Touch of Evil - Cecy Robson Page 0,7
year that passes would lighten my mood instead of worsening it. It’s more than the loneliness I feel to not have someone special in my life, and it’s more than losing Liam, although I miss him and think of him often. It’s everything.
Liam was my friend and lover until he wasn’t. Until he found the mate I never was to him. We were close and passionate. He was sweet and strong and doting. I was convinced there was no one better. He was the man I pictured marrying and sharing forever with. But despite our strong connection, it paled in comparison to what he found in Allie.
The way Ted spoke of Liam was disrespectful to such a good man and hero among weres. But it was also an insult to him and Allie. Out of respect for their memory, I wouldn’t stand for it.
I will always love Liam. And I will always protect him and the female who won his heart. They deserve as much.
Hopefully, I do, too.
As I reach the next block, the entire neighborhood comes alive, a harsh reminder that life continues forward even if you want it to pause. Music and laughter reverberate from all sides. Crowds of twenty and thirty somethings line the streets at the more popular and exclusive clubs. I used to enjoy those types of clubs. Tonight, I desire something much different.
The Watering Hole is the one bar in North Tahoe weres frequent the most. It overlooks the lake and always draws a decent crowd of supernaturals. The lake’s magic is so pure, it is considered among the most preemptive sources of magic on earth. It’s why so many mystical beings are drawn to it. It’s sad humans can’t experience such a pure power like Tahoe possesses, but it seems I share that sentiment alone.
“Humans would just fuck up the lake, like they did when only Native American werebeasts inhabited the region,” Koda once told me.
I suppose he’s right. Humans do have a way of tainting the world.
My pace quickens when the bright blue neon sign of the Watering Hole comes into view. Originally more club than bar, patrons now prefer drinking and socializing on the dance floor to grinding and twerking. I don’t grind or twerk, ever, and I’m not much of a drinker. But after my night, I need a smile.
And no one makes me smile like Bren.
Despite being part of the pack, Bren bartends at the Watering Hole. After years of being a lone werewolf, he continues to connect better with random strangers than his fellow weres. I understand. For years, my sisters and I, along with his roommate, Danny, were his pack. Now, I’m not certain what we are.
Bren used to be so affectionate. That changed on our last adventure. He didn’t want me anywhere near him and seemed afraid to touch me. Or better said, he was afraid to have me touch him.
We were badly beat up, and I only meant to help him heal. Bren, being Bren, wanted me to save my energy and tend to myself. Or so he said.
I smooth out my fluttery gossamer skirt. It goes nicely with my shimmering scoop-neck top. My attire was meant for a nice dinner and is very unlike the scantily and outrageous outfits the ladies waiting across the street have squeezed into.
As I observe their daring, selfie-taking techniques, I’m very glad Bren bartends at the Hole, where there’s less noise and where it’s slightly more conservative. It’s the atmosphere I need and exactly what will distract me from my negative thoughts. I take my place in line, my heartbeat steadily increasing the closer I draw to the entrance.
The vampire playing bouncer at the door allows four women through without incident. He must be new to the family. It would explain why he’s here and not frolicking through Misha’s estate with the rest of the clan.
The girls ahead of me fall all over themselves gawking at the bouncer. Vampires have that way of turning humans on, and while they’re gorgeous, the vampire doesn’t give them much thought. He must have had his fill of blood for the moment.
I ease forward, ready to pay my admission fee until he slides off his stool and blocks me.
“Sorry, kid. You have to be twenty-one to get in.”
“Um. I realize that, um, sir.”
A blush finds its way to my cheeks. I dig for my wallet and produce three forms of ID.
He angles his eyebrows like I’m trying to deceive him and flips through