trudged up the step and pushed open the front door. A waft of heat and the scent of wood smoke from the black potbelly stove in the corner hit him full in the face. Inside was an assault on his keen Werewolf senses. The music, chatter, laughter and the smack of pool balls were too loud. He took a step toward the bar and heard a loud crunch. Ty glanced down at the tan husks of peanut shells littering the worn wooden planks of the floor. The greasy, hot smell of grilled hamburgers, the yeasty aroma of beer and the pungent mix of perfumes, body odors, cigarette smoke and bike exhaust fumes that swirled in the air were overwhelming to his preternaturally amplified sense of smell. It was hard to suck in a deep breath without getting light-headed.
He glanced around, looking for the three recruits. The old plank walls were covered in motorcycle posters sporting big-haired, tiny-bikini-clad women draped suggestively over shining chrome-and-leather machines. Old painted tin signs advertising everything from motor oil to soda pop added a rough appeal to the ambience of the place. There were a few booths, covered in cracked black vinyl, and a big-screen TV in the back was blaring out a football game.
This was definitely not his normal kind of place, but it did remind him a little of Joey’s back in Teanachee—a hometown hangout that the locals frequented. Ty scowled. It wasn’t as if he’d ever see that place again, he thought as he settled onto a wooden bar stool. There was no sign of Brierly, Campbell or Johnson. So either they’d already been here, pounded back a few beers and left, or they hadn’t made it down from camp yet.
The bartender, a heavyset bald man with a long beard in a sleeveless red plaid shirt that showed off his beefy arms, jerked his chin at Ty. The single diamond-stud earring in his lobe winked in the light. “What’ll you have?”
“Beer.” Ty didn’t really care what kind. His ramped-up metabolism would burn off alcohol or anything else in his system in mere minutes. It wasn’t as if he could get drunk. Which really sucked, because that was precisely what he wanted to do after a long week of working with green recruits. He shoved a twenty at the bartender, who returned with a clear plastic pitcher and cup and set both down in front of him. He slid forty more at the bartender. “Just keep it coming.”
The bartender nodded, a look of understanding flitting through his eyes as he poured out the first glass. Ty took a drink, then snorted. The bartender might have seen a lot, but he didn’t know a damn thing about Ty’s problems.
Right now the plan was to lie low, drink and keep to himself. A great plan that went to hell in two-point-five seconds.
A sudden draft of air, laden with the musty odor of blood mixed with decay, tweaked his nose. Ty glanced at the front door. Three biker types walked in. The guy in front wore a black leather duster and the two men flanking him wore black leather jackets, making their pale complexions look waxen beneath the artificial lights. Vampires. The real deal.
Ty bristled. What the hell were they doing in Sinclair? While he knew he was on the edge of the Cascade Clan’s territory, he sure didn’t see why they’d bother coming to a rural town when there was far better hunting for them in downtown Seattle. A low growl vibrated deep in his throat. He couldn’t seem to get the hell away from the leeches.
The scent of clean female flesh underscored by a hint of lilac, mint and a jarring note of antiseptic invaded his airspace as a woman sat down on the bar stool beside him.
Ty did his best to ignore her, but the grazing touch of a hand on his sleeve made him swivel.
“You planning on finishing that pitcher yourself?” Her voice was light and friendly, reminding him of a teasing summer breeze.
Ty prepared to fling back a glib answer, then glanced at her. Streaky honey-blond hair, a sweet bee-stung mouth and big blue eyes struck him with the impact of a sucker punch, turning him mute. All he could do was stare.
Her grin faltered. A pretty pink blush blossomed across her cheeks and down her throat, ending at the very enticing display of cleavage just above the edge of her pale blue angora sweater. “I’m sorry. I don’t, well, I don’t— Never mind.”
She had a polish to her, something about her that made her literally shine in the dingy atmosphere of the bar. Just one look was enough to tell any living male with two eyes in his head that she was too refined to be a regular in a place like this.
He managed to kick his brain into gear long enough to hold out a hand to her. “Tyee—Ty—Grayson. Nice to meet you.” She glanced at his hand but didn’t take it. He tried not to shake as he grabbed one of the plastic cups off the stack just below the edge of the bar and poured the angel sitting next to him a drink. He managed a smile. “Go on. Have a drink. You look like you might need one.”
Her smile reemerged, revealing white, even teeth. “Thanks. You have no idea.”
No, he didn’t. But he wanted to.
Ty mentally pulled himself up short. What the hell? What happened to sticking to himself and soaking out his week with beer? Don’t fight it, a little voice deep down inside him answered back. She’s the one.
That sobered him up quickly.
He’d heard about the Mesmer before—that unexplainable attraction and drive a Were could have to mate with a particular person. It was powerful juju you didn’t want to mess with if you could help it. But then, there was no helping it most of the time. A Mesmer simply happened. You didn’t get the convenience of picking when, who or why.
“What’s your name?”
The blush suffusing her skin intensified. “Jessica. But my friends call me Jess.”
Ty gave her a coaxing grin. “No last name?”
* * *
Jessica Brierly was sorely tempted. A flutter kicked in her stomach. He was all three things she was looking for tonight. He had broad shoulders and an athletic build and the dusky caramel color of his skin was accented by his short but tousled black hair and chocolate-brown eyes—in short, the guy was gorgeous, but he had a provocative, wild edge to him that lured her in even more. Judging from the lack of a wedding band or the pale shadow of one, single. And most importantly, a stranger to the small-town rumor mill of Sinclair.
She’d already asked around and no one seemed to know anything about the man. In a town like Sinclair, that was unusual, bordering on cosmic intervention. She’d had teachers in high school who had taught her parents. Grandparents of her friends who’d known her grandparents. It got insular enough to be claustrophobic at times. She couldn’t date a guy from the immediate area without her family—or more precisely, her three older brothers, Davis, Edgar and Paul—giving her a litany of his attributes and faults, high school hijinks and a list of every girl he’d ever dated. Which was why this stranger was completely perfect for what Jess had in mind—a one-night stand, no strings attached.
His intense gaze bored into her, intimate enough that it made Jess feel like the only woman in the bar—perhaps the only woman on the planet. A shiver raced along her skin. Ty Grayson looked as though he could give her perhaps the wildest night of her life. And right about now, that’s exactly what Jess wanted.
“How about we keep it on a first-name basis for now, and depending on how things go, I give you my last name and a number later?”
A voice she didn’t expect answered. “If you’re offering, I’ll take that number now.” The harsh, thick rasp of it directly behind her made Jess’s skin crawl.
Ty stood up, tall enough to be nearly eye
