Chapter 2

“What?”

“You heard me. Get. Out.” I turned away before he could see my lips tremble. No point showing him any weak flaws.

John sighed and grabbed his jacket from the hook near the door. “You’re going to regret this. No one else is going to put up with you the way I did.”

I didn’t answer. He paused like he wanted me to stop him. To say I didn’t mean it. But I did.

He left.

And silence rushed in behind him following the loud bang from the door closing, the sound of his engine roaring.

The wind chimes outside clattered with the breeze. My heart thudded like a drum in a funeral march. I sunk into the hammock in the corner, draped with pillows and a fading tie-dye blanket. Everything in here was too bright, too loud, too me—and I suddenly hated how easy I made it for him to live here like he belonged.

Tears came, stubborn, rebellious things and I wiped them with the sleeve of my oversized cardigan. The kind my mom used to wear before she was taken by the Lion Pack out west. Before I learned that kindness didn’t protect you from death, that hope wasn’t armor, it was a target.

The worst part wasn’t that John cheated. Or that he lied. Or even that he left.

The worst part was that a tiny part of me thought maybe I deserved it.

Because maybe I was cruel.

Because maybe no one ever truly wanted to stay.

It was later that I showered and got ready for my shift.

The pub smelled like spilled beer, old wood, and regret—which was a step up from the night before, when some asshole puked on the jukebox. I had barely walked through the front door, apron slung over my shoulder, hair in a loose braid, when I felt the buzz of tension crawl across my skin. My wolf stirred, tail lashing somewhere deep inside me. Something was off.

A few heads turned when I entered, nothing unusual there. I’d been a regular face at the pub since I was sixteen, serving drinks, breaking up fights, and occasionally starting them. But today, the silence had weight. Expectation.

Then I saw her.

Desiree.

She was draped across one of the high stools like she owned the place. Her long, Barbie blonde hair hung down her back like a goddamn super model, and her red lips curved into a smirk the moment her gaze found mine. She was annoyingly perfect.

Of course she showed up.

Of course she was wearing white.

“Wow,” she said loud enough for half the bar to hear. “I didn’t know this place hired feral strays. Or do they just let you hang around out of pity?”

I didn’t answer. I hung my apron behind the bar, rolled my sleeves up, and ignored the way my jaw clenched.

She slid off her stool with all the grace of a panther. The way the men stared at her like she was the full moon incarnate made my stomach twist.

“I wanted to see what a broken mate looks like up close,” she said, heels clicking as she approached. “And now I see it’s worse than I imagined. You poor thing. Still clinging to scraps of dignity in this dump.”