Chance Lost

by Jo Larue

  “Noise getting to ya, Jack, or is it the smoke I saw rolling out when you opened the door?”

  Jack gave him a lopsided grin. “Just the noise, as usual. What was I thinking when I put in those pool tables? Damn racket! Pun intended!”

  Sylas gave him a quick punch in the arm and smiled. “You’ll live, pussy cat. The money always wins in the end.” They walked inside and went to the bar. “You’re buying, right?”

  “Usually do, my man, usually do.”

  Jack went behind the bar and slid a beer to Sylas. The immortal moved to a corner table keeping his back to the wall. From this angle, Sylas could see the entire bar. Unfortunately, his eyes brought notice from humans, and he didn’t need or want it. Eyes that glow and change color kept him behind sunglasses when around them. Habit kept him in corners and out of sight.

  A group of werewolves walked in and immediately staked claims on two pool tables in front of him. The humans paid them no mind, thinking they were just a bunch of drunken bikers. Sylas could smell their animals. The werewolves were obnoxious, rowdy, and the alcohol didn’t help the cause. Their Alpha started a money game on the table closest to him. Sylas signaled for another beer. If things kept on like this, Jack would probably ask Sylas to help bounce them, as he had in the past. Werewolves weren’t a job for human bouncers and Jack wouldn’t want them to get hurt. A fight would happen sooner or later, and he needed to boost his calm. He huffed and smirked. Just my luck, a drunk Alpha on an ego-trip. Maybe the night won’t be so boring after all.

  The front door opened and the whole bar went quiet. The pool balls smacking against each other seemed loud in the silence. A woman walked in and didn’t notice the stir she caused, or if she did it, was commonplace enough for her to ignore it. She was tall and dressed all in black leather. Sylas couldn’t see what was under the full-length duster she was wearing, but he could tell she had curves. The noise level started notching back up a little when she turned towards the bar and asked for a beer. Her long, jet-black hair caught Sy’s attention. Even braided, it fell past her ass.

  The woman walked by scouting tables. Sylas breathed in deeply, catching her scent… human. A slightly floral and spicy scent followed her and Sylas caught no hint of another male on her. Shifting in his seat, he willed more of her enticing aroma into his nostrils. She removed her coat, passing it to Jack, and Sy’s breath caught in his throat. The woman had curves in all the right places. It was all he could do to stay in his seat. His instincts told him to get up and cover her with his coat. His mate and for his eyes only… boomed through his head.

  My mate? Where the hell had that come from? She’s human, not shifter. What the hell is wrong with me? She watched the gambling among the tables intently, and moved to the two where the werewolves were playing. She walked gracefully and confidently over towards them and asked if she could join the game.

  The wolves were all over her joining them, and the Alpha was looked at her like dinner had just been served. Sy was not going anywhere now. He was not going to leave her alone with this pack. Nuh-uh.

  Jack walked over from behind the bar. He looked at the pack and then back to Sy. He leaned on the table with his back to the wall. “Gonna have trouble, I can smell it.”

  “Yep, it’s thick.”

  Sy’s shoulders were rigid, his gaze never wavering from the scene by the pool tables. If he clenched his teeth any harder he was going to chip a tooth. “Ease up. I got you and this. Whatever this is.” He swept his hand slightly towards the tables and the Wolves.

  “Not sure what this is either, but I know you have my back.”

  “Her name is Chance. She gave it to me when I took her coat.”

  Sylas nodded, still mesmerized.

  Jack walked back to tend bar with a promise of another beer on the way. Sylas hadn’t moved since she walked in. Taking a long swig, he got comfortable. This was going to be a longer night than anticipated. He relished every minute watching her. Chance sized up the wolves and their game. To her, they were just some drunken bikers, but he knew better. They could and would tear her apart if provoked… with no effort and not think twice about it after.

  Chance took out her cue and put it together. Sylas rolled her name around in his head a few times. Chance. Chance. Chance… Could she be the one foretold? Not possible, she’s human. Sexy as hell, but human. Could the Fates be messing with me still? Probably, but could he afford to not take this seriously? The only answer he could come up with was a resounding no.

  Chapter 3

  Chance sat at her table ignoring the pompous leader of the biker gang as she watched them play. Just like a man, she thought to herself smirking. He was strutting and puffing out his chest like a peacock, a cute one, but still full of himself. It was exactly this type of man she’d hoped to find around the tables. This type of drunk was easy to take advantage of. She wanted in while the stakes were low and right now it was a dollar a game.

  Having experienced her fair share of sloppy drunks brought no fear when dealing with them. It was the other types, mean and intent on doing physical harm that she needed to steer clear from. Shivering from the memories that wanted to overtake all her senses and shut everything down, Chance glanced around to see if anyone noticed. Her head felt like something had escaped the zoo and was pacing around in it with the same restlessness that was keeping her awake at night. Shaking it off and gritting her teeth, Chance pulled back into the game.

  When her turn came up she walked over to rack the pool balls, and made a show of it. Bending lower than necessary to get the rack, the bikers got a clear shot of ass and boobs. The strutting peacock had won, as she had hoped.

  “Game and stakes?” she asked when done, dipping lower to put the rack back under the table.

  “What you want to play for, honey? I’m liking call all shots and you as the prize.”

  “Hmm, well that sounds good for you, but what if I win? I think I prefer a money game instead. Call all and five dollars a game?” She drawled out in her best southern girl accent.

  Guffaws and high fives sounded behind him and from somewhere in the back she heard a loud, “Whoa, Craven! BURN!”

  Craven bristled and shot a dirty look behind him at whoever shouted. The other men quieted down under his scrutinizing gaze. He turned to glare at her and said, “Fine!”

  Chance lost the first game by one and the eight ball. The second by three and the third by two again. As she racked for the next game, she looked up at Craven asking if he would mind upping the stakes so she could, “win some of her money back”. Thinking he had an easy mark, he upped it to twenty a game and she agreed.

  Still wanting him to think her an easy mark, she paid him the money owed and then proceeded to lose the next two by purposely missing the eight ball. She paid out and racked again.

  Time for some magic, she smirked to herself.

  He broke and ran all but one and the eight. On her turn she ran all but one and the eight, and in the process, placed the eight in the corner, right behind his ball. He had no way to make a clean shot with his level of skills, but in his drunken state there was no doubt he was going to try.. When he sank the eight and missed his original shot, she crooned at him, “I am so sorry! It sucks to lose that way!”

  Craven glared at her, but paid out the twenty and just as she suspected he would, he asked to up the game to fifty. She shrugged and said it was okay with her. To make it look like she sympathized with him, Chance ordered a round of shots, their choice, and another beer for herself.

  She lost the next two, but Craven’s game was declining from the added alcohol. She won the next three games straight knowing the loss of his profits from her would tempt him into upping the stakes again. Feeling bold, Craven raised the stakes to a hundred. She lost the first and won three more, two by sabotaging his eight ball twice. She now had some of his money and it was not sitting well with him.

  “Tell you what, Craven, how about one more game for five hundred and we call it a night?” Her
voice was sickly sweet with sugar and southern drawl. “We can even get a neutral person to hold the money?”

  Craven nodded his head in agreement, his face turning several shades of red from his apparent anger issues. He was too flustered apparently to speak aloud

  Chance could feel the weight of someone’s gaze on her. She looked over at the man in the corner. He didn’t turn away when she saw him. The corner was cast in shadow, but lately, Chance’s vision had seem to have gotten better when it came to seeing in the dark.

  She walked towards him slowly. “Would you mind holding the stakes for the game, mister…..”

  “His name is Sylas.” The voice behind her made Chance tense. She’d been so focused on the man in the corner that she hadn’t been paying attention to much else.

  The bartender walked over to the other side of the table and handed them both a cold beer.

  “Names Jack, by the way. I own the place.”

  Some owners didn’t like gambling in their establishment. Chance frowned slightly, unsure of the situation that was about to arise.

  Jack sipped his beer and smirked. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind the gambling.” He winked at her. “It’s too entertaining not to allow. Sylas however, tends to be too uptight to get involved, so I’ll hold the money for you.”

  Chance could tell they were friends by the quick glances that passed between them. Even though Sylas wore those strange sunglasses, she could see his head move slightly in Jack’s direction. A perfect, but barely noticeable, tell. She knew body language from street smarts and through training with her Sensei. Sensei taught her many things over the years and this was just one of many lessons she retained from all the years of learning how to survive on her own.

  “I wanted to watch the game anyway. Might be the highlight of the evening,” Jack said with a genuine smile that reached all the way to his golden eyes. Bar lights were always dim and had neon signs. They tended to change hues on clothes, eyes, and everything else.

  Looking between the two men, Chance compared their looks and liked what she saw in both of them. Both were tall and well built, but where Jack was fair with golden locks and looks, Sylas was dark with a thick jet-black mane. The two were polar opposites and both handsome in their own way. If it were a contest over who had the better looks, Chance would have to lean towards Sylas and his bad boy attraction.

  Chance felt, rather than saw Craven walk up behind her. Jack’s lips pressed into a thin line with his obvious dislike of the man. She studied Jack for a moment before stepping farther back, so Craven could hand him five bills. Sylas immediately went from semi-relaxed into stiff and fierce… almost catlike. She pictured him bristling like one and felt the anger emanating from his body. What she couldn’t figure out was if his anger was directed her or her opponent. At least she knew Jack didn’t like Craven either, since it was written all over him. That fact alone made him all right in her book.

  Chance gave Jack her best smile, and turned to go back to the game. Her thoughts were still on the two men behind her, and had to shake her head to get mentally back in the game. Still she could not get Sylas out of her mind. What was it about this man that was getting to her? When she noticed Craven trying to give her a bad rack, she shook off those last thoughts and back into what was in front of her.

  “Calling bad rack, dude. Try it again. The lead ball is loose,” she called over the table.

  Craven glared at her and she could swear she heard him growl like a dog. “You trying to call me a cheat?”

  “Nope, just calling it a bad rack. No harm, no foul.”

  Chance took a long pull off her beer and put it on the table. Picking up her cue and scuffing the tip, she walked back over to the table, glancing down at the rack Craven had redone. Satisfied it was tight she walked to the other end of the table. Looking up at him, she smiled and chalked her cue.

  “Thank you. Much better!”

  His glare became more pronounced.

  There was no flirt left in her now. She smiled to herself. Fine, got you where I wanted you anyway. This is my game and my time. Done deal.

  Chance took a deep breath, taking in all the smells around her. Smoke, leather, and alcohol had a calming affect on her. Leaning over the table, she looked down the shaft of her cue, gave it two strokes and moved forward as her arm swung in the same direction, putting all her weight into the break. Time seemed to slow down as the cue ball rolled forward.

  Craven made a huge rookie mistake. When racking the balls he placed all solids on the each corner of the rack. All three seemed to go in slow motion towards the pockets and then they fell in. Another ball fell in, a stripe. The eight moved towards the top right pocket with a stripe right behind it. They both stopped right before falling in with about an inch between the stripe and the eight. Time moved back to normal and a hush fell over the room.

  Everyone in the bar moved to watch the game in anticipated silence.

  “I call solids, seven ball, one rail, side pocket.” She lined up the shot and where she wanted the cue to stop and executed it. Perfect shot. “Calling four ball, no rails, corner pocket.” She called as she walked around the table studying her next shot and chalking her cue. She pointed to the corner she wanted so there could be no mistake. Another perfect shot. She heard another small growl, but didn’t look up. She knew where it came from and besides, he couldn’t rattle her. Not when she was in the zone.

  “Calling two ball, three rails, same pocket,” pointing again to the pocket she had just sunk the four ball. If she hit this one right, she could call safety on the next one. If he messed up at all, the eight would fall out of turn. Chance bent down and sent a silent prayer to the pool gods. “Get this shot right and it will be my game.” She aimed putting some hard right bottom English on the cue, wanting to pull the cue back after contact. It would place the cue in the middle of the table and straight on into a side rail with the last ball for the safety. She executed the shot with accuracy and both balls went where she intended.

  “Safety,” she called out to everyone listening. Hitting the last ball to the rail, with the cue ball resting behind it, Chance stood up, looked at Craven and said, “Your shot.”

  Chapter 4

  Chance played the wolf for all he was worth. Sylas smiled when he realized she was sharking the poor fellow. Not that the fool didn’t deserve it. Jack even chuckled a time or two from his side of the table as he figured out her game. Not many could get the old fart to smile, much less laugh, and she did both in under an hour. Sylas didn’t notice he was sitting forward in his seat until she called the safety. It was the wolf keeping him and Jack, on edge. It didn’t help his pack was egging it on by growling and making snide comments. Chance went back to her table to take a tug on her beer. Sylas relaxed enough to sit back and study her some more.

  Sylas rested his arm on the table and ran his fingers over the rough beard stubble on his chin. He smiled when she smiled, delighting in it as it seemed to light the whole room. Her teeth were dazzling white and straight, surrounded by full red lips that begged to be kissed. Watching her chew on that luscious bottom lip drove him crazy with lust. Her eyes were green like his and he wondered if they glowed when she became passionate.

  A wolf growled from the pool table, grabbing instant attention. Sy tore his eyes away from her to watch the game, on edge again. He took a quick glance over at Jack. He subtly nodded at Sy, indicating he’d heard the growl as well.

  The Alpha had worked himself into a corner. The cue ball rolled too far and now sat behind hers. He would have to hook it to even call a safety. If he missed at all, she would have a ball in hand play. Stealing a glance in her direction again, he saw the tiniest uplift in the corners of those luscious lips while she leaned slightly forward. That tiny quirk and her body language said this play was planned.

  The Alpha called for a short cue so he could make his shot. He was rushing it. With more thought, he could make it count. The wolf aimed, holding the cue stick up to make the hook an
d missed. Chance stood up, put down her beer, and started chalking her cue. She was not rushing her play like the wolf. She walked over to the table and picked up the cue ball. Placing it just in the right spot, he heard her call out, “Six in the side pocket, eight in the corner off the thirteen,” and then pointed to both pockets. Chance lined up the shot. The bar went silent in anticipation… the pack included.

  Chance took her shot. The balls landed in their pockets breaking the silence like a clap of thunder.

  All hell broke loose.

  Craven growled in angered and lunged at Chance. One hand wrapped around her thick braid and the other grabbed her wrist for leverage. “You bitch! You fucking, lowlife, cheating bitch!”

  Chaos erupted. The humans were trying to stay out of the line of fire. The pack was backing up their Alpha, and Sylas was about to break Craven’s arms for daring to even touch her.