His Dancer To Claim

Chapter 3

The man who came in on Tuesday didn't look around the room first.

Most people did. Lena had picked up the habit over two years working behind the bar at The Copper Tap. The quick pause, the way their eyes scanned, and the automatic way they mentally mapped out a new place. Wolves did it in a different way than humans, but they all did it.

This person came in and sat down as if he already knew exactly where he was going and had figured out he liked being there.

He was not a wolf. She knew the difference without even thinking about it now. There's something in the air, in the way space seems to react to a person. He was thin and moved smoothly, with warm brown skin and dark eyes that were already smiling before the rest of his face showed it. He sat in her part of the table without checking out any other tables first.

She went over.

He looked up when she arrived, just like people do when something good happens unexpectedly.

"Hi," he said. "I was told the coffee here is worth the walk." I really hope that's true because I had a really bad morning and I need something good to happen.

"It's good coffee," she said. "Anything else?"

"What would you recommend?"

"The coffee."

He looked at her for a beat. Then he laughed a quick, genuine laugh, as if she had surprised him. "Okay. Just the coffee."

She wrote it down.

"I'm Caius," he said. "Just in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't" she said, and walked away.

At the counter, Clara was already watching, her hands around a mug, and her face showing she had some strong opinions she was trying hard to keep under control.

"Don't," Lena said.

"I'm just standing here."

"You're making a lot of noise here" Lena said as she grabbed the coffee. "He's not a wolf."

"I know. That's what I'm standing here for" Clara said, tilting her head toward him. "He has a really nice face, and he's been smiling ever since he sat down. Neutral observation."

"It's not neutral, it's commentary."

"All observation is commentary," Clara said as she watched her take the cup. "What's his name?"

"Caius."

"That's a good name."

Lena delivered the coffee.

He thanked her as if she had done something really worth saying thanks for. She walked over to the other tables and came back twenty minutes later, and he was still there, with something open in front of him, his coffee half drunk, looking completely relaxed.

"Top up?"

"Please." He put down whatever he was reading. "Is it always this quiet around mid morning?"

"Mostly."

"Good. I work better in silence." He handed her the cup to fill. "Do you live in this part of the city?"

She looked at him.

"That came out odd," he said, not seeming particularly bothered about it. "I'm new here." Trying to figure out what information is really important to know.

"The coffee is good," she said. "That's my contribution."

He smiled again. Wide and uncomplicated. She found simple things in Velmoor naturally suspicious as they were usually hiding something but she couldn't figure out the angle for this one.

"What's your name?" he said.

"Lena."

"Lena." He said like he was checking something off, "Nice to meet you."

She went back to work.

He came back the next Tuesday and the one after that. He always got the same section, always ordered coffee, and always looked up when she arrived, as if it was something small he was happy about. He asked questions and gave full attention to each answer. He didn't push, he just came back every time, calmly, and over the weeks, Lena started to glance toward the door around eleven on Tuesday mornings in a way she hadn't planned to.

She resented it, but she did it anyway.

His name was Caius Merrow. A pack broker was someone who dealt with deals between wolf groups and human companies. These deals needed someone who was respected by both sides but not trusted by either. He had gone to Velmoor for a difficult task and was staying longer than he originally intended.

He was a wolf. She found out on the third Tuesday when a dog outside barked and his attention went toward the sound, which had a quality she recognized. Just for a second.

She recalibrated.

When she brought his refill, she said, "You didn't mention it."

He looked up and understood immediately.

"You didn't ask," he said honestly. "I wasn't hiding it. It genuinely didn't come up."

"It usually does."

"How?"

"People can usually tell," she said in a calm voice. "You don't sit like one."

He thought about it. "How do wolves usually sit?"

"Like the room belongs to them."

He looked around The Copper Tap; the sticky tables, the mismatched chairs, the water stain on the ceiling that Clara had named Gerald. "This room does not belong to me," he said. His eyes returned to her. "Does it make any difference?"

She held the answer for a moment.

"No," she said honestly. She wasn't entirely pleased by it.

He nodded as if he believed her without needing any proof. That kind of easy trust in people was either really dumb or really on purpose, and she still didn't know which one it was.

She returned to her job and told herself she wasn't thinking about it.

The day she walked out of the kitchen and saw both of them in the room together at the same time, she stopped walking.

Damien was at his table. Caius was at his Tuesday corner. The room between them was not so much.

They had both noticed each other. She could sense it in the air before she saw it on either of their faces. Two important things in the same place, both aware, both acting as if they weren’t.

She went to Caius first. He was closer.

"Top up?"

"Please." His voice was easy. He didn't glance at the other table.

She went to Damien and placed a clean glass on the table without being asked.

"Anything else?"

"No." His eyes moved to her face and remained there. He didn't look at Caius. "Thank you."

She went back to the counter.

Clara materialised beside her from nowhere.

"Lena," she said, in a very quiet voice to Clara. "What's going on in this room right now?"

"Nothing."

“Those two men are creating a lot of tension that I can sense even from here, and I am not a perceptive person."

"You're plenty perceptive."

"They know each other."

"I don't know that."

Clara acted like she was cleaning the counter. "They're working so hard not to make eye contact that it's almost like they're actually staring at each other," she said. "How do you know both of them?"

"One's a regular. One gets coffee on Tuesdays."

"Lena."

"Clara."

A pause.

Clara said, "The wolf who gets coffee on Tuesdays is looking at you," and then added, "And the other one… the scary one is looking at where the Tuesday wolf is looking." Which is you."

Lena took the next order and said, "I'll be at table three."

She worked the floor for the next hour and felt the room the whole time; the stretched feeling of the air between the two corners, getting tighter with every pass she made between them. She wasn't the focus of this, she told herself. She was just the waitress.

Caius left first. He paid his bill at the counter and put on his coat.

"Same time next week," he said.

"If you like."

He smiled, and walked by Damien's table without even looking at it, then headed out the door.

Lena let out a slow breath.

She looked at Damien.

He was looking at her. Not at the door, not at the space Caius had left. Looking at him, she noticed an expression on his face that she had never seen before thats calm on the outside, always calm, but underneath, something she would have described differently if it were on someone else. On Damien Voss, it seemed almost like the start of a problem.

"Something wrong?" she said across the room.

A pause. The glass turned once in his hand.

"How long has he been coming here?" he asked.

She picked up the cloth.

She said, “About as long as you have.” and walked back to the counter.

She didn't look at his face after that. She made sure of it. But she could still feel that amber gaze on her back for the rest of the shift; steady, patient, and no longer completely unreadable. Something had shifted in it. She didn't have a name for what it was.

She wasn't sure she wanted one.

When she walked home that night, she found herself thinking about both of them. The one who came on Tuesdays and smiled like the world was mostly okay, and the one who watched her like she was a sentence he was determined to finish.

She arranged all the bottles on the kitchen shelf without realizing she was doing it.

When she noticed, she stopped.

She put her hands down.

She went to bed and didn't think about amber eyes or warm dark eyes or the exact way the room felt when both of them were in it.

She didn't think about it at all.