003.

Amelia's POV

I stopped dead on the sidewalk. The street was empty, just me and a flickering streetlight that was putting in about as much effort as Damian did in our marriage.

“Alright, you creepy fuck!” I yelled into the dark. My voice sounded braver than I felt, which was good. “Show your fucking face! Let’s get this over with!”

Nothing. Just the wind whistling through a nearby alley like it was laughing at me. The silence was somehow worse.

My badass bravado evaporated, leaving behind the cold, hard truth.. I was a weak, probably-dying human girl, alone at night. My only defense was a set of divorce papers and a smart mouth. Not great against, you know, a werewolf.

“Shit,” I muttered.

I picked up the pace, letting go of the damn stack of papers in my hands like it could offer more speed with my stupid, impractical shoes clip-clopping on the pavement like a panicked pony. Then I saw it.. a beacon of shitty hope.. a lit-up sign that said ‘The Howling Moon Pub.’ Classy. I didn’t care. It had people and light and right now, that was a five-star resort.

I practically dove through the door. It was loud, it was crowded and for the first time since I walked out of that penthouse, I didn’t feel like I was on the main course of a predator’s menu.

I slumped onto a wobbly stool at the bar. The bartender, a guy with more tattoos than skin, raised a hairy eyebrow at me.

“What’ll it be?”

I had a couple of crumpled bills in my pocket. My entire net worth. Fuck it. You can’t take it with you, especially when you’ve only got three months left.

“I want the hottest drink you’ve got,” I announced. “The one that feels like you’re swallowing a pissed-off sun dragon.”

He smirked and started sloshing liquids together. A few minutes later, he slid a glass of something that smelled like jet fuel toward me.

“House Special. We call it ‘The Regret.’ You’ll know why tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s a problem for future Amelia,” I said, and took a giant gulp.

It burned all the way down. Good. I wanted it to burn away the memory of Damian’s hand on my face, my stepmother’s voice on the phone, dismissing me like a child fusing over nothing, the look on Damian's face when I handed him the papers.

He fucking laughed. Laughed! That arrogant, cheating, wife-beating asshole actually thought I was bluffing. Like I’d come crawling back by morning. The absolute gall of that dude. His pride was so big it probably had its own zip code!

I was on my second Regret, feeling warm and fuzzy and genuinely proud of my terrible life choices when a shadow fell over me.

“Well, hello there, little lady. All by your lonesome?”

I looked up.. and up. The guy was built like a drum with a beard.. he was a biker.

“Nope,” I said, turning back to my drink. “I’m with my friend, Regret. He’s an asshole but he’s a cheap date.”

He didn’t take the hint. He leaned in closer.

“A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be drinkin’ alone. How ‘bout I buy you a real drink?”

I gave him my best dead-eyed stare.

“How ‘bout you take a step back? Your breath is melting my eyeliner.”

His friendly demeanor vanished. His face tightened and a mean glint sparked in his eyes. He reached a meaty hand out toward my arm.

“Now, listen here, you little bi... ”

He stopped mid-word and froze. His eyes widened, looking at something... or someone... behind me. All the color drained from his face and he pulled his hand back like my arm was a red-hot poker.

“My… my mistake,” he stammered, backing away so fast he almost tripped over a stool. “Didn’t mean nothin’. Enjoy your night.”

And just like that, he vanished into the crowd.

What the hell?

I turned on my stool to see what had scared off a man twice my size.

Oh.

Hello.

Leaning against the wall nearby was the reason. He was… well, he was everything Damian wasn’t. Where Damian was all sharp, cruel lines and expensive suits, this guy was pure, relaxed power.

He wore a simple black t-shirt stretched over a frankly ridiculous chest, sleeves rolled up enough to reveal tattoos and veins that made my thighs clench, and jeans that had seen some actual use. His hair was dark and a little messy and he had a quiet, confident vibe that said he didn’t need to shout to be heard.

He pushed off the wall and walked over, taking the stool the biker had just vacated. His presence was so imposing, I thought about running for a moment. And I would have, if only my body wasn't thrumming beneath the light shirt and shorts I wore.

“Sorry about that,” he said. His voice was a low rumble, like distant thunder. Really, really sexy distant thunder. “Some guys don’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool even though my insides were doing a little salsa.

“His loss. He missed out on a thrilling lecture about my impending divorce and probable death.”

The bartender came over to refill my glass, but the hot stranger held up a hand.

“I think she’s had enough,” he said, not unkindly.

“Hey! I’m a grown-ass woman,” I protested. “I can make my own terrible decisions.”

He smiled. It was a damn good smile. My breath hitched.

“I don’t doubt it. But the streets aren’t a great place for a grown-ass woman to be stumbling around alone. You got somewhere to go?”

The question hit me right in the hollow, empty feeling I’d been trying to drink away. And I wondered for a second if that was just a wild random question or if he knew me somehow.

“Nope. Home-free. It’s liberating and terrifying. Like skydiving without a parachute.”

“I’m Logan,” he said. “Just a drifter. Happened to blow into town tonight.”

“Amelia. I just blew out of my town. Or my penthouse. Whatever.”

The pub was clearing out. It was just us and a few stragglers. Logan looked at me, his gaze thoughtful.

“Look,” he said. “I’ve got a room at the motel a couple blocks over. It’s not much, but it’s got a door that locks. You can have the bed. I’ll take the floor.”

A dirty, rebellious idea popped into my head, fully formed and wearing a tiny devil costume.

Fuck you, Damian! He thought I had nowhere to go? No one who would want me?

Here was a smoking-hot stranger offering me a safe place to sleep. It was the perfect, most reckless middle finger I could possibly give to my old life.

“Yeah?” I said, a slow smile spreading across my face. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He seemed surprised I’d agreed so fast.

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s go.”

We paid the tab and stumbled out into the cold night air. I was definitely tipsier than I’d thought. Logan walked close beside me in a steady, solid presence.

“So, a drifter, huh?” I asked, my words slightly slurred. “What do you drift in? A really cool, mysterious van?”

He chuckled.

“Something like that.”

The motel was just up ahead, its neon sign buzzing like an angry insect. We were about half a block away, cutting past a narrow, pitch-black alleyway between two buildings.

That’s when it happened.

Three figures detached themselves from the shadows. They moved quick.. too quick, surrounding us in a second.

My booze-fueled courage evaporated and Logan immediately moved, putting himself between me and them. His whole body went tense, ready for a fight…