It had been a long case. Some psychotic human went on a killing spree and was surprisingly talented when it came to covering his tracks. Eventually, thank gods, he’d left a shirt behind, tucked under the bed, and the shifter’s sense of smell had caught the trail. But it had been stressful, and tiresome, and all Dyson wanted was to have a few drinks and relax at the Dal.
After leaving his badge and gun at his loft, the wolf headed to the fae bar. He left his car behind and walked instead. Sometimes, it was exactly what he needed – to take the time and enjoy some fresh air. Clear his head. His mind wandered, thinking about who he would bump into at the Dal. He wouldn’t mind every one in their ragtag gang to be there, he quite enjoyed their company. But at the same time, he silently prayed there would only be a few to share companionship with tonight. Maybe even someone new.
Dyson shook his head as the familiar building came into view. Pushing through the door, then through the regular crowd, he took a seat at the bar. With a smile at his old friend, he ordered a shot of whiskey and a beer before giving a glance around.
Summer was lost. Like, really, really lost. Her phone was dead, her car was low on gas, and it was, frankly, too damn late to be trying to figure out where the hell she was. Her stomach growled again for the fifth time in five minutes, and she gave up trying to find a fast food place too, picking the nearest parking lot that looked like food and pulling in.
It turned out to be a bar, not a restaurant, but the atmosphere and clientele intrigued her, and there was something other than usual about the way the folk there felt to her. So she slid through the crowd, avoiding eyes, and snagged a seat at the bar next to a tall, lanky, blond fellow, putting her forehead against the cool wood.
“God, what a fucking awful day,” she said to nobody in particular, and tried to catch the bartender’s eye.