Page 23 of The Wolf in My Tavern

I need to cut that thought off before my face catches fire. He’s just teasing me. It’s nothing. The patrons like to flirt and have a little fun—they mean nothing by it. Tim doesn’t stand for any nonsense, and I’ve always felt safe here.

I feel safe with Gray, too. He’s never once so much as tried to swat my ass, and plenty of patrons do. I don’t even notice it anymore.

“The lamb stew and bread. And a pint of Pinkington ale, please, Ada.”

He often orders stew. He probably needs a lot of food. It must be hard to keep that much honed muscle working at its prime. “Yes, sir, Master Gray.” I bob my head and beat a hasty retreat, calling the order through to the cook in the kitchen.

Betsy is behind the bar, pulling pints for three sailors who are trying to persuade her to slip out the back of the tavern with them so they can, in their words, put a blush on her pretty cheeks. They are young, strapping beta men, and her smile says she’s not averse to their proposal.

“I’ll get a break later if you’re not too deep into your cups.”

“Do nah worry, lass. We shall nah leave ye disappointed.” The man slides a coin for the ale across the table, and they raise their tankards in salute before moving off to find a table beside the fire.

“Three of them?” I ask with a raised brow.

“Go on, they came by a week ago. He speaks true; I was not disappointed. It is their last day of shore leave, and I am expecting their enthusiasm to be high.” She winks at me before nodding at the table in the corner. “I see Master Hot-and-brooding is in again tonight. You’re looking a little flushed. I hope he was behaving himself.”

“Of course,” I say, doing a poor job of hiding my blush. “He’s always very polite.” I wish he weren’t. I think I might spontaneously climax if he put his hand on my ass… gave it a little pat.

I blink, realizing what I’m thinking. What is wrong with me? I shouldn’t even notice him when I already more than like Callum. I test my forehead with the back of my hand. Do I have a fever?

“Hmhm,” she says knowingly, passing another pint across the bar. “Pity. All that much alpha hotness should be celebrated, don’t you think?”

“He’s an alpha?” I ask, grabbing a clean tankard and passing it to her. “I mean, he’s really big, and it makes sense.”

“For sure. And you know he’s a shifter, right?”

“Shifter?” The word comes out a little breathless. I’ve never met a shifter before. My eyes dart to the table.

I gulp. He’s staring straight at me. I snatch my eyes away to find Betsy smirking.

“With a knot, just like human alphas do,” Betsy continues. “I’ve never taken a knot, but Goddess, I’d die happy for the trying.”

I can’t help but chuckle. When I first arrived, I was in constant shock at Betsy and her ways. Now, I love her like a sister and thank the Goddess for my good fortune in finding this place to call home.

“Lasses, stop your yakking. It’s a full house,” Tim booms good-naturedly, hastening back to the bar with a tray full of empties. “I swear the two of you are always up to mischief.”

Betsy snickers. “Just plotting a man’s downfall, Pa.”

Tim throws his head back and laughs. “Aye, you have your mother’s ways, Goddess rest her soul. That woman was a handful and kept me on my toes.” Still smiling, he sets about pouring ale as Betsy slides a full tray toward me.

“Ada, can you please take these to the table by the door?” she says, before taking a second tray herself.

Carrying the laden tray, I weave my way through the crowded room. Someone slaps my ass enthusiastically, and I nearly pitch the tray full of drinks over another customer.

“Lads, go steady with the lass,” Tim booms, hands planted on his hips. “If she drops the pints, you’ll be paying for them.”

“Sorry, Tim!” the flushed sailor calls. “Go on, sorry, Ada. Your fine ass had me near in a daze.”

The other men howl with laughter and slap him on the shoulder. I chuckle at their mischief. It is hard to take offense.

My cheeks are burning by the time I reach the table in the corner. It’s full of rowdy sailors. They cheer as I put the tray down and change their empty tankards for fresh ones. They drop the payment on the table. I gather the coins and return to where Betsy is readying another tray of drinks.

“What sort of shifter?” I demand in a hushed whisper as I scoot past her. Dumping the empty tankards to be washed, I stack the ones Tim is busy pulling onto a tray. I think she is teasing me about Gray. Why would a shifter even be in Bleakness?

“A wolf,” she says. “What other kinds of shifters are there? Well, I suppose there are bears. But bears don’t mix well with other races.”

“I didn’t think wolf shifters did, either,” I say.

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