Page 15 of Her Convict Wolf

“Your talents are wasted there,” I tell her. “You should open your own place. Not a pub. A big, fancy restaurant in a big town.”

A light comes into her eyes, but it’s gone fast, and she shrugs.

A knife twists in my gut again. Because I know what that shrug means, and I hate it. It’s too dangerous. She’ll never be able to live a public life like that.

“So, tell me about the pub. Who are the staff, the customers?” I ask, desperate to distract her.

“My boss is Meredith, a bear shifter.” A smile plays at her lips. “She’s like my surrogate mom. She and her sister, Carolyn, take care of all the waifs and strays who come to the town to hide out. There’s a dorm upstairs where a bunch of them stay. She’s been real kind to me. There’s a bartender—Jason—”

My beast snarls. “Who is he?” I demand between gritted teeth.

“Ohh…” she stutters, like she’s confused by the intensity of my question. I don’t blame her. I’m already thinking about running him out of town.

“He’s a guy. He’s nice. He’s good at dealing with the difficult customers.”

“Is he into you?” I spit the words out, my jaw aching as my canines lengthen.

She looks stunned. “No, he has a girlfriend or something.”

My beast snorts. Like that would be enough to stop him from going after Emory. She’s absolutely gorgeous. So ready to be claimed. He’s probably been lusting after her non-stop.

“The girls from upstairs work most of the bar shifts. There’s Kelly, Amber, Jennifer…”

I nod. They’re no threat to either her or me. “And the customers—mainly shifters, you said?”

“Yup. It’s a guys’ kind of bar. Rough and ready.”

My beast swells inside me. I don’t like the thought of her working there, one bit.

She grabs her phone and checks the time. “Uh-oh. I’m running late.”

I grab the empty plates. “I’ll wash up. You get ready.”

She starts to protest, then stops herself. “Oh, that’d be great actually. Takes me a minute to…” She gestures at her face.

To disguise herself, she means.

I wash up, dry the dishes, put them away. I’m just folding the dishtowel and laying it on the counter, when I hear the light sound of her footsteps behind me.

I turn around. She’s almost unrecognizable.

She stops short in front of me, her face tense with suppressed emotion. “I look awful, don’t I?”

A pain hits me in the chest. “What do you mean, Emory?”

“All this.” She raises her arms and lets them fall again. “This… armor.”

“N-no. You look great.”

Her eyes turn liquid and for a second, I think she’s going to cry. “It’s not me.” Her chest heaves and her words tumble out fast. “When you knew me—as a kid—that’s who I was supposed to be. Everything since then, has been fake. My dad shaping me to his will.” She barks out a laugh. “Even when I’ve finally escaped him, he’s still influencing my appearance.”

I stride over to her, and without stopping to think, I take her hands in mine. “Emory, I think you look awesome like this. Real—” I hesitate.Beautiful? Sexy? Desirable?

None of these words are appropriate.

“Cool,” I say at last. Like a real cool, badass chick.”

She goes still.

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