My Second Chance Mate is a Barbarian (Sera and Fenris) novel Chapter 235

Jace

"Identification."

The word came out as a short, wet bark. I stopped. I didn't reach for my wallet. A wallet is a human habit that gets you a confused stare or a knife in the throat this far north. I kept my hands visible, fingers spread, and stared at the guard. He was a wall of unwashed wool and scarred leather, his chest wide enough to block the entire pedestrian entrance. He didn't look at my face. He looked at my shirt. I was wearing a white button-down, pressed, the kind that costs more than a month of rations in a border town.

"Jace," I said. My voice sounded too clean in the cold air. "Blackwater Pack."

The guard didn't move. He breathed in, a long, noisy pull of air that made his nostrils flare. He was looking for the scent of the East, for the damp mulch and the river-silt of my home. He found it, but then his brow pinched. He caught the top note. Bergamot and sandalwood. It was an expensive blend I’d picked up in a boutique in Atlanta three months ago. To him, I probably smelled like a flower garden and a chemistry lab.

"You're a long way from the river," the guard grumbled.

"I have a friend to see," I replied. I didn't mention a name. You don't give names at the gate unless you're prepared for the paperwork. "And I have coin for the market."

The guard’s eyes lingered on my collar. I could see the gears turning. He was trying to figure out why a wolf was dressed like a human executive. I’d spent ten years in the human world—cities of glass and steel where people didn't care about your pulse or your rank as long as your credit card cleared. I’d forgotten how to act like an animal. Only when I cut myself shaving or the moon pulled at my marrow did I remember I wasn't just a man in a suit.

"No technology," the guard stated. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over my boots. "You carrying a phone? A watch? Anything that runs on a battery?"

I didn't flinch. I gave him a small, tight smile. "I've been on a mission in human territory. Some things stayed with me. I happen to like the way they dress."

I twirled once, a slow, mocking movement to give him a full view of the tailoring. The guard grunted. He looked past me, up at the tall wooden structures where other guards were pacing. Just below the entrances to the different sections of the market stood guards who were sturdier and more massive than the one in front of me. They looked like mastiffs on steroids. I recognized the uniform immediately. Those were Northern Soldiers. They wore a deep, bruised purple that stood out against the grey stone and the white snow.

The guard cleared his throat. He leaned in, and the smell of fermented grain and unwashed skin was a physical pressure. "You'd better dispose of those clothes and take a bath. Those guys up there? They'll make a mess of you if you walk in smelling like a perfume shop and looking like a human accountant."

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