Chapter 2

Sophia Hope

I stare at the drinking glass I've been wiping for the past five minutes.

Whoever has been using this waterproof, red lipstick needs to have her ass handed to her. What kind of idiot uses waterproof lipstick that smears? And the kind of smear that doesn't even wash off. My mind is boggled by how this lipstick can even be called waterproof when it clearly stains glasses. We have a serial glass stainer in town, it seems.

I chuckle to myself, amused at my own joke, before my expression sours. I have managed to get most of it off, but I still have three other glasses waiting to be cleaned.

Sighing, I set down the glass and look around the bar.

The Dancing Bear functions as both a bar and a restaurant. I once told Elsa, the owner and my boss, that a restaurant with a bar was just a restaurant. She vehemently disagreed. Apparently, we're a bar with a restaurant. My plans don't include getting fired, so I decided never to broach the topic again. Restaurant with a bar or bar with a restaurant—as long as I get paid, it can be a flying goose for all I care.

"Another martini, Sophia," one of the customers calls out, tapping his empty glass.

"Right away, Mr. Willow," I reply.

I always thought being a bartender was all about mixing drinks and chatting with new and interesting customers. The idea had been a charming one, but when I finally got my bartender's license, my tiny little dream got shattered. Oakrest is a small town, one of the few that litter the South Alliance's coast on the Atlantic Ocean, and there are not a lot of people allowed entry here. I see the same faces every day. Most of the customers who sit at the bar prefer to drink in silence, and at this time of night, there are usually not many other people out and about. The ones who do come in have dinner and then leave.

As I set the martini in front of a gloomy-looking Mr. Willow, I know better than to ask what is bothering him. Perhaps my current stain removing activity will be the highlight of my day. It certainly distracts me from the problems plaguing me at the moment, problems regarding a blue-eyed shifter.

The only reason I figured out he was a shifter was because he bled from the scratch I gave him. He clearly takes scent blockers, like I do. Of course, his two wolf companions also helped me identify what he was. I know for a fact that he's not part of the pack security team. It's not as if I know every face in town, but I do know most of the shifters. But if those three guys are from out of town, how did they manage to get in?

Oakrest is one of seven towns on the Atlantic coast of the South Alliance. It is heavily guarded to prevent infiltrations—or at least, that's what I was told when I first arrived here. Not that I ever asked many questions.

Sighing once again, I pick up the second glass and study it, glaring at the red smudge.

"Tonight, either you become spotless or you go in the trash!"

"Stop talking to the drinkware, Sophia." Reese Dale, one of the waiters, walks past me without batting an eye. "People already think you're crazy."

I blink and look around. There are a few eyes on me but only because these people have nothing better to do than watch me.

I decide to cease my one-sided conversation and actually focus on removing the lipstick marks. Not that it matters.

I have spent nine years stuck in this town—nine years that have not been easy at all. Nobody here cares about my orphan status. However, the fact that I don't have a wolf is something that is considered shameful. I try to keep to myself, but when I first came here as a traumatized sixteen-year-old girl, the pack security assigned to this town had been informed about me down to the last detail, I imagined, because within a couple of days, nearly everybody knew that I couldn't shift, that I had a latent wolf, and that I was behind the incident at the orphanage in Ricker Town, where the main pack resides. Even now, I catch people staring at me, but most of them seem to have accepted me or to prefer pretending I don't exist.

Mindlessly, I stare down at the glass I'm wiping. Nine years haven't made a difference. There are those who like to remind me that I am lacking, who like to use their words to hurt me. This town is nothing short of a prison for me, one that I have strived to break free of. I have spent so much time trying to build up my savings so I can buy my freedom. If that blue-eyed shifter outs me as a cage fighter to the pack security, I'm done for. There will be no going back. I'll be tossed into a real prison this time.

My wiping is getting more and more aggressive as fear pumps through my blood. I'm sure the shifter did not see my face. But what if he's waiting for me when I go back to the gym tomorrow? I heard with my own ears what he and his companions were discussing. They had suspected that there was a wolf shifter taking part in the cage fights, and their suspicions were proven true. Even if that man did not see my face, he saw my claws. And he noticed my strength. He knows what I am.

I can't go back there. But if I don't, how will I earn the money to get out of this hellhole?

A hand drops onto my shoulder, and I jump, a frightened "eep" slipping from my mouth as the glass escapes my grip. Before it can shatter to the ground, the person behind me catches it.

"If you wipe that thing any harder, you're going to break it, sweetheart." Elsa Boleyn, the owner of Dancing Bear, is standing behind me, wearing an amused expression on her face. "Something on your mind?"

Elsa is a human woman in her mid-fifties. She doesn't look her age, though. If anything, I would say she appears to be in her early forties, a very attractive woman with a no-nonsense air about her. She's been in Oakrest longer than I can remember, and she has a good relationship with the pack. In fact, she always seems to have her nose wedged deep in the pack affairs of this town. But then, she's also respected and feared. I have never understood her role here, but even the most foul-mouthed, bad-tempered shifter doesn't run his mouth off at her. There's something terrifying about Elsa.

My boss knows I'm a shifter. Elsa is one of the rare humans who has been allowed to do business in shifter territory. She has been running this bar for as long as I've known her.

I was sixteen when I first arrived in this town. It was Elsa who gave me my first job here, as a dishwasher. It wasn't fancy, but it gave me something to do and distracted me from the horrible memories that plagued my every waking moment. Elsa has always looked out for me.

I stare at her, my heart thundering in my chest as I struggle to find my voice. "N—No. It's nothing. Sorry. I was lost in my thoughts. I was…This stain won't go away."

"I see." The dark-haired woman shakes her head in exasperation, her tight curls bobbing with the movement. "The customer over there has been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes."

I look over to see a thin man holding out his empty beer mug toward me, looking annoyed. "Any day now would be nice."

"Sorry, Rhode." I head over to his end of the bar. "Let me get you that refill."

"I've been calling your name, but you're on a different planet, it seems." Rhode Dickson is a schoolteacher down at the town's middle school, and he's usually this amount of cranky once he has a couple drinks in him. "If you can't focus on your job, just quit."

I give him a tight smile. "Sorry about that."

I can tell he wants to say something else, but one glance behind me to where Elsa is watching us has him hunching his shoulders and looking down at the newspaper in front of him instead.

I pour him a beer from the tap and slide his glass over to him.

Elsa gestures to me with her chin, and I follow her to the back, wondering if I'm in trouble.

"You've been looking stressed out since yesterday. Do you need a day off?"

Not surprised by her considerate offer, I give her a wan look. "If you give me a day off, I might just think myself to death."

She sighs. "Nobody's ever died from overthinking. But if you have a problem, Sophia, you can always talk to me about it."

I press my lips together in a thin line. I wouldn't even know where to begin.

"Thanks for the offer," I say, smiling at her. "But this is just something I have to figure out for myself."

She puts her hand on my shoulder and grins. "Look at you, all grown up."

I chuckle, leaning down to pick up the empty crate somebody has left by the doorway where we're standing. "Well, I had to grow up sometime, right?"

Her smile saddens. "That's right."

There's a strange look in her eyes as she gazes at me, and for a moment, it feels like she's not seeing me but somebody else.

I wonder if I should be asking her if she's okay.

Elsa clears her throat. "I'll let you get back to work. I have to talk to Jack about the dinner menu for tonight."

I watch her leave.

The front door of the bar opens, the small bell on it alerting me to the newcomers. As I look over at them, my pulse begins to race. It takes me a second to realize why this strange fear is filling me right now.

I recognize three of the six men. And the one with the blue eyes is staring right at me.

Oh, shit.

I watch them take the empty table by the window.

My heart is beating at an alarmingly fast rate. How did he track me all the way here?

The blue-eyed shifter doesn't sit down, and when he begins to walk over to me, my entire body tenses. He must recognize me, even though I had my mask on last night. He's probably coming to threaten me.

My thoughts aren't making a lot of sense, but I know I have to leave before he gets to me.

I'm already moving toward the sliding door off to the side when Elsa's voice stops me in my tracks. "Sophia, Eve and Monty aren't here yet. We're short two servers at the moment. Do you mind filling in? I'll cover the bar."

I stare at her, frozen in place.

Now what do I do?

If I tell Elsa I can't stay, she's going to have questions. And if I tell her I've been taking part in illegal cage fighting and this stranger knows about it and my life as I know it might be over, I don't think she's going to believe me. If she does, I don't think she'll turn me into the pack security, but she won't let it go. Elsa will make sure I stop, which is something I can't afford to do.

I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. If I tell her, I'm screwed. But if I don't tell her, I can't get out of here…and I'm screwed.

In the meantime, the blue-eyed shifter has already reached the bar and is tapping on the wooden surface. It's an impatient sound.

"Okay," I squeak when I see the expectant look on Elsa's face.

My boss shakes her head. "Sometimes you can be so weird, Sophia."

"We would like to order some food," I hear the blue-eyed man say. His voice sends shivers down my spine, but for some reason, it's not out of fear. I don't recognize this foreign emotion within me, but it scares me.

"You can take a seat, sir," Elsa tells him warmly. "I'll send a server to your table. Sophia!"

Resigning myself to my fate, I pick up a notepad and make my way over to the table. When all eyes turn toward me, it takes a lot of self-control not to turn on my heel and head straight out the front door. Hiding the tremor in my voice, I ask, "What can I get you folks?"

The blue-eyed shifter glances at me, his gaze lingering for a second longer than necessary. There's no mistaking the feral edge to his expression. Power exudes from him. "A menu, for starters."

I stare at him for what feels like a full minute. I don't see any recognition in his eyes, just light irritation. Finally, I let out an unsteady breath, feeling relieved. "Of course."

I grab a few menus off the table next to theirs and hand them out to each of the men. "I'll be over by the bar. When you're ready to order, just call for me."

I don't know how I manage to walk all the way across the restaurant with my knees feeling like jelly. Grabbing the edge of the bar for support, I sink down onto one of the stools, my legs quivering.

Once again, Elsa gives me a weird look. "What is going on with you?"

"It's the heat," I say without thinking. "It's getting to me."

She sets down the napkin she was folding and stares at me. "Sophia, it's October."

I blink at her slowly. "My bad. I meant the cold."

"We're in the South."

I lower my gaze, out of answers.

"Have you been drinking on the job?" my boss demands.

"A cup of chamomile," I admit. "Maybe my brain is allergic to it."

Elsa's eyes raise toward the ceiling as if she's praying for patience. She takes a couple of seconds to compose herself and then gives me a steely-eyed look. "Just get through tonight, will you? And no more vodka for you."

I am hardly in a position to argue with her. I decide to change the topic to something that has been nagging me. "By the way, those people aren't from our town, are they? I haven't seen them around here before."

"They're from another pack in the South Alliance. They're here on business. I think they're staying at the motel across the road."

I absorb this information and ask, slowly, "So, their papers were checked and verified? They are who they say they are?"

My boss studies me. "Of course. Oakrest has a high level of security."

"What kind of business are they here on?" I ask, not believing the story at all. If they are here on business, they had no reason to be at the cage fighting arena last night. On top of that, they were clearly looking for someone. I don't know who these people are, but they're definitely not here on business. However, once again, I can't really say anything. I just have to make sure to steer clear of them. Whatever they're planning to do, as long as I stay out of the way, it should not affect me.

"I think they're ready to order." Elsa taps my arm, and I look over my shoulder to see the entire group watching me intently.

I feel a little more like myself this time when I approach them. They don't know who I am, and that's a relief.

Now that I think about it, there are a few things that differentiate me from the Wily Vixen. One of those things is my height. I wear insoles in my shoes when I go about my daily life, and they give me a couple extra inches. My alter ego is shorter than me. And then there is the matter of my long hair. When I'm fighting, I always wear braids close to my head, which help me hide the length completely. When the blue-eyed shifter saw me, all of my hair was tied in a bun and hidden by the hood of my hoodie and my mask. Today, I have my ashen locks in a long, loose braid down my back. Of course these men don't suspect me. I was just blowing things out of proportion.

With a smile on my face, I ask, "Have you guys decided?"

As they rattle off their orders, my eyes keep shifting toward their leader. Now that I'm not panicking, I realize he's quite handsome. He has an aloof air about him, but even if I had not overheard two of his men refer to him as "boss," it would have been easy to figure out that he's in charge. I don't know what his name is, and I don't understand why I am so curious about him. My body feels warm as I stand near him.

I wonder if I'm getting a fever. Perhaps from stress? Another thing to blame on this man.

My eyebrows furrow together. I wish he'd do what he's in this town to do and leave already. He makes me uncomfortable.

Perhaps that's why my voice is a little snappy when I ask him, "And for you, sir?"

He narrows his eyes at me, clearly sensing the hostility in my tone. "I'll have the steak and potatoes."

"Alright."

I am about to turn around when he says, "You didn't write it down."

"Excuse me?"

"My order," he says pointedly. "You didn't write down my order."

My jaw tightens. He's doing this deliberately. I know it.

Giving him a tight smile, I scribble down his order, and once again, when I turn to leave, he stops me. "You're not going to ask me what I want to drink?"

I close my eyes briefly before turning back and sighing audibly, as if he has seriously inconvenienced me. Poising my pen on my notepad, I ask, "Would you like a beverage, sir?"

"What do you have available?"

I give him a bland look. "The menu is in your hands, sir."

What does he want me to do? Recite the entire drinks menu for him?

When he doesn't respond, I give him a sickly sweet smile. "Oh, pardon me. I didn't take into account that you might not be able to read, sir. Here, I'll read it for you—"

I reach for his menu, but his grip on it tightens. Sounding insulted, he mutters, "I can read just fine!"

I raise a brow, and he barely glances at the menu before closing it. "A soda."

I knew it. He was just being a jerk on purpose.

The annoyance on his face is gratifying.

"A soda," I repeat slowly, writing it down on my pad in front of him, enunciating each word as I do so. "One soda." I gaze down at him, the sugary smile still on my face. "Will that be all?"

He looks as if he would like nothing better than to strangle me. His table is quiet, all five of the other men watching our interaction with bated breath.

"Yes," the man hisses.

"Alright then." I snap my notebook closed. "Your order will take about twenty minutes. I'll serve the drinks with your meals unless you want them beforehand."

Nobody says anything. As I turn to walk away, I hear one of the blue-eyed shifter's companions say, "I don't think our waitress likes you very much, Alex."

Alex.

The name suits him for some reason. It irks me that I find the name just as attractive as the man.

I've spent twenty-five years not even looking at guys. My life has been a game of survival up to this point. I haven't had time to be attracted to anybody. It's also not as if this town is overflowing with eligible bachelors just waiting to swoop me up. The one time I do find somebody good-looking, it has to be this jerk.

"What happened?" Elsa asks me as I give the order at the kitchen window. "Why do you have such a dark look on your face? Were they rude to you?"

"No." I refuse to meet her gaze. I was the one who was slightly rude. But I don't think it's a good idea to tell her that. Once I'm done reciting the order to Jack, the chef, I lean against the wall, finally looking at my boss. "Do you think I'm impulsive?"

Elsa stares at me. "Boy, there must've been something special in that vodka. What's gotten into you? And no, I don't think you're impulsive. But I do think something's off with you at the moment."

She's right. It's not like me to do any of the things I've done today. I need to slow down before I do something that might come back to bite me in the ass.

"Sophia." Elsa forces me to look at her by putting a hand on my arm. "If you need to take the rest of the day off, just tell me. We all have bad days."

I shake my head. "No, I can do this. I'll be on my best behavior."

As I walk away, I hear her mutter, "I never said you weren't on your best behavior."

I spend the next twenty minutes looking after the rest of my tables. New customers keep piling in. There's another server working the floor with me, Ronnie. But she's dealing with the right side of the bar, and I'm handling the left. By the time Alex's table's order is ready, I have been on my feet a long time and wish I could take a two-minute breather.

I'm quite used to carrying multiple dishes in my arms, so balancing the huge tray on my shoulder with my hand isn't hard. However, today, my gait is not steady. For a moment, it feels like it's because Alex is watching me as I approach them. His gaze is disconcerting. I can't focus when he's looking at me like that.

The tables beside theirs are full, so there is no place to put down the massive tray. With no option but to keep holding it on my shoulder, I hand out the drinks first.

Alex's plate is the last one on the tray, and as I place it before him, his fingers accidentally graze mine. The second they do, I feel a strange jolt of electricity pass through me, and I immediately yank my hand back. As a result, I lose my carefully maintained balance; the tray slips to the ground with a loud crash while I slide backward, about to fall on my ass. To my surprise, a familiar, firm hand wraps around my waist, stopping my descent. I come face-to-face with those cerulean blue eyes, which have surprise in them.

The proximity of our faces has my mouth turning dry and my heart beginning to race again.

I don't know what's happening, but it's frightening. I've never felt this way before, and I don't think I like it.

When we both remain frozen in place, one of Alex's companions clears his throat. "Uh, do you want to let the waitress go, boss?"

Awareness flickers in Alex's eyes as if he's suddenly realizing the position we're in. He steadies me before releasing his grip on me. I'm about to thank him when he suddenly says in an irritated voice, "Watch your step next time. You nearly dropped my plate."

All the gratefulness vanishes from within me like a wisp of smoke, and I give him a sharp look. "I didn't ask you to help. You should've let me fall."

His eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

I don't know what has come over me. It's like I've been possessed by the spirit of a cranky old man who cannot keep his mouth shut.

Before I say something I regret, I turn around and stomp off.

"She really does not like you, man," the same guy laughs.

"Are you hurt, Sophia?" Elsa asks as I walk past her.

"I'm fine!" I feel embarrassed and a little bit humiliated. I didn't ask that man to catch me. It's not the first time I've fallen on my face or my ass. And none of this would've happened if he hadn't touched my hand.

I don't care if my thoughts sound childish.

Alone in the bathroom, I wash my hands and splash some water on my face. I'm starting to regret not taking Elsa up on her offer. I am not myself today. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I slap some color into my cheeks. "Get a grip, Sophia."

I don't know why I'm feeling on edge today. It's like the wires in my brain got crossed, and I can't seem to uncross them. I know this group of men is looking for a shifter who's taking part in the cage fights. I need to stay as inconspicuous as possible. What am I doing, antagonizing their leader and making him pay attention to me? It isn't going to end well for me if I keep this up.

Splashing some more water on my face, I try to cool myself down. I've never been outright rude to a customer before. This was not the day to start.

When I come back out, I feel a little more relaxed. Eve and Monty, the two servers who were late for their shifts, have arrived and are already working the floor. Elsa waves to me, and I head over to her.

"We have the health and safety inspection next week, so I'll be in my office getting the paperwork in order. I think we have enough wait staff for now."

"You want me at the bar, then?" I ask, glancing toward the table where Alex and his group are sitting. Almost as if he can sense my gaze on him, he turns his head and looks straight at me. I feel my cheeks turn red, and I immediately avert my eyes.

It should be a crime to be that hot.

But looks aren't everything. So what if he's attractive , I grumble silently to myself. He's mean as a snake.

"Yes, and in—" Elsa checks her watch, "an hour, we'll be getting a delivery of some raw supplies for breakfast tomorrow, so make sure you sign for that."

"Got it."

Elsa leaves for her office, and I slip behind the bar. Fortunately, Eve is handling my tables now, and that makes me feel relieved. But even as I serve customers their drinks, I can't stop my eyes from darting to where Alex is sitting. I don't like him. I'm sure of it. Although…

I pinch myself, mumbling, "Stop acting as if he's the first man you've ever laid eyes on."

I can feel my wolf rumble within me. I'm not the only one interested in this guy. Maybe I've finally hit my sexual peak, if that even exists. It's the only thing that makes sense to me. But I'd rather get punched in the face by Mountain Man than look at Alex again.

As I mix a drink, I wonder what happened to Roger Clark, a.k.a. Mountain Man. He hasn't been back at the bar since our showdown at the arena. I know he had a couple more matches this week. I did worry that he might have figured out what I was since I showed him my claws and whatnot, but he wouldn't complain about me. Cage fighting is illegal for humans, too, and participants are harshly punished. I doubt he wants to stare at prison walls for the rest of his life.

That is, if his tiny brain figured it out.

"Sophia," Eve says as she walks over, a troubled look on her face. "Those men at table four didn't leave a tip, but the tall one told me to give you this."

"What?" I take the folded napkin she is handing me and turn it over, only to see something written on it in incredibly neat handwriting.

Miss Manners' Guide to Grace and Balance, by Levi Thompson.

I stare at the name of what is clearly a made-up book, and my lips curve in an angry smile as I lift my gaze toward the door. "Next time, I hope he orders coffee. I'm going to spill it in his stupid face."

The nerve.

Eve winces. "Want me to throw that out?"

I'm about to hand the paper napkin back to her, but something inside me refuses to let it go.

"Don't worry about it," I say, stuffing it in my pocket before mumbling to myself, "Scalding hot coffee."

Stupid jerk. I hope he stubs his toe today.