“Problem here?” he asks.
Tanner stares him down. “No problem. We’re just talking to Charlotte.”
Fowler raises his eyebrows, all faux-politeness. “Cool. Because it looked like you were making her uncomfortable.”
“Is this your business?” asks Evan. I smile when I notice his voice and entire presence is smaller now.
Much as I didn’t want to see Fowler today, I can’t say I’m not happy he was here to diffuse this situation.
Fowler shrugs. “I’m not really a fan of creeps stalking my friends, what can I say.” He turns to Grace and me. “Theyarecreeps, right?”
Charlotte nods. “Yes.”
Fowler holds my gaze a moment longer. I nod, too.
Christopher is already backing away.
Tanner’s jaw locks tight. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
Oh. Does he think Fowler is Charlotte’s actual alpha?I almost laugh.
Fowler’s smile grows lethal. “I’m with them. And it’s clear they don’t want you here. So, why don’t you guys run along?”
Evan holds his hands up, palms out. “Relax, man. We’re leaving.”
Tanner lingers, but Fowler doesn’t move. A full beat passes as they stare at each other. Then Tanner turns, shoulders squared, and stalks off. The rest of his alpha pack trails behind.
As soon as they’re gone, Charlotte exhales loudly. “Thanks.”
He shrugs again, like it’s nothing. “Are you good? Those guys feel like bastards.”
“Yeah,” she says, voice small. “And theyarebastards. I appreciate you stepping in.” She turns to me. “And you, too, Grace.”
I hug her quickly then gather our stuff. “Of course. But maybe we should go and get food or something. In case they come back.”
“Want me to hang around for a bit instead?” Fowler glances between us. “I know…” he trails off. “Maybe I’m not an alpha you want around either, but I don’t mind keeping an eye out for them.”
I smile gratefully up at him. “No, it’s okay. We were getting quite fried out here anyway. Thank you, though.”
Charlotte nods. “Yeah. Thanks, Fowler.”
He grins at me. “Anytime, Grace.” There’s a fondness in his voice that I’ve never heard before. I’m not sure what to make of it. He didn’t need to step in at all, but I’m so happy he did.
We haul our things up toward the parking lot. I don’t look back. I don’t have to—Fowler’s presence lingers, a shield and awarning both. His campfire scent cocoons me long after he’s out of sight.
In the back of my throat, a phantom heat flickers, old and stupid and unwelcome.
But I’m grateful.
We leave Pleasure Bay behind us.
We eat cross-leggedon my living room floor with paper plates balanced on knees. The local news plays soundlessly on the television in the corner. I’ve made up the couch for Charlotte who will stay over tonight just in case those alphas get any more shitty ideas.
Charlotte fumbles a slice of pizza before getting it successfully onto a plate. “You want to know something funny?”
I nod, mouth full.
“I bet Charlton Pack planned that whole thing. Like, obviously me being in Reverie isn’t a secret with the cast posters. But tracked me somehow.” She rolls her eyes, but there’s no humor in it. “Or maybe not tracked, I don’t know. But as soon as they saw me they swooped in. They don’t evenlikethe beach. Chris is allergic to seagulls.”
