Double Trouble, Triple Heat

Chapter 3

I can't stop thinking about the lake.

Their bodies cutting through the water. Dominic's scars mapping stories I want to hear. Caspian's tattoos winding down his arms in patterns I want to trace with my fingers. The way they looked at me when I emerged dripping wet, cotton clinging to every curve.

The way Dominic's eyes seemed to glow.

I spend the morning unpacking boxes, shoving clothes into drawers with more force than necessary. I came here to escape complications, not to develop feelings for two men I used to follow around as a lovesick child. This is ridiculous. They're ridiculous. I'm ridiculous.

By afternoon, the cabin walls press too close. I need noise, people, something to drown out the memory of Caspian's laugh echoing across the water.

I grab my phone before I can overthink it.

The text is simple: Drinks tonight? The Howling Moon, 8pm.

Caspian responds within seconds. Wouldn't miss it, little star.

Dominic's reply comes a moment later, just as brief. We'll be there.

We. Always we. Never just one of them.

I tell myself that's not why my stomach flips.

The Howling Moon sits at the end of Main Street, warm light spilling from its windows. A carved wolf hangs above the door—because of course it does—and something about the sight makes my skin prickle. Wolves everywhere in this town. In the signs, the stories, the warnings. I'm starting to wonder if it's just aesthetic or something more.

Inside, the bar is cozy and rustic. Exposed beams, crackling fireplace, the smell of beer and wood smoke. Hunting trophies line the walls—deer antlers, a mounted fish, and in the corner, a massive wolf pelt that makes my stomach twist. I look away quickly.

I'm early. They're not here yet.

The bartender pours my whiskey without asking which brand, and I settle onto a stool to wait. Locals cluster at nearby tables, and I feel their eyes on me—curious, assessing. Eleanor's niece. The city girl who came back.

I'm halfway through my second glass when the stool beside me scrapes against the floor.

"You're the Ashwood girl."

The man who slides into the seat is maybe mid-thirties, flannel shirt stretched across a soft belly, smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He leans in too close, beer-sour breath washing over me.

"Heard you were pretty. Rumors didn't do you justice."

"I'm waiting for someone."

"Don't see anyone here." He edges closer, his knee pressing against mine. "I'm Travis. I could keep you company until your friends show up. Buy you a drink. Show you around town."

"I'm fine, thanks."

His hand lands on my thigh, heavy and unwelcome. "Don't be like that, sweetheart. I'm just being friendly."

My fingers tighten around my glass. I'm calculating exactly how much force it would take to break his nose when the temperature in the bar drops.

"She said she's waiting for someone."

Dominic's voice comes from directly behind me—quiet, calm, and somehow more terrifying than a shout. I didn't hear him approach. Neither did Travis, judging by the way his face goes pale.

"That would be us." Caspian appears on my other side, leaning against the bar with a smile that's all sharp edges. The playfulness I'm used to is gone, replaced by something cold and dangerous.

Travis's hand jerks off my thigh like I've burned him. "Dominic. Caspian. I didn't know she was—"

"Now you do." Dominic doesn't raise his voice, but something in it makes the entire bar go silent. Conversations die. Pool cues pause mid-stroke. Even the fire seems to crackle quieter.

"You should go, friend." Caspian's silver eyes catch the light, and for a moment, they seem to flash. "While you can still walk."

Travis stumbles off his stool and disappears through the back door without looking back.

The bar slowly returns to life around us, but I notice people giving our corner a wide berth. Like they know something I don't.

"Do you two always have that effect on people?" I ask, trying to steady my voice.

"Only the ones who deserve it." Dominic settles onto the stool Travis vacated, and the space feels different immediately. Warmer. Safer. "Are you okay?"

"I was handling it."

"I know you were." His amber eyes hold mine. "But you shouldn't have to."

Caspian signals the bartender for three whiskeys. "Sorry we were late. Won't happen again."

"It's fine. I'm a big girl."

"Never said you weren't." He slides my fresh drink closer, fingers brushing mine. "But that doesn't mean you have to handle everything alone."

Something about the way he says it makes my chest tight.

The tension from the confrontation fades as the whiskey flows. They ask about my day, my unpacking, whether I've explored more of Eleanor's things. I tell them about finding old photo albums, recipes written in my aunt's hand, a box of letters I haven't worked up the courage to open yet.

"She talked about you," Dominic says quietly. "Eleanor. After your mother died, after you stopped coming. She missed you."

"I wanted to come back." The admission slips out before I can stop it. "My father wouldn't let me. He said this place had nothing for us anymore."

That look passes between them again—the one I can't interpret.

"He was wrong," Caspian says simply.

After the third round, he nods toward the pool table in the back corner. "You play?"

"Badly."

"Perfect." He offers his hand. "I'll teach you. It won’t take long for you to learn with tutors like us.” He winks, knowing how instantly heat flushed on my cheeks.

The game becomes something other than pool almost immediately. Caspian positions himself behind me, chest against my back, hands guiding my arms. His breath is warm against my ear as he murmurs instructions I can barely hear over my own heartbeat.

"Elbow up. Smooth stroke. Feel it before you take it."

I sink the shot, and his laugh rumbles through me.

"Natural," he whispers, and the word shivers down my spine.

Across the room, Dominic watches from his stool. His gaze feels like a physical weight—heavy, heated, impossible to ignore. When I scratch for the third time, he finally rises.

People part for him as he crosses the room, instinctive, almost deferential. Like they know something about him that commands respect. Or fear.

"You're thinking too much." He steps behind me, and Caspian moves aside without a word. Like they've done this before. Like they've choreographed it.

Dominic's hands cover mine on the cue. His body is a wall of heat against my back—broader than Caspian's, more solid.

"Relax." His breath stirs my hair. "Don't aim. Just feel."

"Hard to relax when you’re this close to me."

"Is it?" His voice drops lower, meant only for me. "Well, it definitely explains your racing heart."

"How do you know that?"

His thumb strokes across my knuckles. "I just do."

I take the shot. It sinks.

"Good girl."

The words light a fire low in my belly.

By closing time, I'm flushed with whiskey and something more dangerous. They walk me outside, flanking me like they always seem to, and the night air is cold and sharp against my heated skin.

"Come to dinner tomorrow," Dominic says. "At the lodge. A proper welcome."

"We cook together," Caspian adds. "We're actually pretty good."

I should say no. I came here for solitude, not for whatever this is—this strange, intoxicating dance with two men who look at me like I'm something they've been waiting for.

"Okay," I hear myself say. "Yes."

Their smiles mirror each other in the moonlight. Satisfied. Hungry.

"Tomorrow at seven," Dominic says. His knuckles brush my cheek, feather-light. "Dream of us, little star."

They disappear into the darkness together, moving in perfect sync, and I stand alone on the empty street with my heart pounding and my skin burning everywhere they touched me.

I came to Silverpine Falls to escape complications.

Clearly, that plan is going spectacularly wrong.