Page 21 of Collar Me Crazy
"Thanks for the pep talk." Ryker hefted a bag of feed onto his truck bed, avoiding eye contact.
"I'm just saying, maybe it's time to stop fighting whatever's eating at you."
"Nothing's eating at me."
Edgar Tansley snorted from behind the counter where he was tallying their purchase. "Right. That's why you've been jumpier than a cat in a thunderstorm since yesterday."
"Mind your own business, Edgar."
"In a town this size, everyone's business is everyone's business." Edgar handed him the receipt with a knowing grin. "Especially when it involves certain pretty seers who've got half the town buzzing."
Ryker grabbed the receipt and stalked out without responding, but he could hear Emmett's rumbling laugh following him. The worst part was, they weren't wrong. He did look like hell, because he'd spent the entire night replaying those moments in the cabin when Sonya had been close enough to kiss.
When he'd almost kissed her.
When he'd wanted to do a hell of a lot more than kiss her.
The drive back to the sanctuary passed in brooding silence, but even there, he couldn't escape. His wolf grew more restless beneath his skin, flooding him with visions of warm brown eyes and the way Sonya had looked at him like he was worth saving.
By evening, he was climbing the walls. The animals could sense his agitation—the dryad kept asking if he was ill, and even the messenger hawk had given up trying to engage him in conversation.
Which was how he found himself at The Silver Fang Tavern just after sunset, hoping alcohol might quiet the chaos in his head.
The tavern was busier than usual for a weeknight, filled with locals seeking warmth and company as November's chill settled deeper into the mountains. Maeve Cross worked behind the bar with her usual efficiency, her short black hair catching the warm light as she poured drinks and dispensed commentary in equal measure.
"Figured you'd be hiding out at the sanctuary for at least another week,” she said as Ryker claimed a stool at the far end of the bar.
"Just wanted a drink."
"Uh-huh." Maeve slid a whiskey toward him without being asked. "This wouldn't have anything to do with a new girl in town who's been asking questions about you?"
Ryker took a large swallow of whiskey, welcoming the burn. "Don't know what you're talking about."
"Course you don't." Maeve wiped down a glass, her movements casual but her lioness eyes sharp. "Same way you don't know why Freya's been grinning like she knows a secret, or why Twyla's been humming wedding marches under her breath."
"Wedding marches?"
"Fae optimism." Maeve leaned against the bar, studying his face. "So when you planning to stop being an idiot about this whole thing?"
"I'm not?—"
"Yeah, you are." The voice came from behind him as Callum Cross, Maeve’s cousin, settled onto the neighboring stool. "And it's painful to watch."
Ryker glared at his fellow shifter. "Did Varric send you?"
"Nope. Came all on my own." Callum nodded to Maeve, who slid him a beer. "Figured you might need someone to talk sense into you."
"I don't need?—"
"Let me guess. You're protecting her by staying away. Noble, self-sacrificing, all that bullshit." Callum took a long drink. "How's that working out for you?"
"It's not bullshit. It's reality."
"Reality is that you're miserable, she's miserable, and everyone in town can see it." Maeve chimed in from where she was mixing drinks for another table. "Reality is that mate bonds don't just go away because you ignore them."
"You don't understand." Ryker's hands tightened on his glass. "There are things about me, about what I could become?—"
"Yeah, I heard about the prophecy." Callum's tone was matter-of-fact. "Varric filled me in after you went all broody hermit yesterday."
