The Trouble with Beasts (Howl for the Damned: Book One)

by D. Fischer

  I grab the pile of clothes I laid out earlier and begin dressing hurriedly, almost tipping over entirely on several occasions as I shove my feet through the legs of my leather pants.

  Sara and I are as close as our mothers are; I often think of her as a sister. As a witch with full magic, she’s been blessed in ways I’ll never be and accepted by the coven in ways I’ll never have. At the craft, she was a quick study from an early age, excelling where even the older witches struggled. There are rumors in our coven that she’ll eventually replace the high priestess when Marian dies. I’ll forever be proud of her, and there’s never been a gap that separates us due to my witchy shortcomings.

  When I had left the coven’s home to make something out of myself, different from a life I couldn’t have, she had begged me to stay. The coven’s home isn’t far from here, but we miss each other just the same. Since I refuse to own a cellphone, we’ve resorted to using the bar’s landline. I think it annoys her that I dislike technology in such a way that I have no means of texting, but I am who I am, and being bothered several times a day doesn’t sound and has never sounded appealing.

  But on the rare occasion when I miss her most, I wish I had one. She’s the one I call when I need a reminder of who I am, especially lately. Lately, I’ve felt a little lost.

  After ripping through my hair with a brush, I slip a fitted tank top over my head, finishing the ensemble with calf-high black leather boots. I love the way the zipper sounds and the way it feels as I pull up. Then, I pluck my hair up into the trendiest bun, mindful of Sara’s list of approved fashions. The woman is high maintenance and unreasonable, but I can at least meet her halfway with my hairstyle. I know full well she won’t approve of my choice in black on black on black.

  Darting across my apartment, I head down the steps, sounding like a herd of elephants. The steps’ boards creak in protest, but I know they’ll hold. I’m not that heavy despite their rude proclamation.

  I can hear the bar is already full, and I cringe with how late I am. Jumping the last step, I’m plunged into a sea of bodies. Green and purple strobe lights twirl along the ceiling, sending their colors in chaos across walls and faces. The air is heavy with liquor and perfumes, and grinding my teeth, I push through the crowd as best I can. I don’t bother asking nicely. They won’t hear me past the boom of the nearby speakers. Being short has its privileges here, though, when most often than not, it’s a hindrance. I’m able to squeeze through small openings and slide between close bodies, but no amount of self-defense training can prepare me for several elbows suddenly stabbing my breasts.

  Seeing a clearing just ahead, I push through the last of the people. There, sitting on the barstool is my best friend in the world. I feel a settling relief as I spy her. She’s talking with Cinder, and the bar owner’s lust twinkles in his eyes. She twirls her short pixie brown hair around a finger while swirling the ice in her glass cup with her other hand, and even though the back of her head is facing me, I know she’s batting her long eyelashes to him. Cinder is eating up this attention, leaning closer over the bar counter to whisper something surely seductive in her ear. He’s rewarded with a giggle.

  Smiling as he leans back, his wolfish gaze lands on me.

  “And there she is!” I see him mouth over the music. He grabs the towel from over his shoulder and whips it through the air playfully as I approach.

  “Flirting with the customers. How dashing of you,” I shout sarcastically.

  I can’t blame Sara for finding the shifter attractive. He is. Devilishly so. But he also has all the signs of a player, and I don’t want my friend to get hurt even if I see Cinder as the closest thing to a brother I’ll ever get.

  Witches don’t have brothers. Witches don’t have husbands. And witches are never men. It’s a genetic-slash-traditional thing. I secretly suspect the witches believe men are greedy. Maybe they are since the one in front of me seems to only think with his dick.

  I doubt his pack would endure him bringing home a witch to his bed. It’s just the way of our world, and Sara, damn her, likes to play with it like a pyromaniac cupping a taunting flame.

  “Is she though? Is she really a customer, Jinx-y-poo?” he asks, implying that she’s part of the hostage situation.

  Sara lifts her purse from the neighboring stool and pats the seat, thoroughly enjoying herself. I slide in while Cinder gets to work with my usual. I swivel to gaze at the mob this place has become in a matter of hours.

  According to Cinder, his Pack practically lives in this bar, coming in on nights where there’s a well-known DJ occupying the small stage in the dark right corner of the building. It’s not a big bar. With the sea of writhing bodies and swiveling strobe lights, it feels even smaller.

  He’s got to be close to capacity, I think to myself. Then again, his pack has probably paid off the authorities. I’ve been told packs are notoriously wealthy. Must be nice.

  “Any chance I can get you to help with drinks tonight?” Cinder asks as he sets the glass on the bar.

  “Nope,” I shout over my shoulder. “It's a girls’ night.”

  “Sounds kinky, but at some point, you have to pay your dues, woman!”

  I wave him off and ignore Sara’s flirtatious giggles. She spins and faces the crowd with me, already scanning for available men. Probably to taunt Cinder with what he can’t have. Witches can’t have long-time lovers, but they can have one-night stands. Sara always takes advantage of this rule. Neither of us likes commitments. It’s probably the main thing we have in common.

  Behind us, I can hear Cinder talking over the music to another man with a deep baritone. I pay them no mind, catching the notice of a potential one-night-stand shifter. The tall black-haired beast nods my way, lifting his bottle of suds in salute. He continues to eye me while leaning closer to his buddy and talking in his ear. A permanent half-smirk is plastered on his full lips, and heat gathers in my core at the prospect of already finding who I’ll share a bed with tonight. One trip up the stairs and –

  “That’s a nice body,” Sara says, and I grin.

  “That’s not civilized talk, Sara. Keep talking like that, and people will think you’re a Necromancer.”

  She twists her lips, shrugs, and sips her drink. “Worse assumptions have been made.”

  I turn, the grin still on my face, and begin to say, “Like the time –” but I cut myself off. There’s a man talking to Cinder, and he jerks his eyes my direction. They’re the lightest brown, the color of coffee, and absolutely captivating.

  For a brief second, his coffee iris’s flash wolf, and then they transform back to their human shade. The green of his wolf is a beautiful contrast to the darker shade of his skin. He’s tall, built to hold the muscles roping his arms, and alpha vibes vibrate off him in waves.

  I turn away, ripping my gaze from the man. My heart pounds in my ears, louder than the heavy bass of the latest hit. I never keep up with the music trends, but even if I did, the song would still fall away just the same.

  Though nothing dangerous comes from this shifter, I’m left rattled. In fact, it’s the opposite of danger that I feel. The blood thrums in my veins, excited, anticipating. Lustful.

  “Do you see that guy?” I ask Sara, trying to keep my voice down. Shifters have incredible hearing, and the last thing I need is to have that alpha think I’m interested in any way. Get a grip, Jinx.

  Toying with her pentagram necklace at her throat – the symbol of our creator – she straightens her spine to search the crowd. “What guy?”

  “The one talking to Cinder.”

  She begins to spin in the stool, and I stop her by grabbing her bare thigh. That pink slip of a dress really is too revealing. “Don’t make it obvious!”

  “Then how am I supposed to look?” She rolls her eyes. “I may be a witch, Jinx, but I can’t open up eyeballs on the back of my head.”

  She didn’t mean for it to, but calling herself a witch stung. The way she said it was like I’m not a witch too. She’s r
ight though. I’m not. I don’t know what I am, and I’m constantly reminded. Human, I suppose. Human, but accepted among the others.

  “Sorry,” she says knowingly. “I didn’t mean –”

  “Just,” I pause, cracking my knuckles. “Look discreetly.”

  I suppose I have to give her some credit for trying, but the way she did it – eyes roaming the ceiling as she slowly swirls in her stool, pretending to be interested in the tin tiles, was anything but discreet. This woman is going to be the death of me. At least, she keeps things interesting.

  I sigh heavily, cupping my hands in front of my face. My cheeks heat.

  “Jinx,” she urges, elbowing me in the side. “What guy?”

  Frowning, I drop my hands and look to where he was standing. But he’s not there anymore. He’s gone. Where the hell did he go?

  Two customers down, Cinder fills an order for a female shifter. She sways on her heels, a telling sign of how drunk she already is.

  “Cinder,” Sara calls. He looks up with a curious boyish expression. Sara leans across the bar, exposing plumps of cleavage while she’s at it. A purposeful gesture, no doubt, since the shifter with a refilled drink is quite beautiful. “Who were you just talking to?”

  “Tami?” he asks, using his forehead to point to the beautiful shifter.

  “No.” Sara sneers to Cinder’s knowing smirk. “The guy.”

  Cinder peers back to where he was talking to the tall, dark, and muscular brute. “Jacob?” I nod helpfully. “He’s my alpha.”

  I slant away. His alpha. I knew he was an alpha, but Cinder’s alpha? Well, at least I know who pulls Cinder’s strings. I understand now why he obeys so willingly. I wouldn’t disobey a man like that either, no matter how gentle his eyes looked behind the no-nonsense expression he was wearing.

  I snort. Of course, he’d be talking to his alpha. Of course, it’d be no big deal. And of course, he’d be hot as hell.

  My shifter friend slash one-night-stand leers at me openly. “Don’t you do it.”

  “Do what?”

  Pointing his finger, he says, “I know you, Jinx. I may not know you well, but I do know that trouble follows you everywhere. You’re trouble’s secret admirer.”

  I cross my arms. “Who said I was going to cause any trouble?”

  He jabs his finger again. “Do not, and I repeat, do not go causing trouble for my alpha. Don’t look at Jake. Don’t breathe on Jake. Don’t even talk to Jake.” Folding his finger back into his hand, he whips a partial peanut onto the floor. “He’s not the kind of guy you’re looking for, anyway.”

  “Who says I’m looking for a guy?” I angrily grab my drink and gulp once, wincing at the sting of the liquor.

  He raises an eyebrow. “When you two are together, you’re always looking.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Jacob Trent

  “All right, but keep digging.” I end the call with Reese by pressing the flat screen a little too hard then run a hand down my face. She came up empty in her search for answers. Everything she found didn’t match the MO of a scentless beast.

  “Still no answers?” Rex asks, propping himself against the bar’s brick wall. He kicks an empty can, and it hits the dumpster.

  “No.” I run my hand back, rubbing at my neck and slowly rake it over my shaved head. The feel of the beginning of stubbles soothe me and the warmth of my skin on skin chases a bit of the evening’s chill. “What the hell kind of creature has no scent?”

  He blows out a breath. “I don’t know.”

  Trevor and Travis, who were each smoking a cigar up against the wall during the duration of the call, pat my shoulder sympathetically as they head back inside. The door opens, pushes a boom of music out into the quiet street, and the twins disappear inside without another word. Not that they’re ones for words, anyway. The half-goth twins prefer action, and if they were to stand in the shadow of an alley with their dark clothes and dark hair, a normal person wouldn’t see them.

  I thump my back against the wall they just vacated and blow out a breath, trying to ease my wolf’s anxiety. We’re quiet for a moment, watching random cars that drive by.

  “We’ll figure it out though,” Rex murmurs the promise. “Did you meet Cinder’s tenant yet? She was at the bar.”

  I eye him suspiciously. “I didn’t meet her, no. But I saw her.”

  “Pretty little thing, isn’t she.”

  She is, but I won’t admit that. I see this trap being laid. Just like everyone else in the pack, he wants me to settle down and find a mate. I’m not ready to, but I’m starting to understand why they are. They want to move on, and the best way to do that is to complete the pecking order of the pack so we can have something – anything – to celebrate.

  Cinder’s Native American tenant had features that were soft in some places and edged in others. Her small frame held power – in her jaw, her shoulders, the way she holds herself. I could tell she takes care of her body, and I’d only piss off my wolf if I denied his attraction to her. One moment of locking eyes, and he was smitten. Even now, I can feel him urging me back inside like a pup in the grips of spring.

  “What do you know about her?”

  He raises a brow. “Not much. Cinder says she’s a witch with no magic.”

  I match his expression. “I’ve never heard of that before.”

  “Me neither. He said she makes up for it though.”

  “Oh? How so?” I scratch at an itch at the back of my arm.

  “I guess she’s trained heavily in martial arts.”

  “I suppose if she has no magic, it’s a practical idea to find a way to defend herself by other means.” If she and her coven fought in the Realms War, they’ve seen firsthand why that would be necessary. I, too, have been spending much time in the gym. Less so for the exercise and more so to make sure I fall into bed too tired to have plaguing dreams. Maybe this woman has a similar affliction.

  “Not sure what kind of martial arts, but he said he once startled her in the stockroom, and she was so frightened she took him to the ground.”

  I whistle. It takes a lot for a shifter’s reflexes to be caught unaware. “She must be quick.”

  “That’s what he claims.”

  “Interesting,” I say, letting my head fall back to survey the sky. It’s a clear night, and the bright moon almost swallows the stars completely.

  I don’t like the city sky. It feels off like the stink of poverty and stress makes all the stars near impossible to see instead of the numerous city lights. And when the clouds roll in, tinged with a purple hue, it’s all the more dreary here. But the city is where the pack can make money. Most of my pack, much smaller than it was, work in the city.

  A pack a few hundred miles away had called after the Realms War. Somehow, they had caught wind of our once prosperous income, now a dwindling sum, and offered to help. I had immediately said no once I heard his terms.

  This pack has thrown out the old ways of finding a fated mate and moved straight to “marry for money.” The thought is ridiculous. Many wolves die without ever finding their destined mate, but I refuse to marry someone for money. Besides, we’re not suffering in the way of money anyway. Every member of our pack who works has a generous career, and their salaries are more than enough to sustain the pack even with the percentage they give toward the cause.

  The creature world has gone mad. Vampires in hiding, organizing. Rogue shifters who lost their pack are now madder than a hatter. Packs are readjusting centuries of tradition in favor of income and status. The Divine only knows what the witches are doing. Hell, that woman inside is a witch without magic. Nothing is what it was before the Realms War.

  My wolf growls inside me, already protective of the magicless woman. I tell myself he’s protective of Cinder’s friend and not the idea that something could happen to the beautiful, supposedly deadly woman I only got a glimpse of.

  I want no part in these changes with the Earth Realm. All I want is to mind my own business and r
ebuild what we’ve lost, both mentally and emotionally. I don’t have time to worry about the rumors of witches and pretty women. I have a rogue killer to find with absolutely zero leads to go on.

  “Well,” Rex says, twisting side to side to stretch his spine. “I’m headed back in. You coming?”

  Still lost in my thoughts, I nod. I need a damn beer.

  Jinx Whitethorn

  While we’re submerged in a sea of bodies, the shifter behind me wraps his arms around my middle, and we dance to the flow of a particularly vulgar song. The bass pulses and pumps against every sensitive part along my body.

  My tight tank top has ridden up past my belly button, bunching under my dance partner’s claiming arm. I can feel his lips graze my neck every now and again, and it sends a tingle down my spine. And not in a good way, either. The thought of bedding this shifter had soured quickly after glimpsing the coffee irises. I can’t get the alpha off my mind, but I stubbornly refuse to abandon the prospect of the man behind me for one that Cinder forbade me to touch. I won’t prove him right.

  Trouble follows me everywhere. Ha.

  Subconsciously, I search the crowd for the alpha anyway, cursing at myself for being so weak.

  Across from me, basically bumping up against each other because this damn place is so packed, Sara faces the pack mate of the shifter I dance with. His long blonde hair is tossed in a bun, and he stands a good two feet taller than the short witch. Large hands are at the back of her hips, keeping her tugged close, and they grind against one another, lips a hairbreadth from kissing.

  Feeling my stare, she turns her head and grins. Her magic is so close to the surface with her lust that I can practically taste it charging the air.

  “Do you need a drink?” my dancing partner quickly asks when the song hushes to a close. His words are rushed, hurried before the next song begins. For extra measure, he suggestively splays his fingers over my now bare abdomen. A sudden urge to remove his hand and break his wrist overcomes me. I step away before I lose my mind-to-mouth filter and tell him what I really think about his ‘suggestions.’