Page 10 of Shadowed Bond

Ares parks in an empty bay and cuts the engine before getting out. I slip my coat on, the rain landing softly in my hair as I follow him.

A man near the petrol pumps turns as we pass. I notice him because I’m always paying attention, and well, when it comes to men, it’s quite easy to figure them out. I notice the way he lifts his head, trying to be discreet, the slight pause as his eyes flick to me. I turn my attention to the front, yet I can still sense him watching even though I ignore him.

Men staring is hardly new, and I refuse to give every poorly-mannered stranger the satisfaction of thinking he has earned my attention. I continue towards the entrance, head high, fingers wrapped around my tablet.

Ares, however, slows until I’m suddenly walking ahead. I feel it without even looking back: the cold shift in the air, heavy enough to brush the back of my neck, and the weight of his suppressed aura.

I glance back to see that the man has looked away quickly, and I turn my attention to Ares, who has stopped entirely, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the man, head tilted as if wondering if murdering him would be a hassle or not.

“Westwood,” I call.

His eyes cut to mine.

“What?” he asks – no, almost growls. This man doesn’t talk like a normal person; he growls like he’s let his wolf take control 24/7.

“Food, remember?”

For a moment, he only stares at me.

Then he starts walking again. “I’m coming.”

Once inside, Ares leads the way to the food quarter, deciding on a sandwich shop. Humans are sitting around the small tables, eating from paper trays and scrolling through their phones, utterly unaware of anything beyond their own small inconveniences. A child argues with his mother near the snack aisle. The cashier looks bored and isn’t trying to hide it, and someone is complaining about the self-serve coffee machine.

It is strangely comforting.

Ares heads straight for the counter. “What do you want?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

He turns his head. “Nothing?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“We’re heading towards abandoned pack land. I doubt there’s going to be a packhouse kitchen prepping food for you.”

“I’m aware of that,” I answer dryly.

“Then don’t complain later that you’re hungry,” he growls.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

The cashier looks between us, and I offer her a polite smile.

Ares orders enough food for three men, and I wonder if he’s forgotten his brothers are not with him.

“Do you want a drink?” he asks me.

“I’ll have a bottle of water,” I say, reaching into my pocket for my card.

Ares places his card against the machine before I can even bring mine out.

I look at him. “I can pay for my own water.”

“Good for you.”