An Alpha's Thunder (Water Bear Shifters 3) by Sloane Meyers

news.
    Caroline started the engine in her car and glanced at the clock on the radio. It was just past one a.m., which was fairly early to be heading home on a night of storm watching. Usually, the storms were later, and Caroline stayed for the whole show. But tonight, she’d decided she had to leave and get away from Lance as soon as possible. She hadn’t seen as much of the storm as she wanted to, but she figured she’d let this one go. She had plenty of ideas for her next painting series already. Besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted to do any more public exhibits any time soon, so she wasn’t in a rush to get anything painted. The longer she stayed out of the public eye, the better the chances that this whole stir about the man in her paintings would blow over.
    As soon as Caroline got home, she peeled off her wet clothes and climbed into bed, thankful that her roommate wasn’t around to make fun of her for being out storm watching again. Caroline fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, blissfully far away from any thoughts of her estranged family, of Lance, or of thunder.
    The next day, after sleeping in late and spending time paying bills online, Caroline was feeling moody. She needed to get out of the house, but she feared running into someone who recognized her. She wasn’t a major celebrity or anything like that, but enough people around here seemed to recognize her these days that going out could be incredibly annoying. Especially on days like today, when her moodiness had reached the level where she wished she was the only human being on the planet. Her roommate made fun of her when she moped around like this, saying that all artists had been given an unhealthy dose of angst by the universe. Perhaps this was true, but Caroline didn’t want to discuss it with Samantha even on her least-angsty days.
    Luckily, Caroline had found a dank, dark dive bar where no one seemed to know or care about anything remotely related to art. The place was small, and hardly visible from the outside. She went there often when she wanted to be alone, and the bartender knew her well by now. He knew which beer she liked, and that she wasn’t the chatty type. When she walked in, he would pour her a mug without a word, and then set it in front of her with a wink. He kept the refills flowing until she signaled to him that she was done, at which point he would bring her the bill. She always paid in cash, and always left a generous tip. She hardly ever said a single word when she went there, and it had quickly become her favorite hideout. The other patrons rarely spoke, either. People tended to come in alone and leave alone, not making eye contact with anyone except the bartender during their stay. It seems that everyone in that bar was hiding from someone or something, and they all had some sort of unspoken pact: don’t ask me any questions, and I won’t ask you any questions.
    Which was why Caroline was slightly surprised to enter the bar today and see two men deep in conversation at the table a few feet away from her favorite spot on the bar top. She considered sitting somewhere else, but she liked her spot. She figured that as long as they didn’t talk to her, she didn’t care if they were talking amongst themselves. Caroline sat down, and made herself comfortable, giving the bartender a friendly nod when he set down her drink in front of her. One of the men, the older one, looked up at her briefly and seemed to be studying her face, but when she made eye contact with him he looked away and went back to speaking with his younger friend. Caroline took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before taking a long sip from her beer mug. She felt more relaxed already. Something about being here, away from her house and yet still in solitude, always felt so refreshing.
    Caroline sipped the rest of her beer slowly, absentmindedly watching the baseball game playing on the ancient TV mounted above the bar. She refused to let herself think of anything