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Not that she thought Paxton had felt even a fraction of, well, anything toward her. But his inner cat? Bree had never met the feline, and she’d often wondered if it wasn’t damaged like his human half; if maybe the cat had wanted to be close to her. Paxton wouldn’t have liked that. He would have resented her for it. Would have wanted to keep an emotional ocean between her and his animal.
Although her own cat had sensed that Paxton was her true mate, she hadn’t liked being near him purely because she hadn’t trusted that Bree would be safe with him. But if her feline had met his cat and bonded with it in even a superficial way, it might not have been so simple for the animals to go their separate ways. Maybe Paxton had dealt with that same concern; maybe that was why he’d never introduced her to his own cat.
Opening her hand, Bree glared down at the necklace. Either Bernadette wanted to make a point or to play mind games. It was tempting to confront her, but Bernadette would like that she’d gotten to Bree. And it would encourage her to pull shit like this again.
Bree dropped the necklace back into the envelope, strolled into the living room, and tossed it into the small trash can. There. Done. Now she really did need a drink.
CHAPTER FIVE
Comfortably perched on a barstool, Bree gave The Tavern a once over. One of the many businesses the pride owned, it wasn’t quite a bar. Nor was it a restaurant or a pool hall. It was a little of everything, really, and it catered to everyone—it served good food, had a long bar, played sport events on the widescreen TVs, and even had an arcade. It also had a private room where patrons played cards, mostly poker.
A shifter band performed there some nights. Other times they had comedians, hypnotists, or pulled out the karaoke machine.
Bree liked the atmosphere. Liked the burgundy leather cushioned booths and bulky armchairs. Liked the sports paraphernalia that lined the brick walls. Liked the scents of beer, hot food, leather, and oiled wood.
“Here you go, girls,” said the bartender, Gerard, as he placed two Cosmos on the bar.
Elle gave their pride mate her brightest smile. “Thank you, G.” She took a sip of her drink and hummed. “I forgot how much I like these.” She gestured at the corner booth. “Bree, I swear, those two women look really familiar. I can’t place them, though. Did they take the same pole dancing classes that we did?”
“I’m not sure,” replied Bree.
Gerard blinked. “Wait, you two took pole dancing classes?”
“Only for the fun of it.” Bree lazily waved a hand. “Relax, we don’t have plans to become strippers. We’re too lazy for that.”
“Totally true,” said Elle.
Gerard walked away with a snicker.
Fanning herself with a coaster, Elle said, “It’s busy tonight, even for a Saturday.”
Bree nodded. It was loud and hectic. People talked, ate, laughed, and yelled at the TVs. Slot machines bleeped and pinged. Darts whizzed through the air and thumped into boards. Balls smacked into others, sending them shuttling into the pool table pockets.
Most of the patrons were members of her pride. Many were seated at the heavy tables or booths, their eyes locked on the wall-mounted TVs. Meanwhile, waitresses weaved their way around the tables, taking orders and collecting deserted bottles, dirty dishware, empty glasses, and crumpled napkins.
“Uh-oh,” sang Elle. “Moira just arrived.”
Shit. Bree’s cat uncurled from her ball and bared a fang. “How fun.” Her feline hated Moira since the little bitch shot Bree a look of utter contempt pretty much every chance she got—and true to form, she did it right then, too. Bree smiled in return. The other female lifted her chin and headed to a table at the opposite side of the Tavern.
“So … have you acknowledged his presence yet?”
Bree sipped her Cosmo. “If by ‘he’ you mean Mateo, no. It would only encourage him to come over here, and that would end badly for him.” He’d been playing pool with Alex, Vinnie, and some of their other pride mates for the past few hours. “Besides, I’ve been busy shooting Alex the occasional death glare. Cockblocking motherfucker.”
He’d been good to her last night after she’d helped Devlin. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had checked on her after a tough omega encounter. Couldn’t remember anyone ever fussing over her or massaging her head until she fell asleep. So she’d been feeling all warm and fuzzy about it … right up until earlier when he scared off a guy who’d sent her a drink. Now yeah, okay, the guy had a reputation of being something of a player, but that didn’t give Alex the right to interfere.
If she didn’t detest scenes so much, she’d have stalked over there and punched the wolverine square in the face. Instead, she’d settled for spitting in his food as she passed his table to use the restroom, making sure he saw it. Far from ladylike, sure, but wolverines loved their food—targeting it was a surefire way to piss them off. His glower would have quelled a lesser female.
