Chapter Four

Unable to stand being around her own Pack for too long, Monica left the sleep-over before the sun rose. Not that she could sleep around anyone, anyway. Pilar had survived another night and would be fine as long as the sun arched over the sky. Mostly because she was never without company. Someone from the Pack was always there.

Monica was sad that she didn’t have it in her to be one of those people. Her own spirit felt drained. She was not as close to the edge as Pilar, ready to give in to the beast inside her if only to leave behind humanity. No, Monica just felt…empty.

She was a part of Oscar’s Pack. He’d helped her transition after she was changed, attacked by another panther shifter when she wasn’t even out of her teens. Yet, after she figured out how to live on her own, she found her own place and never looked back. Oscar’s Pack did everything a Pack should do, but she’d never felt like a part of it.

So, Monica leased a house on the edge of Oscar’s territory and set up her studio there. She worked for herself, buying everything she needed with the money she made from painting and scraping by when work was lacking. Not once had she called the Pack for help, not even during the month she’d survived on nothing but cheap macaroni.

Monica preferred it that way. She preferred that her space was her own, untrampled by the careless shifters of Oscar’s Pack. There was a yearning in her, for family and home, but every time she came close to her own Pack, she wanted to run again. She told herself she would find it with Oscar. She would find a quiet life beside him, filled with his happy children.

Today wasn’t that day. Monica should have planned something to get Oscar’s attention, but she had something else on her mind.

She stopped at home only long enough to shower and grab a bag of supplies. There were projects in the garage that needed to be finished, massive canvas paintings that had been commissioned and paid for, but she knew her heart wasn’t into it. She didn’t want to work on them and feel herself producing something sub-par.

Instead, she ventured back to her car with a spare set of keys—the alarm going off because this set didn’t have the key fob—and went to claim the other set. Nikolai’s yard was a bigger disaster than she remembered. His mailbox was still crooked from when she’d hit it with the rented delivery van, but there were now scorch marks all along his yard.

She paused at the sight of two shifters unconscious on the grass. Both were face-down and sprayed with dried blood. Monica considered turning back but shrugged and moved forward. One of the facedown men she recognized as the man she’d dropped the day they retrieved Lia’s sealskin. With a touch of brazenness, Monica grabbed a permanent marker from her bag and stepped toward him.

When she was finished, she snapped a pic and sent it to Nessa. The kitty-shifter would like it.

Monica paused, pressing the button to turn off her phone screen. Since when had she sent random photos to Nessa as if she were a friend? It wasn’t like the two of them traded messages often. Monica wasn’t one for girl-talk.

Her life was getting confusing. Before Lia’s debacle, Monica thought she knew what she wanted. The space beside Oscar Torres seemed to beg her to fill it. She’d dreamed of being his wife, of bearing him cubs or kittens, of presiding over one of the strongest Packs on the west coast.

Yet, the taste of happiness and humor she’d gotten the night before seemed to sour the thought. Would Oscar give her the kind of smiles that made the long days bearable? To be honest, she knew so little about Oscar. He refused to let anyone close to him. There was an invisible barrier of monstrosity that separated him from his Pack. She figured that wall was what made them so strong.

Everyone obeyed out of fear, but Monica had admired it. That was strength. That was Pack.

She pulled out the roll of plastic wrap and began wrapping it around Nikolai’s truck. Over and over, back and forth, the truck disappeared beneath the increasingly opaque layer of plastic. Cans of spray paint rattled in her bag. She pulled them out, using the soft glow of morning light to graffiti the plastic with a black panther like the beast living inside her. When she was finished, the sun rising higher into the sky behind her, she planted the black silicone dildo onto the roof of the truck like a unicorn horn. It wobbled in the wind and brought a smile to her lips.

Even if she couldn’t make sense of her own spinning mind, she could lose herself in this prank war. He’d started it, but she would finish it.

Monica jumped into the truck bed and sat back, not minding the mess because she’d traded her faux-leather pants for a pair of dirty and paint-stained jeans. Over time, the unconscious shifters came to and wandered away. No one seemed to notice her.

She should be at Oscar’s, helping put in two new windows. It would give her the chance to get his attention, like she’d been craving since they first met. He’d been the one to pick her up after she’d been changed. He helped her adjust to life as a panther, keeping her human when she thought the panther would overwhelm her. She’d idolized him for so long. Perhaps what she idolized was this image of a savior she’d built in her mind.

“Great. This is just… great.” Nikolai’s voice was a mixture of annoyance and laugher, as if he couldn’t be mad at the sight before him.

Monica perked her head up and caught Nikolai’s gaze. He seemed surprised to see her there, too. Maybe her display was a bit over the top if everyone kept overlooking her.

“My keys?”

She watched Nikolai suck on his lower lip, chewing on it. Hunger for those lips flared through her. The thought of what they might taste like overwhelmed her brain until he released it and spoke, breaking the spell he’d woven over her.

“All this for a set of keys? How long did this painting take you? I almost feel bad taking the plastic wrap off.”

“Keys,” Monica repeated. “I have a spare set, but every time I use them, the alarm goes off because I don’t have the fob.”

Nikolai’s laugh was deep and rumbled through her core. It stirred things she’d thought meant only for baby-making. The groan that threated to rise through her was swallowed. Her face warmed.

He reached into his pocket and tossed something up to her. She caught her keys out of the air.

“I was on my way to drop them off, anyway.”

Knowing she might be crossing a line, she gestured to the lawn. “Did you have a rave last night and not invite me?”

His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking near his ear. She hated the response, guilt roiling through her. She wished she’d never opened her mouth. Nikolai spurred things inside her she hadn’t felt since her days as a human. She felt like a stupid teenager, riddled with confusing hormones. What Monica should have wanted was the stability of Oscar and the warmth of his Pack. Their Pack.

She’d seen the lengths they were willing to go to for one another the night before. Despite the threat of violence that hung over their heads, the power of their Alpha, they were a family. And yet, she found herself yearning for the riotous feeling of being near Nikolai. The thrill that she’d felt while painting his wrapped truck had been stronger than anything she’d felt in years.

Even greater than her love for Oscar, and that scared her. She felt like she was betraying some part of herself. Was she succumbing to something forbidden? Was that the lure of this? Nikolai was something new and unexplored. That was it. This infatuation would leave, and she would go back to what she really wanted.

Then, Nikolai climbed into the truck bed with her. He offered her a hand up. She took it and he tugged her into his body. He was warm and solid, stealing her breath. His lips hovered over hers. A jolt of electricity jumped between them, making her heart race.

For a split second, Monica thought he would kiss her. Then, he backed away from her. She almost didn’t swallow the cry that rose in her throat. Her body throbbed where he’d touched her. Her lower lip trembled, and she turned away from him to hide it.

The truck groaned and shifted beneath her feet. When she looked back, Nikolai had sat on the side of the truck bed, perched so that he looked out over the mess that was his home.

“You look exhausted,” he said.

She fumbled back, trying to rid her body of the electricity it’d held moments ago. Her heart hammered and all she could do was shrug. She didn’t sleep well around others, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.

He scratched the back of his head. “I’m pretty lucky no cops were called out last night. I guess no one noticed the fires.”

Both brows jumped in surprise. Fires? His voice was so downtrodden that she could only assume the fires were not intentional. Monica licked her lips, suddenly aware of the divide between them again. They were of different packs. He was the Alpha of the inland pack and her place was by Oscar’s side, as part of the Santa Cruz Pack.

She pushed past him, her heart racing nearly a hundred miles an hour, and jumped out of the truck bed. Her own car waited for her. Looking back over her shoulder, his sad gaze threatened to stop her. She quickly righted herself and pressed forward. Nikolai did strange things to her body, and she wasn’t sure how she would feel once they were gone for good.

***

Nikolai watched Monica go, his heart getting heavier and heavier with each step she took away. When he woke that morning, he’d expected to see bloody men still lazing in his yard. The sight of the masterpiece she’d painted had been an uplifting vision, to say the least.

Carefully, he cut the plastic at the corners of his truck, making sure to not disturb the panther. The layers of paint helped keep the sheets of plastic together while he worked. He would find a place for it inside because he knew he’d never have the heart to throw it away. Perhaps, when he found a mate and she loathed the painting because of what it meant to him, he would have to dispose of it.

That day felt far away.

On his way back inside, carting the cumbersome roll of painted plastic, he kicked his mailbox back into an upright position. Monica’s presence touched everything in his world. Even his body smelled of her. It was an earthy scent, like sand and turpentine. Strange as the combination was, he felt a growing hunger for it roil through him.

He regretted not claiming her mouth earlier. The close proximity of their bodies when he’d helped her up had startled both of them. It’d been clear in her eyes and the way her lips parted, leaving that hard line she wore when she was quiet.

Nikolai kicked his door open, cursing himself for every decision he’d ever made. When would he be his own person and stop living on the legacy of the bears before him? His father had lofty ideas for the future of their Pack and Nikolai was expected to carry them out. He was supposed to be the one to herald the Pack into an era of power—his father’s words.

What was it that Nikolai wanted for himself? It was a question he hadn’t dared answer. Up until now, he’d been immersed in living up to his father’s legacy. It had been the single driving force, keeping him alive. Yet, once he failed to grab the one chance at fulfilling it, he felt adrift. It pushed him further and further away from his Pack.

He knew the day he lost his Pack was looming, but he couldn’t figure out how to stop it. Brigid was likely to kick him from his position and claim his spot. She had to fight him first, and Nikolai knew his strength was unmatched, but Brigid was clever. When his guard was down, probably while his bear pulled him toward Monica, Brigid would strike.

The thought filled him with rage. Perhaps he should call Oscar and ask him how he kept his pack in line. Caz’s pack was a rag-tag group of car nuts. Their shared love for all things mechanical and growling seemed to keep them together, while Oscar resorted to tactics far more brutal. Nikolai didn’t want to be that kind of Alpha, but he couldn’t see any other option. No shared loves united his Pack, unless you counted the love of territory and power.

He didn’t have the tools he needed to hang the plastic painting just yet. He’d probably have to call in some favors to figure out how to keep it in one piece while he hung it. Resin was an option, but a cumbersome one when looking at a painting the size of a truck.

Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he paused and grabbed another. He booted up his computer and started to plot his next prank on Monica. It was probably a bad idea, continuing this war that kept them near one another. He had a feeling it would end badly, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Outside the door, Brigid and his Pack were planning ways to kill him.

Who could blame him for looking up how much ball-pit balls cost?