Claimed (The Lair of the Wolven #1) by J.R. Ward

No ignoring it, either.

Things made a little more sense as he hit the porch that faced the lake view … and looked down to some kind of enclosure.

There, inside a pen, Lydia was crouched by a wolf, her head right next to the animal’s, her hands on its body as it circled, circled, circled in front of her. The two were oblivious to the world, in a moment of their own, as tears streamed down her face and dotted the blue jeans she had on.

Daniel’s first instinct was to push the wolf out of the way. But not to save her.

It was so he could be the one she was petting.

Instead of giving in to that jealousy, he stayed where he was, as under her spell as the other animal was, that magic Rick had warned about, and that Daniel had experienced himself, blooming in the air as if she were a holy object emanating a benediction.

A wild creature brought to heel in the palm of her open hand.

Daniel was the same.

Except he did not want to be tamed. He could not afford to be, even if he’d wanted it.

With a curse, he backed off—and knew it was time to get back to work. Heading over to his bike, he mounted up, cranked the engine over, and tooled down the drive to get off the property. When he came to the county road, he went to the left and gunned the Harley into a proper roar.

The cold air felt good on his face, and the vibration of the handlebars in his hands was so familiar, it calmed him.

See? He was free, after all.

Or at least that’s what he told himself. The reality was different. Images from the morning kept hitting his mind’s eye with shrapnel-snapshots, the worst being what Lydia had looked like down on the floor with the body.

Daniel was never going to forget taking her in his arms, holding her and staring over her head at what that man had done to himself. With everything Daniel had seen over the course of his life, you’d figure he’d handle the shit better. Instead, it was haunting him.

Although it was more about Lydia.

He didn’t want her to see things like that. Ever.

Up ahead, the town center, such as it was, came into view, and as he approached the diner/grocery store, he pulled into the mostly empty parking lot and checked his watch. A little before two p.m.

Fucking hell, he felt like it was three in the morning.

Entering the grocery half of the building, he went to the cashier. As she looked up from the book she was reading, she smiled like she’d pulled a good fish out of what she’d assumed was an empty pond.

“Well, hello there, Daniel.” She patted her bottle-blond hair that had been sprayed into place like the top of a soft-serve ice cream cone. “How’s a man doing today? I’m Susan, in case you don’t remember.”

He felt like he needed to say howdy. “ ’Afternoon.”

“You looking for lottery tickets?”

“No. I’m here for—”

“Because you look like a lucky man.”

“Do I?” He only tossed that out because he sensed there was a quota of back-and-forth required before you could buy anything. “I’m not sure I have an opinion one way or the other about my luck.”

Liar, he thought to himself.

“Maybe that’s why you’re lucky,” she said.

“How so.”

“Luck is like a cat.” Susan wagged her forefinger at him, as if she were correcting a child who should know better. “The more you go after it, the more it eludes you. You can chase what doesn’t want you, but you only catch what chooses to be in your palm.”

In his mind, he remembered that wolf stroking its fur on Lydia’s outstretched hands, her fingers tangling in its thick coat, her beautiful face luminous with the sadness she felt over a man who had probably deserved her love, but hadn’t gotten it.

Daniel was willing to bet she was blaming herself, like if she’d felt differently the vet would still be alive. Even though none of it was her fault.

“Or your wallet, as the case may be.”

He came back to attention. “What?”

“Your wallet is where you’d want that luck.”

“You’re right.” He pointed behind her, but not to the scratch offs that gleamed with foil details. “I’d like a pack of Marlboro reds.”

“Soft or hard?”

“Doesn’t matter—actually, make that two? And I need a lighter.”

“Does the color matter?”

“I need the reds. Not the light packs—”

“No, on the Bic. I got blue, green, yellow, red—”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Susan chose a red one and swung back around on her stool. Instead of giving him the forty coffin nails and the flint flicker, she held them against her chest—in a way that made him look at her clothes. She had on a casual sweater that was pink and white, and pale blue jeans, and a tiny little silver watch that seemed too dainty for the rest of her. With her hair all coiffed, she was like someone who was going to a prom, but hadn’t changed into their flouncy dress yet.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked.

Daniel blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Look, I sell a lot of cigarettes to a lot of people. And the ones who have quit and are going back to ’em always buy two packs and a fresh lighter. If you were a constant smoker, you’d have plenty of half-filled Bics in your house, your car, all your pockets. And you’d be buying a carton. Or if you just needed something to tide you over until you got home? You’d only buy one pack and no lighter. But here you are—”