Roman (Wolves of Winter's Edge Book 2) Read online

  He stayed locked on her gaze for a moment more, then ducked his chin and disappeared out into the windy parking lot. When the door slammed closed behind him, Mila jumped at the bang.

  You’re my first choice. She had longed for those words from him through school. Longed for him to notice her, but he liked other girls. He liked the dominant girls—the ones who were loud and fun and stayed the center of attention. And now, eight years later, he’d finally uttered the words her heart had wanted so badly to belong to her.

  But she was a game to him.

  Mila could see it in his smirk and his dancing eyes. Roman had never learned how to be serious—not really. And now he was tempting her to go against Rhett, tempting her to put herself in danger just so he could play?

  That hurt.

  Stupid boy.

  Chapter Three

  She shouldn’t be here.

  Mila gripped the steering wheel of her Jetta and blew out a frozen breath. The car hadn’t even gotten the chance to warm up before she was sitting in the parking lot of Winter’s Edge. Memories flooded her. Playing with Asher, Gentry, and Roman in the woods behind the bar while the old Striker pack held meetings inside. Gentry locking her and Roman in the freezer once, calling it Seven Minutes in Heaven. There had been no kissing, though. Mostly Roman had beaten on the door and yelled at his brother while Mila had sat huddled in the corner, scared of Roman’s already dominant wolf, even at twelve years old. She remembered countless dinners with the pack at Hunter Cove Inn just through the woods. Changing with the Striker brothers. Howling like she was one of them. Roman’s face when he and Asher were kicked out of the pack. That had been one of the worst meetings she’d ever been to. The devastation on his face would haunt her soul forever.

  She’d practically grown up here. How many life lessons had been taught by her elders right here, in Winter’s Edge.

  She still couldn’t believe Noah Striker was dead. If the Striker brothers knew what really happened to their father, they would call the Bone-Rippers to war. They wouldn’t understand how messed up everything had gotten. But if she was in their position, and it was her dad who had to be put down, she would want her pound of flesh, too.

  She shouldn’t be here.

  She should be back in bed, enjoying her morning off, sleeping in, making pancakes, or reading the newspaper, doing literally anything other than sitting in the parking lot of Winter’s Edge, wishing everything had turned out differently.

  The side entrance door swung open, and out ran Blaire Hayward, redheaded mate of Gentry and brand new wolf. Mila didn’t know how to feel about her yet. She was probably a nice person, but truth be told, Mila was envious of how easy her life was. She’d landed Gentry, dominant protector. Not only that, but her wolf felt much more dominant whenever she was around her. She could probably defend herself just fine, while Mila was at everyone’s mercy. And she got to live here, in beautiful Hunter Cove, and work for some publisher with some fancy job she got to do from home. She and Gentry would have a dozen pups and live happily ever after, while Mila was bound to a life of nothingness in the Bone-Ripper Pack.

  Blaire was running now. No. Mila sat forward and tracked her movement through the woods. She was stumbling.

  Mila shoved the car door open and made her way silently across the frozen parking lot. The scent of blood filled her nose and made her hesitate on the edge of the woods. Tiny, red flecks dotted the white snow.

  Blaire was hurt.

  Mila cast a quick glance behind her at Winter’s Edge and then made her way through the forest, following the blood trail Blair had left in her wake. Perhaps the lucky wolf had cut herself with a knife in the kitchen. But when she heard the sobbing and smelled that inky, heavy black magic that was so familiar, she knew Blaire was in bad trouble.

  She should leave. This was none of Mila’s business, but Blaire was muttering something now, over and over. “Please, please, please.” Who was she begging? The wind? The woods? Mila?

  She had to have known she was there. Her wolf would sense her, but Blaire sat on her knees in the snow, her back to Mila, her shoulders shaking with her body-wracking sobs.

  “Blaire?” Mila asked, stepping carefully over a log.

  Blaire gasped and twisted around. Her nose was streaming blood and dripping down her chin, and her glowing green eyes were so scared. “Don’t tell him. Please don’t tell him.”

  Mila approached carefully as Blaire doubled into herself and groaned, then straightened again.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t Change. I try and try, I feel her right there, but I keep getting these nose bleeds and these headaches. Ooooh,” she groaned as she fell onto the snow and curled into herself. Blaire hugged her knees as tears streamed down her face.

  The stink of black magic was so thick it was choking Mila, but now it made horrifying sense how Blaire had survived. “Did the witch raise your wolf?”

  “Yes,” Blaire whispered brokenly.

  “Jesus,” Mila murmured, kneeling beside her.

  “Jesus had nothing to do with what happened to me. I know your scent. You were there. You helped kill me.”

  “No, I was there as a witness, but I didn’t help in the hunt.”

  “It’s getting worse,” Blaire murmured, her entire body trembling. “If I can’t Change, something bad will happen, won’t it?”

  No point in lying. Changes were crucial. There had to be a balance between the wolf and the human side, or one would kill the other. And if one died, they both died.

  Blaire looked so pale and frightened against the red-splattered snow. Her freckles were stark against her cheeks, and her tears were freezing at the corners of her eyes. “Gentry is bound to me.”

  “Oh, my gosh,” Mila murmured, lifting Blaire’s shoulders until her head was in her lap. “That’s why you don’t want to tell him? You don’t want him to know he’ll…”

  “You can say it.”

  He’ll die, too. Mila couldn’t force the words up her throat. The White Wolf of Winter’s Edge wasn’t as privileged as Mila had assumed. Blaire was bound by black magic into a life she hadn’t chosen, just like her.

  Mila hated Odine. Clearly she’d ruined yet another life. Two, if Blaire and Gentry were really bound. Werewolves died with their bound mates.

  Blaire had stopped crying, and the smell of pain and black magic dissipated as Mila stroked her fiery locks away from her face.

  “I’m sorry,” Blaire said suddenly, sitting up. “I panicked, but I’m okay now.”

  Mila would have had an easier time believing her if Blaire didn’t still have blood on her face. Gentry’s mate began scrubbing her face with snow so Mila stood up and dusted off her jeans. “You should tell him.”

  “He’s got so much on his plate right now with settling the inn and re-opening Winter’s Edge. I don’t want to worry him more. I’ll figure it out. I’m just new and bad at Changes, but I’ll learn.”

  Mila didn’t know how it worked for Turned wolves—not many humans survived the bite—but she was pretty sure it shouldn’t be this hard for Blaire to call her wolf. “Come on, I’ll walk you back to the bar.”

  “Okay,” Blaire said quietly as she wiped her face on the sleeve of her black sweater.

  “Look, Gentry will smell the blood on you.” Mila shrugged one shoulder up. “You’ll have to hide that stuff better. And maybe talk to the witch about what she did to your wolf.”

  Blaire’s gaze flicked to Mila and then away into the woods as she began walking back toward Winter’s Edge. “If you were me, would you ask Odine for help?”

  A moment of memory from the night Odine had bound Mila to Rangeley was enough to warrant a quick response. “Hell no.”

  Blaire gave a sad smile. “I’ll figure it out on my own.” Her voice held a false note to it, though, as if she didn’t really believe that herself.

  Roman stood leaned against the building near the side entrance when Mila came out of the tree l
ine.

  Blaire gave her a little wave and tromped around the building, but Roman was watching the redhead with narrowed eyes. He scented the air, his nostrils flaring slightly as he lifted his chin. “Is she okay?” he asked Mila.

  Mila couldn’t lie to a werewolf, so she shrugged and made a beeline for the parking lot.

  “Where are you going?” Roman asked, trailing her.

  “Home.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I shouldn’t be here.”

  “But you are here. You got up early and put on those cute fucking clothes, that cute fucking scarf, and that pink, little hat. Even matched your lip gloss to it, didn’t you? For me?”

  “Roman, the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

  He drew up in front of her and planted his feet, stopping her in her tracks. “You’re different than before. You feel different. Still a chicken but…more.”

  “Games, Roman. I still don’t play them.”

  “Yet you’re here,” he said lifting his chin higher. The man was standing so close she could feel his body warmth through her layers. He’d always run hotter than any person she’d ever met. She’d forgotten about that. Hot Roman, she used to call him in her diary. Hot as a Roman candle.

  “Five minutes. Come on,” he urged. “There are three people in there applying for jobs, and they are all boring as hell.” His lip snarled up with mischief. “If I’m going to work that bar, I want someone fun to play with.”

  Irritated, she dared a quick look to his eyes before she ducked her gaze again. Her wolf was reacting strangely to Roman’s. Cowering, but she wanted to be closer. It was as if she couldn’t make up her mind, and it was putting Mila in an uncomfortable in-between state of fight and flight. “So you aren’t leaving then?”

  “Oh, I’ll leave as soon as I’m able, Chicken. Doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun while I’m in town.”

  Mila shook her head, angry at how much his flippant talk about leaving again hurt her. She knew better than to get attached to a Striker. Runners, the lot of them. That had been the point of her warning him, right? To chase him off? To save him from Rhett’s wrath? To save him from the teeth of the Bone-Rippers? So why was she angry that he had admitted he was leaving soon?

  Because you’re broken.

  She huffed a sharp breath and sidestepped around him. “Good luck hiring for Winter’s Edge. You’ll have this place crawling with humans in no time.”

  “Whoo, you sounded bitter just then. Did you hear yourself? Since when did it become us and them, hmm? Humans and wolves.”

  “You’ve been gone a long time, Roman. Things are different in this town now. It’s not like the outside world anymore. It’s best to stay separate.” She gave a glance to the front door. Blaire was inside that building scrubbing the rest of the blood from her face in the bathroom. She’d been human, and healthy, and now look. Mixing got people killed, both wolves and humans.

  “I’ll drive,” Roman said, hooking an arm around her waist and steering her away from her black Jetta toward a silver Jeep Wrangler. It was a monster, big tires, black-out rims, mud flaps, cable hooks on the front for hauling people out of ditches, the works. Sharp icicles that hung from the front end looked like teeth.

  “Drive us where? I thought you had interviews.”

  “Asher can handle them. He loves social interaction.” Roman laughed at his own joke, and despite herself, Mila cracked a grin. The oldest Striker brother had never loved people. “There’s this breakfast place I want to try. Jack’s. You heard of it?” Roman asked, bumping her shoulder.

  She locked her legs against any forward motion and frowned at his back as he kept walking. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking a stroll down memory lane,” he uttered, turning slowly. He wasn’t smiling anymore, and his eyes flashed with something she didn’t understand.

  “I figured you didn’t remember that morning.”

  Roman’s eyes tightened, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. “How could I forget something like that?”

  Mila crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head, stared off into the woods. She’d found Roman in the woods right after he’d turned seventeen. He’d been kicked out of the pack and had gotten into the whiskey at Winter’s Edge.

  And when she closed her eyes, she was transported right back to that moment.

  “Roman?”

  “Don’t come any closer, Mila. I’m not okay.”

  Roman was snarling, and it scared her, but he was her friend. He wouldn’t hurt her. Still, the closer she got to the boy sitting in the snow with his back to her, the heavier the pressure on her shoulders. Roman was a monster who had been very good at hiding. With a whimper, she went down to her knees and crawled closer. “I’m sorry, Roman.”

  Roman turned slowly and looked at her, his eyes the color of saturated sunlight, his face twisted into something terrifying. He smelled like liquor, and there was an empty bottle toppled over in the snow. “Can you see them, Mila?”

  “See what?” she rasped out, face averted, neck exposed to the animal that was snarling in Roman’s throat.

  “The ghosts. They’re always here. Some darkness inside of me draws them. They can see my shadows. I am home to them.”

  “I-I don’t understand.”

  “Your mom says she misses you.”

  Fury blasted through her. “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Everyone thinks the people of this town get buried and they find rest. Not here, though, Mila,” Roman slurred. “Maybe it’s best my dad kicked me out of the pack.” The anger in his voice lashed across her skin like the end of a whip.

  “He was wrong, Roman. I won’t join unless he lets you back in. I won’t pledge.”

  “You don’t have a choice. You’re submissive. Your life was laid out the moment your wolf came out cowered. Lucky.”

  Mila’s eyes burned, and she blinked hard. “You shouldn’t have said that about my mom. You did it to hurt me.”

  Roman blurred to her so fast she gasped. He hugged her tight, on his knees in the snow, crushing her to him, rocking gently. Her initial instinct was to push away from the monster and bolt, but Roman was stroking her hair gently, over and over, petting her, calming her. “You’ll pledge to the Striker Pack, and you’ll stay safe. Do you understand? I hate my dad, but he can keep a submissive safe.”

  “And you’ll be here, too,” she squeaked out, gripping his shirt. “You’ll be a part of this town, just not in the pack. You can keep me safe, too. You’re my friend. I’ll keep you safe back.”

  Roman swallowed audibly. “Sure, Mila.”

  And then he’d picked her up like she was a child and carried her to her car. It was an old Buick her dad had just given her for her sixteenth birthday. He tucked her behind the wheel and buckled her in, and then he climbed in the passenger’s seat and told her, “I’m not ready for tonight to be over. Not ready to sleep. Not ready to say goodnight to you, Chicken.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “Jack’s.”

  Mila wanted to cry at the memory. He’d left the next day without a goodbye, but she’d had that night, eating pancakes at the all-night diner with the boy she’d liked for so long. She’d thought they were bonding and he was starting to like her, but Roman had been silently saying his goodbye to her instead, while she’d been unaware, laughing at all his jokes and feeling happy.

  “Do you still see dead people?” she asked, feeling nauseous by how real and unexpected that memory had been.

  Roman snorted and made his way toward the jeep. “Nobody sees dead people, Mila. I was just drunk that night.”

  But his voice sounded strange, with a note of falseness, and the smile in his eyes had dimmed as he stood holding her door open. While she stared at him, his gaze flicked twice to something in the woods behind her, but when she turned, nothing was there.

  And then Roman was grinning when she looked at him again.

  More games.

  Mila ro
lled her eyes and muttered, “Fine. Jack’s, but only because I skipped breakfast.”

  Chapter Four

  Roman scrubbed his hand down his beard and leaned back for the waitress to set the two giant orders of pancakes in front of him. He was having trouble taking his eyes off Mila. When she’d removed her hat and matching pink scarf, her dark bangs had flopped forward in front of her smoky, champagne-colored eyes. She’d grown up to be a fucking ten. Curves just right on her little body, tight ass, perky tits she’d shoved into a push-up bra. He could see the very edge of that bra, nude lace, peeking up out of her white V-neck sweater. A gentleman would’ve told her she was showing bra, but he was no gentleman. So here he sat like the total fuckin’ perv he was, sneaking peeks at that little strip of lace and thanking his lucky stars the table hid his boner.

  He needed to cut this shit out. This was the game. This was the hunt. He was supposed to dig into Mila and piss off Rhett, scatter the others, cause reactions, push boundaries. But with every second he was spending with her, he remembered how much he’d liked her when they were kids. He’d stayed in the friend zone, but not because he didn’t want to suck face with her up at Lookout Point. He’d stayed away because she was too fragile, too submissive, too sweet, and too good for him. He’d always been one spark from igniting, and would’ve burned up Mila right along with him.

  While Mila poured syrup over her waffles, he imagined her pouring it onto him and licking it off with that cute little mouth of hers. He couldn’t even remember the last time he was this turned on. Roman cleared his throat. “Does Nelda still run that logging crew?”