Page 23 of Forged Alliances

Sierra tugged on her shirt so hard at the comment she almost ripped the fabric. Her brows narrowed on instinct, the man’s ability to get under her skin formidable. “You want to stop off for food? I know better places than the shithole you dragged us to.”

She slipped on a maxi skirt and popped on a pair of sandals, since she didn’t plan on running through any forests—at least not in this form. When she stepped out of her room, Dax stood by the mantle. He ran a finger along the surface of the porcelain animals she’d placed there, remnants of the home she’d left behind. Her hands balled into fists on instinct, and a sharp sound came from her throat before she could rein it back in.

He glanced up. “You okay?” he asked, removing his hand at once. “Didn’t realize they were valuable.”

Sierra shook her head. “Not worth anything in that sense.”

He nodded, and the tension dissolved when he slapped a smartass grin on. “So where are you taking me on this date?” he asked, dipping his hands in his pockets as he thrust his hips forward.

Sierra clenched her jaw for a moment before responding. “We’re grabbing food. That in no way constitutes a date. Invite whoever you want to join, see if I give a damn.”

Dax tugged his shirt over his head. “So you want me to bring a date?” he asked. “Let me call Ally up.” Fierce heat thudded through her, the blinding sort that pulsed behind her eyes. His eyes twinkled in amusement. “Careful, you’re growling.”

“Let’s go,” she huffed, striding to the door and not waiting to see if he followed. The mating bond went to her head, messing with her control. Once they stepped outside, she locked up, and Dax hopped into the car.

When they interacted as alphas, she could relate; that encouragement and camaraderie came naturally for her. However, she’d stepped on too many past landmines in relationship territory, and anytime their conversations turned this way, she couldn’t help trying to dodge the vulnerability prickling under her skin. Yet the fighter part of her protested, the part the abuse and past disappointment hadn’t managed to snuff out of existence. The idiotic voice of hope that this time might be different.

Sierra hopped into the driver’s seat, aware of the way his gaze glided over her the moment she got inside.

The impulse to fuck, to claim, pounded in her every breath, enhanced by the way they’d sparred together. Enhanced by this proximity plus the scent of mountain lion and cedar that put her brain on the fritz and drove her wolf wild. Sierra veered onto the road, throwing all the energy brewing between them into pounding on the gas pedal.

Instead of the normal right turn on the highway toward the Beaver Tavern, she took a left. Within minutes of zooming across the asphalt, the turn she knew by heart appeared. She often escaped to this bar when she’d had enough of strutting around as alpha for one night, when she needed to clear her mind in a different setting than racing through the woods. The red neon lights were on since the sunlight was waning in early evening. Sierra pulled into the lot, gravel and dust kicked up in the wake of the car.

“If you wanted somewhere private, we could always go to the woods,” Dax purred, the sound of his voice stroking her core and igniting her temper in one sweep.

“Food. We’re going for food,” she repeated. “Unless you’re planning on killing and cooking a rabbit or some venison out there, I’m not seeing how a jaunt through the woods is going to help.”

He snorted in response, hopped out of her car, and strode to the bar like he owned the place. Sierra heaved a sigh and followed.

Jarrod’s Taproom was painted black from top to bottom, with dozens of windows and a couple of dim overhead lights inside separating the shadows around the joint. The owner liked it that way—even though the place was human owned and dominated, more than a couple of shifters from the different packs came here to escape their drama. Not like bringing Dax here provided any sort of escape.

She muscled past him to enter first, throwing a hand up in acknowledgment to Rachel, the waitress by the host stand. With a wink, Rachel led them to one of the corner booths, knowing Sierra’s preference with her frequent attendance. The scent of pine and mouthwatering barbecue drifted through the place, the grills and smokers in full swing.

“Thanks, Rache.” Sierra gave her a nod as she took the menus from the girl and slid into the seat. The AC didn’t blast here, more leaked through the air in wisps, enough to choke out the humidity trailing in while the dim lighting of the joint helped the place feel cool. Dax slipped into the opposite seat, eyeing her as if she ranked as the top choice on the menu.

“I recommend anything from the grill or the pit,” she murmured, giving the menu a once-over before she went with her tried-and-true pulled pork sandwich. While the place supposedly couldn’t compare to bona fide Southern cooking, she’d take the juicy, tangy meat from here any day of the week.

He scanned the menu for a minute, not looking up as he responded. “What’s with the buried past, Kanoska? That seems more my avoidance drill than yours.” Even though his tone remained light, the question hung in the air, the one she’d been expecting after all her twitchiness back at the cabin. Not like she disagreed with him—she preferred to lay most things out on Front Street. However, this burn from her past refused to heal, one that held no resolution.

“Let’s do a care-and-share then,” she challenged. “You dive into all your daddy issues and I’ll dredge up my family history from Philly.”

His gaze sharpened, pinning her, as seriousness descended between them like a storm cloud. “Not fair, Kanoska. You already know my shit, but I don’t have a cent of yours.” He kept his voice level, feline calm an ever-present part of him, but she could feel the way he burned behind the mask.

When the king of avoidance stopped playing games, she knew she was in trouble. Keeping her past quiet had been an isolating burden, and the more she’d shared Dax’s, the more they worked together, the more she realized how deep the loneliness dwelled. The comfort his presence provided, the natural way they flowed together spoke to her in volumes. For the first time, confiding her past didn’t terrify her the way it should’ve. For the first time, she wanted to take that free fall—to let him in.

Rachel chose that moment to pop in with water and a soda, taking their orders with a whip-fast pace. Just as quickly, she flitted off to help the next customers making their way in. Sierra lifted the hot coffee to her lips to take a sip before she broke the silence.

“I didn’t come out until I was a teenager, when I hopped in my car and left home. I knew more shifters lived in this region, and a couple of wolf packs roamed here. The old Red Rock alpha took me in at once. Life in the boonies took a big adjustment since I’d grown up in cramped city apartments.” The memories of the home she left behind thudded in the back of her mind, the combination of sweet and bitter a brew she didn’t want to swallow.

“Bad home life?” he asked.

Bile rose in her throat, but she pushed through anyway. “The bullshit part was my parents were sweet as can be. All the kindness in the world doesn’t amount to shit though when they turned a blind eye to the scars my older brother left. Asshole wanted target practice, and I happened to be around.” The words gummed up her mouth. Dax’s eyes flashed, his gaze burning hot and furious for a moment. The one indication he gave was the way his claws surfaced, biting into the hardwood table.

Sierra lifted her hands, needing to re-collect her pride. She didn’t want anyone’s pity. “Hey, I made it through stronger and gave the guy a couple of scars of his own to remember me by. When I left, I didn’t look back, but the cottage was the first home I made for myself—I give most of myself to my pack, but that and my history—that’s mine.”

“Brothers are a bitch, right?” Dax smiled, even though his eyes blazed. He’d sheathed his claws just in time, because Rachel approached with two plates, one laden with the juicy pulled pork slathered in their secret brown sugar sauce, and the other a roast beef sandwich dripping on the plate. Sierra’s stomach rumbled at the sight.

“Here’s your usual,” Rachel said with a smile. “Dig in.”

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