Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Gray

B leakness by name, bleak by nature. The cobblestone streets of this godless city are layered with snow, and a biting wind nips at the weak spots in my heavy cloak as I head back to our place of residence.

We have taken accommodation at The Green Man. I tell myself it is a sensible location, central to the city, with ties to the rebellion. We can keep abreast of news here without drawing attention. The prices are reasonable, and the fire is always well stocked, although the food leaves a lot to be desired unless you like eating stew.

Truth be told, I'm sick of eating stew. It is the only thing on the menu I can stomach anymore. I tried the potted pork pie, but my wolf has a deep aversion to pigs, and I regretted my lapse in judgment the moment the plate arrived. Then there is the chicken casserole. I don't mind chicken, but I prefer it not smothered in sauce and vegetables. I sometimes go for the chicken when I desperately need some variety.

We could take our dinner somewhere else. It would provide some relief from the endless fucking stew, yet we continue to eat here rather than at any of a dozen other taverns because of the wench who serves behind the bar.

Last Friday, when I returned, she wasn't around, and I nearly went on a fucking rampage; that's how bad this is. I even went so far as to ask Betsy where the lass was, and I was not very subtle about it.

Out the back, showing Callum a broken pump, I was told… which put me in a temper because I knew the pump had been fixed weeks ago by someone by the name of Will. I couldn't think straight until Ada emerged a considerable time later, and then the lass seemed hell-bent upon avoiding my part of the tavern and never came anywhere near me. I couldn't take my eyes off of her, convinced myself something might have happened with that prick.

If he dared to put his hands on her, I will rearrange his fucking face.

I question my decision to stay in this particular tavern. I need to pull back before my wolf encourages me to do something stupid. But I've got it bad, and as the cheery lights of the tavern come into view as I round the corner of the bleak, Bleakness street, I accept that neither the allure of rare venison nor the threat of a horde of angry orcs could persuade me to eat elsewhere.

It has been a busy day, and I have not seen Drake since this morning as we each followed up on leads, but as I push open the door and my eyes shift to the bar and see her, I experience immediate relief.

Ada. Safe behind the bar, pink-cheeked and pretty in that saucy fucking dress and those boots, small tits displayed to perfection.

I want to devour her.

Beneath my skin, my wolf begins to prance and preen.

I drag my gaze away, fists tightening at my sides, and weave through the crowded room for my reserved table in the corner.

Ada

He is here again, the giant with the piercing blue eyes, his broad shoulders filling the tavern doorway as it swings open, bringing a blast of frigid air. His dark hair is tousled from the wind. There's a hint of scruff along his jaw. Not enough to make a beard, but plenty enough to be hot.

I shouldn't even notice him. I like Callum.

I more than like Callum.

"Ada! See to our customer!" Tim calls.

This is my job, and it certainly should not be a problem. Only, it's him that I need to serve, and the butterflies are already taking flight in my belly. I have grown accustomed to tavern life, and very little fazes me anymore. But there is something about this customer that turns me into a tongue-tied dolt.

Where is Betsy when I need her? Tim's daughter is incorrigible and shameless when it comes to flirting with the patrons. She always has a smile and is intimidated by no man, not even Master Gray. Of course, Tim would put a pounding on any man who stepped out of line, as he did that time when she was taken… That was many months ago, and it's fair to say no one will make that mistake again. Despite her harrowing experience, Betsy is a free spirit, and Tim doesn't mind what the patrons get up to with her so long as it's Betsy's choice.

We all come through trauma in different ways. I was a wreck when I first arrived, could barely get a word out, and was in a constant state of shock at the handsy patrons. Betsy took me under her wing and explained how it was always on my terms. How Tim would strangle any man who did more than I chose.

Then Callum showed me how life can be when you let go of your fears, and we have snuck time together often since with Betsy running cover.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm already smitten with Callum and the things he does with his hands and mouth.

But it is also like Callum has awakened me to pleasure and, somehow, that has all gotten tangled up, because the same flutters happen when I see this particular customer.

I dip my head in acquiescence and scoot around the bar. The Green Man is a respectable establishment, one of only a few that can be found in Bleakness, and it always draws a crowd. Tonight is particularly busy as several ships have been stuck in port by high winds, and the place is full of raucous sailors intent on downing ale and wenching.

My palms are already a little sweaty, and I'm not even anywhere near Master Gray yet. Most of the time when I serve him, he's already sitting down, and I only see him standing from a distance—except that one time when I was cleaning up a table as he was coming in the door, which is when I realized just how freakishly big he is.

"Ada! Lass, the customer is waiting."

Have I been staring at him all this time?

I think I have.

Goddess, I'm a mess of conflict. Fumbling to straighten imaginary creases in my apron, I hurry over to take his order. The closer I get to the corner table he has chosen, the higher my irrational anxiety crawls. It's a tavern—he is a customer, and I need to do my job.

"What can I get for you?" I ask. My voice sounds small and breathless. Master Gray seems more intense tonight. His delicious scent is potent and finds a direct line to my needy places. His blue eyes gain an otherworldly quality under the glow of the blazing fire and lanterns. It's a struggle to maintain eye contact. I think I'm worse than usual today. I wish I were pretty like Betsy with her blonde hair, becoming smile, and the smattering of freckles across her nose. Callum has told me I am beautiful many times, yet I still feel small and unremarkable next to Betsy with my pin-straight dark hair that doesn't have a bit of bounce or curl.

As I lower my eyes, I trail them over the breadth of his shoulders before settling on his large, capable hands resting against the chipped wooden table.

I wonder what he does? He dresses like a soldier—he certainly has the build with serviceable leather armor and a heavy woolen cloak. Only I don't see signs of any weapons.

Maybe he kills them with his bare hands.

I'm staring again.

He also hasn't answered me. Maybe it was rude of me not to use his name. Heat fills my cheeks, and I fumble to straighten my apron again. "What can I get for you, Master Gray, sir?" I grimace at my rambling. Ugh! I sound like a fool. I'm hoping he wants something simple so I don't have to make multiple trips, because I'm sure my legs won't make it without me falling over my own feet.

"What do you recommend?" His voice is a rumbly purr, low enough that I can only just hear him over the revelry.

A huge chalkboard hangs over the bar, stating what is on the menu. I know he can read because he has ordered from it before without asking me. Is he teasing me?

"Um… the lamb stew is very popular, and there are dumplings in it tonight. It comes with fresh sourdough baked this morning."

"Lamb," he muses. "That feels appropriate, don't you think? The bread, not so much."

My eyes snap up in time to catch the lazy smirk blooming on his lips.

Then his smile drops. "You seem particularly distracted today, Ada. Have any customers been troubling you?" His voice dips to a growl that sends a tingle straight to my core.

I blink and gulp, trying to work out why lamb is appropriate while also not getting all swoony about the way he says my name. "No, sir." I try for a smile, but his eyes are so intense and blue, and now that I'm gazing into them, I feel the magnetic pull toward him. The Goddess did not skimp on any aspect of him… that I can tell.

I need to cut that thought off before my face catches fire. He's just teasing me. It's nothing. The patrons like to flirt and have a little fun—they mean nothing by it. Tim doesn't stand for any nonsense, and I've always felt safe here.

I feel safe with Gray, too. He's never once so much as tried to swat my ass, and plenty of patrons do. I don't even notice it anymore.

"The lamb stew and bread. And a pint of Pinkington ale, please, Ada."

He often orders stew. He probably needs a lot of food. It must be hard to keep that much honed muscle working at its prime. "Yes, sir, Master Gray." I bob my head and beat a hasty retreat, calling the order through to the cook in the kitchen.

Betsy is behind the bar, pulling pints for three sailors who are trying to persuade her to slip out the back of the tavern with them so they can, in their words, put a blush on her pretty cheeks. They are young, strapping beta men, and her smile says she's not averse to their proposal.

"I'll get a break later if you're not too deep into your cups."

"Do nah worry, lass. We shall nah leave ye disappointed." The man slides a coin for the ale across the table, and they raise their tankards in salute before moving off to find a table beside the fire.

"Three of them?" I ask with a raised brow.

"Go on, they came by a week ago. He speaks true; I was not disappointed. It is their last day of shore leave, and I am expecting their enthusiasm to be high." She winks at me before nodding at the table in the corner. "I see Master Hot-and-brooding is in again tonight. You're looking a little flushed. I hope he was behaving himself."

"Of course," I say, doing a poor job of hiding my blush. "He's always very polite." I wish he weren't. I think I might spontaneously climax if he put his hand on my ass… gave it a little pat.

I blink, realizing what I'm thinking. What is wrong with me? I shouldn't even notice him when I already more than like Callum. I test my forehead with the back of my hand. Do I have a fever?

"Hmhm," she says knowingly, passing another pint across the bar. "Pity. All that much alpha hotness should be celebrated, don't you think?"

"He's an alpha?" I ask, grabbing a clean tankard and passing it to her. "I mean, he's really big, and it makes sense."

"For sure. And you know he's a shifter, right?"

"Shifter?" The word comes out a little breathless. I've never met a shifter before. My eyes dart to the table.

I gulp. He's staring straight at me. I snatch my eyes away to find Betsy smirking.

"With a knot, just like human alphas do," Betsy continues. "I've never taken a knot, but Goddess, I'd die happy for the trying."

I can't help but chuckle. When I first arrived, I was in constant shock at Betsy and her ways. Now, I love her like a sister and thank the Goddess for my good fortune in finding this place to call home.

"Lasses, stop your yakking. It's a full house," Tim booms good-naturedly, hastening back to the bar with a tray full of empties. "I swear the two of you are always up to mischief."

Betsy snickers. "Just plotting a man's downfall, Pa."

Tim throws his head back and laughs. "Aye, you have your mother's ways, Goddess rest her soul. That woman was a handful and kept me on my toes." Still smiling, he sets about pouring ale as Betsy slides a full tray toward me.

"Ada, can you please take these to the table by the door?" she says, before taking a second tray herself.

Carrying the laden tray, I weave my way through the crowded room. Someone slaps my ass enthusiastically, and I nearly pitch the tray full of drinks over another customer.

"Lads, go steady with the lass," Tim booms, hands planted on his hips. "If she drops the pints, you'll be paying for them."

"Sorry, Tim!" the flushed sailor calls. "Go on, sorry, Ada. Your fine ass had me near in a daze."

The other men howl with laughter and slap him on the shoulder. I chuckle at their mischief. It is hard to take offense.

My cheeks are burning by the time I reach the table in the corner. It's full of rowdy sailors. They cheer as I put the tray down and change their empty tankards for fresh ones. They drop the payment on the table. I gather the coins and return to where Betsy is readying another tray of drinks.

"What sort of shifter?" I demand in a hushed whisper as I scoot past her. Dumping the empty tankards to be washed, I stack the ones Tim is busy pulling onto a tray. I think she is teasing me about Gray. Why would a shifter even be in Bleakness?

"A wolf," she says. "What other kinds of shifters are there? Well, I suppose there are bears. But bears don't mix well with other races."

"I didn't think wolf shifters did, either," I say.

"Look at those eyes," she says. "The ones he can't take off you. You can always tell shifters by the eyes."

"They are very blue," I say, sounding a little breathless. I have no need to look over at Gray because his every feature is imprinted on my mind.

"So you have noticed, then? Does Callum have some competition for your affections?"

The tavern is heaving. I should not be gossiping with Betsy. She grins and follows me as I carry the next loaded tray to a table beside the fire.

Truth be told, I am intrigued by the giant man I've learned tonight is both an alpha and a wolf shifter with a knotted cock. I shouldn't be noticing him when I have Callum with his wild ginger hair and handsome face, who claims he has never been with a lass, yet nevertheless harbors natural skills when it comes to pleasuring me. I want him to be with me—fully. I begged him Wednesday night. He said my first time should not be in a hay barn but a bed where he could prepare me fully to take him there without being rushed.

Given he can make me limp with pleasure in mere moments, I'm not sure what extra preparation could possibly be required.

My eyes go to the door. Callum and his father usually arrive about now. I get a little tingle between my thighs as I wonder if we might be able to slip out the back…

I miraculously make it to the table full of city guards without a single pinch or pat. They take their ale with a cheer and dump the coin for me to collect. I'm about to head back to the bar when an arm snakes around my waist.

"Ada, lass!" a guard says, planting a kiss on my cheek. "Your pretty blush brightens up the day."

Goodness, it's particularly rowdy tonight. I don't know how I'm going to get through this. As I'm making my way to the bar through the crowd, I see Gray staring at me.

He looks angry.

I gulp. Was I slow with his beer?

"Do you have Gray's ale?" I ask Betsy as I reach the bar. Tim is busy pulling pints, and Gareth is changing out a barrel. "He looks angry. I think I have been too slow."

"Ha!" she says. "His sour expression has naught to do with the arrival of his ale. I thought he was going to go over and thump that guard as sat you on his lap. And I heard him growl when that handsy dockworker patted your ass… Here, these are for the table left of the fire. The last ale is Gray's."

I weave through the crowd again, dropping off ale and collecting coins until I've done everybody except for the final beer for Gray. By the time I reach his table, I'm thoroughly flustered, had my bottom pinched numerous times, and the noise has reached a raucous din.

He reaches into his pocket and slides a coin across the table.

"Thank you, sir."

He takes his beer with a grunt. I practically fly back to the bar to collect the tray with his food, which I am prompt to deliver, receiving another grunt.

As I get lost in the rush of duty, I wonder what a shifter is doing here. Whether he is part of the secret side of The Green Man that you cannot help but notice when you work and live here, or whether he is part of something else.