What’s a werewolf to do when it turns out his mate is a ghost whisperer?
Franklin Cyng was perfectly happy with his life as a bar owner and being the alpha of the Ulledo werewolf pack. The minute Axar Dusan walks into his bar, Franklin knows he’s his mate, but Axar is a psychic, and werewolves and psychics do not get along.
It’s worse than that, though. Axar is talking to thin air, having a conversation with an imaginary friend. Franklin stays away. He can’t mate someone who isn’t all there. Not long after, a group of people ushers Axar out of the bar, and Franklin believes that’s it. He’ll never see his mate again.
But Axar keeps coming back to the bar, and every time he does, he talks to his imaginary friend. An invisible person who knows things about the bar Axar has no way of knowing. What’s Franklin to do? The more time he spends with Axar, the more certain he is that he can’t walk away. His mate might be batshit crazy, but better to have a mate talking to imaginary ghosts than not have a mate at all, right?
“He’s here.” Farrell poked his head in through the office door.
“Who?” Franklin hadn’t meant to snarl, but it was his standard thing these days. He blew out a breath, rubbed his forehead, and forced his voice into a more pleasant tone. “Sorry. Who?”
Farrell studied him for a second too long. “Your man.”
Heat erupted in his chest, but he kept his face blank. “Who?”
Christmas sweater guy.”
Franklin stumbled out of his chair, his wolf whining with eagerness. “When did he arrive?”
“Now. If you hurry, you can be the one who serves him.”
Franklin wasn’t proud of how fast he left the office, but it didn’t matter. Chann was already mixing a drink when he arrived. A White Russian by the looks of it.
Axar turned and looked directly at Franklin, a smile stretching his lips. Time stilled, heat erupted, and his breath shuddered.
Then Axar focused on the air right next to him and snorted a laugh. Beautiful but batshit crazy. Ice washed away the heat inside.
Today, he wore a midnight blue sweater with snowflakes and the text, Jingle My Balls. Near the bottom hem, there were two golden baubles.
If the group who followed him were his legal guardians, would they allow him a shirt like that? Maybe.
He accepted his drink from Chann and walked toward the same table he’d occupied the previous times. It was available, and Franklin watched as he pulled first one chair out as if to invite someone to sit, then sat on the one next to it.
He leaned in as if listening to what some invisible person was saying and smiled.
“Are you gonna go talk to him?” Farrell bumped his elbow.
“I don’t know. Looks like he’s already talking to someone.” He looked like a kid who leaned close and whispered to his best friend, a giggle followed his words.
Farrell frowned. “Is he wearing earphones?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Go. Talk to him before his jailers show up. So far, he’s never made it through an entire drink.”
Jailers? Franklin stared at him. “You think they ... eh ...”
“Go before it’s too late. He’s managed to come every other month so far, right? It’ll be at least a couple of months before you get to see him again. If you can last that long. I think two months is near the limit, to be honest.”
Franklin frowned. He hadn’t known Farrell had kept track.
“Go.” Farrell nudged him.
Walking between the tables, Franklin neared Axar. His heart was beating too fast.
“Hello again.”
Axar’s head snapped up. “Oh, hi.” And again, he had to rescue his drink before he spilled it over the table. Franklin sat -- not on the chair Axar’s invisible friend occupied, but across from him. “How are you today?”
His wolf tried to crawl over the table to be able to nuzzle Axar and inhale his scent without having it compete with those around them. He believed he managed to appear calm, but it was hard.
“I’m okay.” Axar looked as if he expected Franklin to reprimand him. “I didn’t mean to take your table.”
Franklin shook his head. “Oh, no, this isn’t my table. Or I guess it is. I own this bar, so all tables are mine.” And he wanted to slap himself. A werewolf owning a sleazy bar wouldn’t impress a guy like Axar.
