Page 14 of The Thief

It was around that time that Bear turned to cooking. When he discovered he could win a person’s affection through food, he sharpened his culinary skills and eventually replaced the aging pack chef. People showered him with praise, and he lapped up the attention.

His childhood bullies had grown jealous of his newfound status and pretended to find hairs in their food, which they’d planted themselves. In an attempt to humiliate him, they demanded that Bear shave himself completely. They were relentless, and their tactics to undermine him finally worked when Bear’s cooking privileges were revoked to keep the peace.

After Bear left his childhood pack, he never felt ready to join his own. His size opened doors for good-paying jobs—specifically, that of a bodyguard. He worked in that profession for fifteen years, and it wasn’t until he saw Tak’s ad that he considered joining a pack. Maybe he would have better luck with strangers who hadn’t yet formed close bonds.

Now that cooking was his job again, he didn’t want to invite jokes. People depended on him, and he didn’t dare jeopardize that. So he was taking precautions to make himself less of a target.

After cleaning his workstation, Bear tossed scraps of food into a compost bin. His thoughts drifted back to Mercy.

Was she staring at me a minute ago, or am I imagining things?

Bear never had a type when it came to women. Because of the brutally long hours as a bodyguard, there had never been time for a relationship. The women he’d slept with filled a need, and that was all. He’d grown skeptical of their intentions after a gorgeous woman had shown an interest in dating him. He later found out she was using him to get inside information about his boss.

After that, he couldn’t trust anyone.

The downside about his size was that most women expected him to act like a feral beast in bed, as if someone with his looks should have a sex dungeon in his home. Women were complicated, and none appreciated him for who he was. They either wanted him to shave or complained that he was too sensitive. Nothing Bear did was ever enough. The last woman he was with had wanted him to get rough in bed and dominate her. Not just verbally but with lots of forceful slapping. When she opened a drawer and removed a whip, he skipped out of there so fast that he left his shoes behind.

Bear didn’t judge anyone’s sexual delights. To each their own. But damn, how he loved foreplay, especially skin-to-skin touching. He’d always been a tactile person. If it were up to him, he’d spend the whole evening exploring a woman’s body with his mouth and hands. Her scent, her taste, her silky curves—those were his vices. So was being on the receiving end, which he rarely was. The thought of slapping and verbally abusing a woman for sexual gratification horrified him, and the idea of anyone doing that to him…

Bear finished rinsing his knife. He needed to get his feelings for Mercy under control before his wolf picked up on it and did something stupid like drop a dead rabbit at her door. Not long ago, Tak warned the men about how to treat a single woman in the pack. They were duty bound to make her feel safe in her home, so they each vowed to respect her boundaries whether she mated with another or stayed single.

Seduction was off the menu.

Lifting the lid from the pot of chicken soup, Bear let the steam escape before taking in a deep breath. He assessed the flavorful aroma, dissecting the ingredients with his uncanny sense of smell. His refined palate deciphered from smell alone which spices he needed to add, as if his wolf came alive during the cooking process. After adding a pinch of thyme, he covered the pot and turned down the heat.

Feeding a pack came with challenges, so Bear developed meal plans that fed everyone without excessive waste. Leftovers were often devoured in the midnight hours, and anything extra went into the freezer. The best part about living in the country was he didn’t have to cook an obscene amount of food the way he might for a city pack. The abundance of prey on their land enticed their wolves into hunting, which reduced their appetites at mealtime.

“Dammit, Lucian,” he grumbled.

Since Lucian loved onions so much, Bear had invited him to chop them for both the soup and bread he was making. Lucian was a reclusive man who spent most of his time working, so he thought it might be a good opportunity for them to bond.

A melodic chime signaled that someone had opened the gate at the end of their long drive.

Bear sighed while chopping an onion. Lucian would rather mess with the security equipment than pitch in and help a packmate. That guy has issues.

A minute or two later, a rhythmic knock sounded at the front door.

With the chef’s knife in his hand, Bear swaggered down the hall and through the living area. “Did you forget what you promised me?” he called out while opening the door.

A silver-haired man smiled at him. “Are you the gentleman of the house?” he asked coolly in a thick accent. Romanian, maybe? Bear couldn’t pinpoint the accent, only that it was European.

He did a quick assessment of the visitor, whose brown eyes and dark brows were a stark contrast to his silver hair. He didn’t look as old as his hair color implied. Bear thought he saw flickers of light in the man’s irises, and that made him uneasy. Hell, the guy’s entire ensemble gave off a Transylvania vibe.

The stranger glanced at the knife. “I am Argento. And you are?”

His imperious countenance reminded Bear of the wealthy men he’d once worked for.

Bear rested his free arm against the doorjamb. “You got business with the alpha?”

The man squinted. “Are you a pack?”

Bear noticed the man’s gloved hands. Sensors often wore gloves. “What kind of accent is that?”

“The Old World.”

“Which old part?”

“Europe, before it was Europe. I am over a thousand years old, and my people are no more. But I did not come here to recapture the tragic memories of my youth.”

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