“We’re just freaking each other out, aren’t we?” I reached in my bag, rustling through the contents. “If you can believe it, I actually have a can of tuna.” It was the last bit of food I had in my bag, purchased at a gas station we stopped at yesterday, and the only reason I hadn’t eaten it yet was because the smell on the bus would draw too much attention to me. My stomach ached with hunger, but I was more capable of going and getting food than this guy, and I could see his ribs. So, I opened the can and left it in the bushes.
I pulled my sweatshirt hood down over my face and headed to the only lit store on the street.
Ten minutes later, I seriously regretted giving my last bit of food to a stray cat. If I hadn’t been desperate, I would have walked straight back out that door when I saw the prices in Cat’s 24-Hour Drugstore, but I was starting to feel weak and shaky, and those were two things a werewolf never should be.
I found myself at the checkout aisle, wincing at the ever-growing price on the register as a red-eyed clerk scanned my batteries, two boxes of hair dye, and a dried noodle package. When I held up sixty bucks, the store clerk adjusted the nose ring through the center of her nostrils and she asked, “You’re actually paying cash?”
“That’s all I have.”
She wiggled my noodle package in the air. “You know these are ten dollars apiece, right?”
“I’m starving, but my cash is starting to run low. You don’t know of anywhere that sells affordable food this late, do you?”
“At midnight in Grayhaven? No. Not for cash,” she said through a yawn as she took my money. She held my bag out to me. “Bye.”
“Anywhere you know of that’s safe to spend the night for under a hundred bucks?” I asked as I took the bag.
“Seriously, lady, this isn’t a visitor center. Explaining the town’s amenities to you isn’t part of my job.”
“Okay, well then, can I at least use your restroom?” I nodded to the key hanging behind the register.
“This isn’t a hotel either. I don’t want to have to deal with getting you out of the shitter at five AM.”
“I’m not homeless. I just have to—”
“Yes, you are,” she picked up a book from beside her register and walked away.
As soon as she turned her back, I leaned over the counter to snag the bathroom key, only to have a black paw come out of nowhere and swipe across my hand. I leaned, looking into the shadows under the register. Well, what I thought had been a shadow was in fact the world’s poofiest gray cat.
I reached once more, but the dark gray paw swiped again, jangling the keys so loud, I was afraid rude counter chick would hear.
“I’m just borrowing the keys for a few minutes,” I told the cat, feeling ridiculous, but when I reached again, the creature only hissed and glared at me.
The girl didn’t even glance up from her book when I returned with pink hair, a pair of tight jeans, V-neck shirt, and cowboy boots.
“Here you go,” I whispered to the cat. The little devil watched with menace clearly reflected in her glare as I hung the key behind the counter and left.
In a ten-minute walk around the streets of Grayhaven, I discovered dozens of two-story Victorians and not a single hotel. It didn’t take me long to find the only other open business in town. The bar took up the first story in a not-quite-refurbished large clocktower in the center of a small downtown area. There was no name on the peeling exterior walls, only an open door and a crowd inside. The group within the walls were an odd mix of everything from road weary bikers to women in flowing bohemian gowns with flower crowns on their heads. At one end of the bar, I even saw a man in a tweed jacket smoking a pipe.
A live band played an old Rockknot cover that I used to listen to back in high school, but the crowd before the band clearly had no clue how to dance to grunge music. One lady twirled her arms around trailing scarves while another dancer did some sort of jig. When I dropped my bag and climbed up on a bar stool, at least three sets of eyes narrowed in on me, and I could feel the attention itching across my skin.
Every set of eyes was a potential informant.
A bartender looked up from where he was cleaning a glass behind the bar with a dishtowel, and his dark eyes met mine. He looked young, maybe early twenties, and he had a nerdy sexy look about his face.
“What are you having?” he called across the bar with a smile that was just this side of flirty.
Attraction bubbled up in me, but I quickly stuck a pin in it. This guy might look five years younger, but I was likely a good fifteen years older. Meaning, I could technically be his teen mother. Also, it felt plain disingenuous to flirt with a human. Werewolves slept with humans all the time, but revealing our true nature to them went against every supernatural law ever written and just plain brainless unless you wanted to end up dead or locked away in a secret government lab.
I’d taken too long to answer, and the sexy bartender set his hands on the bar and raised a dark brow. His teasing look was definitely flirty now. “Are you just going to stare at me, or did you want something?”
“I do want something.” I leaned onto the worn-down wood and called over, “A job.” I punctuated the words with a smile. “If you have any in stock.”
“You don’t waste any time.” His brows shot up over his thinly rimmed glasses. “You look like you barely stepped off the bus.”
Shock hit me, and I leaned back on my barstool. “How do you know I came in on the bus?”
“Lucky guess.” He poured an amber liquid into a cup and set it in front of me.
“That’s quite a guess,” I said as I took my beer.
“All right, you’re carrying your possessions, so you didn’t come in by car. Your bag is too big for a motorcycle and too clean for a long-distance hiker. And, Western Bus Lines tagged your luggage.” He nodded to the large white tag hanging off my bag.
“Oh, shit. Sorry.” I grimaced before taking a sip of the amber liquid.
“Relax, stay awhile. I can take your bag behind the counter if you want. There are more professional thieves per capita in Grayhaven than in any other city in the world.” He opened his arms, and even though I didn’t want to be parted from my gun, the chances of it being stolen were much higher on this side of the bar.
The moment I passed it over, I felt ten times more vulnerable in my seat, as if I’d passed over invisible armor along with all my earthly possessions.
Taking a small sip of my beer, I turned back to the stage. The singer on stage was a dead ringer for Rockknot’s late, great lead singer, Chad Jameson. This guy had the same long blond hair, dark blue dreamy eyes, bold European features, and full lips. His voice was similar too, if not a little raspier.
The singer’s gaze settled on mine for a second, and my stomach flipped as he continued to sing the familiar words with a sultry smile on his lips.
“Hey.” A man slid in beside me, breaking my moment of eye contact with the Chad Jameson impersonator.
“Hello,” I said, holding up my beer glass in a “cheers” motion.
This guy was probably the only man in a suit in the entire bar, which immediately got my hackles up. Kane lived in his suits. They were practically his second skin. If he wasn’t in one of his tailormade Italian suits, he was naked. There was no in-between.