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  Zelda’s eyes bulged at Violet, who held her hands up in protest.

  “Not a peep, Doc. I told you this would happen.”

  Grant cocked his head and his nostrils twitched. “And the bitch is about to drop a litter.”

  “She-wolf, Grant.” Zelda glared at him. “We’ve talked about this.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He hung his head.

  “Who’s havin’ puppies?” Kerri came around the corner with her arms full. “I always miss the good gossip.” She dropped a stack of menus on the bar and reached back to tighten her blond ponytail.

  “No one,” Zelda answered. “Just a girl passing through. Needed a place to stay for a night.”

  Violet’s cheeks flushed as the others looked to her for answers. She slammed the ice cooler door and tossed the bucket to Kerri. “Put that back in the kitchen for me, would ya?”

  The bell above the door jingled again, distracting everyone from the mystery girl discussion. Logan entered the pub, his hands shoved tightly down in the pockets of his jean jacket and his shoulders hunched. He spotted Zelda at the bar and his scowl deepened.

  The jukebox began playing Stop Dragging My Heart Around just as he pulled up a stool, leaving an empty seat between him and Grant. The younger wolf gave him a timid smile.

  “Rum and Coke,” Logan said to Violet before she could ask.

  Zelda desperately wanted to know about Marla, but with so many supernatural ears in the vicinity, all she could manage was an arched brow when Logan looked her way. He gave her a short, single nod, and it was enough for the time being.

  Violet slid Logan’s rum and Coke across the bar and went back to polishing the hanging glassware. Sundays were slow, so the downtime was spent on extra cleaning duties that couldn’t be fit into the rest of the workweek.

  Zelda usually passed the time taking inventory and placing orders. But Sunday was also the unofficial free clinic day at the pub. Mostly wolves—but sometimes others—would come to Zelda with their more minor maladies: sprains, colds, infected cuts, mange.

  The only other doctor in Spero Heights was Christian Delph, but he specialized in psychology. His condition made it difficult to work with patients beyond a mental capacity.

  Dr. Delph was also a member of the city council, and he had been the one to approach Zelda when she first arrived. He’d seemed reluctant to welcome her to their quaint town, but when Zelda shook his hand, something in him eased. Their conversation soon divulged her medical background—something she had planned on leaving to rot in her past.

  Zelda agreed to be on retainer for Orpheus House, and Dr. Delph agreed to vouch for her on the council and expedite her lease and renovation permits for the abandoned theater.

  Things worked differently in Spero Heights. People didn’t just move into town without the council’s approval. Not that they were lining up in droves to do so. For one, the tiny community was tucked away in the Ozark Mountains, up several treacherous roads that were all but impassable in the winter months. A wet spring even made for questionable travel.

  Besides the access issue, Spero Heights was a good distance from most of the amenities that drew people to the Ozarks. The town featured just enough businesses to keep the residents employed and sated. The Cheese Festival, the only time outsiders were seen or welcome, happened the first weekend in June, and it brought in enough extra revenue to keep the town alive and well.

  It was a monumental change from the big city living Zelda was used to, but it was exactly what she needed. The theater had seemed like a good investment, an easy way to make a new life for herself. Though it didn’t take long for her to realize that Spero Heights couldn’t support a movie theater. Most of the residents here required something a little stronger. For that, she dusted off her old cocktail books from her college bartending days.

  A year later, here she was. Setting up the strange inhabitants of Spero Heights with booze and bandaids. It’s not so bad, she thought, watching Logan’s lips wrap around the rim of his glass. He caught her watching, but quickly looked away.

  Zelda frowned and glanced down at her clipboard with the list of liquors the bar was short on. It was early May, a month from the Cheese Festival, so she made a note to triple her next order for the tourists. She was just about to head back to the kitchen when the bell at the front door jingled.

  A beefy man in a leather vest stepped inside. He smelled like wet dog and diesel. The door slammed behind him as he took in the pub with a slow sweep of his head. His nostrils flared, and a light sneer lifted the corners of his mouth.

  As he approached the bar, Violet’s shoulders squared and her hand quickly darted out to squeeze Zelda’s.

  Zelda stepped forward, putting herself between Violet and the newcomer. “What can I get you?” she asked, giving the man a strained, polite smile.

  “I’m looking for a girl,” he said, lifting a hand up to the middle of his chest. “She’s about yay tall, brown hair, knocked up. Can’t miss her.”

  Zelda made eye contact with him, willing her body language to shut the hell up. “We don’t get many pregnant women in here—being a bar and all.”

  The man sniffed and glanced over Zelda’s shoulder, where Violet cowered. “Never thought I’d see you playin’ whipped pup to some human, Vi. You’ve gone soft, ain’t ya?”

  A growl hummed in Violet’s throat. Her bloodshot eyes lifted to meet his, but she stayed where she stood, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. Grant had gone still too, frozen on his barstool.

  Zelda turned back to the man, fighting to maintain her calm. “No one here is whipped, merely employed. It’s not that kind of bar.”

  The man’s taunting eyes shifted back to Zelda, narrowing as they fell on her. He lifted a hand and scratched dirty fingernails over the stubble along his jaw. “You sure you ain’t seen a girl fittin’ my description? Could save us all a lot of trouble if you have.”

  “Sorry.” Zelda picked up her clipboard and made a show of looking over liquor bottles she had already assessed. She could feel Logan watching from the edge of the bar, his body heat so heavy that it almost suffocated her.

  The door jingled as the man left, and everyone sighed out the breaths they’d been holding. Violet’s shoulders trembled and she hunched over the sink, tilting her forehead down to rest on the cool stainless steel.

  “That was Hyde, Devin Raymore’s cousin and second-in-charge.”

  Grant swallowed and grabbed the edge of the counter with both hands. “Ain’t he the one that Devin ordered to put you down?”

  Violet dry heaved into the sink. “Yeah.”

  “Tell me you kicked his ass,” Grant said.

  Violet closed her eyes and breathed in deeply through her nose as she stood up straight again. “Not yet.”

  Before Grant could press for more details, Kerri came back from the kitchen. The tension was still thick enough to taste, and the man’s pungent odor lingered in the air.

  “It happened again.” Kerri popped a fist on her hip. “I miss everything.”

  Zelda rubbed a hand over Violet’s back. “Trust me. You wanted to miss this one.”

  A chorus of motors roared in the distance, so violently that the glass bottles on the shelves clinked and rattled as Zelda watched three trucks pull up outside.

  A second later, a flaming beer bottle smashed through the front window.

  Chapter Seven

  Zelda stood frozen behind the bar, watching in horror as the fire spread across the dance floor. Even though it had been two years since she’d used raw magic, her skin itched with familiar desperation. She reached a shaky hand up to touch her necklace, fingering the moss agate charm for focus and self-control.

  The electric hum of her body subsided, and she was suddenly aware that Kerri was screaming. Grant ran to the side door, where a fire extinguisher was mounted to the wall. He grabbed it and rushed to the dance floor, spraying frothy foam in a wide arc.

  Violet pressed a hand over one ear and glared at Kerri,
who seemed to have bottomless lungs. “Would someone shut her up?” she growled.

  One look from Zelda, and Kerri bit her tongue. Her wet, round eyes blinked several times, then diverted to the floor.

  Logan stood near the front window, squinting through the haze the fire extinguisher and smoke had spewed into the air. “They’re not done.” He turned and hurried back to the bar, rounded the counter, and took Zelda by the arm. “We need to barricade ourselves in the kitchen and call for help.”

  Zelda dug her heels in and gripped the counter. “And just let them burn the place down?”

  “With us in it?” Violet added.

  Logan bared his teeth. “There are at least a dozen of them out there. What other options do you see?”

  Another flaming beer bottle crashed to the dance floor. The fire quickly died in the pool of foam, but this time, two men followed it through the window.

  Their boots crunched over the broken glass, and their hands flexed at their sides, fur rippling over their knuckles. Amber eyes flickered from their mostly human faces, with only a touch of fur at their temples and throats. They ambled forward clumsily, occasionally hunching over like cavemen.

  It was a wholly unnatural state, even for a werewolf, achieved with drugs that were highly addictive and corrosive. Zelda had seen the aftermath enough times to know the short-term enhancements were not worth their long-term cost.

  “Zee,” Logan hissed, tugging at her arm again.

  Four more mutated wolves climbed over the short window ledge, and Zelda felt a stab of adrenaline in her chest. She moved to follow Logan, but before they could reach the kitchen doors, one of the men darted forward and snatched Kerri by her ponytail. He twisted her around and pulled her back against his chest, slamming his other hand over her open mouth to muffle her scream.

  Violet stepped out from behind the bar, as if she was ready to launch herself on the man, but then she sucked in a pained breath as Hyde stepped through the broken window.

  The corner of his mouth curled up into a greasy smirk as he leisurely made his way toward the bar. “Save the dyke for me,” he purred.

  Kerri’s captor pressed his face into the side of her neck. She sobbed against his palm, her breath rasping from her nose in a panicked rhythm.

  Grant inched back toward Violet at the edge of the counter. Fear tainted both of their expressions. The wounds Zelda had tended suddenly had a face to go with them. Her wolves knew these people, and they had suffered at their hands once before.

  Logan jerked Zelda’s arm again, silently begging her to abandon them. But she couldn’t. The electric hum was back, and her hand burned with longing.

  She twisted her arm out of Logan’s grasp and pointed a finger at the man holding Kerri hostage. A calm settled in her core, a grounding point for the storm slowly building around her.

  “Release her,” she commanded.

  The man opened his mouth, as if to laugh, but the drugs had affected his throat as well. A mangled sound escaped him, like a garbage disposal with a fork caught in it.

  Hyde’s laughter was more genuine. “They don’t take orders from no one but me, lady. If you’d just answered my question honestly, we could have avoided this. I wouldn’t be of the mind to have Cliff here take a bite outta your help.” He nodded at the mongrel sniffing Kerri’s throat.

  Zelda felt the familiar surge of power lick down her arm. It burned in her veins, and the hairs along her skin stood at attention. This was going to hurt. A lot.

  “Release her,” she said again, almost pleading. A sour taste filled her mouth as she felt her most personal vow crumble.

  Hyde shook his head with a sigh. He grabbed the folds of his leather vest and gave them a cocky tug. “I already told you. Ain’t no one giving orders ’round here but me. And I already promised Cliff a snack.”

  He nodded to Cliff, who grinned with a mouth too full of teeth, before sinking them into the bend of Kerri’s shoulder and neck. Her screams leaked through his meaty fingers as she convulsed against his chest.

  Zelda closed her eyes, begging forgiveness from whomever was listening, and then let go. Blue lightning crackled down the length of her arm and leapt from her pointed finger. It penetrated the center of Cliff’s forehead and rocked him back. His mouth ripped free of Kerri’s flesh, and she fell in a heap to the floor.

  Zelda’s blue lightning spread to encompass Cliff’s head, lifting him a few feet off the ground, before hurling him out the broken front window. Smoke drifted from her outstretched finger as it slowly migrated to Hyde.

  “Move out!” he called to the others, back-stepping across the dance floor and through the window, his eyes never leaving Zelda. “This ain’t over,” he shouted as he ducked behind the brick wall.

  The mutant wolves scurried away, casting confused glances and nervous whimpers over their shoulders as they fled. One yelped as a shard of glass scraped him on his way through the broken window.

  Grant ran to Kerri. He dropped to the floor and pulled her into his lap, while Violet grabbed a handful of towels from the waitress station. She rushed to Kerri’s side and pressed the towels to her neck in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

  Zelda couldn’t feel her hand, but the rest of her was on fire. She slipped behind the bar and sank her arm down into the ice cooler, all the way to her shoulder. Her legs shook violently, and she had to lean against the counter for support. She closed her eyes and took several deep, heaving breaths. When she looked up, she found Logan staring wide-eyed at her from across the bar.

  “Doc?” Violet pleaded. Kerri’s blood coated her arms and tears tinted her eyes. “Can you help her?”

  Zelda pulled her hand out of the ice and flexed it. Blisters had already begun to form along her forearm and palm, but at least she could feel her fingers again. They hurt like hell.

  “Get her on the table.”

  Chapter Eight

  Logan’s throat refused to work. He tried to swallow, but bile kept bubbling up to sting the roof of his mouth. He wanted to scream.

  His anger felt unruly and misguided, stemming from too many places at once. The Raymore Clan, for obvious reasons. Zelda, for her damn secrets and oversized heart. And most of all, himself, for being a clueless shmuck who had been more interested in courting his mark than evaluating her.

  Selena’s going to kill me, he thought with a grimace.

  Zelda stood at the bar sink, gently patting a towel over her arm. Logan’s initial instinct to protect her had shifted after the lightning incident. Now, he was afraid to touch her. Even her merry tribe of rejects seemed to watch their boss with wary eyes.

  Violet and Grant picked Kerri up off the floor and dragged her through the kitchen doors, leaving Logan and Zelda in the pub alone.

  Zelda blinked at him, her eyes filling with guilt and sorrow. “I could really use your help,” she said, lifting her damaged hand.

  Logan tried again, but he still couldn’t find his voice. He broke eye contact with her and pushed through the kitchen doors, letting his actions speak for themselves. As much as he detested the rejects, he couldn’t watch one of them die. He’d deal with Zelda later.

  Violet and Grant situated Kerri on the big oak table. One leg hung limply off the edge, causing her jean skirt to bunch up and expose her white panties. Violet repositioned her, pushing her legs together and smoothing her skirt with bloody hands, as if modesty mattered at this point.

  The towels at Kerri’s neck were soaked through with blood. It puddled beneath her head, staining her blond hair and dripping from the edge of the table. Grant dug through a kitchen drawer and came back with a fresh stack of towels.

  Logan pushed his sleeves up and quickly washed his hands at the sink. Then he found Zelda’s trauma bag in the pantry. Violet watched him with wide eyes.

  “Where’s Doc?” she asked, curling up her bloody fingers and pressing them to her chest.

  “Here. I’m here,” Zelda said, finally joining them.

  Her hand looked raw, a
nd she tucked it in close to her body. She approached the table slowly, as if in a daze, and blinked down at Kerri’s motionless body.

  “There’s a saline irrigation kit above the stove.” She pointed her good hand at a cabinet behind Logan.

  Logan set the trauma bag on the corner of the table and fetched the irrigation kit.

  Zelda slumped down at the table, leaving the chair closest to Kerri’s head free for Logan. Grant reached for the bloody towels, but Zelda waved him off.

  “Leave them,” she said. “Press the new towels on top. We have to stop the bleeding first.” She pointed to the coat closet by the back door. “Violet, there’s a wedge pillow on the top shelf. We need to elevate her head.”

  Violet nearly tripped over her own feet at she hustled around the kitchen, following Zelda’s directions. Once the wedge was placed under Kerri’s head, the blood began to slow.

  Logan set the irrigation kit in the chair Zelda clearly intended for him. He just couldn’t bring himself to get that close to her yet. He could feel her eyes lingering on him, and usually he would have welcomed the attention. Now it grated on his nerves. If she was looking for acceptance or approval, she had a long wait ahead of her.

  The room was painfully quiet, save for the faint drumming of Kerri’s blood as it dripped from the table onto the floor. Everyone seemed to hold their breath, until Zelda deemed it time to begin the ugly business of cleaning and stitching the wound.

  Logan was no stranger to gore. He’d seen his fair share of injuries on the farm, and Selena wasn’t fond of doctors. She wasn’t fond of anyone. So Logan knew a thing or two about stitches. Still, he paled at the sight of the torn skin on Kerri’s neck and shoulder.

  Zelda rested her good hand on top of the irrigation kit and picked at the corner of the cardboard box, until Logan took it from her and tore it open.

  “I’ve got this,” he said. “You should see to your hand.”

  Zelda flinched at his tone before standing and retreating to the kitchen to tend to her own wounds.