Uncaging Wolves (Shifter Country Wolves Book 4)

by Noir, Roxie

  Raise some hell, she thought, half-grinning into the dark before she reprimanded herself.

  No raising hell. The Scarlet who used to go out and raise hell wasn’t on parole.

  She wrinkled her nose and headed for her closet.

  Maybe some light hell-raising, and not in Rustvale, where Trevor and Austin would be sure to hear about it. She could head over to Canyon City, just over the hill, which was considerably more populated and might actually have something to do on Wednesday night.

  Before she could question herself, Scarlet tossed on a black t-shirt, jeans, ankle boots, and her worn black leather jacket.

  As she left her room, she paused for a moment, looking over her shoulder. She paused.

  Don’t, she thought. If you grab them, you’re just giving yourself permission, you know.

  Well, so what?

  Scarlet sighed and re-entered her room, then opened a drawer in the dresser and pulled out a condom. Then she considered for a moment and grabbed another one, slipping them both into her jacket pocket.

  In the bathroom, she covered her three-moon tattoo with an ace bandage, and rifled through the drawers until she found a stick of black eyeliner that likely belonged to Lizzie. Scarlet was pleased to find that her muscle memory still worked, and moments later, her gray eyes were ringed in smoky black.

  Just like I was never gone, she thought, looking at herself in the mirror.

  Then she tiptoed down the stairs, took Trevor’s keys, and drove away as quietly as she could.

  The Den hadn’t changed a bit. Scarlet knew it as soon as she parked the car and walked down the street. It still had the same weather-beaten ugly wooden sign that it always had, THE DEN in white Old English lettering.

  Even from half a block away, Scarlet could hear some band playing a little too loud inside. The door muffled it, but it sounded like some classic rock cover band. Exactly the kind of thing that should be at an almost-dive bar on a Wednesday night.

  “ID?” asked the bouncer, a bald guy with a beard. He had a tattoo of a paw print right on his throat, just below his beard.

  Grizzly, thought Scarlet, automatically. Most bouncers were; who could keep the peace better than a big, dangerous man who could turn into an even bigger, more dangerous bear?

  She handed her license over, and the guy looked at it.

  “It’s expired,” he said, looking unimpressed.

  “It’s still me,” she said, looking him straight in the eye.

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  He examined her license for another moment, then handed it back.

  “Left hand,” he said, and stamped her with a star.

  The Den even smelled like it always had, like stale beer and spilled Jack Daniels, with overtones of sweat and wet animal. It had the same tiny, crappy stage as always, a small crowd hanging around as some band shouted an Aerosmith cover slightly off-key.

  Thank God this is the same, Scarlet thought. I don’t think I could deal with it if it had become some fancy brunch place.

  Some things should never change.

  She walked to the bar, quickly catching the bartender’s eye.

  Lion, she thought automatically.

  “What can I get you?” he asked, leaning toward her, pushing a lock of golden-brown hair behind his ear.

  He was cute, but Scarlet didn’t think she could be interested in a cat.

  “Jack on the rocks,” she heard herself say.

  He nodded once, then reached below the bar.

  I should have gotten soda or something, she thought. Oh well.

  Drink in hand, she wandered closer to the stage and leaned against a wall. She wasn’t sure exactly what her plan was — there were condoms in her pocket, yeah, but those were just in case more than anything. After all, she hadn’t seen a man who wasn’t a prison guard or a relative in nearly four years, and she felt antsy, ready to go at the slightest provocation.

  The Jack Daniels burned across her tongue and down her throat at the first sip, and Scarlet nearly coughed, then righted herself and took another sip, forcing herself not to react this time.

  Already, her head felt a little fuzzy, just from one sip.

  Take it easy for once, she told herself. Don’t go wild on your first night out of jail. You haven’t even met with your parole officer yet.

  The song finished, and the lead singer looked at his guitar, messed with something, and then addressed the bar.

  “I just wanted to say thanks to everyone for coming out tonight,” he said into the microphone. His hair was damp, and Scarlet could see beads of sweat sliding down his throat and under his collar.

  Lion, she thought, though she kept watching. He had that particular feline grace that the lion shifters had, that way of commanding a room. It wasn’t unattractive.

  She took another sip of her drink.

  You’re only looking at cats because you’re lonely and getting drunk and desperately need that itch scratched, she thought.

  Behind him, the guitarist and bass player were both looking down at their instruments, tuning or something, and the drummer messed with his cymbals.

  Then the guitarist looked up, shaking wavy brown hair out of his eyes. He glanced around the room and smiled at someone at the bar. Then his eyes slid around the room until he looked directly at Scarlet.

  He was a wolf. She could tell from his eyes, the slightly lupine way he looked at her.

  Her heart nearly stopped. Her hand froze halfway to her mouth with her glass in it, and for long seconds, they just stared at each other as Scarlet’s own wolf sat up and howled.

  All at once, Scarlet’s stomach flipped over, a jolt of adrenaline sizzling through her veins. She blushed, the heat creeping up her face, something that Scarlet hardly ever did.

  He and Scarlet stared at each other, for long moments as the lead singer yammered on. A slow grin spread itself over the wolf’s face, and Scarlet felt like she couldn’t even move.

  Stop it, she told herself, her eyes anchored to the man. Don’t get googly eyes over the first attractive wolf you see out of prison. This is ridiculous.

  He was still looking right at her, though, and even across the half-filled bar, his eyes danced. They held promise of something she couldn’t quite name, but it was something illicit and satisfying, something like wrapping her legs around his muscled torso in the alley behind the bar.

  Scarlet swallowed, wishing she could look away.

  At last, the drummer counted off four beats.

  Just before he started playing again, the guitarist winked at her, the simple movement full of lascivious promise. Scarlet’s insides felt like they’d liquefied, and she squeezed her eyes shut, glad that the spell was momentarily broken.

  You haven’t seen a man in four years, she reminded herself. It’s okay to be a little bowled over by a very, very hot man winking at you.

  Besides, you’re overreacting. He’s just flirting with you because he’s a hot musician, and that’s what they do.

  She took another sip of whiskey and opened her eyes, thankful that he wasn’t watching her anymore. She was mesmerized by his movements: the way he played the guitar, his fingers knowing exactly what to do; his forearms knotting and relaxing as he played. The way he thrust his hips against his guitar, just a little, when he played, tossing his head back.

  Scarlet bit her lip, forcing herself not to growl in public, and just watched. She had no idea what the song was — it sounded like something from the 80’s — and she didn’t care. She just didn’t want him to stop playing.

  Surreptitiously, she fingered the condoms in the pocket of her leather jacket.

  If this works out, I’m glad I brought two, she thought. I have the feeling he can go for a couple of rounds.

  She drank again, feeling her body warm up.

  You’re really getting ahead of yourself, she thought. Maybe try just interacting with new people first, before you decide you’re going to spend the night with o
ne.

  “Hey,” said a voice right behind her, only inches from her ear.

  She jerked her glass away from her mouth and spun around, adrenaline surging through her veins.

  Throw the glass and then kick him in the balls while he’s distracted, she thought automatically. Fucker thinks he can get me by sneaking up on me.

  The man who’d spoken to her looked slightly surprised, but non-threatening.

  Scarlet forced herself to take one second, her heart hammering wildly. Every fiber of her being told her take him down before he can take you down.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “What the fuck?” she shouted, wiping at her mouth. She realized there was whiskey down her front, and her shirt was cold against her belly. “You just go around sneaking up on people at bars?”

  “I said I was sorry,” the guy said. Scarlet shook the whiskey from her hands to hide that they were shaking, then glared at him though her bangs.

  “That was my drink,” she said, taking a step back. Fury began to take the place of shock, and for a moment, she took stock of him.

  Who the hell does something like that? she thought. Does he WANT to fight?

  “I just said hello,” he said, standing up straighter. He obviously wasn’t about to back down. “You spilled your own drink.”

  “How about you don’t fucking sneak up on people?” Scarlet shot back, taking a step forward.

  He didn’t back down. He stood up taller, not exactly puffing his chest out, but not backing down, and for the first time, Scarlet got a good look at his face: he had a square jaw and dark brown hair, nearly black, his face punctuated by two ice-blue eyes, both sparking with anger.

  Wolf for sure, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t fight him.

  “What the hell is your problem?” he asked. He took a step forward, sending a flood of warmth through Scarlet that she couldn’t even identify.

  “My problem is with assholes who spill my drink everywhere when I’m trying to watch a show,” she said.

  Now she was in his face, and she could smell his spicy, musky scent as he stood perfectly still.

  Then she put her hand on his chest and shoved him backwards, hard. He took a step back but didn’t lose his balance, holding both hands up so she could see his t-shirt stretched across the muscles in his chest.

  The sight made her even angrier, and she wanted to grab him, punch him in his face, make those beautiful eyes black and blue. Scarlet was millimeters from wolfing out, the fur pricking at the underside of her skin, and she felt wild and uncontrolled and wonderful.

  “I’m not gonna fight you,” he said, his jaw working beneath his skin.

  “Are you one of those dipshits who don’t fight women?” she asked, taking another step forward.

  He watched her but didn’t move, and her wolf snarled. Scarlet hadn’t felt that powerful in years, and she felt like she was capable of anything at that moment, watching this gorgeous, heavily muscled man back away from her fury.

  “I’m one of those dipshits who don’t fight people for stupid reasons,” he said. His voice had gone dangerously quiet, and now Scarlet could smell the adrenaline coursing through him.

  She opened her mouth again but someone grabbed both her upper arms, yanking her backward. Her glass fell out of her hand and shattered on the floor. A ring of people had formed around the two of them, and now they took a step back.

  “GET OFF ME!” Scarlet shouted, flailing and trying to elbow whoever was behind her, but he had a grip like steel.

  “You’ve got about one more second before you’re out of here,” said the bouncer. Scarlet hadn’t even seen him enter, she’d been so focused on the guy who’d spilled her drink. “You gonna shape up, or get out?”

  Scarlet’s nostrils flared, and for a moment, she thought about shifting.

  I could bite at least one of them before they got me, she thought. Her chest heaved, and she could feel sweat running down the back of her neck.

  “Well?” growled the bouncer.

  Scarlet swallowed.

  You’re on parole, she thought. They’ll take any excuse to send you back. Any excuse at all.

  She exhaled, feeling shaky despite her bravado.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  As she spoke, she stared into the bright blue eyes of the guy she’d tried to fight. He stared back, and Scarlet felt something click, deep inside herself.

  It made her nervous.

  “You sure?” asked the bouncer.

  “Let her go, Brick,” the guy said. He crossed his arms in front of himself, Scarlet still a little off balance from Brick’s grip on her.

  Brick released her and stepped back. Scarlet rotated her arms in their sockets, still glaring at the man with the blue eyes who’d spilled her drink. The band was still playing, and the crowd that had given them space started minding their own business again, slowly moving back toward the bar.

  “Do it again, and you’re out of here,” Brick rumbled, and then walked back toward the door of the bar. The bar back grabbed a broom and a dustpan and walked over, looking sullen. Scarlet moved out of his way.

  She stared at the asshole who’d spilled her drink. Somewhere, deep down, she was aware that she’d reacted badly and that she’d come dangerously close to fucking up everything on her first night out, but more than that, she was pissed.

  Pissed that this guy was standing there like he hadn’t done anything wrong, even though he’d scared the shit out of her. Pissed that he didn’t even look nervous that she was so angry she’d almost shifted involuntarily.

  Pissed that he was fucking hot and she couldn’t help but notice, and pissed that she could feel her body responding to him like crazy, despite herself.

  Something hummed through her veins and muscles. She wanted to shift, she wanted to fight, and she wanted something else, something so primal she could barely put a word to it.

  Blue Eyes stared back, his face utterly unreadable.

  Fucking say something, thought Scarlet, clenching her jaw. The bar back swept up the whiskey and glass, dumping the mess into a plastic bucket he’d brought along, then walked away.

  “What are you drinking?” the man finally asked. His voice was low and slightly raspy. Scarlet could practically feel it in her bones.

  “Jack, rocks,” she said, keeping her voice short and clipped.

  You can’t let him know you think he’s hot, she thought. He can’t have any advantage here.

  She shook her hair out of her face and glared at him, hard, her defenses still up.

  The last time someone had sneaked up on her, Scarlet spent a week in solitary. The other girl had spent a week in the infirmary, and after that, they’d been relegated to different wings of the prison.

  Blue Eyes nodded once, looking her up and down.

  “You want another one?” he asked. He still didn’t smile.

  Are you going to put Drano in it or something? Scarlet wondered, narrowing her eyes. Why should I trust you with a drink?

  Then she looked around for a moment, her arms crossed over her chest, and took a deep breath. People were milling around again, the bar half-full, the band playing on.

  It’s a bar, not jail, she thought. You have to learn how to be on the outside if you’re going to stay on the outside.

  “Sure,” she told the guy.

  He nodded and turned away. Scarlet finally exhaled, turning her eyes back to the band. The guitarist looked at her again, though this time he didn’t wink.

  Scarlet’s rage subsided a little, even though her hands still shook with adrenaline. As she looked around the crowd, she realized that most of the people avoided her gaze, turning their heads away.

  You can’t pull this kind of shit, she realized, her stomach sinking. This isn’t how people in society behave.

  She clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides, trying to make herself calm down.

  Chapter Three

  Gavin

  As he walked toward the bar, G
avin could tell people were looking at him funny, avoiding eye contact. People whose names he knew. After all, Chase played here every Wednesday night with his band, so they were regulars.

  People who knew that Gavin was probably the last guy in Cascadia who’d get into a bar fight. Hell, he’d thought he was the last person in Cascadia who’d get into a bar fight. Every job he’d had in his adult life had been about de-escalation, first as a prison guard and then as a parole officer.

  But the brunette with the gray eyes, the nearly-black hair and the snarl had triggered something deep inside him.

  “Another one?” Gus asked as he wiped his hands on a bar towel.

  “Yeah, and can I also get a Jack on the rocks?” asked Gavin.

  The bartender nodded once. Thirty seconds later he slid a whiskey and a beer across the bar.

  “You know her?” Gus asked, trying to sound casual.

  “Not yet,” said Gavin, holding up both drinks.

  “Careful,” said Gus, in the same affectedly-casual way. “She’s new, and she seems touchy.”

  I can handle her, Gavin thought.

  He almost wished that she’d actually fought him, or at least tried. He did have years of practice handling people far bigger and stronger than her, but deep down, he liked the thought of her touching him again, getting to hold her arms back, let her wriggle against him.

  His skin still tingled where she’d shoved him, after all.

  “Thanks,” he told Gus, then walked from the bar back to the girl. This time he stood about a foot to her left and waited for her to see him. When she did, there was a flash of anger in her gray eyes, and Gavin felt a bolt of warmth go through him.

  He fought back a smile.

  Fight me again, he thought, as he handed her the drink.

  “You fight a lot of men in bars?” he asked, as he took a sip of his beer.

  “Only the ones who don’t understand personal space,” she said.

  “I bet that’s not true,” he said. “You seem like you’d get into a fight for lots of reasons.”