He leans over and speaks to his date. “You’re going to love the restaurant. It’s one of the most exclusive spots in Concordia.”
The date, an attractive young man with jet-black hair, practically swoons at Blackwood’s words. Does this guy think he’s special? He’s dead wrong. Bane is a master at first dates but rarely seeks out a second.
The jerk makes a show of checking his watch. “We’re running a little late.”
“Oh no,” says the date. “Do you think we’ll get there in time?”
“It’s fine. They’ll hold the table for me.”
What a careless ass, wasting other people’s time and expecting the world to cater to him. The date hears it differently, that Bane’s special.
I guess he is. Only certain wolves inherit alpha genetics. Not every wolf is Bane Blackwood. Driving around in a sleek sports car, always wearing that brown leather bomber jacket that cannot possibly be authentic.
He turns heads. Even mine whenever he zooms by with someone pretty on his arm that neither of us will ever see again. We aren’t acquaintances or even true enemies, no matter how much I loathe him. The distance between us at the crosswalk might be the closest we’ve ever been.
“Bane. Hey, the light’s green.”
The date’s voice pulls me out of daydreaming. Bane’s staring at me, waiting for me to notice. Smirking his most asshole smirk, the one that burrows under my skin every time, broadcasting ‘I’m better than you and I know it’loud and clear.
The engine revs and the car speeds away, leaving me behind.
Why does everything come so easily to Bane Blackwood? Why does he bother me so much? And why… why…
“Why am I standing here?” I ask out loud.
Right, work. Gotta hurry. Oops. Totally forgot. I pick up the pace and rush down the street.
Bane’s comfortable in his own skin. He belongs. Meanwhile, I’m rushing to my crappy part-time job. Twenty-two years old with no purpose or direction.
The Clover Pack rocks. But those wolves have lived here their whole lives and share so much history. I’m the outsider who joined four years ago when my mom married a pack werewolf.
And magic flows through the streets of Concordia, enchanting and amazing. A perfect home for witches. Too bad my mother’s magic skipped a generation.
Will I find my place here when finding the one? I sure hope so. The man I belong with, my true mate. Maybe everything will finally click into place and I’ll never have to wonder where I belong again.
Until then, my plan involves avoiding assholes like Bane and going to work on time.
2.Special Delivery
Josh
I rush through the door of Fern and Flower, nearly tripping over my own feet. The clock offers good news: I arrive on time with four whole seconds to spare. Phew. The assistant manager complains endlessly if I’m late.
My mom stands behind the counter instead, brewing a potion in a portable cauldron. The urgency drains away when clocking in at the register. No need to rush after all.
Lelia Fielding excels at potioncraft, not clairvoyancy, yet she lifts her head and casts narrowed eyes in my direction, sure she knows what I’m thinking. No witchcraft needed here, that’s amompower.
Working under her supervision has only sharpened her abilities. With hands raised in surrender, I clear away the ingredients she’s finished with, hoping to avoid a lecture since she’s busy with a customer.
A young guy wearing an olive-colored wool beanie gasps each time Mom adds anything to the pot, his face filled with wonder. Classic signs of a magical newbie.
“Is that a good sign?” the man at the counter wonders when a plume of dark smoke rises from the cauldron.
“As long as we don’t need the fire extinguisher, everything is going according to plan.”
Unkempt dark hair peeks out under the beanie, nearly reaching his tired eyes, and stubble shadows his features. Lostand burdened by some impossible problem, he seeks a magical solution. Happens all the time.
“The potion will help me figure out who my true mate is?”
