Chapter 4

Brendan POV:

The empty teacup hit the wooden counter with a loud, heavy thud. I had tried to set it down gently, but the violent storm of pain in my chest made my muscles jerk.

June frowned. She immediately reached out and pulled the cup away, placing it safely in the sink. She had always been fiercely protective of her belongings, hating when anyone treated things with disrespect.

I realized my mistake instantly. Panic flared in my gut. I wiped my sweaty palms on my cheap jeans, suddenly terrified. I was a man who used to flip massive mahogany tables when I was angry, and now a single frown from her made my blood run cold.

I took a deep breath and leaned over the glass counter, pretending to examine a tarnished brass pocket watch. I needed to get closer. The visual and taste tests had broken me, but my wolf was screaming for her scent. I needed the smell of my mate to calm the raging beast under my skin.

As the distance between us closed, my nostrils flared. I pushed my werewolf senses to the maximum. I waited for the sweet, intoxicating scent of moonflowers that always clung to her skin.

But the smell that hit my nose was wrong. I smelled the old wood of the shop, the metallic tang of the silver, and a heavy, cheap, artificial vanilla body wash.

The spell hadn't just erased her memory. It had completely mutated her pheromones.

My body locked up. The giant wolf inside my mind let out a long, agonizing howl of pure grief. To a werewolf, losing the scent of your mate was like having half of your soul surgically removed without anesthesia.

I couldn't accept it. I leaned in further, my chest almost brushing against her shoulder as I desperately chased a ghost of her scent.

June sensed the aggressive intrusion. Her human survival instincts kicked in. She took a large, quick step backward, putting distance between us.

Her eyes turned hard and guarded. "Mr. Bren, please maintain a proper social distance." Her voice was a wall of cold, modern civility.

I looked at the suspicion in her eyes, and my heart twisted. I realized how I looked. I looked like a creeping predator.

I immediately threw my hands up in a gesture of surrender, forcing a pathetic, self-deprecating smile. "I'm sorry. I'm just... I haven't been this close to another person in a very long time."

The harsh edge in June's eyes softened slightly at my pathetic excuse, but she stayed firmly out of my reach. She didn't hate me, but she definitely didn't trust me.

The awkward silence in the shop was suffocating. Then, the brass bell above the door chimed merrily.

I snapped my head toward the door, a flash of pure, murderous rage crossing my face. Whoever dared to interrupt my time with her was going to die.

Frankie walked in. He was holding a brown paper bag, bringing a gust of cold autumn wind with him. He looked like the perfect, wholesome savior.

The moment June saw Frankie, the tension melted from her shoulders. A bright, genuine, beautiful smile broke across her face.

Seeing her smile at him was a slow, torturous execution. The golden light of my wolf threatened to bleed into my eyes. My jealousy was a physical fire burning my veins.

"Frankie, don't you have classes today?" June's voice was light and happy. There was zero defense in her tone.

Frankie walked straight to the counter and set the paper bag down. "Lunch break. I brought you your favorite tuna sandwich." He was marking his territory with domestic garbage.

Then, Frankie reached out and casually tucked a stray strand of hair behind June's ear.

My breathing turned into heavy, ragged pants. My fingernails sliced through the skin of my palms. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to rip his throat out right there.

Frankie slowly turned his head, acting as if he had just noticed me standing there. His acting was flawless. He pretended the rainy alley last night had never happened.

He offered me a polite smile, but his eyes behind the gold-rimmed glasses were dead and cold. "And who is this?"

"A new neighbor, Mr. Bren," June said casually. "Bren, this is Frankie, my... good friend."

*Good friend.* The words sounded like a death sentence.

Frankie extended his right hand toward me. "Hello, Mr. Bren. I'm the history teacher at the elementary school."

I stared at his long, pale hand. My eyes darkened with absolute hatred.

I slowly reached out my own scarred, calloused hand and gripped his. The second our skin touched, the temperature in the room plummeted.

A cruel, violent smirk pulled at the corner of my mouth. I was going to crush this human's hand into powder.

"Nice to meet you, 'teacher'."