“Don’t, Tate. Don’t do that. Just let this be. It truly is better to do this now,” she added, her voice going thick with emotion. But then she took a step back, and a mask of indifference slipped over her face.
The sudden distance in her eyes raised his hackles and made his cat snarl. She was a mere foot away, but there might as well have been a goddamn abyss between them. She suddenly seemed so utterly out of reach on every level. So completely inaccessible. He could feel her slipping through his fingers like water.
The cord of panic around his lungs tightened until it hurt to breathe. The urge to bite her, brand her, bubbled up out of nowhere and surged through him with such strength that he reached for her, intending to clamp his teeth around her pulse.
The fuck?
Shaken, Tate lowered his arm and backed up.
“See you around.” Then she was gone, and the door closed behind her.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, cursing beneath his breath. He wanted to do as his raging cat demanded—track her down, haul her back, and make her think twice about walking away from him again. But Tate stayed where he was. He let her go. He had no business going after her because, really, what the fuck did he have to give her?
Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.
CHAPTER TWO
Pausing in sweeping the shiny floor of the indoor basketball court, Havana sighed at her friends. Her head was pounding, so she didn’t appreciate the echoing sounds of the ball bouncing, sneakers squeaking on the floor, or the curses and grunts. “Could you two both stop goofing around and help me tidy up so we can shut the place down?”
Bailey stilled, her face all innocence. “We were just checking that the ball wasn’t deflating. Turns out it’s fine.”
“Now how about that,” Havana said dryly. “Go retract the bleachers into the walls, please.” She looked at Aspen. “Could you put the rest of the sports equipment back? And could you maybe find the little beanbag I saw your bearcat run off with earlier? I know she hid it somewhere.” Why bearcat shifters stole and stashed objects—most of which they couldn’t possibly have a use for—Havana didn’t know. The full-blooded animals of their kind, which humans referred to as red pandas, didn’t appear to do it.
“Will do,” replied Aspen, idly plucking at the dark choppy layers in her long, angled bob. The tall, curvy female then strode off in that catwalk-haughty way she had.
“Thank you.” Havana turned back to sweeping the floor. For years they’d worked at the rec center, which was exclusive to lone shifters. As sad as it was, loners were often targeted, so it was a dangerous lifestyle. The rec center was a safe place where they could relax, have fun, and meet others in their situation. It made them feel less alone. It gave them somewhere to “belong,” even if only for a few hours a day.
The center had saved Havana. She’d been living on the streets when a regular here had coaxed her into checking the place out. The owner and manager, Corbin, had offered her a place to stay at his large house, which was a foster home of sorts for homeless lone shifter children.
Aspen had already been living there when Havana arrived. Bailey came along a year later. The three of them were different breeds of shifter, but they’d become so close they were like sisters.
They considered themselves a miniature yet unofficial clan of sorts. Their co-worker and close friend, Camden, kind of loitered on the edges of it. They all lived in the same building. Bailey was Havana’s roommate while Aspen and Camden lived in the neighboring apartment.
It wasn’t always easy for loners to find accommodation. There was a lot of prejudice against them from both shifters and humans alike. Plus, Havana had to conceal that she was a shifter if the landlord was human—devils hadn’t yet come out of the shifter closet. Many species hadn’t, including Tate’s kind. Ugh. She tried her best not to think about him, but her thoughts often circled back to him.
A week had gone by since she broke things off. She hadn’t heard or seen anything of him during those seven days. But then, she hadn’t thought he would. Sure, he hadn’t liked that she’d ended the fling, but she’d bet that was only because he would have preferred to be in control of when it ended—Alpha males were all about control.
The first thing she’d done after leaving his house was text Aspen and Bailey, asking them to meet her at a local bar so Havana could get blitzed. They’d drank shots, trash-talked male shifters, and contemplated calling Tate to inform him that he was a fuckface—something they thankfully hadn’t done, because she’d have been mortified when sober. They’d topped off the evening by fighting with some bitchy jackals who apparently had an issue with loners. All in all, it hadn’t been a bad night.