Chapter 2

He pulled the truck into a spot right outside the diner and killed the engine. As he climbed out, Rowan froze for a second, dragging a hand through his tangled hair like that might somehow mask what his nose had already picked up.

Brian inhaled sharply beside him. "She's close," he said, voice low and excited.

Rowan shot him a glare. Another annoying side effect of pack life is that his men could sense his mate before he even admitted it to himself.

They were relentless about it, too. That's why at least one of them always tagged along on town runs, convinced he'd dodge her if he spotted her first. As if he'd ever do that. It just hadn't happened. Until maybe now.

This scent hit him like a punch of warm sugar, cinnamon, something baked fresh and irresistible. His mouth actually watered, and lower down, his body reacted hard and fast. Instant want, raw and undeniable, for a woman he'd never even laid eyes on.

For all he knew, it was just the diner's famous rolls. "Knock it off," he muttered to his pack.

But he was already moving, pulled toward the door like a magnet. He didn't wait for the others, just pushed inside and claimed a booth in the farthest corner, back to the wall.

He'd spent his whole life trying to downplay his size, slouching to blend in, hiding the strength that scared people. Never worked. These days, with his pack, he doesn't bother anymore. No point pretending to be less than he was.

Reese, David, and Brian slid in across from him, all of them built like linebackers. They'd overheard somewhere that wolf shifters ran bigger everywhere, not that Rowan had ever compared notes with humans. His guys loved dropping random trivia like that.

"She's definitely here," Reese whispered, leaning in.

The scent wrapped around him tighter, sweeter, impossible to ignore. Rowan scanned the room without trying to look obvious, his jeans getting uncomfortably snug under the table.

Stay cool. You're the one calling the shots.

Control was everything to him. He wasn't like the others, chained to the full moon's pull. He could shift whenever he damn well pleased a skill he'd hammered into himself through years of iron discipline.

No surrendering. Not to instincts, not to anyone.

He'd sworn that to himself back when he was alone and scared, kicked out and fending for himself. An alpha didn't bow.

Then the kitchen door swung open, and he knew. Just knew.

She came out balancing a loaded tray, caught her foot on a loose lace, and stumbled hard. Plates teetered. Before his brain caught up, Rowan was on his feet, crossing the floor in two strides. One hand steadied the tray; the other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her safely against him.

Protect. The urge roared through him, louder than anything else.

She looked up, cheeks pink, green eyes wide and startled. Black hair pulled back in a simple ponytail that made him itch to loosen it. He could see that right away. Soft, warm.

"Nice catch," she said, a little breathless. Her voice hit him low in the gut.

His wolf growled one word inside his head: Mine.

****

Elara had never felt so tiny in her life. At twenty-five, she wasn't exactly petite, but this guy made her feel delicate, almost breakable. She smiled up at the stranger who'd just saved her from a spectacular face-plant and probably her paycheck.

Joe would've docked her for sure if those plates had hit the floor.

Her boss had hired her grudgingly a couple weeks back, and he'd been sour about it ever since she turned down his advances. Apparently, being the town heartthrob meant every woman should fall at his feet. Elara wasn't interested in being another notch on his belt. Good looks and charm weren't enough; she wanted more than that.

But this man... messy brown hair, storm-gray eyes, built like he'd been swinging an axe all morning which, from the sawdust on his shirt, he probably had. Something about him pulled at her in a way she couldn't explain.

He set her steady on her feet.

"I'm Elara," she said, offering her hand.

"Rowan."

His grip was warm, careful despite the obvious power in it. The way his flannel stretched across his chest and arms left little to the imagination. Hard work looked good on him.

"Let me get you guys some coffee. On me as a thank-you." She eased the tray from his hands, suddenly wanting nothing more than to make sure he was fed and happy.

"We'd love that," one of his friends piped up from the booth. "How long have you been in town, Elara?"

She glanced over with a quick smile. "Just a couple weeks. Still finding my way around. Be right back with those coffees and I'll take your orders."

She delivered the food to table six first, then started toward the booth again. As she passed the counter, Joe's hand clamped around her arm.

"Get those guys out of my diner," he hissed.

"What guys?"

"The ones you're flirting with. I saw that little stumble of yours."

"I didn't want to buy them coffee. One of them kept me from dropping a whole tray."

"Don't care. They're not welcome. Send them on their way."

"Oh." She swallowed, unease twisting in her stomach.

Joe's eyes flashed with something dark that always set her on edge. He watched her too closely, like he was waiting for her to slip up. Made her feel guilty for just doing her job.

The town was nice enough, quiet, pretty, the kind of place she'd hoped to start over in. But this job had been the only one available on short notice.

She slipped into the kitchen where Ronnie was flipping burgers. Sweet old Ronnie, the one bright spot in this place.

"What's wrong, honey?" he asked without looking up.

"Joe wants me to kick some customers out. You think I should?"

Ronnie let out a tired sigh. "Probably not the best idea, but Joe's gonna ride you hard till he gets his way. You know how he is."

Yeah, she did.

She grabbed four to-go cups anyway, filled them with fresh coffee, and tucked a muffin into each bag. She'd baked them fresh that morning blueberry, her grandma's recipe. Ronnie swore she had a real knack for it. Baking had always been her escape, her comfort.

Hands trembling a little, she boxed everything up and headed back out.

Rowan and his friends were still at the booth, watching her approach.

"Hey," she said quietly, setting the box on the table. "I'm so sorry about this. My boss... he doesn't want you here. I don't get it either. But thank you again for catching me. These are to go. Coffee and muffins. I made the muffins myself."

She shrugged helplessly, cheeks burning. "Really sorry.”