Ten
Fraze had been more lion than man the past two days. It wasn’t healthy to spend too much time in his animal form, but it felt so damn bad to be human and obsess over the vampire.
The vampire.
His Gracie.
It killed him.
The morning had started early for him—he hadn’t been able to sleep and so he’d shifted to lion and run in the woods near Marlana’s property. It was fine to go there because that was part of the reason she owned all the land, but he wanted to be there early to avoid company. Mountain lions weren’t pride animals, not like African lions. It was just the people who needed the company. And Fraze didn’t want to be a person right now. Fraze, as a person, was all tied up in thoughts of a vampire.
So messed up.
Maybe he could forget about her. Or maybe…maybe he’d see her again if he went to Hart’s.
It was a thought. He certainly wouldn’t run into her during the day, and he wouldn’t run into her at night if he were aimlessly roaming the woods as a lion.
But Hart’s—it was where they met. Where they’d reveled in each other’s bodies.
He simultaneously wanted to avoid it, but he couldn’t resist anymore.
As if on autopilot, he worked through the day. The morning was taken up by a job for a human couple, acquaintances of the Channings, who wanted a new walkway leading to their porch. In the afternoon, he headed to Rafe and Brigitte’s place. They were hiring him to build a large deck behind their little cottage. Both Rafe and Brigitte were working this afternoon, so he was alone in their back yard, taking measurements and writing notes in a small notebook he carried for jobs. The math and problem-solving were a blessing right now because they took his mind off of Gracie.
Beautiful Gracie, whose red lips had parted while she gasped his name. Beautiful Gracie, who’d locked her arms around his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his hips, encouraging him to move faster, harder. She hadn’t had a problem with him being rough. Not at all.
He threw down his notebook in disgust. It was impossible to forget her. He’d never be able to forget her as long as he lived.
Evening fell, and he went home to shower.
If he wasn’t going to be able to forget her, maybe he could see her again. It was a stupid move, and he could imagine his brother’s disapproval. But fuck it, he had to see her.
His only chance was Hart’s. He dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved thermal shirt. He covered it up with his leather jacket.
Because it was Tuesday, the farmhouse-turned-bar was quiet, just one couple slow-dancing in the middle of the room. A small party of people played pool. Some loners sat at the bar.
Gracie wasn’t here.
Fraze decided nothing was more depressing than a Tuesday night in a bar.
He sat down and waved over the bartender. “Hey. Can I get a pomegranate margarita?”
She nodded, eyes sparkling. He knew he was probably a joke with the fruity stuff, but he didn’t care. He liked what he liked.
Sipping his drink, he stared at the top of the bar. It made no sense to people watch—he knew with every fiber of his being that if Gracie was in this old farmhouse, he’d know it by now. He’d feel her presence like a cool breeze on his neck.
A woman came up to him. “Hey, handsome.”
He laughed. “You and I both know I’m not handsome by any means.”
“Well, handsome enough.”
“To what?” he asked. “To spend the night with? To flirt with for a few minutes?”
“You’re a bit confrontational, mister,” she said, and walked away.
He hadn’t meant to be rude. He opened his mouth to apologize, but she was flipping him off over her shoulder.
Oops. He turned back to his drink. The bartender gave him a conspiratorial smile. “You dodged a bullet, there. She’s been on the hunt all night.”
“That lonely she’d approach me, huh?” he asked.
“Aw, you’re a catch. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
He shook his head. Sweet of her to say so.
A crowd of barely twenty-one-year-old girls came in and crowded the bar, knocking into him a little. He scooted down because their mixtures of perfumes were going to give him a headache.
He finished his margarita, left an extra five on the counter, and left. He felt disappointed to his core that Gracie hadn’t been here. He didn’t know what he wanted from her, but he knew that staying away from her was slowly gutting him. Hence, tonight’s visit to Hart’s.
He stepped outside and leaned against the porch railing. From there, he looked out over the empty field, the tiny, one-lane driveway that led to Hart’s from the deserted end of Alpine Street. And then he felt it—Gracie’s presence.
“Gracie?” he asked.
No response. He peered into the darkness, glad his shifter genetics gave him good night vision. At the end of the porch, she stood in the shadows. In her dark jeans and a black tank top, she looked dangerous and sexy.
“Hey, there you are,” he said. “I was hoping to see you…”
He trailed off, awkwardly. Because instead of smiling like she was happy to see him, she wore an expression that said she’d rather stake him through the heart.