Chapter 4: She smells like home

~∆~ Rain's POV ~∆~

I'm cursing out a box of kitchen supplies that apparently has a personal vendetta against me when someone knocks on my door. Not the soft, tentative knock from last night, but a firm, confident rap that says whoever's on the other side isn't going anywhere.

I glance at the clock. 9:47 AM. Too early for maintenance, and I don't know anyone in Chicago well enough for casual visits.

"Coming," I call, stepping over the carnage of my kitchen. Note to self: hire professional movers next time instead of trying to do everything myself.

I open the door expecting to see a neighbor with a noise complaint, but instead I'm faced with Mariah Rivera and a guy who looks like he stepped off the cover of Men's Health magazine.

My wolf immediately goes on high alert.

The guy is tall, not as tall as me, but close, with dark hair, blue eyes, and the effortlessly perfect features that probably make women walk into traffic.

He's also standing close enough to Mariah to make his claim obvious, one hand resting possessively on her lower back.

Boyfriend. The thought hurts me, almost as though I lost someone precious.

Of course, she has a boyfriend. Women who look like Mariah Rivera don't stay single. Especially not women who smell like vanilla and strawberries.

"Hi," Mariah says, and her voice is just slightly too bright, too cheerful. "I know we met briefly last night, but I wanted to properly introduce myself. I'm Mariah, and this is my boyfriend, Ethan."

Boyfriend. She says it like she's marking territory, but there's something in her eyes...a flash of what looks like panic that doesn't match her tone.

"Rain Cross," I say, extending my hand to Ethan. His grip is firm, confident, and lasts exactly three seconds longer than necessary. A pissing contest disguised as politeness.

"Ethan Summers," he replies, his blue eyes assessing me with the intensity of a predator sizing up potential competition. "We heard you're having some trouble and thought we'd offer to help."

There's something about his voice, his scent, that sets my teeth on edge.

"That's generous," I say, "but I've got it handled."

"Are you sure?" Mariah asks, peering around me to look at the disaster zone that is my apartment. "It sounds like World War Three in here."

"More like World War Three and a half," I admit, stepping aside so they can see the full extent of the carnage. "But I'm a big boy. I can handle my own unpacking."

Ethan's nostrils twitch slightly, and his eyes narrow. "Have we met before? You seem familiar."

Shit. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid by keeping a low profile.

"I don't think so," I say carefully. "I just moved here from Toronto."

"Toronto." Ethan's eyes light up with recognition. "Rain Cross. You play for the Maple Leafs."

"Played," I correct. "Past tense. I was traded to Chicago."

"The Blackhawks." It's not a question. "I remember reading about that. Big shake-up in the off-season."

I can feel Mariah's eyes on me, curious and speculative. Great. Nothing like having your professional failures dissected by the woman you can't stop thinking about and her perfect boyfriend.

"Something like that," I say noncommittally.

"I'm a huge hockey fan," Ethan continues, and I can tell he's not going to let this go. "Season ticket holder for the Hawks. That goal you scored against Boston in the playoffs two years ago? Incredible."

"Thanks." The word comes out flatter than I intended. Two years ago feels like a lifetime now. Back when I still believed in things like team loyalty and forever contracts.

"So what brings you to Chicago?" Mariah asks, and there's genuine curiosity in her voice. "Besides the trade, I mean. Why this building? This neighborhood?"

It's a simple question, but the answer is complicated. I came here because I needed to disappear.

Because I was tired of being Rain Cross, NHL superstar, and wanted to remember what it felt like to just be human.

Also because my realtor assured me this building was quiet and private, populated mostly by young professionals who minded their own business.

Clearly, my realtor lied.

"Seemed like a good fit," I say instead. "Close to the arena, quiet neighborhood, good security."

"Oh, it's definitely quiet," Mariah says with a laugh that sounds forced. "Sometimes too quiet. Right, E?"

E. She has a nickname for him. Of course she does.

Ethan's hand slides from her back to her waist, pulling her closer against his side. The gesture is casual, unconscious, but it makes my jaw clench.

"We like the quiet," he says, his eyes never leaving mine. "Don't we, baby?"

Baby. The endearment irritated me, and I had to fight the urge to step closer, to do something stupid that would end with one of us in the hospital.

Instead, I force a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. "Well, I should let you two get back to your morning. Thanks for the offer to help, but I've got it from here."

"Are you sure?" Mariah asks again, and for a second, I think I see something like disappointment in her eyes. "I'm pretty handy with a toolbox."

The image of Mariah Rivera in my apartment, bent over furniture with a screwdriver in her hand, is enough to make my wolf sit up and beg. Also enough to make me seriously question my sanity.

"I'm sure," I say firmly. "But thanks. Really."

Ethan extends his hand again, and this time his grip is just shy of painful. "Welcome to the building, Rain. I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

It sounds like a threat wrapped in politeness, and from the way his eyes flash...literally flash, with an amber light that definitely isn't human...I'm pretty sure that's exactly what it is.

"I'm sure we will," I reply, matching his grip pound for pound.

They leave with more pleasantries and promises to let me know if I need anything, but I barely hear them. All I can focus on is the way Ethan's hand never left Mariah's body, the way she seemed to lean into him even as her eyes kept drifting back to me.

And the way my wolf is now pacing restlessly, agitated in a way I've never experienced before.

I close the door and lean against it, trying to process what just happened. Ethan Summers isn't human. The amber flash in his eyes, the way he carried himself, the possessive way he touched her...it all adds up to one conclusion.

Werewolf.

Which explains the territorial display, the extended handshake, and the way he seemed to be scenting the air around me.

It doesn't explain why my wolf is acting like Mariah Rivera belongs to me instead of him.

Or why every instinct I have is screaming that Ethan Summers is wrong for her in ways that have nothing to do with species and everything to do with the panic I saw in her eyes when she said his name.

I push away from the door and survey the wreckage of my kitchen. I came to Chicago to focus on hockey, to rebuild my career, and stay out of trouble.

Getting involved with my neighbor's girlfriend...especially when said neighbor is a werewolf with territorial issues...is the exact opposite of staying out of trouble.

But as I start unpacking dishes and trying to forget the way she looked at me, one thought keeps ringing in my head:

She smells like home.