by J. C. Holly
The Rock Star and the Wolf
Harlan Weatherly is a Hunter, a shifter who metes out justice to those of his kin who think themselves above the law. He's also horny as hell.
After his latest hunt goes wrong, leaving a fleeing and bitten victim, he has to work hard to track down the man and train him in the ways of shifters. His job gets that much harder when he finds out that the man in question is none other than Mitchell "Mitch" Shaw, world famous rock star. After a chance encounter in a gay bar the two soon come together, but it quickly becomes clear that training isn't the only thing on their minds.
On top of a burgeoning relationship, and getting used to living the life of luxury, Harlan also has to avoid the increasingly ferocious attacks of his latest target’s wolf pack.
Can Harlan and Mitch’s relationship weather the oncoming storm?
Genre: Alternative (M/M or F/F), Paranormal, Vampires/Werewolves
Length: 42,347 words
THE ROCK STAR AND THE WOLF
JC Holly
EROTIC ROMANCE
MANLOVE
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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IMPRINT: Erotic Romance ManLove
THE ROCK STAR AND THE WOLF
Copyright © 2013 by JC Holly
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62740-091-6
First E-book Publication: June 2013
Cover design by Harris Channing
All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
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All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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Siren Publishing, Inc.
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DEDICATION
For my sweetheart.
THE ROCK STAR AND THE WOLF
JC HOLLY
Copyright © 2013
Chapter One
Mitchell “Mitch” Shaw clutched his microphone and threw back his head as he cried out the words to his number-one hit single. He closed his eyes and soaked in the energy of the stadium, as thousands of men and women sang along with him. As he reached the end of the final verse he strutted over to Carr, the lead guitarist, sang the last few words with him, then slapped him on the back as Carr stepped forward to play his solo.
A moment to himself in front of the crowd, Mitch stared out into the sea of faces, as he often did. The fans loved it—he’d seen many a blog where someone had sworn that he had been looking right at them while he sang—but he had an ulterior motive. For the last few months, a man had been present at each gig. A man that never sang along, never swayed with the music, never even smiled. He just stared right at Mitch.
The man wasn’t there for the entire duration, but he was always there for a song or two, before disappearing. Mitch had never seen him outside of a concert, or at any of his other public appearances, but the guy still gave him the creeps.
Just as the song came to an end he spotted the man near the front of the crowd. Tall, thin, a mess of brown hair that looked like he’d been dragged backward through multiple hedges. There was something about his stare, too. Something wild.
For a moment he wanted to shout into the microphone. To get his fans to grab the guy and bring him forward. Just so he could find out what the hell the guy wanted. He didn’t though, and as the song ended and everyone began to cheer, the man left. Mitch watched him go, then shook himself out of his confusion long enough to thank the audience and tell them they’d be back out in ten minutes, then headed toward the back of the stage with the band.
“Was he out there?” Carr said, a smirk on his lips. “Your secret admirer?”
The rest of the band laughed, and Mitch took it with a grin. He couldn’t let them know how much the guy got to him. After all, he’d never done anything other than stare.
“Yeah, I saw him,” he said. “I swear, the guy must only hang around for his favorite songs.”
Theo, the drummer, shook his head. “Waste of a fuckin’ ticket, if you ask me.”
“I ain’t complaining,” Carr said between sips of his water bottle. “He’s paying our wages.”
“Remind me to write him a thank you letter, then,” Mitch muttered as he headed to the bathroom.
The gig was the last of the tour, and Mitch had never been more glad of anything. Every part of him ached, from his vocal chords to his feet, and a few months kicking back in some warm country sounded like heaven. He planned to do as little as possible for a few weeks before starting work on the new album.
Well, he’d probably head to a few bars, using the patented celebrity disguise of a baseball cap and some big sunglasses. Maybe find a cute guy to take to a motel and have a little fun. Of course that had a few risks. The biggest being that he wasn’t currently ‘out’, other than to his bandmates. He wasn’t ashamed of being gay. It was just that with a band like his, built heavily on sexuality, their sales relied on their female fans thinking they stood a chance.
He smirked as he bent over the tiny sink and splashed water on his face. If they could see what he got up to some weekends, the album sales would probably plummet. Then again, they could surprise him and not care in the least. If it was just his livelihood at stake, he’d out himself, but he had his bandmates to think about.
“Ah, the trials of being famous,” he said as he dried his face and walked back out to his friends. “Let’s make ’em scream.”
* * * *
<
br /> By the time the set was finished Mitch was exhausted, and by the time they’d finished the encore song and fought the scrum of fans to get back onto the tour bus, he doubted he’d be able to spell his name, let alone sign it.
Some of the band members and crew were using somewhat illegal methods to keep awake, but Mitch was long over that bullshit, and instead headed to the back of the bus and dropped onto his bed.
He managed a whole thirty minutes of sleep before there was an almighty bang that jolted the entire vehicle. The area filled with questions and curses as guitars were dropped and lines of coke were messed up. Mitch staggered through to the front to find the driver pulling the bus onto the side of the darkened road.
“Sorry, Mitch,” he said. “A tire blew. We’ve got a spare, but I’ll have to call for a tow to a garage to get it fitted.”
Mitch patted him on the shoulder. “Hey, it’s not your fault. I’ll tell the boys.”
The boys were less amiable than Mitch, but they could hardly complain. It’s not like you could jack up a tour bus and change the tire by yourself. Their muttering got the better of Mitch, though, as it did more and more lately, and he headed out the door into the cool night air.
The driver was out there already, calling someone on his phone, so Mitch headed away from the bus, seeking the quiet. They must have been driving for longer than he’d thought, as they were on a road in the middle of nowhere. To both sides of the road lay trees and not much else. It beat whiny musicians, though, so Mitch pulled the collar of his jacket tighter and wandered into the tree line.
He kept the bus in sight at all times, which wasn’t difficult given the size and number of lights, but it didn’t take long before the sounds of nature started to creep him out. As he was about to return, a crackle of branches had him turn to his side and cry out in surprise.
A large black wolf stood only feet from him, its gaze hard on him. A low growl threatened to stop Mitch’s heart dead, and a rustle somewhere nearby had him sure there was more than just one wolf.
“Nice doggy,” Mitch said, as he backed up slowly, his hands out. “No need to get mad. I’m just leaving.”
It turned out that holding his arms out was a stupid move, and the wolf lunged, sinking its teeth into his wrist and hand. Mitch cried out in agony and somehow managed to pull free. The effort threw him to the ground, though, and he could only watch as the wolf stepped closer, its teeth now red with his own blood.
The rustle off to the side got louder, and Mitch said a silent good-bye to his friends and family. As the wolf closed in to finish what it had started, it suddenly turned to the side and snarled. Another wolf appeared, and this one seemed to be more interested in the wolf than in Mitch. The two animals squared off against each other, pawing the dirt and growling. Seeing it as a slim chance at escape, Mitch scrabbled at the dirt and managed to get to his feet.
The first wolf turned and snarled, but that turned out to be a mistake, as the second wolf lunged, ripping into the first’s neck. The fight was on, then, and Mitch turned and fled, expecting to be torn apart at any second.
By the time he reached the bus, the whole crew was stood on the road, flashlights aimed at the trees. Mitch staggered to the hardtop and dropped to his knees, panting and clutching his torn arm. Carr got to him first and tore at his shirt to make a makeshift bandage.
“What the fuck happened?” he asked as he worked on Mitch’s wrist.
“Wolves,” was all Mitch managed to say before the world went black.
* * * *
Harlan circled the downed wolf, aware that the victim had managed to escape, but also that he had been bitten. A bright bus was in the middle distance, now joined by a large tow truck. The bitten man would survive, though he would likely avoid forests for a while.
As Harlan moved in to finish the job, the wolf snarled as it shifted back into its human form. Honor amongst shifters dictated that Harlan do the same. He wanted to talk, anyway.
“Who the hell are you?” the man asked, sat on the ground and panting from the strain of the shift. “You messed up my hunt.”
Blood ran freely down his neck. If he bound it he would probably heal just fine, but Harlan was there to make sure that didn’t happen.
“James Brubeck, you have been found guilty of contravening the rules of The Ancients. I am to be your executioner.”
“You’re using fairy tales of the original wolves as an excuse to track and kill shifters?” Brubeck spat a mouthful of blood onto the forest floor. “Cute.”
“Thank you for noticing. I’m quite serious, though.” Harlan held out his hand and a long-bladed silver dagger appeared, making the man’s eyes widen comically. “You are guilty of hunting and killing innocents, as well as bringing the curse to those that do not wish it.”
“The Ancients are real.” Brubeck shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve been doing what I do for a hundred years, and only now they try and stop me?”
Harlan wasn’t usually one for conversing with his kills, other than the necessary words, but as he needed information from him and intended to kill him afterward, he decided to indulge the man. “The old ones went into seclusion after a conflict left only a handful of survivors. We have only just started reasserting our position and enforcing the laws.”
“Makes sense.” Brubeck stood and dusted the dirt from his bare skin. “So, you’re here to kill me.”
“I am. Though I have a question first.”
He shrugged. “Ask it.”
“The man you attacked. Was that by chance, or had you hunted him.”
“I hunted him. I’ve been watching him for some time, looking for a way to get to him. I thought I’d gotten a break when his bus blew a tire. Pulled my car up a way back and came to see if I could catch him.”
Harlan nodded. “And did you pass on the curse?”
Brubeck grinned. “You’ll never know.”
Before Harlan could respond, the man lunged forward, his hands aiming for Harlan’s neck. He twisted away and jammed his knife into the man’s back as he passed, piercing the heart. Brubeck collapsed to the floor, dead.
“Damn it.”
Harlan squatted by the man to check his pulse, then stood and stared back toward the tour bus. Whoever the man that had been bitten was, he was either famous, or crew, and now either had a regular bite or the beginnings of a hell of a lifestyle change.
Chapter Two
Mitch woke to find Carr passed out on the bed beside him, painkillers in his hands. He raised his hand to scratch at his head and swore as the movement sent pain searing through his wrist.
Carr woke with a start. “Oh, hey. You’re up.”
“And sore,” Mitch muttered. “Those pain pills for me?”
Carr popped the lid and handed Mitch too many, along with a glass of water. “I kept an eye on you, in case you got a fever or something. Must have passed out.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Hey, you’d do the same.”
Mitch smiled and swallowed his pills, hoping they’d act fast. Carr was a sarcastic asshole and regularly tried to hog the limelight, but he was a good guy.
“You remember what happened last night?”
Mitch shrugged. “Kinda. I went to get some fresh air and I found a couple of wolves instead.”
“A couple?” Carr shook his head. “Shit, you’re lucky to be alive.”
“Tell me about it. The first one took a bite out of me, and then they started fighting. Probably over who got to eat me.”
Carr laughed. “Luckiest son of a bitch alive. The press will love this, you know. By the time they’re through you’ll have fought both off barehanded while protecting a fan.”
Mitch snorted. “Yeah, no doubt. I’d rather just forget about the whole thing. Did we get the tire fixed?”
“Yup.” Carr stood and stretched, then gestured to the window. “Been driving all morning. You’ve been out for hours.”
“Feels more like minutes.” Mitch glanced down to fi
nd a new bandage on his wrist. “You change it when I was out?”
“Yeah, you were gone, so I stitched you up and put a real dressing on.” Carr grinned. “Aren’t you glad you have an ex-doctor for a guitarist?”
“Never been gladder.”
Carr headed out the door to let everyone know that Mitch was in one piece, and Mitch headed into the little shower room attached to the bedroom. Once inside he locked the door and sat on the toilet seat as he unfurled the bandage.
While pretty damn ugly, the wound didn’t look as bad as he had expected. In fact it looked smaller than it did the night before. That was probably his memory messing with him, though. Other than pain when he flexed his wrist and a little tiredness, he felt okay. Better than okay, actually. The aches from the previous night were gone.
“Amazing what a little sleep will do.”
He headed back into the bedroom to see what a whole heap more sleep would do.
* * * *
By the time Harlan had dragged Brubeck’s body further into the woods and buried him deep enough that nothing could eat him, the tour bus had been long gone. He’d had the foresight to get the plate number first, though, so when he finally got back to civilization—and his stashed clothes—he headed to his motel room and turned on his laptop. It didn’t take him long to find something.
The first search result was for a fan’s blog. Apparently they had the plate for every vehicle the band, The Twisted Nails, had ever used. It was an odd hobby, but one Harlan was glad for. A link on the side of the page took him to the official page for the band. On the picture at the top of the site stood the man Harlan was searching for.