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Chapter Three
While Tanith’s gallery was the epitome of artistic beauty and flare, the living space above it was a little less maintained. As soon as Alani reached the top of the stairs, she picked up a distinctly garbagy smell that made her wrinkle her nose, and when she pushed against an unlocked door that opened to reveal a short hallway with four sets of doors, two on either side, she noted the quality of the flooring had disintegrated completely.
While every floor in the gallery below was encased in gorgeous tile and hardwood, what she walked into upstairs was a thin, awful carpet that had a penchant for tearing, with curling in the corners, and stained like nobody’s business. Obviously Tanith only owned the space downstairs; otherwise, Alani might have had to change her opinion of the woman.
Maybe the rent was cheap—something to compensate for whatever… this was. Alani folded her arms over her chest, eyes darting from door to door, and then stopped at the one she estimated was directly above her rented studio space. Her room was open and airy, with brilliant natural light streaming in from the various windows, and loaded with whatever supplies she might need and some of past tenants’ artwork on the wall. Upstairs, however, was like a whole different world.
Clearing her throat, she waited for a moment, jumping again at the sound of more crashing and stomping. Right. This had to be the place. Raising a timid fist to the door—its dull gray paint job chipped, with scuff marks muddying up the bottom like someone had kicked it—she licked her lips and knocked. When the smashing and stomping and general chaos carried on inside, she took a deep breath and knocked again, this time a little louder.
In an instant, everything went quiet. Alani drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment, willing herself to find her courage. Her mom had always been able to eviscerate someone with just a sharp look or a few words, but she claimed Alani was soft like her father. He’d died in a boating accident when she was three, and from all the stories, Alani didn’t mind being compared to him.
She just wished she had more of a backbone sometimes.
In the silence that engulfed her, Alani’s ears tuned into even the faintest of sounds—like the buzz of the too-white lights in the hallway, showing off stains and tears that ought to be hidden in shadow. When she detected movement inside the apartment again, she crossed her arms and threw her shoulders back, determined to look more assertive than she felt.
But then again, what good would it do to be confrontational? Maybe this person just didn’t realize how loud they were being… Her shoulders rolled forward, and she stiffened at the sound of locks opening.
Seconds later the door flew open, the movement so sharp that the air current it created tugged at the loose strands of hair hanging around her face, the rest pulled back into a sloppy bun. Biting her lip, Alani slowly lifted her cerulean blue gaze upward to the man practically filling the doorway, his expression a mesh of confusion and irritation.
Damn, was he ever gorgeous. She had her fair share of beautiful men on the island—Alani was no stranger to the attractive side of the male species. Still, with his chiseled features and dark eyes, he took her breath away.
Oh, and he was shirtless, with track pants so low around his sculpted hips that she saw a defined V leading southbound below the waistline. Her eyes flicked down briefly before she forced them back up to his face, heat rising to her cheeks.
“Uh, hi,” she managed as he continued to stare at her. Don’t look at his abs. Do not look at his abs, Alani, no matter how cut they are. She forced her shoulders back again, wanting the glowering—handsome—specimen of a man to see that he didn’t intimidate her, no matter how he towered over her. “I’m Alani, and I’m using the studio downstairs…”
***
Why the fuck was there no beer in the fridge?
Of course, there was no beer in the fridge, right when Ivo needed something to take the edge off his temper. Slamming the door shut, he stomped across his apartment and dug into the grocery bags he still hadn’t unpacked from yesterday. The vegetables were starting to wilt, in need of time in the crisper, and the beer he had bought would be lukewarm at best, but it would have to do.
He’d need a beer to clean up the mess he’d made once he got home. As always, his living space got the brunt of his anger whenever he retreated into it. Couch cushions were in disarray, chairs were overturned, books were thrown. Anything and everything he could get his hands on, Ivo threw until he started to feel better. When the storm eventually passed, he’d feel like some punk kid throwing a tantrum—and then the guilt would set in.
He wouldn’t be able to get to that phase today—not right away, anyway. Just as he was kicking the bags out of his way, there was a knock at the door, so soft at first that it didn’t even register through the sea of red fog in his brain. The second knock, however, managed to bring him out of his stupor, and he slammed the six-pack down on his cluttered kitchen table and turned toward the door with a scowl.
Nobody bothered him at home. No one from the clan ever visited, not that he could blame them. The one-bedroom apartment was generally a mess, but he’d put in the effort if someone wanted to visit.
Only no one ever did. So it was perpetually messy—a reflection of his mood, probably.
Just as he was tugging on a pair of sweatpants, something caught his attention. A smell. A scent that was somehow unfamiliar yet made him think of home. Comfort. Affection. He straightened up and ran a hand over his buzzed brown-blond hair, frowning.
It was unlike anything he’d ever detected in this building before, let alone in Angel Fire. Like the seashore on a clear summer’s day—the seashore, but also lavender. He inhaled deeper, and suddenly the rage was gone. Just like that—poof, gone. It almost made his knees buckle.
And then when the realization hit, his knees did buckle. Ivo had heard all the stories, first-hand in many cases, about what it was like to scent one’s fated mate. Although it’d be a scent you never smelled before, it would feel like you’d been smelling it for years. Like it was somehow a part of you, only you didn’t know it until the exact moment your fated mate walked into your life.
Steadying himself on the arm of his couch, his eyes fixed on the door. Was his fated mate standing just outside?
No. No way. Ivo had never been that lucky.
In fact, Ivo always assumed he didn’t even have a fated mate. No one had wanted him from the time he was a kid to the present. He just figured that was the way it would always be.
With his heart crawling up into his throat, Ivo crossed the small apartment in a few long strides and undid the locks, his hands quivering in a way that made him clumsy.
He yanked the door open with more force than he meant to, and standing there was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Petite in stature, yet curvy in places he immediately appreciated, she had the brightest blue-green eyes, full sumptuous lips, and thick black hair that was pulled away from her face to knot on top of her head. Dressed in a pair of green leggings and a flouncy loose black top, she was so lovely that he couldn’t help but stare.
It was like someone had pressed the pause button in his brain—and it was her scent that had done it. While as a bear his sense of smell was much stronger, hers hit him like a freight train, drowning him in a wash of seaside air and lavender. And it wasn’t some gaudy perfume either—most bears could smell the difference. No, it was her natural scent, coupled with… clay? His eyes darted down to her hands. Under her fingernails was the faintest hint of dark earth, like she’d been working outside.
“Uh, hi,” she said. Her voice intensified the lavender imagery—if she smelled like a whole field of it, the way she spoke was like a breeze rustling through the petals. “I’m Alani, and I’m using the studio downstairs…”
