1
WREN
FIFTEEN YEARS LATER
"Order up," Gary called, sliding two plates piled high with burgers and fries onto the counter through the pass-through window.
Arcane was one of only two bars in the small town of Crescent Creek, Colorado. And by small, I meant minuscule. The population hovered around sixteen hundred. Given the location nestled between the mountains, it made sense; you could be locked in by snow for weeks at a time.
But I liked the isolation. I liked knowing almost everyone. Just like every local knew that while Arcane was known for its booze, it also served the best burgers in town.
I grabbed the two plates, skipping the tray. "Thanks, Gar."
He simply lifted his chin in response, the silver in his beard catching the light. Gary wasn't one for unnecessary conversation, and it was one of the things I loved most about the big, burly biker who reminded me of a grandfather. He never prodded into my life.
That meant I didn't have to lie to him. I'd lived in at least a dozen different places in the eight years since I'd broken free of my father's reign of terror. I'd woven elaborate lies about my past, but they grew heavier every time I spoke them.
Maybe that was part of the reason Crescent Creek had felt like home the minute I crossed the town limits. No one pushed. Perhaps because those with secrets came here to hide.
There were a handful of supernaturals in town: a couple of fox shifters, a witch, and even a griffin. But with my scent shields in place, none of them gave me a second look.
I tried telling myself that flying under the radar was good. Necessary. But at the thought, my wolf pressed against the inside of my skin, letting loose a keening sound deep within me. She missed the contact of her kind, the feeling of being in a pack. She was getting more than restless at the lack of both.
Weaving through the tables, I came to a stop at a two-top. I slid the plates in front of the two out-of-towners and glanced at their cups. "Need any refills?"
I felt the brown-haired one's eyes on me. His gaze slithered across my emotional shields like oily tentacles. "I think we're good. Any recommendations for a dinner spot tonight? We're in town on a fishing trip. Here for a couple of days."
I knew the game—the subtle signal that he was available for me to warm his bed for a night or two. It probably wouldn't have been a bad idea. He was decent-looking and could maybe satiate my wolf for a few weeks. Give her the touch she so desperately needed.
Inside, my wolf bared her teeth in disagreement, scoffing at the idea of this human being even close to what she required.
My shoulders slumped. So much for that idea. "I recommend Gino's down the block. Great pizza and pasta."
The blond one leaned forward, his cologne invading my senses. "You could always meet us there."
I stepped back, trying to draw a breath free of his sickly sweet scent. "Sorry, got plans. Flag me down if you need a refill or anything else."
My tip might take a hit for my abrupt departure, but better that than breaking one of their arms because they put a hand on my ass. As I turned and walked away, the brown-haired one's voice caught my shifter hearing.
He let out a low whistle. "The body on that one."
"Fucking perfect," Blondie agreed. "It's too bad about her face."
Brown Hair chuckled. "I'd just take her from behind."
Anger coursed through me, the kind of rage I knew would take hours of sparring to work through. My fingers itched to move, to trace the scar running from the top of my forehead down to my cheek.
Even now, all these years later, I could still feel the bite of the blade, the white-hot pain as I screamed and begged for mercy. But there was none. Never at the hands of Bastian Boudreaux.
It didn't matter how far I ran or how much time passed. I could still hear his voice in my head, taunting me in wakefulness and sleep.
"My daughter will not be a weakling. A submissive. She will be strong. Even if I have to scar every inch of her body to make her so."