“Can I help you?”he asks.
“Nope.”
I punch him square in the jaw.
The entire bar goes silent.
The idiot tumbles sideways out of the booth.
Mike signals the DJ, and he pumps up the volume on the music.
Someone whistles.
The woman stares at me with her wide whiskey colored eyes.
And for the first time—I catch her scent up close.
Everything stops.
Moonlight.
Sugar.
Summer rain.
Cayenne.
Holy.Fuck.
Mate.
Shit.
But yeah—I sniff again.
After forty-two years.
After decades of waiting.
After convincing myself it would never happen.
My Wolf throws himself against my ribs with enough force to hurt.
MINE.
I stare.
She stares.
The whole damn bar disappears.
And then my mate says the last thing I expect.
“Well.”
She glances down at the unconscious idiot.
Then back up at me.
