“I can take your mind off it for an hour or so,” Jase said in a whisper.
At which point, Stetson turned around and left, as quiet as he’d arrived. Those two had something special, something Stetson used to know. Something, if he was honest with himself, he’d love to know again. True love.
But he didn’t deserve it.
Stetson left his temporary bed in Jase’s workshop. He couldn’t sleep when surrounded by the alien scents of power tools and the hot metallic scent of the soldering iron.
No, that wasn’t it. He couldn’t sleep when he knew that not far away was the woman who’d found her way into his heart, much as he’d tried to prevent it.
Almost a year had passed since Annabelle died. He shouldn’t be feeling this way about another woman so soon.
No, he shouldn’t be feeling this way about another woman ever.
He prowled the Junkyard in his jaguar form, a low growl rumbling from his chest every few minutes. Ten months in the Junkyard, and he'd never felt so caged.
When he reached his van, he stopped and stared at the windshield, at the curtain tugged tight between the glass and the sleeping woman within. That was Dew in there. In his den.
My den, my mate, he thought. The jaguar side of him.
No, he argued with himself. Can't protect a mate.
And it was too soon after Annabelle, anyway. The wounds were too fresh. He could still hear her scream, and her last words still echoed in his head.
The thought that it was Dew in his van, though, drove him fucking crazy. This was the woman he'd corresponded with, shared poems with. He'd gotten to know her, one letter at a time. Careful cursive. Restrained emotion. She was lonely and he had been more than happy to give her pieces of his soul in the form of notes and poems. It was all he could give, because the Junkyard boundary had separated them. It had been torturous, but good in its way, because Stetson knew he didn't deserve more. He'd had a shot with a mate, and he'd blown it.
As for Dew, he was pretty certain she would tire of their correspondence eventually, or become distracted by her own life, and at that point this painful yet sweet romance would fade to tender memories. He hadn't loved the idea, but he'd made his peace with it.
Never, in his dreams, had he truly anticipated that she would make her way here. He’d been an idiot.
His giant paws padded across the cold ground. It had to be midnight or thereabouts. Clouds covered the moon, so Stetson couldn't be sure about the exact time. The temperature was cold, even for a shifter, and he was grateful for his thick winter coat. He hoped Dew had enough blankets. Blythe had told him there were plenty, and it wasn't supposed to reach below freezing tonight.
She was in there—in his den. Lying on his bed, maybe. Wrapped in Stetson's scent. Her scent, mingling with his.
What did she smell like, close up? He hadn't gotten much beyond clover and mint from her letters, even when she’d used envelopes. After being pressed into musty old books, he could mostly smell books.
But that clover and mint. It made his heart pound faster, it made his cock rise. It was a mix he wanted to press his face against and inhale. He’d mark her with his cheek, taking a part of her scent and replacing it with his own.
He still couldn’t believe she was here. He also couldn’t believe his behavior when he’d first seen her. That had been no way to act, and his mama would’ve taken him over her knee and spanked his ass if she’d been alive to see it—she wouldn’t have cared if Stetson was grown or not. Because instead of greeting Dew like a gentleman, Stetson had gone after the Cruthers and started a big old brawl.
He growled again, wishing he could've beaten both their asses. But if he had a do-over, he would make sure Dew was safe, first. Then he would fight those two dickheads.
A shuffling sound caught his attention. One of the guys was approaching. Stetson moved to the front of his van, standing guard.
He sniffed. The guy approaching was a grizzly. Weston, smelled like, although Stetson couldn’t tell yet for sure. He didn’t like either of them. Mighty suspicious, too. One of the Cruthers just happened to be wandering by Stetson's van, where Dew slept? Like hell. This was no coincidence. They were sniffing around Dew.
Stronger notes of sage reached his nose. This was Weston, then.
Stetson held in his growl. He didn’t have cause to fight, yet. If Weston left Dew alone, if he just walked on by without stopping, then Stetson would leave him be.
If he had some other motive, like peeking in on Dew like a creep, then Stetson would stop him.
And stopping him with claws and fangs suited Stetson just fine.
Weston hadn’t yet seen Stetson, and he probably discounted Stetson's scent because this was, after all, Stetson's den. So Weston ambled forward. Twenty yards away. Ten. When he was still coming at six yards, Stetson let out a low growl. Warning. My den. Stay back.
Weston's progress stopped and the bear sat back on his haunches. An evaluating look gleamed in his brown eyes.
Stetson growled again. The bear huffed, stood on all fours once more, and turned to go. Stetson exhaled just as the grizzly changed his mind about leaving and charged toward Stetson's van.
Silently, Stetson leaped forward to meet him. He spun in mid-air to dodge a swipe of the grizzly's claw. Weston wasn't playing around. Good, because neither was Stetson. This was unfinished business from earlier in the evening. Well, Stetson would finish it now. He was Jase's second, dominant enough and strong enough to take anyone in this territory. Normally, he didn't care to. But now he'd kick whatever ass necessary to ensure Dew's safety.
Stetson didn't have to think much; the Cruthers brothers both fought more with strength than strategy. He and Weston exchanged a few swipes, but he gathered Weston was just taking his measure. Stetson didn’t give him much to work with. No surprises, just calm control.
It wasn't long before Weston got frustrated with the simple attacks. He roared, stood up on all fours, and tried tackling Stetson head-on. Dumbass. Stetson was almost disappointed at how easy it was for him to latch on to Weston's throat and apply just enough pressure to give him a little puncture. That got the grizzly's attention. The two of them fell to the ground, Stetson maintaining his hold. Weston slumped onto his back, defeated.
Stetson had won. He kept his jaws locked on Weston's throat for a few seconds longer than was perhaps necessary, but he wanted to make a point.
What that point was, Stetson wasn't entirely certain. His own dominance? His claim on the area immediately surrounding his den?
Or his claim on Dew?
When he was satisfied, he let go of Weston's throat. A faint white light surrounded Weston, signaling a shift. Stetson stepped back to give Weston space for his shift, but Stetson remained in his jaguar form. He had zero interest in talking this out.
In his human form, and naked, Weston got to his feet. He touched the wounds on his neck. The punctures were shallow, already healing.
“Easy for you to be self-righteous about an available woman,” he grumbled. "You belong in here—you were convicted. I never was."
Yeah. Stetson made a coughing sound, half amusement, half irritation. Weston had a lot of nerve trying to make his circumstance in the Junkyard sound anything other than stupid. He hadn't been sent here like the other shifters, he'd merely been tricked inside to do the bidding of an unscrupulous alpha.