The Luna's Bodyguard [a mature werewolf romance]

Ch 3: Taste Test

NATE'S POV

Scotch tasted like shit.

I nursed my glass in both hands, watching the pretty amber liquid curl in the bottom, mixing with the melting ice. How could something so beautiful burn like petrol in my mouth? The fumes seared my sinuses, making my eyes water. I had to fight the urge to gag with every cautious sip, but for some reason I kept going back for more.

A shadow fell over me, dropping away as Fallon claimed the stool next to mine. He took one look at my discarded drink and palmed it, hailing the bartender with an effortless nod. Bastard, I thought, hating the way he filled his shirt, muscle straining against the fabric in all the right places. He made it look so easy. Made everyone feel small the moment he walked into a room.

"One porn star martini and another whisky on the rocks," Fallon said, tapping his phone to the card machine as the bartender held it out.

Her eyes lingered on his bulging bicep, widening slightly before she walked away. It wasn't too long ago her eyes were glued on my chest, trailing down as if she was imagining popping the buttons free.

"You never drink whiskey," Fallon grunted, looking anywhere but at my face.

I sighed melodramatically. "I thought it would look cool."

It felt cool, at first, ordering the rugged cliche. Like a spy in an old action movie that liked the kick because the burn made them feel alive.

I felt far too alive as it was. Better to drown my excruciatingly sharp senses with sugar syrup, so the drunken haze could catch me by pleasant surprise. I wouldn't mind something to soften the razorblades slicing through my chest at the thought of the girl upstairs.

"I know," Fallon said gently.

"What happened back there?" I finally dared to ask. "I've never seen you so flustered."

A curious shade of pink crept into his cheeks. Fallon cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "You know I would never..."

He couldn't finish, which meant he definitely felt something. "I know. But why her?"

The imposing guard rubbed his jaw. "She just smells... hauntingly familiar. It almost makes me feel nostalgic, but I can't put my finger on why."

I froze. That sounded awfully like a mate bond. "And her blood?" I ground out.

Fallon paled. "I didn't break skin."

"But you wanted to."

He didn't answer. It was answer enough.

I exhaled slowly, resisting the urge to strike him. This jealousy was irrational. It would pass.

That was what I told all my conquests, thinking emotions were something to be switched on and off at will. And they usually were for me, so why was this — this mounting pressure, this furious need — so damn hard to shake?

"Fallon, be honest. Is she the one?"

Panic flitted across his usually stoic features. "I don't know. Shouldn't you just... know?"