Chance Fur Hire (Bears Fur Hire 6) (3 page)

“But I
am
a townie. A new townie—”

“I’ve got her,” Chance said from behind as he handed the attendant a wad of cash. “For my gas, this plethora of pickles, and her gas, too. You can keep the change.”

The attendant, Renee, her nametag said, counted the money and gave him a flirty smile. “You’re giving me an extra twenty? For what?”

“For being foxy as shit, Renee,” he said through a heart-stopping grin for the woman.

A flare of something green and ugly unfurled in Emily’s middle.

Chance waved to Renee and headed out, the bell of the door dinging as he left.

“Sorry, I’ll be better prepared next time,” Emily rushed out, then bolted out the door after him.

Chance was already in his truck, and the engine roared to life, but she had to know. Jogging around the front of his truck, she nearly slipped in the mud before righting herself with a yelp and sidling to the driver’s side window.

Chance narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her, but rolled down the window. “What?”

“Why did you do that? Why did you pay for my gas?”

“Look, you seem like a”—he dragged his gaze down the zipper of her form-fitting jacket and then back to her face—“city slicker. Let me tell you a thing or two about small towns, lady. If you want to be considered a townie here, it’s best to help people out when you can.”

“Is that why you help people? So you can be a townie?” Made sense. Camouflage and all that.

“No,” he said through an offended frown. “You didn’t have money, I did, and it’s no skin off my back to buy gas for your little four-wheeler. Now, back up. I don’t want to run over your foot.”

“Go out with me,” she rushed.

Chance relaxed back against the seat with an irritated sigh. “Lady—”

“Emily.”

Chance gritted his teeth so hard a muscle jumped in his jaw. “Emily. I appreciate the offer, but—”

“Don’t say no. I’m not asking you romantically, but you’re the first person who has actually talked to me since I got into town, and I want to buy you a drink as a thank you for buying my gas.”

“I didn’t do it for payback.”

Emily inhaled deeply and gripped the open window frame. “Please. One drink. Or dinner at the”—she looked up the main street of Galena—“only diner in town. Or coffee!” What the hell was she doing? She was supposed to seduce him into divulging information, not ask him on an actual date. If Uncle Victor saw her right now, he’d yank her back to Anchorage and start her Hell Hunter training all over again.

“Let go of the truck,” he said low, his eyes flashing dangerously.

Swallowing hard, she loosened her grip and backed away. Chance took off, but a few yards later, he locked his brakes and skidded to a stop in the mud. Hope bloomed in her chest as he sat there, idling. At last, Chance rested his elbow on the open window and stuck his head out, eyes locking with hers. “One drink. Smiley’s Bar tonight at ten.”

“Tonight?” she asked. She was supposed to call Uncle Victor at ten tonight and debrief him on her scouting so far. Bad timing.

“I’m leaving town for work soon. It’s tonight or never.”

“Okay, ten o’clock.” She nodded decidedly. “I’ll be there.”

Chance began to drive away, so she rocked up on her tiptoes and called, “And I’ll actually bring money this time!”

He pulled out of the parking lot and sped toward the grocery store without looking back while she stood there for two minutes too long, feeling like a fawn on new legs and completely stupid for calling out that last joke.

When she realized what she’d done, dread dumped into her system.

She’d just set a date with a monster.

Emily Chastain smelled like flowers.

And not just any flowers, but the floral scent that had coated Dalton’s land and the inside of his shed. It was in her hair, the soft tress he’d fingered. Maybe it was her shampoo or the conditioner she used, but when he smelled his fingers again, Chance couldn’t put it to rest. The scent matched.

He didn’t know why she’d been in his shed, but Chance was going to find out.

Wiley little hunter. He knew a femme fatale when he saw one, and she was about as pretty a lure as he’d ever seen. Long brown hair that shone with every wave she’d carefully curled into it. Big blue eyes that were as deep as wells. That fucking adorable little nose, and full lips that would look perfect puckered around the head of his cock. It didn’t help that she smelled like arousal when he’d handed her the gas pump, and why the hell had that electric shock between them been so affecting? It was probably just from touching the pump and then immediately touching her skin, but he’d never felt a spark that powerful.

What on God’s green and blue planet had possessed her to feel his heartbeat? His wolf had been howling for him to fuck her in the back of Dalton’s truck.

Conniving little human with secrets as deep as a cave, and every answer of hers had bordered on half-truth. She was working to catch him, but why? And more irritatingly, why did he care so damned much? Why did a part of him want to be caught by her?

Emily Chastain was trouble in a sexy body.

****

Emily twitched her curls off her shoulder and applied lip gloss for the third time since she’d been standing out in front of Smiley’s Bar in the cold. She was pretty sure the balm was actually freezing her lips into a frown. Chance was late. No, not late. Chance was standing her up.

Not that she didn’t deserve it, on account of being here to kill him and all, but a big part of her was feeling really hurt that he apparently had no interest in her. So selfish. She hated herself for these wishy-washy back and forth feelings she’d had since she’d met him earlier.

Bobbing to keep warm, she pushed her hands deeper into her coat pockets, then leaned against the wooden wall outside of the bar. Inside, an old country song played on the jukebox, but out here, the main drag in Galena looked like a ghost town. She alone was standing in the beam of the single street light, waiting on a man…er, monster…who would never show up.

God, she’d been so stupid, thinking animals had manners.

No, stop that.
This wasn’t a date. It was a reconnaissance mission. It was a way to figure out how to hunt Chance’s pack.

She hopped up and down to stay warm, but halted at the sound of the guttural rumble of a pickup truck. A pair of headlights nearly blinded her.

Shielding her face, she made her way to the parking spot where the familiar truck skidded to a stop. Chance opened the door, eyes unapologetic. In fact, he looked angry at being here.

“You’re an entire hour late,” she murmured.

Chance slammed the door and ran a hand roughly through his blond hair, short on the sides, but longer up top so it spiked up everywhere. “I would’ve called but I don’t have your number.” He jerked his head to the truck. My cousin and his wife wanted to come out.”

“To meet me?”

“No! Because we don’t get much time to spend together when Dalton and I are in town. But Kate wasn’t feeling well, and I didn’t want to rush her.”

“Oh.” Well, that was understandable, and her irritation dissipated like a fog in sunshine. “Why is Kate sick?” she asked innocently as the passenger’s side door opened and a tall, dark-haired man got out and helped a slight woman with strawberry-colored hair and giant green eyes.

Chance looked at Kate over the hood of the truck with something akin to worry in his eyes. “She’s pregnant. The morning sickness is bad.”

A pang of pity took Emily, but she didn’t know why. She already knew the woman was pregnant and morning sick, and with a werewolf pup. Maybe it was the genuinely worried look on Chance’s chiseled features right now. She wasn’t heartless after all, just trained to see past the bullshit façade they gave other humans.

But…Chance’s eyes followed Kate’s slow progress around the front of the truck like he wanted to tuck her under his arm and keep her safe.

Maybe she’d misjudged packs. Maybe they legitimately cared for one another, instead of seeing females as vessels for their spawn.

“Kate, Dalton, this is Emily.” A crooked smile took Chance’s face. “She’s going to buy us our first round.”

Kate held out her hand for a shake. “I’ll be a cheap buy,” she teased easily. “Water for me.”

Emily grasped her palm and smiled politely. “They can probably do orange juice.”

“Oh, yeah, I want that.”

Dalton shook her hand and canted his head in that same animalistic way Chance had done when he’d first met her. “Nice to meet you,” he said in a careful tone.

“Come on, it’s cold as balls out here,” Chance grumbled, hand on Emily’s lower back as he guided her toward the front door.

“Balls aren’t cold,” Emily and Dalton said at the same time.

She pursed her lips to stop the unexpected laugh in her throat, but Kate let off a single, “Ha!” that echoed down the empty street.

Chance aimed her toward the door, but when Dalton and Kate disappeared inside, he pulled her to a stop. “Why were you waiting out here? You’re shivering.”

“Oh.” She frowned, trying to come up with a good reason. There wasn’t an answer other than she was hoping to see him sooner than the few seconds it would take him to come inside. Which was a stupid and dangerous thought. “It didn’t feel that cold to me.”

Chance watched her lips as she spoke, and a tiny frown took his blond brows. “Do you know how to tell the truth?” he asked so softly she almost missed it.

Shit, she wasn’t being smooth about this. If she’d had any question about what he was before now, his admission he could sense a lie told her exactly what he was. The truth. Okay. “I wanted to spend more time with you.”

His eyes skittered up to hers. “You’re a dangerous woman, aren’t you Emily Chastain?”

“No.”

“Lie.” Without another word, he gripped her hand and pulled her into Smiley’s behind him.

She was too stunned to say anything, and anyway, her teeth were chattering now from a combination of nerves and cold. Chance sucked her confidence out with every word he spoke to her. Not because he was trying to put her beneath him, but because he was calling her on her bullshit, and now she didn’t know where she stood with him. And with horror, she realized that she didn’t like tricking him like this.

She stared in shock at where their hands were connected as he weaved them through the standing patrons of the bar, gripping her hand firmly but gently. He was so warm. Much warmer than she’d imagined his soulless body to be.

He wore a baby blue sweater that made his eyes look bright, and the thin material clung to the thick muscles of his shoulders. He murmured something to one of the men on a barstool, then as the man nodded politely and offered her his seat, Chance gestured for her to sit down.

The bar was loud with the music and talking all around them, so Chance leaned down against her ear and said, “Sometimes it takes a while to get a drink on Friday nights. Didn’t want you standing after waiting on me so long.”

“Oh. That’s really thoughtful, thank you.”

The man behind jostled her, but Chance stilled him with a deadly glance, and the guy one seat over slid to the opposite half of his chair.

She was shivering in earnest now in her battle to keep her wits. It was obvious she wasn’t as strong as she’d fancied herself in training. A few minutes with a werewolf, and she was questioning everything she’d known to be true.

Chance eyed her with a hard look, then sighed and rubbed his giant hands up and down her outer arms, warming her with the friction. “I’ll take your jacket to the coat rack when we get you warmed up, okay?”

“O-okay.” Why was she shaking so danged badly? This was how she felt when she’d shot her first deer years ago. It was an adrenaline dump that usually came after making a good shot. Why did she feel like she’d just killed Chance? The thought hurt in ways she didn’t understand and didn’t want to. Leaning forward, she hugged his waist and rested her cheek against his hard torso. He allowed it and even wrapped his arms around her shoulders, rubbing her back to warm her. Over her shoulder, he ordered a few shots and an orange juice.

“Shots?” she asked.

“Hell yeah, woman. Whiskey will fix what ails you.” His smile was downright predatory, and his eyes hard as ice, and for a moment, she thought he knew. Knew about her treachery and wanted to get her drunk so she would spill her secrets, but that was impossible. She’d been careful.

Slowly, she detached from his body and paid the bartender, then with two shots tipping dangerously in her trembling grasp, she followed him through the crowd to a table where Dalton and Kate were sitting. Kate was on Dalton’s lap, and he was whispering something into her ear, but it was the look on Kate’s face that stopped Emily in her tracks. Whatever he was saying to her, she adored it. Adored him.

“What’s wrong?” Chance asked.

What was wrong? She was wavering, and everything she knew didn’t make sense anymore. Not here where she could see these monsters in person. Kate was human, and Emily had deemed her a traitor before she’d even traveled to Galena. But as Dalton rubbed the swell of her belly affectionately and kissed Kate gently, none of what Uncle Victor and Dad said felt true anymore. Dalton hadn’t just procreated. He was building a family.

She felt sick. “I can’t do this.”

“Do what?” Chance asked in a dead voice.

“It’s not how I thought it would be.” She was panting now, panicking. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. All of the oxygen had been sucked out of the room, and now Chance was doing something to make the air around him feel impossibly heavy.

Turning, he put one of the shots and the orange juice in front of Dalton and Kate, then rounded on her. His eyes held quiet reserve with an edge of danger as he took a menacing step toward her.

“Well then, take the shot, and we’ll both go to hell together.”

He knew. Fuck. He
knew
.

Chance took the tiny glass from her fingertips and tilted his head back, exposing his muscular neck as he tossed back the amber liquid. And with fire in his eyes, he set the empty glass on a passing waitress’s tray, gestured for two more, and then cupped Emily’s neck. With one last angry glare, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

She was shocked to stillness at how warm and soft his lips were. And with a gasp, she closed her eyes and opened slightly for him. He stepped closer, pulling her waist to him as he trickled whiskey into her mouth. Holy hell, this was sexy. She sipped it until his tongue chased hers into her mouth and brushed against hers once, twice. He pulled away suddenly and took the other shot from her hand, then downed it and walked away to the jukebox, leaving her to stumble forward a step. He’d left her legs numb. And as the warmth of the shot trickled down her throat, she tried desperately to remember if any kiss had ever felt like that before.

None had measured up. Not a single one.

Maybe this was part of it. Maybe shifters were master manipulators. Masters of seduction who excelled at getting women to fall at their feet so they could procreate. She clung to that fleeting thought, but it didn’t stay long. Even when Chance wasn’t around, she warmed at the thought of him in ways she hadn’t for anyone else. He knew he was being hunted, knew it in his marrow, but he was still here against his instincts. The anger in his eyes said he knew he was being tricked, but he’d still kissed her.

She wanted to retch. Wanted to leave this place and never come back. She couldn’t keep going like this and keep herself intact. She was losing herself inch by inch to the monster leaning over the jukebox right now.

She was letting everyone down. Letting Dad down and Uncle Victor. She was letting herself down. And worst of all, she was letting Chance down. Worst of all? She couldn’t do this.

She bolted for the exit, but a strong hand wrapped around her upper arm and pulled her around. He’d made it all the way across the room too fast. He wasn’t being careful. Chance’s smile was slow and feral, stretching the sharp angles of his jaw and making him look like an avenging angel. He pulled a couple of shot glasses off a tray a waitress offered and told her to, “Put these on my tab.” Then he handed Emily another shot and lifted his in a silent cheers.

She hesitated, scared if she lost her mind too much to the liquor, she would expose herself completely.

“Little bunny, hiding in your hole. Don’t worry, I won’t let anything get you,” Chance said low.

She wasn’t the hunter. He was.

Tears burned her eyes, and she blinked hard, trying desperately to regain her composure. He was staring, waiting for her to fall apart, so she tossed the shot back and pressed her hand against her mouth to contain the tiny sob that wrenched its way up her throat. Chance took the empty glass from her and set it on a table, then pulled her close and danced to the slow country crooner on the jukebox in the middle of four other couples on the make-shift dance floor.