Chapter 3

A rcher carried their empty plates toward the bar kitchen for Bear to wash. The pack loved hanging out at the Rabbit Lounge these days, especially with Bear and Mercy working there. But another reason Archer hung around was to make sure all the jokers in the bar knew that Mercy belonged to the Arrowhead pack.

Maybe hitting on women all the time made him hyperaware of how others treated his packmates. Bear only worked there for a few hours, and most of it was in the kitchen. He couldn't keep an eye on Mercy at all times to make sure no one grabbed her. Shifters were known for coming on strong, but some men were dickheads and ignored the signals women put out.

Mercy swooped in and collected his dirty dishes. "Sit your tushy down. This is what I get paid for. You can wash the dishes at home."

"You should take a break," he suggested.

"I'll rest when I'm dead." She backed up through the swinging kitchen doors and disappeared.

Archer returned to their booth in the back, slinging a flirty smile at a bobcat Shifter who spent her weekends at the bar .

Still full from lunch, Archer kept his eyes on the dartboards, hoping the women would take off so he and Krys could have another game.

Sliding into the booth, he asked, "Where's Virgil?"

"Taking a leak." Krys sipped on his vodka neat, one of his silver rings clinking against the glass.

Though Archer was the designated driver, they had work to finish up at the house, so he had to make sure Virgil and Krys didn't exceed the limit.

The last big project they'd completed was the garage and attached gym. It took a hell of a lot longer than expected because the foundation guys were out of town for a couple of weeks. The garage fit a multitude of vehicles, and because of its size, Tak planted a bunch of native shrubs in a futile attempt to camouflage it.

Archer was just glad to have his own private gym. Not only that, but it was sizeable enough to accommodate additional equipment once he could scrape up the cash.

Two women at the dartboards were giggling and shaking their asses while purposefully missing their shots. One looked over her shoulder at them with an invitation in her eyes. Archer canted his head to admire her skyscraper legs, which disappeared beneath a short black skirt.

"You are one dirty dog," Virgil sang while striding up to the table. He claimed the bench across from them and blew on the rim of his beer bottle, creating a melodic sound. "We don't have to be back for an hour. That's plenty of time to partake in a few extracurricular activities. Two of them, three of us… Let's rent a private room in the back and have a little fun."

Archer sat back and stared at the beautiful women. "That's a hard no for me. I'm not into group activities."

Virgil touched the bottle to his lips, his eyes on Krys. "And then there were two. "

"They're all yours," Krys offered while turning his glass.

Tugging at the collar of his Introvert T-shirt, Virgil gave an indignant look and muttered, "I miss the seventies," before taking a swig.

Archer patted his hand on the table. "I don't."

With curiosity dancing in his turquoise eyes, Virgil tilted his head. "How old are you? I bet I've got you beat."

"That's not something I'd brag about," Archer replied. "I'm a hundred."

"And nine," Krys tacked on. "A hundred and nine." He chuckled into his glass.

Virgil gave an impish grin. "I was born in 1834, so I win. My résumé is filled with years of sexual exploration in earthly delights. You kids are too uptight these days. What about you, lover boy? Want to help me discover a few continents? The clock is ticking."

Krys tossed a quarter at his head. "Knock it off before I pin you to the floor."

Virgil dodged the coin with a jaunty smile. "Is that a threat?" He howled with laughter. "You'll have to do better than that."

After a lengthy stare down, Krys gave Virgil the middle finger. It was pointless trying to understand the dynamics between men. Archer's old buddies back home used to fight like brothers, prank each other, and do asinine shit. He missed them even though he also wished them dead for cutting him loose.

Virgil twisted around in his seat to scan the bar. "Well, let's find someone that'll change your minds. What about the blonde at the bar?"

Archer peered at the big-hipped woman straddling the stool. "Too loud. If I can hear her across the room, that's too much noise in the world."

Virgil gulped his beer and stood. "Not for me. I'm an equal opportunity lover." He waggled his eyebrows at Krys. "Sure you don't want to join? "

"Since when do you need a partner?" Archer gave him a skeptical appraisal. Virgil usually acted like they were all competing for sex.

On a dramatic sigh, Virgil hitched up his tattered jeans and arranged his package. "My odds will increase exponentially at getting laid if she thinks it's a group event." He locked eyes with Krys. "Women love a tag team, Mr. Leatherpants."

"Jesus." Archer shook his head. Taz was a nickname he'd given Virgil because of his wolf, but Virgil the man was just as crazy.

Virgil pulled breath freshener out of his pocket and sprayed it into his mouth. At least it wasn't air freshener. He had a bad habit of not reading labels. "Someday I'll try to understand your inhibitions, but today is not that day." While strutting toward the back, Virgil gave his dark blond hair a flip.

Archer's upbeat mood made a crash landing when he zeroed in on a woman sitting at the front.

His heart pounded so loud that he thought Krys could hear it over the music.

Holy shit. Is that her?

Archer blinked a few times to clear his vision. It was most definitely her—the girl from that night. The one he rode with when a Mage had attacked Mercy.

The one he fucked so good that he hadn't been able to think about another woman since.

She inhabited his thoughts, and the sight of her made him stiffen as a memory zinged through his body like a jolt of electricity. She had told him she was leaving town, so he'd never thought he'd see her again.

Mercy returned to her table and set down two glasses—a water and a beer. Obviously this girl was sticking around for lunch. His attention lingered on the ankle-length skirt that shielded her legs, and it made his mouth water because he knew what lay beneath: supple skin, creamy thighs, and a delicious heat that melted his senses.

The woman twisted her feet on the footrest while Mercy spoke to her. Archer recollected how timid she was during the car ride, how easily embarrassed by basic questions or remarks.

He also remembered her sexual wildness and insatiable hunger for him.

Mercy hugged the woman and, after a brief discussion, walked off.

Still in disbelief, Archer leaned toward Krys. "See that girl? I know her. Intimately."

Krys craned his head and frowned. "I didn't know you liked redheads. Is she a real one?"

Archer shoved Krys's head away.

Laughing, Krys said, "Is that a yes?" He playfully locked his arm around Archer's neck. "Well? Tell me all about Strawberry Shortcake."

Archer didn't have a left arm to knock him away, so he gripped Krys's wrist and flicked it off.

Like a blast of northern wind, Virgil blew in and collapsed in the seat. "I couldn't help noticing you two having a scintillating conversation about something that I can only presume is juicy. What's going on here, gentlemen?"

Krys jerked his head toward the sexy woman at the bar who was reading a book. "Archer fucked the redhead."

Virgil gave her an appraising inspection. "Details. We need details."

"Not her," Archer said. "The one by the door. Long skirt, ponytail?—"

"The one suffering from melancholia?" Virgil squinted in her direction.

The young woman tucked her fist against her cheek and stared listlessly at the crowd. She wasn't voluptuous or extroverted, but Archer was ensnared by her soulful eyes and lovely features, which seemed unmatched by the women in this time.

"You can't be serious." Krys bit back his laughter. "Are you talking about the wallflower?"

Suddenly the woman's eyes locked on Archer, and the entire world disappeared. He felt a connection that gripped his soul and shook it awake.

Even worse, he couldn't stop staring.

I thought she left town? Does she remember me? She's got to recognize me the way she's staring like a deer in headlights. Maybe I should wave. No, don't wave like a creepy jackass.

"You've got to be shitting me," Krys continued as he sat back. "Casanova over here never goes for the shy girls. Desperate much?"

Virgil folded his arms on the table. "The quiet ones are the freaks in bed."

Archer glared at Virgil, who was having a stare down with Krys. Virgil loved injecting himself into every story with a story of his own.

Krys shook his head. "I don't want to hear it."

A smile played on Virgil's lips. "You don't say much, do you?"

Still rattled, Archer turned to his cousin. "Should I say something?"

Krys shrugged. "Depends on how you left it. Sex is sex. It's all the same."

"And sometimes it's not," Virgil added with a dash of expertise. "M&M's are plain until you add a nut." He zeroed in on Archer. "Was she insatiable? Did she get freaky-deaky? If she's a wildcat, you always go back for seconds. Double-dip that chip. When you know how good it was the first time, the second is even better. Just don't go for thirds."

Krys absently scratched his dark goatee. "And why's that?"

"Sweet summer child, three times is not the charm. When you go for thirds, you enter a dangerous territory filled with relationship land mines. They want a real date. They want you to call them. They want to get serious. Virgil Nightingale doesn't do serious."

Archer adjusted the loose jacket sleeve that hung from his left shoulder. "Afraid they'll open your skeleton closet and get buried in all the bones?"

Krys gave a dark chuckle. "Nothing about Taz is a secret. His skeletons are buried in the front yard like a cemetery."

The music switched over to a country song, and Virgil reclined in his seat with his arms folded. "Shows what you know."

After finishing his drink, Krys asked, "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I don't drink sensory drinks for nothing. I'm a troubled soul." Virgil grinned. "And like Elvis used to sing…"

Virgil did his best Elvis impersonation, singing a song about looking for trouble.

The girls at the dartboard turned to look, and when Virgil noticed, he stopped and winked at them. "Well? Are you going to talk to her or sit here like a chump?"

Krys suddenly hooked his arm around Archer. "Tough break."

Confused, he directed his attention to the front. A long-haired man was kissing her or whispering in the woman's ear. Archer's first instinct was to jump out of his seat and knock him to the ground, but then she smiled at him before the guy made himself cozy in the chair across from her.

"That's what happens when you don't pounce fast enough," Virgil remarked.

Krys withdrew his arm. "You're not missing out. You can do better."

All their words faded as Archer stared daggers at the man's back. Why the hell was he feeling so possessive? They had sex—that's all. What was he going to do, ask her on a date?

The couple abruptly stood. Archer assessed the man leading her to a booth. He was tall, well-dressed, and scanned the room like a guard. His features were brutish and his gaze icy.

Their hands stayed connected as she submissively followed his lead. Then he penned her in the booth by sitting next to her. This wasn't her brother, a friend, or even a first date.

Mercy searched the room before she spotted the couple in the booth and went to take their order.

Deflated, Archer turned away and scratched the side of his nose while processing what he'd just seen.

"When did you and Conservative Clara hook up?" Virgil inquired while gazing at the stone pendant around his neck.

"A couple of months ago. It's old news," he replied, attempting to convince himself more than his packmates.

Virgil raked his fingers through his tousled hair while telling a story about a Mage who once paid him to clean her house in the nude.

Meanwhile, Archer pondered whether he should buy a car. They borrowed Hope's sedan, and though she didn't mind, Archer hated depending on others. On the other hand, buying a car would take away from the money he needed for new gym equipment.

Besides, it was a pain in the ass to drive with only one arm. He could brace his knee on the steering wheel to do things, but turning sharp corners on dirt roads was a bitch. And try that while simultaneously activating the blinker.

Archer couldn't even cut a piece of paper without it being an ordeal. Could he buy modified scissors online? Probably. But he wasn't good at swallowing his pride. It was an oversized lump that lived in his throat. He didn't even like wearing sneakers in public because some joker would always step on his laces .

At human bars, all they did was stare. Most assumed he'd lost his arm in war or a car accident, and because of that, they were inclined to feel sorry for him. Immortals were just assholes, and maybe that was easier to deal with.

People had once admired him for his handsome looks, outgoing personality, and unmatched archery skills. Now the stares made him feel inadequate in the eyes of others.

Had he been born this way, he would have easily adapted. But he'd spent most of his life with two arms. Now he had to relearn everything, and it wasn't something he could learn overnight. Everything took longer or he found impossible, like trimming his nails, opening jars, or even washing his hand thoroughly. He couldn't use string dental floss anymore, and Krys helped him change his sheets. There were also things he missed, like sleeping with his arm tucked beneath his pillow. Hell, he couldn't even masturbate the way he liked.

Archer's life had come to a grinding halt the day he lost his arm.

A couple of hours later, Archer and the guys were still at the bar. Lakota called to let them know the pack had taken the rest of the day off to go swimming, so they didn't have to rush home. Krys didn't want to leave, and Virgil was beyond ecstatic that he could hit up Calvin for the Wild Rabbit drink special.

Throughout their game of darts, chatter, and a few rounds of pool, Archer kept discreetly checking on the couple. He watched Mercy shuttle beer after beer to their table, but only the guy was drinking. When their food arrived, the brunette poked at a salad. Why the hell would she order a salad? She was so lithe, and the pot roast was absolutely fucking delicious .

Meanwhile, that douchebag had gobbled up two plates while she watched.

It shouldn't have bothered Archer, but when her mate got up to join a game of pool, the woman ate his leftovers while looking over her shoulder to make sure he didn't notice.

After that, Archer felt a burn in his stomach that wasn't from the pot roast. He had an irresistible urge to order her lunch, but instead, he kept a sharp eye on her mate, who was busy hustling a few fellows at pool. He didn't seem like a bad guy, and that's what put Archer in a foul mood. The guy was friendly, and everyone liked him. He also had the sport coat, T-shirt, and jeans look women loved. Not to mention his long mane.

And the fact he had two arms to hold her.

"You good?" Krys eased up to the standing table. "You've been in a funk all day. If you're tired of being the designated driver, we can head home and drink there."

"It's not that."

"More of that trauma drama? There's no crying in immortality."

Harsh words, but Krys could pull him out of depression with tough love. He was the only one who understood, because he had been through some rough shit too. Knowing that, Archer felt less alone in the world. He needed a good kick in the pants sometimes, and Krys was the man to deliver.

Krys twisted around and took a gander at the table Archer had been monitoring. "Why don't you go talk to her if you're that bent out of shape?"

"You know I stay clear of mated chicks. Besides, she's with Mr. Perfect."

Krys shoved his empty glass away. "Not anymore."

Archer looked over his shoulder and glimpsed her walking out of view toward the bathrooms. He left the conversation, uncertain of his plan. Approach her in a dark hall like some creep and scare the living daylights out of her? Maybe not the best plan.

He peered around the wall from the recessed section and spied her at the jukebox to his left.

A few wisps of hair had pulled loose from her low ponytail. He leaned against his left shoulder, watching how she thoughtfully examined every title in the machine before pumping quarters into the slot. Since the crowd had thinned after lunch, the song Archer picked a few minutes ago was playing.

She tapped her toe against the floor. A lazy smile crawled up Archer's face when she twisted her noisy bracelet. He remembered how during their drive, her bracelet jingled from all the charms knocking together whenever she turned the wheel or moved her hand.

Man, she's pretty.

He admired her chestnut hair, the slope of her nose, the curve of her breasts, and her interesting but subtle facial expressions. Was the rosy glow on her cheeks natural or makeup? She didn't need makeup. Seeing her in the light of day, Archer realized how captivating she was—how regal.

Other women in the bar flaunted their assets, while she concealed them. He guessed her to be five inches shorter than him, but somehow she appeared tall. Maybe it was the black boots.

Her slender fingers tapped on the jukebox to the beat of the song. Archer couldn't get over the juxtaposition of her timid personality and how assertive she'd been during their sexual encounter.

When she suddenly looked at him, Archer averted his gaze but kept her in his periphery.

Does she fantasize about that night as much as I do?

He imagined her lying in bed, slipping her hand beneath the sheet with feverish images of him racing through her head. That was how many nights for him had played out.

The song changed over, and it was definitely not one he had chosen. In recent weeks, Mercy had been eliminating tracks that weren't a hit with the crowd and replacing them. This sexy number was one that the ladies liked to play at night when on the hunt.

How can a woman fully clothed look that good? What's with those old lace-up boots? Does she always wear her hair up?

When the song reached his favorite part where the singer mewled about her tits soaking through a wet T-shirt and being tied up to the bed, he dared to look. Their eyes locked, and he held her under his rapturous gaze.

His heart quickened when her lips parted and she sucked in a breath. Then, like a ballerina, she whirled around but stumbled on her boot laces. After gripping a chair, she grabbed the beer and fled without so much as a backward glance.

She probably didn't want her mate bumping into one of her old one-night stands, and that was understandable. Under normal circumstances, Archer would have helped her and used it as an excuse to flirt. But as she hustled up to her man like her ass was on fire, an intrusive thought nestled in his head like poison. Maybe she regretted sleeping with him for different reasons.

Maybe she was embarrassed.

He adjusted the left sleeve of his leather jacket, wondering if wearing his prosthesis in public would be better or worse. The reason he didn't was that it had cost him a fortune. The last thing he needed was a Vampire crushing it.

Archer had come to this town hoping for a fresh start. What he'd found was a shit show. He'd slept with a few women, but most of them weren't any different from the ones back in Oregon. Archer bragged about the women he did hit on because he didn't want his packmates knowing he was having a rough time. Packs and other animal groups rejected amputees. Scars implied a battle won. But a missing limb? People viewed tripods as weak. It was a wonder Tak had accepted him at all, which made Archer work extra hard to solidify his value to the pack.

He glanced wistfully at two ladies entering the bar. Seducing women had once been effortless—hardly a single instance of rejection. Now they laughed or walked away. Not all but enough that it cut deep. One Shifter was so disgusted when he flirted with her that she slapped him to save face in front of her packmates. Others were morbidly inquisitive about how it happened and what it felt like to lose his arm. They wanted to look at it, as if his pain turned them on. Beauty and the beast were often one and the same.

It made him feel like a freak show, so Archer quit removing his shirt during sex. Of all the women he'd slept with, a shy girl had been the one to make him feel whole again. Not just like a man but a god. He thought about that night, remembering the sweet taste of sugar on his lips and the desirous way she looked at him. Had it only been an act?

The couple exiting the bar broke his reverie. "Be right back," he said to Krys before taking off.

"Hey, where the hell are you going?"

Archer weaved around empty tables, panicked that the man was about to get behind the wheel. When he flew out the door, he spotted the guy in black sunglasses slamming the passenger door of a black Camaro. Then he staggered drunkenly around the front.

Archer jogged toward him. "Hey, man! Hold up."

The guy turned, and up close, he was Krys's height of six-one.

"Sweet ride," Archer remarked, realizing the only way to get on this guy's good side was to bathe him in compliments. "How fast does she go? "

The man crossed his arms. "Zero to sixty in four seconds."

"You tested it?"

"Hell yeah. When you commute like I do, speed matters."

Archer nodded. "Nice. I was debating on this or a Charger."

"Camaro all the way. This sleek design will wet panties, if you know what I'm saying. No problems except for the brakes. I also had to fix a dent on the hood that some wild animal made, but I guess that's the shit you deal with in the country."

"My name's Archer Swift. I'm with the Arrowhead pack."

The man jerked his whiskery chin up. "Noah Miller. Tiger. I run alone." He stripped off his jacket, turned, then lifted the back of his shirt to reveal a massive tattoo that covered the entirety of his back.

"That's badass," Archer said, hating to admit the truth.

Noah lowered his shirt and faced him. "The liquid fire to seal it was a bitch. You got anything else besides that?" He tapped the base of his throat, referring to Archer's crown of thorns.

"Just a small one."

"Let's see it." Noah tucked his dark shades in the collar of his shirt.

Archer hated this idea already. He shucked out of his leather coat and gripped it. Then he twisted his body to show off the tattoo on his upper arm.

Noah glanced at the winged bow firing an arrow, and then his direction changed course. "I didn't know you were a tripod. It must be a bitch for your wolf to get around, but you're pretty jacked. Where the hell do you get that fit around here? There isn't a gym."

Archer put his jacket back on. "I've got a private gym. You should come check it out," he said, instantly wishing he could stuff those words back into his mouth, swallow them, and send them to the bowels of regret.

What the actual fuck am I doing ?

Noah arched his brows and revealed a glimmer of genuine excitement. "Seriously? I've been wanting to tighten up my quads and work on my abs." Noah flexed his arm. "Decent biceps, but the rest could use work. Shit. If a tripod can get that ripped, I'm just being a lazy-ass. Arrowhead pack, you say?"

"Yeah. You know Hamish? We're next door."

Noah groaned. "Jesus. That guy is a fuckwit."

"I'm not trying to hold you guys up, but I had to check out your ride."

"It's fine," Noah said loudly before clearing his throat. "I can respect a man with good taste."

"It must have set you back a bundle. I'm still saving up."

Noah scratched his stubbly jaw. "I know someone who can give you a good deal. He owes me a favor."

Archer liked that idea a lot. "Any type of car?"

Noah shrugged. "Pretty much. It depends on your budget. Are you a personal trainer?"

"Sure," he said, realizing that his lies had now woven into a ten-foot tapestry. "Come by and check it out. But you should be careful with that Camaro. The roads out here are fucked up with all the potholes, and it looks like you've had a few drinks. It's a pain in the ass to pull your car out of a ditch around here since there isn't a tow service. Maybe you should see if the little lady can handle something that powerful," he said with a laugh.

Noah smiled wide. "That one's as timid as a mouse. But you're right. I drank too much free beer today."

Archer scoffed. "Free beer? Was I asleep?"

Noah shifted his stance and kicked the gravel around. "That hot little waitress said we won a door prize, so everything was paid for—unless she was coming on to me."

Archer pondered on that for a minute. Mercy was always talking Calvin into things, so maybe they had a contest going on. Or she could have figured out who this woman was. In any case, Archer kept his mouth shut. "I won't keep you guys. You'll have to give me your friend's contact info."

"See you around, Archer. I'll swing by one night. I work most days," he said, grabbing his sport jacket from the hood. "But I'll figure something out. Cool?"

"Cool."

When Noah made it to the passenger side and opened the door, Archer retreated to the bar while contemplating whether he had just unlocked a new level of stupidity. The car pulled out, brakes squealing.

Invite the enemy over. Brilliant idea. Make friends with a guy who's mated to a girl you slept with. Great job. Why the hell didn't I get her name? Because that's what psychos do—they ask randos in a parking lot the name of their girl.

The instant he walked in the bar, he slammed into Virgil.

"Time to leave," Virgil said in a huff. "Let's go."

"Wait a second…"

Virgil shoved against him. "I need to get out of here. If you're not outside in two seconds, I'm walking. And you really don't want me to walk."

Archer narrowed his eyes. "Bad trip on the Wild Rabbit?"

"What's up?" Krys asked, approaching their cozy gathering. "I thought you bailed."

Archer gave him a friendly pat on the chest. "I can't leave for one second without all hell breaking loose. I know I'm the life of the party, but this is ridiculous."

Virgil looked over his shoulder and was breathing faster than usual. He tried pushing past Archer. "I want to leave."

Archer pushed back, wondering if Virgil had hit on the wrong woman. "What's bothering you?"

Krys inched toward him, his eyes narrowing. " Who's bothering you?"

If Krys loved one thing, it was fighting. Deciding they'd overstayed their welcome, Archer stepped aside to defuse the situation. "Come on, Taz. Let's go home. I think Calvin's sick of our faces anyhow. Are we paid up?"

"Money's already in Calvin's pocket," Krys informed them.

Archer walked outside into the blazing summer heat. The Camaro was long gone, as was the girl he was better off forgetting.