Damnation: Reckless Desires (Blue Moon Saloon Book 1) (5 page)

“Goodnight.”

“What do you think?” Soren asked once they heard the women’s weary footsteps creak overhead.

Simon looked around the saloon, then poured himself half a glass of whiskey and downed it in one gulp. Spent a long time sucking on the aftertaste, reeling from the hit. Or maybe just reeling from his night.

What did he think?

It was heaven. It was hell. Having Jessica close — impossibly close. Watching her quick stride, her easy smile. Even if it was aimed at other people, it still put him in knots. The way her hair flowed over her shoulders, the way her brow would scrunch briefly when she added up a tab, then loosened when she saw her tip. He’d watch and let himself pretend that nothing had ever happened. That she was his again.

His bear vacillated all night between the calming, happy glow that always fell over him when she was near and craving her so badly he wanted to pull her out back and kiss her senseless — for starters. Exactly the way they’d done once, ages ago. They’d gone out together and danced a few numbers — well, she danced, he concentrated on not stomping on her feet. And when he couldn’t take it any more, he’d dragged his giggling mate out the back door and consumed her in kisses that he couldn’t, wouldn’t stop. They’d ended up doing it on an empty beer pallet right in a parking lot, with Jess seated on the edge with her legs wrapped around him while he drove into her again and again. His bear had howled the whole time,
Mate! Mate!

Damn bear had gone on and on that way, even when they were long spent and driving home. Filled his mind with all kinds of crazy thoughts, like a cabin at the edge of the woods filled with her laughter, his joy, and a couple of cubs.

Damn bear had made him convince his grandfather that a wolf might even make a suitable mate for a bear. And it all looked so good, until everything came crashing down.

“You’re right,” his grandfather said. “Our clan and the wolf pack are both small. An alliance might be just what we need.”

Imagine his surprise when his grandfather had announced his decision with the whole council of elders looking on. “I have spoken with the wolf pack, and they agree. The older Macks daughter—”

That was Jessica, and his soul had been singing inside, knowing what he would hear next.

“Shall be betrothed to one of our own clan. Voss blood, mixing with new blood.”

Voss. That was him. His bear tapped a happy dance. He and Jess had done it! They’d overcome the odds. Managed to get permission from two stubborn, old-fashioned shifter clans. They had a future together!

“They shall join in three years…” his grandfather had gone on.

The wait didn’t thrill him, but he could live with it. It did make sense for him to get a handle on the family lumber business first. That way, he could support Soren when it was his time to take over the clan. Soren could manage overall clan business while Simon ran the mill. That had been laid out since they were kids, and that was fine with him. As long as he could keep seeing Jessica, the wait didn’t matter.

“…when our two clans shall come together and celebrate the mating of Jessica Macks and Soren Voss.”

Simon’s soaring emotions had crash-landed right there. “Wait, what was that?”

He blurted that out in front of everyone, even though the younger generation wasn’t supposed to utter a word at council meetings.

“What was that?” Soren had barked, too, and even though
he
was allowed to speak as heir apparent, their grandfather still glared.

“The eldest Macks girl mated to the eldest Voss,” the old man growled. “Soren.”

And just like that, Simon’s whole world caved in.

It didn’t matter how much he begged or pleaded or raged. Didn’t matter that an alliance was his idea. Didn’t matter what he wanted.

“It has been decided,” his grandfather had said, and that was that.

“Did anyone ask her?” he yelled, then went slack-jawed at his grandfather’s shrug.

“We asked her father.”

Christ. Apparently, wolves were as medieval as bears when it came to marrying off their young. What a fool he’d been to think it would be any other way.

“Did anyone bother telling her?”

Blank looks said nobody had, and he’d been too much of a coward to do it himself.

Soren had sworn up and down that he wouldn’t go through with it. Confided to Simon that he already had a mate of his own. A woman he’d known since he was a kid and courted ever since. It was only a question of time before he asked the elders for permission to take her as his bride.

“We’ll figure something out. We will,” Soren swore.

Wishful thinking, and both of them knew it. Soren had no chance in hell of ever getting permission to take his destined mate — a human, no less.

“And that will be that,” their grandfather, the clan leader, had announced.

Simon had just about melted into the floor. There was no way out. He’d have to live his whole life with his true love mated to another. To his own brother!

They’d both found their own solutions, he and Soren. Soren bottled up, tight as a bear in winter, and barely uttered a word after that. Threw himself at clan duty with a vengeance, except when the irresistible pull of his mate had him steal away to spend time with her.

And Simon… What the hell could he do? If Jessica loved him the way he loved her, she’d die before she mated with his brother. That, or she’d run, and the wolves would hunt her down and drag her back. Her own pack, or worse, one of those marauding packs of wolves bent on preserving the racial purity of shifters. The kind who exercised their own brand of vigilante justice by burning alive anyone found to have crossed species lines.

No. For her own sake, he had to keep Jess within the protection of both their clans. She’d be safe as long as she stayed near Black River. Safe, as long as she was with Soren.

The thought made him sick, but it was the truth. He’d have to find a way to make Jess accept that they could never be together.

Which was when it dawned on him. He couldn’t allow her to love him. In fact, they’d both be better off if she hated him, right?

God, he’d been young and stupid, thinking that. It was torture, pushing her away. Bile rose in his throat every time he forced himself to blurt out some awful lie or insult, but he’d told himself he was doing it for her. If she hated him, she might find happiness with Soren. So what if he bound himself in a living hell? If Jess hated him, maybe he could handle losing her.

“Christ, those she-wolves know how to hustle,” Soren murmured at his side.

He dragged his thoughts back to the present and to the saloon. Yes, Jess and Janna had been great. They’d been more than great. The saloon had hummed along smoothly. Business had been good.

And Jess had hated him the whole time.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’d worked so hard at making her despise him; it had worked. And now that the laws that had denied them their happiness were no longer a factor — the clan was gone, just like her pack, fallen victim to the very rogues he’d underestimated — he was still fucked. Yes, he mourned his family. Yes, he mourned hers. And yes, he’d hunted down the wolves who had annihilated both their clans just before he and Soren returned. But it was all for nothing.

His mate hated him. Drew back from him. She couldn’t even meet his eyes, for Christ’s sake. He could have her, but he couldn’t have her.

The irony could have killed him. Very nearly did. He’d engineered his own living hell. His own damnation.

Soren smacked him on the back and pointed to the saloon.

“Get going. Clean up.”

Simon took the first of many stiff, aching steps, telling himself he’d go find a cave to curl up and die in later. For now, he’d do what he had to do.

Which was what, exactly? He examined his options as he wiped down the bar, ran the glasses through the dishwasher, and cleaned out the sink. His mate would never accept him. His life was over.

But hers wasn’t.

He stole a glance out the front window, trying to catch a glimpse of the stars. Ursa Major or Minor or really, any constellation that could show him the path to a miracle solution. But the stars shunned him as they’d done for the past couple of months. Practically sneered at him.
Figure it out yourself.

And eventually, he did. He realized what he had to do. He had to give Jess this chance to get back on her feet after all she’d endured. Help her save money, then move on to something better than this. Maybe even someone better than him.

His bear rumbled inside, but he just shook his head. If he really loved Jess, that’s what he’d do.

He’d do what he had to do, for her.

Jessica dragged herself out of bed — or rather, off the surprisingly comfy queen-size mattress on the floor of her unfurnished room, where she’d slept ridiculously well. Better than she had in years, it seemed. She listened for any sound of bear before dashing in and out of the bathroom as quickly as she could. But even there, she got waylaid by the scent of Simon’s aftershave and towel — the towel she absolutely, positively, did not inhale deeply from once or twice. Another second’s delay came from the mental image of his perfect, naked body crowding that claw-foot tub…

She snapped herself out of that with a shake of the head and gave herself the same stern lecture in the mirror she’d been trying for years —
He does not love you; therefore, you do not love him
— and finally scurried downstairs. Bears were notoriously late risers, and her sister Janna, too, so she had all of the downstairs to herself for a couple of hours.

She’d slept soundly, but then reality hit her all over again: the crazy situation she found herself in. Seeing Simon again. Aching for him. Resenting him, then resenting herself. Mourning her family, detesting the rogues who’d wiped out her small pack.

There was only one way to cope: her own form of therapy. Cooking and cleaning.

Well, baking, to start with. Something she’d always loved doing with her grandmother as a kid. They’d go berry picking in the woods, then head home and whip up a batch of muffins. She started raiding the saloon kitchen, looking for what she needed. There was a smaller fridge marked
Private
, full of huge quantities of eggs and bacon — which she suspected Simon and Soren shoveled down for breakfast in insane, lumberjack portions — and little else. The cabinets held a supply of flour, though. There was some baking soda doing a poor job of keeping the industrial-sized fridge fresh, plus a little milk and butter. She had the blackberries Tina had bought for her yesterday and the chocolate chips her sister had thrown in with the shopping, too. Sugar in a tin on a shelf on the wall, and even a pinch of vanilla.

In short, she had everything she needed. She scrubbed a rusty muffin tin, spooned in the batter for half a dozen berry and half a dozen berry-chocolate chip muffins, and that was that.

A tear slid down her cheek as she thought about her grandmother and all the loved ones who had been erased from her life. But the memories…no one could take those, right? She wiped her eyes, blinked a few times, and looked around. Work. She needed work to keep her mind off the past.

Harry seemed to keep the kitchen reasonably clean, so she started in the front room of the saloon. Didn’t touch the bar, because something told her that was bear territory and she’d better keep clear. Instead, she tackled the spider webs in the corners of the room and between the blades of the overhead fans, then washed the front windows. Snuck in a bite of muffin in between and held on to the taste like it was another part of her past, then rallied herself out front to clean some more. She scrubbed and scrubbed until the morning sun shone in, and she wished she could do the same with her memories. Clear out the bad ones, make room for the sun to shine in. The water in her bucket quickly turned gray, and she headed back to the kitchen for a refill. She leaned over the sink as fresh water ran from the tap, closed her eyes, and thought about the creek in Montana where she and Simon used to meet. The shade, the summer shadows. The babbling stream. She dug far enough back in her memories that she could almost imagine his soft step behind her.