stoic as a statue, but I swear there's a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

I have this gnawing feeling that I'm unwittingly the star of their private comedy, which I probably am, considering pack dynamics allow these three to communicate telepathically.

Or so I've been told. The jury is still out.

"Oh, but it's a thing," Brody says with a smugness that makes me want to wipe that grin off his face.

"I'll call my friend Mia. She is a social worker, and she will come down and have you all arrested," I threaten, even though it only serves to widen their grins. Eloise smirks in amusement, but it's hard to read what she is amused about.

"Do it." Ethan finally speaks up, his voice a deep rumble that surprisingly does more than just intimidate.

"You can't just keep a patient against their will. That's not how the world works," I argue, my voice hitting a pitch I didn't know I could reach.

"No?" Brody glances over at the smirking officer, who's been soaking up our exchange like he's at a tennis match. "Who's world, Ava? Spiritkin or human?"

"Yeah, if you leave the hospital against medical advice, you're labeled a danger to yourself and others," the officer pipes up, his casual tone adding insult to injury.

"Bullshit!" I blurt out, my frustration boiling over.

"Oh, Ava," Eloise says, her laughter subsiding as she nudges her way to the front. "Think about it. Wouldn't it be kind of nice to be pampered by three handsome guys for a couple of weeks? I'll cover for you at work, and I bet Mr. Rugged and Handsome here will fix that window he broke. Right, big guy?"

Ethan just grunts again, his intense gaze fixed on me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve.

"Yes!" I exclaim, because of course it sounds amazing, attempting to turn around to face her, but as I do, my balance betrays me. I put weight on my injured leg and let out a yelp that's embarrassingly loud. Suddenly, I'm falling, my precious food flying through the air like culinary confetti.

I was really looking forward to the rest of my spring rolls.

Strong arms envelop me, breaking my fall. Ethan has me in a secure hold, cradling me as if I'm precious, which is both disorienting and strangely comforting. He smells like the wild outdoors and something soothingly familiar.

"Whoops!" I chuckle nervously, giving Ethan's chest a pat. "All good here. No harm done. You can let go now."

"And what?" he rumbles softly, his voice laced with a concern that contradicts his tough exterior. "Let you fall again?" He shakes his head and strides off, not toward Eloise's car, but his own sleek, black vehicle. He opens the passenger door with a fluidity that speaks of strength and control.

"Ethan!" I protest, thumping his chest in a futile attempt to assert some control. "What do you think you're doing?"

Without a word, he gently places me into the seat, then he has the nerve to buckle me into a seat so plush and luxurious, it feels like I'm sitting on a cloud. It's distractingly comfortable.

Before I can fully process my plush predicament, Ethan shuts the door, leaving me in solitude. In a huff, I lock the doors, determined to show him I'm not just a damsel in distress.

Ethan lets out a full-bodied laugh that somehow makes this whole absurd situation a bit more bearable. Is he laughing at me?

"Well, that's just rude," I grumble, my fingers fumbling clumsily with my phone. Ethan might have handled me with the care of a rare porcelain doll, but I'm all thumbs and impatience. I tap on Mia's smiling face on the screen, hesitating for a moment. She's usually chest deep in spiritkin and human affairs, stressed to the point where she's often pulling out her hair. Even so, I still call her.

"Ava," she answers in her deep cigarette voice, which always sounds like she's halfway through a pack at any given moment, despite her never smoking a day in her life. "It's Saturday night. Where are you?"

I swallow down a lump of nerves, keeping a wary eye on the guys who are deep in conversation with Eloise. "Mia, listen," I say, forcing a calm I don't feel.

"Oh no, what did you do?" Her voice sharpens instantly, brimming with concern that's tinged with the expectation of my usual shenanigans. "Listen, if you need help burying a body, you are going to have to give me a half hour."

"Why do you always think I'm in trouble?" I retort, feeling annoyed and guilty. I mean, yes, I am in a bit of a jam, but her lack of faith stings.

"Ava, sweetheart," she murmurs, her voice crackling through the phone like a distant radio station. "Is this about Dr. Brody?"

"Wait, you know?" My voice pitches up in shock, and I loosen my grip on the lock button just enough for Tyler to sneak the door open. "You knew about the accident?"

"Yeah, the doctor mentioned a bookshelf took you out," she says nonchalantly, as though she's distracted by something other than this call. "I called to check on you, pretending to be your sister. I had to make sure you were all right."

"You knew," I repeat incredulously, "and you didn't even call?"

"He assured me you were okay. Besides, Eloise kept me in the loop when she went to break you out," Mia says, sounding more relaxed than a woman whose bestie was recently in an accident.

"That's not the point! I'm laid up with broken bones, and you…" I pause for dramatic effect. "You didn't check in!"

"Eloise said she'd handle everything." Mia's tone shifts to a scolding one, sounding like the motherly figure she often is. "You should be resting. Hand Eloise the phone."

"Excuse me?" I start to protest, but Tyler snatches the phone, swiftly passing it to Eloise, who's waiting just outside the car with an unreadable expression. I swear there is mischief in her eyes.

"Ava," Tyler says, his touch light as he gently turns my face toward him. "Let us take care of you."

"Listen, I don't know you," I argue, feeling a pout forming on my lips. I pride myself on my independence, and the idea of being coddled by a bunch of guys, wolfish or not, doesn't sit well with me. "I can't just crash at your place."

"And why's that?" Tyler presses, his eyes searching mine for an answer.

"You might find a mate someday, and if she smells another woman in your house…" I trail off, not wanting to think about the consequences. "No more Ava for the stray wolves."

"Maybe we're the strays needing care," he counters, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

I roll my eyes at his attempt to lighten the mood.

Sensing my hesitation, he adds, "We'll pick Bean up first, then you can decide."

I wiggle my nose, mulling over his offer. He sees the moment I start to cave, his smile growing into something mischievously charming. "Fine, but only for Bean."

"Perfect," he declares with a satisfied purr and closes the car door, but not before handing me a new bag of spring rolls.

As I sit in the car's plush seat, its softness hugging me like a comforting embrace, I can't help but wonder what I just agreed to. It feels like I'm stepping into a whole new world, one where my physical well-being might be the least of my worries.