Damnation: Reckless Desires (Blue Moon Saloon Book 1) Page 4

  Simon’s soaring emotions had crash-landed right there. “Wait, what was that?”

  He blurted that out in front of everyone, even though the younger generation wasn’t supposed to utter a word at council meetings.

  “What was that?” Soren had barked, too, and even though he was allowed to speak as heir apparent, their grandfather still glared.

  “The eldest Macks girl mated to the eldest Voss,” the old man growled. “Soren.”

  And just like that, Simon’s whole world caved in.

  It didn’t matter how much he begged or pleaded or raged. Didn’t matter that an alliance was his idea. Didn’t matter what he wanted.

  “It has been decided,” his grandfather had said, and that was that.

  “Did anyone ask her?” he yelled, then went slack-jawed at his grandfather’s shrug.

  “We asked her father.”

  Christ. Apparently, wolves were as medieval as bears when it came to marrying off their young. What a fool he’d been to think it would be any other way.

  “Did anyone bother telling her?”

  Blank looks said nobody had, and he’d been too much of a coward to do it himself.

  Soren had sworn up and down that he wouldn’t go through with it. Confided to Simon that he already had a mate of his own. A woman he’d known since he was a kid and courted ever since. It was only a question of time before he asked the elders for permission to take her as his bride.

  “We’ll figure something out. We will,” Soren swore.

  Wishful thinking, and both of them knew it. Soren had no chance in hell of ever getting permission to take his destined mate — a human, no less.

  “And that will be that,” their grandfather, the clan leader, had announced.

  Simon had just about melted into the floor. There was no way out. He’d have to live his whole life with his true love mated to another. To his own brother!

  They’d both found their own solutions, he and Soren. Soren bottled up, tight as a bear in winter, and barely uttered a word after that. Threw himself at clan duty with a vengeance, except when the irresistible pull of his mate had him steal away to spend time with her.

  And Simon… What the hell could he do? If Jessica loved him the way he loved her, she’d die before she mated with his brother. That, or she’d run, and the wolves would hunt her down and drag her back. Her own pack, or worse, one of those marauding packs of wolves bent on preserving the racial purity of shifters. The kind who exercised their own brand of vigilante justice by burning alive anyone found to have crossed species lines.

  No. For her own sake, he had to keep Jess within the protection of both their clans. She’d be safe as long as she stayed near Black River. Safe, as long as she was with Soren.

  The thought made him sick, but it was the truth. He’d have to find a way to make Jess accept that they could never be together.

  Which was when it dawned on him. He couldn’t allow her to love him. In fact, they’d both be better off if she hated him, right?

  God, he’d been young and stupid, thinking that. It was torture, pushing her away. Bile rose in his throat every time he forced himself to blurt out some awful lie or insult, but he’d told himself he was doing it for her. If she hated him, she might find happiness with Soren. So what if he bound himself in a living hell? If Jess hated him, maybe he could handle losing her.

  “Christ, those she-wolves know how to hustle,” Soren murmured at his side.

  He dragged his thoughts back to the present and to the saloon. Yes, Jess and Janna had been great. They’d been more than great. The saloon had hummed along smoothly. Business had been good.

  And Jess had hated him the whole time.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’d worked so hard at making her despise him; it had worked. And now that the laws that had denied them their happiness were no longer a factor — the clan was gone, just like her pack, fallen victim to the very rogues he’d underestimated — he was still fucked. Yes, he mourned his family. Yes, he mourned hers. And yes, he’d hunted down the wolves who had annihilated both their clans just before he and Soren returned. But it was all for nothing.

  His mate hated him. Drew back from him. She couldn’t even meet his eyes, for Christ’s sake. He could have her, but he couldn’t have her.

  The irony could have killed him. Very nearly did. He’d engineered his own living hell. His own damnation.

  Soren smacked him on the back and pointed to the saloon.

  “Get going. Clean up.”

  Simon took the first of many stiff, aching steps, telling himself he’d go find a cave to curl up and die in later. For now, he’d do what he had to do.

  Which was what, exactly? He examined his options as he wiped down the bar, ran the glasses through the dishwasher, and cleaned out the sink. His mate would never accept him. His life was over.

  But hers wasn’t.

  He stole a glance out the front window, trying to catch a glimpse of the stars. Ursa Major or Minor or really, any constellation that could show him the path to a miracle solution. But the stars shunned him as they’d done for the past couple of months. Practically sneered at him. Figure it out yourself.

  And eventually, he did. He realized what he had to do. He had to give Jess this chance to get back on her feet after all she’d endured. Help her save money, then move on to something better than this. Maybe even someone better than him.

  His bear rumbled inside, but he just shook his head. If he really loved Jess, that’s what he’d do.

  He’d do what he had to do, for her.

  Chapter Six

  Jessica dragged herself out of bed — or rather, off the surprisingly comfy queen-size mattress on the floor of her unfurnished room, where she’d slept ridiculously well. Better than she had in years, it seemed. She listened for any sound of bear before dashing in and out of the bathroom as quickly as she could. But even there, she got waylaid by the scent of Simon’s aftershave and towel — the towel she absolutely, positively, did not inhale deeply from once or twice. Another second’s delay came from the mental image of his perfect, naked body crowding that claw-foot tub…

  She snapped herself out of that with a shake of the head and gave herself the same stern lecture in the mirror she’d been trying for years — He does not love you; therefore, you do not love him — and finally scurried downstairs. Bears were notoriously late risers, and her sister Janna, too, so she had all of the downstairs to herself for a couple of hours.

  She’d slept soundly, but then reality hit her all over again: the crazy situation she found herself in. Seeing Simon again. Aching for him. Resenting him, then resenting herself. Mourning her family, detesting the rogues who’d wiped out her small pack.

  There was only one way to cope: her own form of therapy. Cooking and cleaning.

  Well, baking, to start with. Something she’d always loved doing with her grandmother as a kid. They’d go berry picking in the woods, then head home and whip up a batch of muffins. She started raiding the saloon kitchen, looking for what she needed. There was a smaller fridge marked Private, full of huge quantities of eggs and bacon — which she suspected Simon and Soren shoveled down for breakfast in insane, lumberjack portions — and little else. The cabinets held a supply of flour, though. There was some baking soda doing a poor job of keeping the industrial-sized fridge fresh, plus a little milk and butter. She had the blackberries Tina had bought for her yesterday and the chocolate chips her sister had thrown in with the shopping, too. Sugar in a tin on a shelf on the wall, and even a pinch of vanilla.

  In short, she had everything she needed. She scrubbed a rusty muffin tin, spooned in the batter for half a dozen berry and half a dozen berry-chocolate chip muffins, and that was that.

  A tear slid down her cheek as she thought about her grandmother and all the loved ones who had been erased from her life. But the memories…no one could take those, right? She wiped her eyes, blinked a few times, and looked around. Work. She needed work to keep her mind off the past
.

  Harry seemed to keep the kitchen reasonably clean, so she started in the front room of the saloon. Didn’t touch the bar, because something told her that was bear territory and she’d better keep clear. Instead, she tackled the spider webs in the corners of the room and between the blades of the overhead fans, then washed the front windows. Snuck in a bite of muffin in between and held on to the taste like it was another part of her past, then rallied herself out front to clean some more. She scrubbed and scrubbed until the morning sun shone in, and she wished she could do the same with her memories. Clear out the bad ones, make room for the sun to shine in. The water in her bucket quickly turned gray, and she headed back to the kitchen for a refill. She leaned over the sink as fresh water ran from the tap, closed her eyes, and thought about the creek in Montana where she and Simon used to meet. The shade, the summer shadows. The babbling stream. She dug far enough back in her memories that she could almost imagine his soft step behind her.

  Her eyes flew open, because there really was a step vibrating through the floor, and she whipped around.

  “Simon,” she breathed. Or maybe just thought it because, for a second, her mind went blank. Did she hate him? Love him? Which was it again?

  He stood there, filling most of the doorway, wearing nothing but a pair of loose lounge pants. Looking like a bear straight from his winter den, with his hair spiked up on one side and down on the other. He scratched his bare chest with one hand, wiped his eyes with the other. Slid his shoulder up and down the door frame, marking the place as his. The only part of him that seemed truly awake was his sense of smell. His nostrils were wide, sniffing deeply.

  “Berries?” he mumbled. The sound vibrated through the floor and slowly, sensually, climbed her legs.

  Her heart swelled. Her heart thumped. Her wolf wagged its tail. She’d made her mate happy! He loved her! She’d pleased him with—

  Her human side slammed on the brakes. God, her wolf was as bad as her parents with their old-fashioned ways. Her life was not about pleasing men, least of all this one. She was an independent, self-sufficient, modern woman who could damn well…

  He scratched his jaw, and memories of nuzzling that very stubble flooded her. Memories of the cave, all those years ago. It had been so cold in the blizzard that she’d had no choice but to stumble in. And then Simon had come along and their little shelter heated right up. First with anger, as they faced each other down, then with a whole different kind of heat once they’d finally agreed to huddle for warmth. He’d curled his bulk silently around her back and laid absolutely, positively still for a while. The only movement was the faint puff of air against her cheek. For a few minutes, at least, because she couldn’t help but sigh and wiggle back against him.

  And then he’d come snuffling carefully closer. Sniffing, then nuzzling, as if he couldn’t resist her any more than she could resist him. He’d scraped his chin slowly, deliciously over the soft skin of her cheek in long, possessive strokes, and it lit every nerve ending in her body on fire. Sent her brain right out the door and let instinct take over. It wasn’t long before she pulled his arm over her side and around her front, because it was more comfortable that way. And it wasn’t long after his fingers first touched down on her breast that she turned in his arms and found his lips for their first, soft kiss. A kiss that led to another, and another, and—

  Jess snapped upright, jolting out of memories and back into the kitchen. Christ, what had set that off?

  “Berry muffins,” she said, planting her feet wide. She’d hold her ground. Stare him down. Let him know she was as over him as he was over her.

  Fake it, at least.

  “I made them,” she added for good measure. Daring him.

  His ears twitched. His lips parted just a little bit. His eyes focused directly on her. They roamed down, then up, then down again. She had the distinct impression Simon was going through exactly what she had been, a minute before. Do I love her? Hate her?

  Love! her wolf cheered. Love!

  Bit by bit, Simon masked himself in that impassive expression that was his armor, his shield, his castle, and retreated within the walls. “Can I have one?”

  He didn’t bark out. Didn’t demand. Just asked, almost like a normal person would. But if she looked — really looked — she saw the bear inside, wide-eyed and hungry, desperate to get out.

  She folded her arms over her chest, showing him she could play tough guy, too. Tilted her head. Let him wonder and worry and think the way she had through all of the previous night. Even if it was only for a few seconds, damn it, she’d get her revenge. A teensy, tiny bit of revenge.

  “Sure, boss.” She kicked out that second word just to keep him on his toes. Yes, you can have one, but only because I have no choice.

  The moment she thought it, her body hardened, because it was true. She had no choice. Hadn’t had a choice for a long, long time. She stuck her jaw out a little so it wouldn’t wobble, then turned back to the sink. She turned off the water and stared into her bucket like it was a wishing well. If only she had a penny…

  He came closer with slow, heavy steps. Closer. Even closer, and she squeezed her eyes closed, imagining the perfect happy end. His arms would wrap around her, and he’d pull her against his chest. Whisper I’m sorry and I love you and Please, please, give me a second chance. Kiss her ear like he used to, and she would turn and kiss him back. Go from kissing to touching and to wrapping her legs around—

  Simon came up right behind her, and hope jumped into her throat.

  He made a little sound. A barely perceptible, bottom-of-the-earth growl. The scent of desire steamrolled the muffin smell aside and spread through the warm kitchen like a pleasant haze. Her wolf nearly howled.

  Then a sharp inhale, an angry puff, and he sidestepped toward the muffins.

  And, Poof! Her fantasy vanished. Just like that.

  Jess picked up the bucket so fast, water sloshed out the top. She grabbed her washcloth and hurried for the door.

  “Jess.” His voice stopped her cold. A voice from the past, because it was soft and wistful and sweet.

  She turned around slowly and there was Simon, looking like a man who needed a good, long sleep and not a man who’d just come out of one. Weary. Defeated. Struggling to find the strength to go on.

  “Thanks,” he whispered.

  A word. Practically a speech in bear-talk. But it was enough.

  She nodded and walked away slowly rather than fleeing as fast as she could. Victory. A very small victory for her pride, if nothing else.

  She went back to scrubbing windows and managed to will her mind blank. Of everything that is, except for muffin recipes she’d be trying out for her bear over the next couple of days.

  She corrected herself quickly. Er, not for her bear. For her boss. Just her boss. And her sister and the saloon and everyone else.

  Her wolf licked its lips. Yeah, right.

  Chapter Seven

  Two weeks went by like that, and Simon went right on vacillating between heaven and hell.

  Heaven was the sight of Jessica, bright and shiny and energetic, with the morning sun glowing on her hair. Heaven was the honey-lavender scent of her, a minute after she cleared the shower and padded down the hall, thinking he was asleep when he was listening to her. Heaven was in the muffins his bear kept insisting she’d baked just for him, even though she shared them with everyone else.

  But hell was never far behind. Hell was the sight of her gray-blue eyes firmly fixed on the floor. The way her smile vanished when she turned away from a customer and glanced toward the bar. Hell was having to head upstairs after a long day’s work and not being able to follow instinct around the bends of the hallway, all the way over to her room.

  Hell and damnation. He lived them each and every day.

  Occasionally, they’d both be so busy that they’d forget, and their bodies would drift together, only to skitter apart. As if their animal sides knew just what they wanted, while the humans kept stubb
ornly apart. He’d be filling drinks behind the bar at peak time; she’d pop in to wash her hands at the sink. And somehow, the space between would slip away so their arms could graze, and a brush fire would race through his blood. A primal rhythm would start to beat in his bones. A smile would build on his lips—

  And Jess would jolt and hurry away and not look back.

  So nothing was different, though nothing was quite the same. Of course, it wouldn’t be, with two she-wolves slowly taking over the saloon. Jess and her sister were like a pair of tornadoes determined not to leave anything in its place. Some things for better, some things for worse.

  It started with cleaning, which was mostly good. Other than them throwing out the stuffed beaver that used to hang in the corner by the bar, claiming it was disgusting and moldy and a travesty to shifters everywhere.

  Well, okay, he’d give them that, even if he did hate beavers. Snobby, intellectual little things.

  The next thing they did was number the tables. What that was all about, he didn’t know. There were only ten tables in the whole place. A couple on the right, a few in the middle, and the booths at the side. Who needed numbers?

  Wolves, apparently. Jess and Janna numbered the tables and even rearranged a few, chattering something about traffic patterns and light and views.

  He looked around. What views?

  “Three Cokes for table five,” Jess would say, handing off the drink order to her sister. Avoiding him, of course.

  “Three Cokes for table five,” Janna would echo as she slapped down her tray.

  He’d squint out over the saloon and wonder which was table five, because it wasn’t like they’d actually labeled the tables or given him a chart or anything. They had it memorized. A damn good thing he didn’t have to deliver the drinks he poured.

  And that was just the tip of the iceberg. No, a goddamn avalanche, and it was all he and Soren could do to keep up.

  The menu grew the way hair products multiplied in the bathroom they all shared, which was fine, in principle. In practice, his bear wasn’t so sure. Like the third morning of the avalanche, when he’d woken from a beautiful dream in which he and Jess were rolling in a mountain meadow, naked, feeding each other berries — a weird combination, but yeah, a damn good dream — and stumbled downstairs to find the kitchen packed with racks and racks of muffins. The air practically crystallized with their sweet smell, but there was no sign of Jess. He snagged a muffin that just pleaded for him to show some mercy and gobble it up, and when he bit in, he groaned. Sweet, juicy blueberries exploded in his mouth and transported him home to Montana. He stood there savoring it until he stomped himself into action and headed out front. Still no sign of Jess, so he continued out the open front door, where he stalled out at the sight of her squatting beside a sidewalk chalkboard, spelling out the saloon’s latest deal.