Page 8 of Bartender Mate

For the first time since setting foot on this planet, I found myself just a little bit excited to see what happened next. I could feel a similar interest trilling through Asteroid’s veins. Perhaps a shakedown would prove to be the perfect way to claim our place in this strange new life.

“First,” grumbled Zinc, letting out a breath of air as the beast inside his skin began to settle. “I would like for us all to settle in. It’s been a long journey. And not a particularly comfortable one.”

“Agreed.” Argon’s little mallet hit its wooden companion a last time. “Church is done. Beers all around!”

As we made our way out of the small room, the ground shook.

“For fuck’s sake,” Asteroid growled. “I thought we were finished with the floor shaking apart beneath our feet.”

“It’s not the floor that’s shaking itself apart, mate. The stars are calling.” Quasar’s eyes flew wide as he stared at his communication band. Asteroid and mine had lit up in unison with Quasar’s as our mate leapt to his feet. He pushed and shoved his way out of the back hall and practically ran for the door. “It’s our comet.”

His words kicked up my heart. Our mate. Our Earth-bound mate must be close to the landing site. My stomach tied itself up into knots. So much had been changing too quickly. We had barely touched down, not even taken our belongings from the ship, and here was something else.

Dawn was a glaring red stripe of danger, slashed across the horizon, as Asteroid and I all-but tripped over our own feet to follow Quasar outside.

I was as desperate to meet our final mate as he was... But at the same time, I needed a moment to stretch my wings and find my footing.

Sweat cooled quickly on my forehead as I stared up at the comet blazing its determined pathway across the sky and crashing imperiously into a nearby mountain on the far side of the lake. As if announcing its urgent summons to the world. Various people from our Wyer clapped their congratulations on my back, rebels and shipmates alike, and my stomach became heavier than lead.

I wasn’t ready for everything to change.

“You don’t look like you’re excited,” Asteroid muttered in my ear, his arm coming around my shoulders. “Bit too much going on?”

“Yeah,” I breathed, briefly leaning on my sturdy mate and accepting his quiet offer of support. “This has been a bit of a whirlwind. From sending out our comet and getting confirmation of its trajectory, to being recruited for this mission, to the landing.” I sighed. Only Asteroid really saw through me, even Quasar didn’t understand me the way my first mate did. Asteroid had saved my life. Literally pulling me from the streets and pushing me into service alongside him. The stoic and grumpy mask I wore was really just a cover, hiding the scared young male who had lost everything. Before Asteroid had hauled me out of the rubble, I’d had nothing. Been nothing. A shell of a person. My first mate had found me, built me back up, but I couldn’t help but wonder what my third and final mate was capable of. My Earth-bound mate could just as easily destroy me and the peace I’d been striving so hard to achieve. “I want to meet her. I do.”

“I know, love.” He pressed a kiss to my neck and pulled me across to the bar. “Let’s go get a drink to celebrate and make sure Quasar doesn’t just take off sprinting, not with Drakon Hunters around. We gotta approach this the right way and trust the Stellar Misfits to have our backs.” Asteroid sucked in a thoughtful breath as he took in the beaming faces of the Wyer–new and old–brought together by this happy news, as well as the glint of steely determination backing up those joyful smiles. “Securing and protecting our mates here on Earth is what this motorcycle club was set up to do, after all. I’m starting to suspect it’s not just a cover for them. It’s a mission. One I think I could get behind.”

“Me too, mate. Me too.”

3

Tess

Dan, who’d been picking up more shifts since my uncle passed, showed up a few hours into my Friday night. The kid–that’s what Uncle Frank had always called him–was punctual and lately he’d taken to clocking in and out a bit early or late, depending on whatever I needed. I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty given the guy refused to take any extra pay, yet I couldn’t afford to turn the free help down.

Instead, I shot him a tight but grateful smile of welcome and bit back a sigh of relief as his steady presence filled the space, easing some of my rising discomfort. Rolling upright from behind my place at the bar, I stretched out my back in a twist until it popped on either side as he came up beside me.

“Alright, Tess?” Dan asked in that soft spoken way of his which I’d always appreciated, squeezing my shoulder as he passed and sliding seamlessly into the flow of the night like he’d been born to the job. He took an order or two, filled up the empty glasses of a couple of regulars, then added a side comment directed to me as he moved over to fill a different order from a mouthy tourist who’d been getting on my nerves. “Been a busy night, huh?”

The willowy twenty-something, born and bred in Valhalla’s Pass, wasn’t one to make waves. He had a quiet way about him that had even my surliest customers piping down so they could hear whatever pearl of wisdom the young bartender had to say.

I couldn’t afford to have him on from open until close, of course, but I sure needed him during the busier hours to cover the slack–taking orders, busing tables, and switching the occasional barrel out back–plus, I genuinely liked his company. Dan had started out as a busboy a few years back. He’d quickly picked up the ropes, though, and I’d really seen him come into his own. Now he was filling the gaping hole left in running this fine establishment on my lonesome after my uncle’s sudden departure without complaint.

I winced at the turn of my own thoughts. Yeah, Dan really deserved a raise. Too bad I couldn’t afford to give him one, not with our renovation plans on permanent hold, and now my most recent troubles added into the mix.

Trouble that was slowly, but surely, trickling into Last Chance Bar.

Glowering at the leather clad riding jackets sprinkled around the room, I glanced up at the old-fashioned cuckoo clock which hung over the old mantle piece made by my great, great, great whatever. Five to six. Fuck. It had only been three hours and I was already coming out of my skin.

Axle Grinder, Prez of the Drakon Hunters MC, thought he was so smooth, didn’t he? He’d sent his people over in a steady stream since opening–just in ones or twos–parking their rides politely upfront, and drinking steady but not so much that they’d lose their edge and get rowdy enough that I had an excuse to throw their asses out. Clever bastard.

I ground my jaw. Clearly, the new Prez had told his people to mind their manners. I had absolutely zero faith, however, that the grunts would continue their best impression of wallpaper once their new leader showed up to rattle the cages. The Drakon Hunters Motorcycle Club were not known to drink quietly. Their parties were loud and obnoxious and, more often than not, rather destructive.

Nope, this was a test. Plain and simple. The new Prez was looking to figure out if I would stick to Uncle Frank’s rule that anyone could drink at Last Chance Bar so long as they didn’t cause trouble. Axle was poking the bear. Seeing if I would lose my head and throw his people out on principle or wait until he showed up to make good on his grand announcement.

Dan scowled as he followed my lead and took in the sight of the Drakon Hunters MC scattered throughout the room, many with their backs casually to the bar, as the rest of the world carried on as per fucking usual. The kid’s gentle hands instantly balled up into fists at his sides and my young bartender looked almost fierce as he regarded my unwelcome clientele.

“What’s their lot doing here?” he snarled.

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