The Wild Moon by Riley Storm

Chapter Twenty-Two

Walkers Bar wasn’t anything special.

That was precisely why I’d chosen it. Set inside an old Victorian-era house in the historic part of downtown Kellar, it occupied both floors. The upper floor was dedicated to tables and a more private, secluded drinking experience. The main floor, meanwhile, had been renovated to be mostly open concept, with a large floor along the right side that could house tables or dancing, depending on the night. I’d been there once or twice over the winter, but I was by no means a regular.

As I walked in, my eyes rapidly adjusted to the dim interior. Although it wasn’t an upscale bar, it was far from a dive. Everything was clean and well-kept. It was simply designed to mimic the look of a house that was two centuries old. A few regulars looked up as I entered, but I let my wolf take over my body language as I strode toward the bar, and the looks faded.

No prey here. I was a predator, and I wanted everyone around me to know it. I had no idea who I was meeting, but I wanted no trouble from anyone else until they showed, so I put on my best resting-bitch-face look and slumped back onto a barstool to watch the door.

“Can I get you anything?” a waitress asked as she passed by on her way behind the bar.

“Water for now,” I said, shaking off my demeanor just long enough to be polite. “I’m waiting on someone.”

“Sure, can do,” she said, moving on, barely having slowed to take my order.

I surveilled the place, but none of the people inside looked like the type who would associate with my father.

And how are you supposed to know what that type might be? Have you ever met any of them before? Stop judging books by the cover. Stay aware.

There was always the chance that the person coming tonight wasn’t a friendly. That they were someone my dad was chasing. He could have left the card as a warning. To stay away from the person. Like the dragons on old maps of the unknown areas. Here be dragons.

Not that dragons actually existed, but it was meant to signal danger. I needed to keep my guard up in case my dad had been doing the same. For all I knew, this man could be the one behind my parents’ disappearance.

Or he could be my father’s mechanic. I just didn’t know. This was step one in my search for answers. Follow up any and all clues my dad left behind. I’d avoided reading his journal for long enough, but thanks to Mr. Unknown the night before, I was spurred into action.

I briefly wondered about him. Who was he? Why had he been there in the first place? Again, lots of questions, no answers.

Story of my life.

The door opened. I tried not to stiffen as a man in a yellow and green polo and beige slacks entered, walking his golf-shoed pompous posterior straight to the bar to order some British-sounding drink so fast and with such an accent I quite literally did not know what he said.

The waitress did. I heard her respond with an affirmative. I wondered if Mr. PGA knew how much the waitress disliked him. Probably not at all. His type didn’t pay recognition to those they thought beneath them.

He grabbed his drink with what I swear was a snobbish sniff and disappeared upstairs. Not my man, then. He’d have come over to me if he was the one I was waiting for. I blinked, reached into my purse, and pulled out the red baseball hat. I’d said in the message I’d be wearing it, so I had better stick to my word.

As I was fumbling to get my hair properly braided and tied off through the opening in the back of the hat, the door opened. I kept fumbling with my hat as I looked up, desperate not to let a single person enter with scanning them.

I needn’t have bothered rushing. The man was walking straight toward me. Not the bar. Me. Which made complete and total sense as I lifted my eyes a bit higher, locking gazes with a pair of crystal blue orbs that burned with a fire that sought a matching flame within me.

And found it.

I sat up straight, hissing as I broke out in goosebumps, hat forgotten.

“You,” I said as Mr. Unknown strolled up to my chair. This time, he wore a deep maroon suit that looked like pure chocolate against his vitamin-D deprived skin. It fit him like a glove, and I had to try my hardest not to let my gaze wander south.

“Hello, Danielle,” he said, my name rolling off his lips like an orgasm for my ears. I shivered, glad I was wearing a shirt thick enough that my now rock-hard nips wouldn’t poke through. Not that he needed any help knowing I was instantly aroused by his sheer presence. This man was a hunter, and he knew prey when he found it.

“How do you know my name?” I asked, speaking the first question that came to my mind that wasn’t “my place or yours?”

“The announcer last night might have said it a time or ten,” he replied smoothly, his velvety tenor going straight between my thighs.

Okay. Enough. You’re here for a reason, Dani. Keep your head in the game and not in La La Land. Time to be mature.

“I see,” I said. Great response. Real smooth.

“Yes.” He adjusted the collar of his suit, undoing the top button of his black dress shirt.

It revealed the tiniest bit of skin. I licked my lips as if I was about to lick that newly exposed skin, tasting his skin, the slight hint of sweat that I was sure was present.

God, what was wrong with me?

Frustrated at my inability to focus, I sought out my Soulbond.

Golden energy washed over me like a cold shower, dampening my enthusiasm for the walking sex mannequin. I wanted Johnathan. Not this wannabe. I needed a real Alpha.

Annddd, that’s enough of that, I thought, wrenching control away from the Soulbond before it got too strong. My wolf whimpered her dislike of my actions, but I swatted the beast aside. I had a mission here. It was time to focus.

“May I sit?” Mr. Unknown asked, gesturing at the chair next to me.

“Actually, I’m waiting for someone,” I said.

He smiled at me.

“But if you give me your number, I can call you back. Maybe we could get together for a stronger drink,” I suggested, pointing out the water I had yet to sip.

What are you doing?

The instant I suppressed my Soulbond, Mr. Sexbot was working his mumbo jumbo on me again.

“That would be nice,” he said, flashing two rows of perfectly white teeth at me. “I think I might take you up on that.” He reached into his suit pocket and handed me something.

After a moment, I reached up to take it. Several moments later, I registered it in my hand and looked down. It was a white business card with gold lettering embossed on it.

Aaron Greiss.