Because they are patient hunters.
Avery shook her head hard. That was the council talking. That was her parents and her teachers. She owed it to herself to figure out the world on her own. Maybe they were right, and maybe she would regret this deeply, but she was tired of assuming people were bad because someone had put that thought into her head.
She wanted to make up her own mind.
She wanted to be strong like Weston.
With a steadying breath, Avery pushed open the door to her home-on-wheels and stood on the cracked concrete parking lot. She smoothed her sundress over her thighs. This was the only thing she’d brought with her to dress up in. She fidgeted with the straps and shouldered her purse, checked that the present she’d bought was inside, then strode across the lot, her sandals clacking loudly with each step.
There was a man sitting on a bench by the door. His elbows rested on his knees, and he had the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes as one of his legs shook in quick succession. His jet black hair fell forward over his face.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
The man slid a pair of sunglasses over his face without looking up and nodded. “I’m fine.”
But he didn’t sound fine. His voice trembled too hard.
Avery looked longingly at the door, eager to see Weston, but she couldn’t just leave this man out here on his own if he was having a shitty night. She knew all about those.
“I’m Avery,” she said, sitting down beside him.
“Kane,” he said gruffly, offering her his hand. His lips twitched into a smile for an instant when he shook her hand too damn hard for her comfort. Her bones nearly ground to dust. Rough man. She scented the air delicately, but he didn’t smell of fur.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked.
“Just nervous to go in. There’s nothing else to do around here, though, and I don’t want to spend another night alone at home. Sorry.” He shook his head and angled his face down at his clasped hands between his knees. “I’m just being a pussy.”
“I never understood why men say that.”
“What, being a pussy?”
“Yeah.” Her cheeks heated with her thought process, but she pressed on. “Pussies seem pretty strong to me. They can take a pummeling. Nuts on the other hand…”
Kane huffed a laugh and nodded his head. “Fine. I’m being a big pair of wimpy nuts.”
With a frown, she studied his bulging muscles and his tattoos down one arm. “I can’t see why you would be afraid of anything, but if it makes you feel any better, I’m terrified of going in there right now, too.”
“Why?”
“Because there are people much more powerful than me in that bar.”
Kane jerked his attention to her, and she could see her polite smile in his sunglasses. “Right.” His nostrils flared slightly. “Are you a shifter?”
“Are you anti-shifter?”
“Nope. I’m all for them.”
“Then yes. But I’m one of those…what did you call it? ‘Big pair of wimpy nuts’ shifters. And that,” she added, surprised at herself, “is the first time I’ve openly admitted my animal to a stranger. We like to stay hidden.”
Kane adjusted his sunglasses farther up his nose and murmured, “I like to stay hidden, too. Come on, Avery. I’ll buy your first drink.”
“Oh.” She smiled brightly because she had been planning on drinking free water and maybe a lemon if she got lucky. But an actual alcoholic beverage sounded awesome. She hadn’t eaten much today, so she’d probably be drunk on one. “Thanks so much!”
Kane chuckled softly and opened the door for her, waited for her to pass, and followed her in. Loud music drifted through the bar from an old Jukebox in the corner, and the place was full, standing room only. She was bumped immediately, but Kane shoved the stumbling man away from her and guided her through the crowd up to the bar.
And there he was—Weston Novak. He wore a genuine smile, his fist around the neck of a beer bottle, his camouflage baseball cap low over his dancing eyes. His teeth were bright white and straight, and the dimple was there, just faintly. He still hadn’t shaved and looked like a rough ol’ country boy. He’d changed into a black T-shirt and an open blue flannel shirt over holey jeans and clunky work boots.
But when she followed his smiling gaze, the grin fell from her lips. He was talking to a blond-haired woman. She was tall and leggy in a short skirt and sipped on a cosmopolitan. Weston rested his hand on her waist, and the woman ran her silver painted nails down his arm seductively. Slowly, the woman leaned in and whispered something against his ear, and damn everything, Weston was leaning into her. They were definitely going to kiss. Avery couldn’t do this, couldn’t watch him hook up with another woman. Envy blasted through her, stealing her breath. When she ripped her gaze away, Kane was looking at her, and without a second of hesitation, he bolted forward, dragging her with him. He shoved his way between Weston and Silver Claws and told the bartender, “Can I get a drink for my girl?”
“Hey!” Silver Claws exclaimed.
Weston looked pissed, up until the point he arched his gaze to Avery and froze. Slowly, he dragged his attention down her throat to her chest, waist, hips, legs, and then back up. How had he done that? How had he made her feel like he was touching her with just a look?
His eyes went hard again when he looked at Kane, who was ordering a couple of shots of whiskey. Whiskey? She was more of a panty-dropper fruity-frou-frou drink kinda gal herself.