1. Kezia

"Zia! I need more trays."

The bartender's voice was so high-pitched and sudden that I banged my head off the top of the dishwasher that I was currently half in as I tried to unsnag the broken tray from the slider along the bottom of the machine.

"Ow," I protested, finally wrenching the tray free and almost staggering backward. When I looked up, Nicola was watching me, her gaze darting between me and the tray. "It broke before I took it out," I defended myself instantly.

She looked around the small glasswashing area with a disdainful sniff before pointing at the stacks of clean glasses. "Them, now."

The door swung shut behind her, blocking anyone from seeing me flick her the finger. "Oh, no, your ladyship," I grumbled. "Please, don't try to help. You couldn't possibly lift a tray by yourself. Luna forbid you try, you lazy shit."

The trays were high-sided wire baskets for glasses. They got stacked and went into the glasswashing machines in rows of two. They could be stacked when they came out to cool. The bar was busy tonight—Thursday Night Football always drew a crowd—and the crews from the logging plant halfway up the mountain were down with their end-of-the-month paychecks. They all drank draught and were keeping me and the machine busy.

The glasswashing area was separate from the bar and the kitchen, tucked in a tight space with room for only one person, two machines, and a low counter that ran the length of the wall to allow the trays to be stacked. There was an open hatch in the wall that allowed me to put the dirty glasses through after I'd collected them, and the clean ones could rest there so I didn't need to fight the door to the main bar area while carrying glasses.

I slid two trays onto the hatch area and then hurried through the door to grab them. Working the machines was hot and steamy work on busy nights, and tonight was no exception. My T-shirt was sticking to me, my jeans felt like they were glued on, and my hair felt heavy despite being piled high onto my head in a bun. The apron I wore to "protect" my clothes was heavy and thick, and I was sure the only thing it did was increase my body temperature.

It had been five months since I was on the Peak. Kris had given me enough money to blend as he called it. I'd moved around furtively to begin with, and then when I realized no one was coming for me, I'd stopped being so frantic.

It was a hard fact to swallow. Again. The Anterrio Pack wasn't interested, not even my so-called "mate" Landon.

I'd come here over a month ago and found a one-bed apartment easily. Due to the logging station further up the mountain, the locals were used to a high turnover of people coming into their town. I was just another pair of feet traveling through, looking for work before I moved on. The whole town was so used to it that I didn't need to blend, as no one ever asked me any questions.

Carrying the trays, I navigated my way through the crowd to the bar. I slid them onto the counter and got no acknowledgment from Nicola. I was used to her attitude. I'd been here for three weeks now, the longest I had stayed in one place since coming off the mountain, and she'd taken an instant dislike to me when I got the position of glasswasher.

I wasn't a hypocrite—I didn't like her either. She smelled weird. Not in a she-has-bad-taste-in-perfume way or even the odd scent that Mal had; she was just off.

Making my way back to my steamy refuge, grabbing some empty glasses along the way, I thought of the scent that Mal had, the doc from the Blackridge Peak Pack. His pack. I tried very hard not to think of the alpha of the Blackridge Peak Pack. I told myself I didn't miss him and I hated everything about him. Pressing my lips together, I tried not to scowl at the hollow-sounding lie.

As well as not being a hypocrite, I also wasn't a liar. Well, not about the things that mattered.

Not that he mattered. He meant nothing to me. As I obviously meant little to him since he hadn't followed me off the Peak either. I didn't want to be followed, but if I was his mate, wouldn't he be curious about where I was? Had he really not bothered to check on me since that night in the shaman's house?

"Mate, my ass," I grouched as I routinely emptied dregs from glasses and shoved them into the trays to be washed. I felt my wolf stir, and I ignored her as well. She'd been quiet since we came off the mountain, only letting me know she was pissed with me a few times a month.

I let her run free whenever we could, and if she ran, hunted, and had fresh meat for dinner, so far, she'd been content to keep her judgment to long stares and a general rumble of discontentment.

I'd learned in my time off the mountain to count the small things as blessings, and so far, the fact my wolf was keeping her general displeasure to herself, I was taking it as a blessing.

"Zia!"

I jumped again and turned to glare at Nicola through the hatch. "What?" I barked with as much attitude as she gave me.

"Where's the glasses?"

"On the bar," I snapped, turning fully, my hands on my hips to stop me from reaching through the hatch and dragging her skinny ass in with me where I was sure I could cram her into the machine and put her on a cycle to clean up her attitude.

"Two trays?" Her voice was at near-piercing levels, and I felt my wolf stir. "I need more than two trays!"

Despite what Nicola thought, she wasn't the boss. Despite that, she was still the one who slept with the boss, and therefore she had the slight advantage over me that, if I did smash her head off the counter, by accident, then he'd probably take her side.

Maybe. He was a bit of a wild card.

Instead of throttling her, I smiled wide and fake in her face. "Well, honey, all you had to do was say."

I bit back my laughter as I watched her flounce away. My temper may get me in trouble one day, but my sass was going to get me fired sooner or later, I knew it.

I took two more trays of clean glasses and placed them on the hatch, ready to carry them out to the bar. The night pretty much went through the same rinse-and-repeat cycle: I slowly dehydrated in the glasswashing area, Nicola grated on my very last nerve, and by the end of the night, I was eagerly waiting for the pickup truck behind the small apartment block I'd been staying in since I came to town.

I saw the familiar shape of the truck, and before it was fully at a stop beside me, I was climbing into the cab.

"You're late."

"Am I?" Vance asked with a smirk, pulling away from the sidewalk. "Why do you look pissed off and…" He glanced at me. "Damp?"

"Because glasswashing is humid and tiring. And that witch is just begging me to punch her in the face."

Vance threw his head back as he laughed. His hair was shorter than when I last saw him, his muscles were more pronounced, and he had a golden tan that was definitely working in his favor.

"You look good," I told him with narrowed eyes. I sniffed. "And you're wearing cologne." Turning in my seat, I gawked at him. "Were you on a date?" I asked him incredulously.

"It hurts me that you think I'm incapable of such a thing, Zee."

"I told you I hate Zee."

"Which is exactly why I use it," he told me with a grin. He laughed again when I punched him in the ribs, but his complete dickishness caused me to smile.

It had been two towns before this one, where I ran into him again. I hadn't even been looking for a fight. I walked into a café for a takeaway coffee, and he was in the line. We'd both stared at each other in shock for a good few minutes before Vance grabbed me and practically carried me to his truck and locked me in, demanding to know everything.

I hadn't told him everything, but when I told him why I was no longer wanted for murder, he no more believed the "it was mistaken identity" storyline than I believed pigs could fly. However, he knew when to stop, and eventually, reluctantly, he dropped it.

My hair was still my natural blonde-white color—I had no reason to dye it—and it amused me that Vance thought the white-blonde was hair dye and not my natural coloring.

We'd gone back to the café, he bought me coffee and a bacon sandwich, and then he told me how he'd left the old town. He had too much attention on him, so he packed up, left town, and moved state. He hadn't settled down in one place, he followed the fights as they moved, and a few times now, he'd called me to suggest he pick me up. I'm not sure Kris would appreciate I had given out the number on the phone he gave me, but hey, a girl had to get by somehow.

We never arrived at the fights together; Vance dropped me off and I made my way there. He would tell me the details I needed, he would tell me the odds, and then he'd place the bet for both of us.

He wasn't completely unknown. He had his fighters who moved around with him, but after what happened with Bullet, he made sure no one connected us.

I liked these fights more. They were open to anyone. It wasn't a case of who won stayed in the ring, it was one or two fights only, and if you got the second fight, your odds were better. I had two lined up tonight, which was unusual for me. We both knew not to push me too much. I was recognizable. No matter that the fights were more open, I was still a girl with white-blonde hair and an unbeaten track record—a point of surliness for my companion.

Vance wanted me to throw the first fight tonight. He said it would better the odds for the second fight if I hit the mat and stayed down. I disagreed about the odds. I also refused to throw the fight.

I saw him looking at me out of the corner of his eye, and I rolled my eyes. "I can hear you thinking," I grumbled, looking out at the empty road as we traveled.

"Is that right?" I could hear his amusement. "How do you hear someone thinking?"

"Your skull's empty, so that one loose thought is just rattling around like a penny in a tin can."

Vance barked out a laugh, turning the truck onto an old dirt road. "That's quite the insult," he said as he glanced at me.

"I liked it." Putting on a black hoodie, I got ready to get out of the truck. "Directions."

"We're a few miles up this track first," he told me. "This is a bigger fight—" He held up his hand to stop me from interrupting. "I know I told you that already, but you have two fights tonight. You're going to draw attention as it is, and even more with two. The first one is against a woman, Rita. She's good, fast." Vance looked me over. "She has more bulk than you."

"Muscle means shit," I reminded him. "Speed is what wins."

"Yeah, well, she's also fast. I got you an energy drink." He jerked his head to the back seat. "Forgot to give it to you," he added.

An energy drink would burn through my metabolism quicker than alcohol. I said nothing though, instead turning in the seat to fish around the back seat before realizing it was on the floor, in a grocery bag. Inside were two energy drinks, a deli sandwich, and a candy bar.

"All for me?"

"The candy's mine."

I shook my head, dropping it in his lap. "You have such a sweet tooth."

Was it weird I knew this? Ever since we were back in each other's lives—and even that made me blanche—we knew more about each other. I knew he would take three sugars in his coffee, and he knew if he didn't put caramel creamer in mine, I would moan about it until he did. I knew if he smiled when a fighter was talking to him, it meant he wasn't taking the fighter on as one of his. He knew that if I smiled when a fighter was talking to me, I was more than likely going to be savage in the ring.

I knew that if he was thinking about what to say next, I wouldn't like what he was about to suggest.

"Spit it out," I told him, unwrapping the sandwich and taking a bite. Turkey, meh, it was worse than chicken. "I hate hearing that penny rattling."

"If you take the fall against Rita, it could work in your favor."

I took another bite and chewed slowly. "If I take a fall, which I won't, I lose my undefeated status. You want me to lose that against a girl?"

"You're a girl."

I took another bite. "I don't see the point."

"We can play it as she took you unawares."

"No one takes me unawares," I reminded him. Except for Bullet the night he ambushed me. Or the night the alpha stepped out of the shadows and caught me. "No one in the ring takes me unawares," I amended. Balling up the wrapper, I tossed it in the grocery bag. I popped the ring pull of the energy drink and took a large swallow, instantly grimacing at the taste. "This is vile."

"You're welcome."

I grinned at his dry humor. "Who's fight two?"

"Some big bruiser. He's also undefeated, so your odds against him will be shit." Vance met my gaze. "Do not lose."

"If my odds are shit, then winning against…what was her name?"

"Rita."

"Then winning against Rita won't make a difference."

"You miss the point," Vance said with a sigh.

I studied him as he drove us through the darkness. What was I missing? And then I realized. "You're all dressed up," I said with a delighted smile. "You have on a shirt. A nice one. And smelly stuff. You cut your hair. Vance?" I leaned towards him in my seat. "Do you have a crush on Rita?"

"I'm twenty-seven years old, Zee. I don't get crushes."

I was practically bouncing in my seat. "Oh man, you like her!" I exclaimed in glee. "You want me to throw a fight so you can have sex?"

"Shut up," he muttered, but I think his face was reddening. "This is where you get out." He pointed to the faint light from over the hill. "Head over there, keep to the plan, keep your head down. You speak to no one except the fight organizer. I'll see you on the other side."

I put my hand on the door handle to leave. "I won't throw it. Live with the fact you need to charm her with your personality."

He was already shaking his head. "Get out of my truck."

Jumping out, I zipped up my hoodie. "See you on the other side," I called out.

Yeah, it was strange how our relationship had changed since we first met, but I didn't think I hated it as much as I thought I would.

Weird.