Page 3 of Raven

Those men had taken to ripping up every beer mat they could find, soaking them in what I hoped was beer, then rolling them up and hurling them at the girl.

When they’d done it a second time, I was ready to intervene. But Clayton put his hand on my shoulder. "Leave it. Not our fight," he cautioned.

"They're being dicks," I muttered, frustration seething in me.

"Yep, and they'll always be dicks. But they're Human. What do you think will happen if you go storming in there? She won't thank you for making her an even bigger target. And Max won't be able to keep your face off a punishment order. Leave it alone. Walk away if you have to. Go outside, I don't care. Just don't get involved."

I drew in a deep breath, my nostrils flaring with the effort to contain my anger. "Fine."

Clayton patted me on the back before heading back to the kitchen.

Max confronted the men, hands on her hips, exuding authority. I hung back, alert and prepared. "One more incident, and I'll have you removed," she’d warned them.

The taller man leant back, chewing nonchalantly, his grin almost a dare to Max. "So, you're a crucker, huh?" he jeered, tossing a balled-up paper onto his own table.

Max leant in, unflinching. "I own this bar. Watch your mouth," she snapped, locking eyes with him. "Do not push me. I'll throw you out so fast you'll be calling for your mothers before you hit the ground."

She collected their plates, ignoring their crude remarks, and walked to the bar.

'Crucker', a derogatory term coined by Humans to insult those accused of intimate relations with shifters in animal form, blended 'creature' and 'fucker'.

As she passed me, I could see the tension in her shoulders, the tight set of her jaw. Max might be Human, but in moments like these, I was reminded of why I respected her so much. She didn't back down, didn't let the ugliness of her own kind taint her.

I turned my attention back to the girl in the corner. She hadn't reacted to the men's taunts, hadn't even looked up from her work. But I could sense the alertness in her posture, the way her ears seemed to twitch at every sound. She was aware of everything, just choosing not to engage.

Max handed me the glasses, shooting a warning glance over her shoulder at the men. "Keep an eye on them. They're likely to cause trouble again. Send Mags over if they do." Mags, her security guy, was tough as nails. He wouldn't stand a chance against me in a fight, but I understood the strategy. These were the kind of men who would cry foul at the slightest provocation from me.

So I stayed behind the bar, watching.

The girl brought her plate and glass to the bar as she packed up, ready to leave. She placed them beside me, just as I was filling the glasswasher.

"You didn't need to bring those over. I would've come to get them," I said, adding her glass to my tray. My heart raced, though.

"I know, but I wanted to," she replied, her smile locking with mine, causing my breath to hitch. Another moment and she'd hear my heart pounding; heck, the whole place might. "I'll see you around." She slung her bag over her shoulder, her smile widening, her cheeks tinting with a rosy flush.

"Oooooo," Clayton teased from the kitchen. "Go on, my son."

Ah, hell. My cheeks flamed, probably matching hers in colour. "She was just being friendly," I mumbled, unsure who I was trying to convince more, Clayton or myself.

"She was giving you the come-on, mate. Did you see how she walked out? That sway in her hips? That was all for you, Buddy."

She was just outside the doors. I could still see her as she rummaged through her bag. When she looked back and our eyes met, I couldn't look away fast enough. It felt like she saw straight into me, stirring the panther within. Was this what it felt like to encounter another panther?

When I dared to glance back, she was gone, leaving a hollow feeling inside me.

Oh hell.

The rest of the patrons cleared out without fuss. Max busied herself with setting the place right for tomorrow, her foot nudging the mess those men had left. "Bet they don't do this at home."

"We should pack it up and send it back to them," I suggested, helping her clean up, collecting bottles, glasses, plates, and a pile of wasted food.

Max wrinkled her nose, wiping the table. "Is it me, or does it smell like piss?"

I leant in and took a whiff. Jesus. It was a struggle not to gag. Spotting a couple of glasses under the table, I picked one up and showed it to Max. "No, it's not just you."

She grimaced at the glass of cloudy yellow liquid, clearly not beer. "Disgusting little shits. Mags, if they try to come in here tomorrow, turn them away. Break their arms if you must. Little bastards."

Together, we made quick work of the clean-up. Clayton handled the kitchen, and when I finished in the bar area, I popped in to help him with the last bit. His kitchen was spotless—he ran a tight ship and woe betide anyone who messed with it.

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