Chapter 2

"Did you find the car keys?" Maya shouted from the hallway.

"No!" I called back—and immediately caught the hem of my trousers, crashing to the floor.

A loud stream of decidedly unladylike curses spilled from my perfectly painted lips. As if oversleeping for work wasn’t bad enough—now this fall on top of it. I scrambled to my feet, dusted myself off, fixed my hair, and took my place by the front door, fully dressed and ready to go.

Maya was darting around the apartment like a trapped rabbit. I watched her for a moment, then sighed.

"What are you looking for?" I asked.

She froze, turned to me with wide, worried eyes, and said, "I think I left my purse at the hospital last night."

Great. Just great. After muttering a few choice swear words, we rushed out. Our delay would be noticed immediately—Maya was the head chef at the restaurant, and I was the manager. Basically, nothing started without us. We decided we’d go back for the purse after work.

The café, Peach Paradise, was already open. Maya slipped through the back door into the changing room while I went straight to my tiny office. My day was packed with paperwork, so I booted up the computer and began filling out delivery forms and invoices. Time flew.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," I said, setting the documents aside.

One of the waitresses, Lera, stepped inside.

"Vera, a customer is asking for you."

Great—trouble. Things had been so peaceful until now. I sighed and gave her a sharp look.

"What’s going on? Who’s serving that table?"

"I am," she said, "but I have no idea what the problem is."

"Let’s go find out."

I followed her into the dining area. At one of the tables sat an attractive man in a suit and an elegant brunette. The man looked oddly familiar, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t place where I’d seen him before. Pushing the thought aside, I put on my professional smile.

"Good afternoon. I’m the manager, Vera. How can I help you?"

"Good afternoon," the brunette replied with a smile. "This pastry"—she gestured toward the plate—"is so wonderful that I simply couldn’t leave without meeting the person who made it."

"Lera," I said to the waitress behind me, "would you please call the one who prepared that pastry?"

Then, turning back to the guests, I added, "We’re so glad you liked it."

Before they could respond, another waitress called my name from across the room. I excused myself and stepped aside to take a call from one of our suppliers. While speaking on the phone, I kept my eyes on the table.

Where had I seen that man before?

Then I held my breath.

The pastry had been made by Maya. Her hands could turn dough into magic. I had to admit, my friend deserved every bit of praise coming her way. When I hung up, I allowed myself a small smile as I watched Maya’s eyes sparkle while she spoke with the brunette.

My gaze shifted to the man.

He looked somewhat stern. His eyes moved slowly over Maya from head to toe, as though she were the dessert meant for him.

"Vera," my boss called from behind me, "come to my office."

"All right, Mr. Viktor," I replied, casting one last glance at my beaming friend before heading inside.

I closed the door behind me and sat down opposite his desk. Viktor sank heavily into his chair. The years were catching up with him; running the restaurant had become increasingly exhausting. Still, he stubbornly held on to the reins, waiting for his grandson to grow up so he could pass the business on.

"Vera," he began, using that deceptively gentle tone that always meant he was displeased, "how did you miss the dairy order? We had to remove half the menu today."

I sighed, bracing myself. "Mr. Viktor, I did warn you that this supplier was unreliable. Let me remind you—it was you who insisted on working with him."

After forty exhausting minutes of his lecture, I left his office feeling completely drained. The stress of the past few days needed to be dealt with—preferably with something sweet, and alone.

At the end of the day, Maya came to get me, and we headed home together.

The moment we stepped out of the café’s back door, a wave of dread washed over me.

I froze, scanning the alley for its source. It was as quiet and empty as always. Maya noticed my unease, hooked her arm through mine, and tugged me forward.

"What’s with you? You’re looking around like a startled deer."

"I’ve got a bad feeling," I murmured.

"Don’t worry," she said with a grin. "This time I’ll make sure trouble doesn’t get anywhere near you."

But my instincts were right.

At the end of the alley, two tall men in black suits appeared, blocking our path. Maya let go of my arm and took a cautious step back. I kept my eyes fixed on them. If they were ordinary men, I could take them down easily—but if they were werewolves…

A sound behind us made me spin around.

A few steps away stood the man from the café—the same one who had been sitting with the brunette. My friend was slung over his shoulder, unconscious.

Now I remembered where I’d seen him before.

He was the werewolf we had encountered at the hospital the night before.

"Let her go!" I shouted.

The man smiled—or rather, bared his teeth.

"I wish I could," he said, "but she’s mine now. As for you… well, we can’t have any witnesses."

Fear surged through me. Werewolves never hesitated to erase their tracks. I glanced behind me; the two men were still standing there, watching.

Slowly, I reached for my purse.

The man noticed and sneered.

"Don’t do anything stupid. I doubt there’s anything in that purse that could help you."

My fingers trembled as I opened it, pulled out a small spray can, and pointed it at him.

He burst out laughing.

"And what exactly are you planning to do with that?"