The couple staggered out, frat boy’s arm draped over his girlfriend’s shoulders. Jake just shook his head and looked around the empty tavern. Closing time was still forty minutes away but Kelly, the waitress, was already turning up chairs and her fiancé, the bartender, was balancing the register. Jake wasn’t concerned by the trickle of customers. Aspen was a ski town. Summers were always slow.
“That was nicely done.”
The comment drew his attention to the doorway beside the antique bar. His sister Enya stood there in jeans and a t-shirt. She’d changed out of her “work” clothes, which generally consisted of low-necked tops and short skirts. Jake frequently accused her of using her assets to attract customers but it was hard to argue with the results. In the three years since Enya had taken over management of the bar, Toulouse Tavern had become a hip, modern hangout rather than the stodgy pub their parents had left behind.
Three weeks before Jake’s twenty-second birthday, their parents—along with six others—were killed in an explosion. There had been rumors of foul play but an in-depth investigation proved that an aging gas line had ruptured and no one was to blame.
Refusing to allow his three sisters to be split up or placed in a group home, Jake had petitioned the court for custody. Even at such a young age Jake was responsible and ambitious, so the court had allowed him to try his hand at parenting. He’d put his life on hold and focused on increasing the profits of the family business and seeing to the care and safety of his three sisters.
Now Enya ran the bar and Jake managed the adjacent restaurant, and life had fallen into a comfortable routine.
“I thought you’d gone to bed.” He wended his way between the tables and joined her at the end of the bar. The doorway led to a large storeroom and the stairway by which Enya accessed the second-story apartment. The compact space had been crowded when all four of the Parlain siblings lived there. But Liz chose her mate, Tara moved to Boulder and Jake purchased a house, which left the apartment for Enya.
“I tried but someone was blasting the jukebox.” Her face had been scrubbed clean of her customary makeup, but a shower couldn’t dim the emerald streaks in her jet-black hair. Her skin looked pale, and purple smudges shadowed her deep-green eyes.
“I’d think you’d be used to that by now.”
She rubbed her temples and closed her eyes. “Not with this headache.”
“Well, they’re gone now, so get some sleep. You look miserable.”
Before she could react to the suggestion, someone screamed. Following the shrill sound, Jake flew through the storeroom and out the back door. Kelly stood near the dumpster, a bag of garbage in her hand.
“There’s a…b-body back there.”
Jake motioned her back into the bar before he went to investigate. Enya stood in the open doorway, too curious to leave yet smart enough to stay back.
He approached the dumpster slowly, drawing his tiger closer to the surface so he could analyze scent. Stale booze, rotting food and decomposing garbage masked the lighter smells. The alley was dark and damp from an earlier rain, which only added to the olfactory clutter.
Reaching the corner of the dumpster, he leaned around and spotted a small, filthy foot. Was it a child or a woman? Either way, he sensed no danger. The foot was attached to a long, well-toned leg, the shape appealing even under a liberal coating of dirt.
“Are they alive?” Enya called from the doorway.
“I’m not sure yet.”
The person was lodged behind the dumpster. It was almost as if he or she had tried to cram into the tiny space for protection. Bracing his back against the wall, he rolled the dumpster forward and knelt beside his uninvited guest. She was female, he quickly determined, young and naked. Had someone dumped her here? Sexual abuse was far too prevalent even in— Or was she Therian?
Dreading what he expected to find, he eased his hand beneath her tangled hair and searched for the pulse on the side of her neck. “She’s alive.” He leaned in and inhaled deeply. “She’s Therian.”
Enya rushed forward and handed him a blanket. “Is she wounded? Shot? What’s wrong with her?”
Conventional wisdom dictated that he leave her as is and call an ambulance. But she wasn’t human so conventional wisdom didn’t apply. He looked her over, trying to discover the source of her unconsciousness, but there were no obvious wounds or visible clues.
He brushed the hair back from her face and cursed under his breath. “This is Heather Fitzroy.” It didn’t matter how she’d ended up here, they were screwed.
In an instant Enya’s concern evaporated. She tensed and folded her arms. “What’s a wolf doing in cat territory?” He understood her sudden chill. She had good reason to mistrust wolf-shifters but he didn’t share her resentment of all things wolf.