by T. S. Joyce
He made his way out of the Harley store and, sure, he could feel her watching him leave, but that didn’t change a thing. Shifter females were always on the hunt for a mate, not a hook-up, and he was built for one thing—being alone. It had always been like that for him. There were big reasons he hadn’t pledged to a single Clan until his thirty-fifth year of life. He didn’t play well with others. Friendship made his wolf all murdery and overprotective, so for the survival of people here in his territory, he stayed far away from meaningful relationships.
The tasty little cougar would’ve been fun to fuck…if she hadn’t been a tasty little cougar. Shifters were off-limits to a monster like him.
But also…
He didn’t like that Trina had trouble getting in the door because of the Wulfe Clan fuckin’ with her. She was in heat and likely had been singing an unintentional siren song to these asshole’s dicks.
So, he dug deep and found his chivalry. He would make it safe for her to leave.
The second he stepped outside, he made his way past the Clan, knocking two in the shoulder. He assured them, “We have a problem now.”
The Alpha, Darius, laughed and asked, “Are you fuckin’ serious, Lone Wolf? There’s one of you and a dozen of us.”
Huh. The prick was right.
So Kade pulled the rings off his fingers so it would be a fair fight.
Chapter Two
He was beating the shit out of the entire Wulfe Clan.
Trina stood there plastered to the front window with her mouth hanging open. Who was this guy? She’d smelled him before she’d seen him. Definitely a dominant werewolf. She would know that scent of fur anywhere. The Wulfe Clan had been badgering her since she went into heat a few days ago, and he’d smelled just like the rest, only bigger. Or maybe he just felt bigger. And also sick. He felt off, like he was head-sick. His rapidly changing eye color from silver to blue and blue to silver backed up her instincts. He hadn’t even hid his crazy eyes either. Just sat down, stared at her directly, and talked like they’d known each other for a year.
Hot guy for a werewolf. He had longer hair that hung down in his eyes, but short on the sides. He wore a leather cut and a black T-shirt, both of which he was currently removing, and hoooooolyyyyy shit, Lone Wolf was ripped. Not just a hard body, but hard like a metal statue of a body builder. Was that an eight-pack? She counted real quick before he spun away from her and blasted one of the Wulfe Clan across the jaw. That dude went down like a sack of dog shit, which was exactly how she’d seen every werewolf before now. This was awesome. He leveled two more. Trina laughed and looked around. Was anyone else seeing this? She could leave here with no problems by stepping over the bedraggled carcasses of an entire Clan. She should video this.
But when she aimed her phone, Owen cleared his throat behind her. “Eleven-two is the best we can do.”
Oh, Lone Wolf was good. “Make it eleven, and I’ll sign the paperwork and pay in cash right now.”
“Deal,” he said quickly. “Aw maaaan,” he drawled, standing beside her and watching the fight. “Second time this week.”
“That you know of,” she murmured, grinning at the Lone Wolf who was now on top of one of the remaining men, pummeling the life out of him. That man was a fighter, fast as fuck, and he didn’t do the expected. As highlighted by him stopping mid-punch to reach out and yank the leg of a man who was charging him. The wolf went off balance and landed on his ass. Was Lone Wolf laughing? Yep, he was dribbling blood from a split lip and wearing the biggest grin, like he’d never had so much fun. Short scruff on his face, blindingly silver eyes, great smile if she ignored all the blood, and built like a Mack truck. He had tattoos down one arm and perfectly puckered man nipples. He had pecs etched like stone and strips of muscle over his hips that dove into his low-slung jeans and created a V-shape to his hotboy body.
Seriously, who was this guy?
Her cougar was practically panting. God, she needed to settle down. It was just her heat, that’s all. If she wasn’t in season, she wouldn’t be lusting after a volatile werewolf. No way. She made better life decisions than that.
Ripping her gaze away from the fight actually took some effort.
“If you come this way, we can start on the paperwork,” Owen said.
“Sweet, I could use the dickstraction.”
“Did you just say dickstraction?” Owen asked, walking beside her.
“Uh, no. I said dickstraction.” Oh, hell. She cleared her throat and enunciated primly, “Distraction.”
Leading her to the sales station at the back, Owen tossed a frown over his shoulder at the fight and shook his head. He gave her a pamphlet on the riding classes they offered and then introduced her to the finance manager, Garth.
By the end of all that, she was rushing to sign the last four pages. Why? Because her cougar was a little horn-ball who wanted to go see how the fight had ended up. She didn’t know anything about that man other than his Clan, and she wasn’t in a rush to track down Ethan Blackwood. All she wanted to do was thank the man for helping her haggle the price of the motorcycle. And for beating up the Wulfe Clan. And maybe silently thank his momma for makin’ a man like him because, holy sheeyit, she was still thinking about his defined hip muscles. She bet he was really good at humping. Humping? Good grief, girl, get a grip.
After she finished up, the proud new owner of a Sportster Superlow, she rushed to the front window to find him long gone, along with the Clan. All that remained were small blood-puddles on the concrete. With a little sigh of disappointment, Trina made her way back to the gathering sales members. They rang a bell to signify her new life as a Harley owner.
Today had been different from the string of identical days over the last few months.
Today had been blood and wolves and confusion and Harleys.
Today had been a beautiful distraction from all the crap that had gone wrong in the last year.
Today had been excitement and a breath of fresh air, thanks to one mysterious werewolf.
Too bad he was crazy.
Chapter Three
“No smoking!” Trina yelled as a local sauntered through the front door of the GutShot with a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
“What? Since when?” he asked around the smoke-stick.
“Since the sign on the door said so.” She set down the glass she was drying and jammed a finger at the No Smoking sign.
“What is this one?” he asked, gesturing to a sign with a logo of a pregnant squirrel standing on her hind legs, cradling her swollen belly.
“Well, that one was a bit much,” Tenlee said with a sigh as she stretched her arms and stuck the swell of her belly out farther.
“It means there’s pregnant shifters in here, and you’ll have to smoke out on the porch,” Trina demanded.
“A squirrel shifter gets more rights than me now?” the man asked rudely.
“Yep, and now I’m not serving you, so why don’t you take your precious cigarette and fuck off to somewhere else.”
“I’ve been coming here for years!”
“Don’t care. Don’t let the door hit you where the good lord split you, Bart.”
“Trina,” Tenlee murmured, “stop chasing off all the customers. Bart, come on in. The rules of the bar have just changed a little, but it’s still the same old GutShot. I’ll get you a glass of whiskey.”
“Thank you,” Bart said with a snort at Trina. “At least some shifters pretend to have manners.”
Trina flipped him off and went back to drying glasses while Tenlee closed the cover of her math book and waddled around to the back of the bar top.
“Remind me again why trigonometry is so important,” Tenlee grumbled.
“It’s not. But you wanted your GED before the baby comes, so you get to muddle your way through that crap like the rest of us had to do.”
“You’re a grumpy little cuss when you’re in heat.”
“Need. Dick.”
Tenlee laughed and poured B
art a glass of the cheapest whiskey The GutShot carried. “What about Kasey?”
“A crow shifter? No spanks.”
“A human?”
“Nope, nope, nope. I would break them.”
“Okay, Miss Picky, the big predator shifters around here are all paired up, and their ain’t no unmated mountain lions left but you and your dad, so I’m out of suggestions.”
A mentally unstable werewolf sounded like a good time in the sack, but she wasn’t going to say that little gem out loud.
One week. It had been one week since she’d met Kade in the Harley Davidson store. A lot had happened since then. She’d taken her first riding class and ridden her new motorcycle to work every day. She’d slept seven times. She’d eaten twenty-five meals, watched three Netflix marathons, re-painted her bathroom, and had six work shifts at the GutShot. Basically, a week felt like an eternity. Add to that she couldn’t get the crazy wolf off her mind, and she was still in heat. Yeah, nothing was okay. She was an emotional basket case. Blowing a flyaway piece of blond hair out of her face, she frowned at the clock and muttered, “Why is it so dead today?”
Bart the Fart raised two fingers and stopped sipping his whiskey long enough to suggest, “Because you offend all your customers with your bitchiness?”
“Drink your whiskey and stop getting on my damn nerves, Bart.”
Bart pulled four one-dollar bills out of his back pocket and slapped them on the counter. “Each time you’re rude, I’m taking away from your tip.” He plucked the top dollar bill off the pile, arched his eyebrows, and shoved it back in his pocket.
Trina hated everyone and everything.
“It’s probably because the Wulfe Clan comes in here on Fridays, and they’re late,” Tenlee suggested. “There’s ten people in here buying. It just seems peaceful because there’s no yelling and mauling and bleeding.”
“Huh. You’re right,” Trina murmured. The Wulfe Clan did come in here at the same time every Friday. That was their tradition. They blew off steam after every work week. Now, she hated them and they were obnoxious, but they paid their tabs and kept her busy enough, so they were fine by her. Two more hours until the weekend rush, or it was sure to be a boring time if the Wulfe Clan didn’t show.
At the sound of a Harley, she straightened up and looked out the back window to the gravel parking lot. It was a single Harley engine, and a silly part of her hoped it was him—Kade. She’d been keeping an eye out for him around town ever since she found out that Ethan had started up his Blackwood Crow Clan in Corvallis, not too far from Darby.
It was Darius Wulfe, the Alpha of the Wulfe Clan, parking out back, not Kade. And a few moments later, she heard the engines of the others in the Clan. They parked in a line, right next to her Sportster.
Okay. Okay, it wasn’t the wolf she had hoped to see, but this was better. There was no chance of her cougar going ho and trying to bang one of these jerks in the ladies bathroom stall. Plus, this Clan drank like fish and actually paid for those drinks, so bonus bonus.
“Why do you look all disappointed?” Tenlee asked suspiciously from where she’d taken her seat at the bar top to study again. Her mouse-brown eyebrows were drawn down, and her soft brown eyes were all squinty and suspicious.
“I’m not!” Trina said. “I’m happy. I love…wolves. In my bar. Our bar. My bar and my dad’s bar. Because money.” Dear goodness, stop talking!
“Does being in heat make you horny and weird?” Tenlee asked.
Trina ignored her and began setting out shot glasses. The Clan always bought a round of whiskey shots the second they came in and, in general, werewolves were a predictable lot. Well…all but Kade.
Slamming his fist on the counter, Darius growled, “The usual.” His eyes were too light green to pass for human but oh, well. Shifters were out, might as well own it. Trina didn’t bother to cover up her eye color when she was working the bar either.
“How many you got comin’ in tonight?” Trina asked.
“The fuck does it matter?” Darius rumbled, scanning the bar as his Clan took the bar stools around him.
“Uuuuh, so I know how many shots to pour, you gigantic twat-waffle.”
“What did you call me?” Darius snarled.
Trina sucked in air and made the words real clear and slow for the idiot. “Twaaat. Waff—eek!”
Tenlee yanked her back. “Shhhh!” she demanded, her eyes roiling with reprimand. “You shouldn’t talk to an Alpha like that,” she hissed.
“He ain’t my Alpha.” She pulled at the low neck of her tank top and fanned her face. “Is it hot in here?”
“It’s the heat,” one of the wolves she hadn’t met before said.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Trina muttered. “Of course I get hot in the heat.”
“No, I mean your heat. It’s making you run hotter.”
“I’ll say,” rumbled another, a blond with dark eyebrows and silver eyes. It was Mick, Darius’s Second. His nostrils flared as he inhaled. “Way hotter.”
“Barf,” Tenlee said. “How many shots do you want, pervs?” she asked as she eyed three more Clan filing past her to take seats at the bar.
“All of us plus two more,” Darius said. “And since you’re probably real dumb, I’ll count it up for you. Nine in all. Make them doubles. The whole Clan’s here tonight.” He gave a feral smile. “We’re on the hunt.”
“First off, Tenlee isn’t dumb. And second…” Trina lifted a pair of scissors from the bar and made a quick snip sound as she closed them. “You aren’t hunting me if you wanna keep your werewolf balls intact.”
“God, you’re a pill,” Mick said, clutching his nuts protectively. “You’re usually nice and just get us drinks.”
Trina smiled brightly. “It must be the heat.”
“You’re the worst bartender in the world.”
“Thank you,” she muttered, pouring whiskey into a row of shot glasses.
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“That’ll be eight thousand dollars,” she said, ignoring Tenlee’s look of utter bafflement at her.
The wolves ignored her and made a toast. “To the hunt,” Mick said.
Trina knew better than to ask what, or who, they were hunting. Those shifters closed up like little clams when they were sober. She just had to be patient, wait until they were a few drinks in, and then listen carefully for them to spill the beans. Which they did, but it took two doubles and a couple beers before Mick looked around and leaned closer to Darius. “He should’ve been here by now. This bitch should be drawing him in like a fly on a carcass. She reeks of pheromones, and he’s dominant.”
“So are you. Yet you’re resisting her,” Darius said low.
Trina moved a little farther away and knelt down in front of the ice machine with a clipboard, as if taking inventory. Of the ice cubes? Whatever, the wolves weren’t paying attention.
“I’m resisting her because you laid down an order.”
Whoo, it was getting hard to hear Mick, so Trina waddled backward a few steps, closer to the wolves.
“Because the longer she goes without being bred, the more desperate she will become. And so the more desperate he’ll become to take her.”
“Take who?” Tenlee asked, and now she sounded pissed. Uh oh, abort mission. The squirrel was a biter.
“Mind your own fuckin’ business,” one of the wolves, Gus, said in a growly voice. Oh, he must want to die today.
“I’ll mind my own fuckin’ business when you stop talking about girls like they’re objects, loudly, in a bar full of shifters, ya dipshit.” Uh oh, Ten was standing up now.
She was a buck-ten wet, about half the size of the smallest werewolf, but Mick scooted his chair loudly away from her anyway. Smart man.
“I know you aren’t talking about using Trina as bait,” Ten said loud enough for the entire bar to hear. “One, you couldn’t put your dick in her if you tried because she has standards and doesn’t fuck things that smell like wet dogs. You’ll be kee
ping your little Vienna sausages to yourselves. Two, she’s a motherfuckin’ mountain lion. She ain’t anyone’s prey.”
“Says the girl who helped destroy Trina’s whole Clan of mountain lions,” Darius growled, standing slowly.
“And who was it that survived all-out war?” Tenlee yelled. She jammed her finger at Trina. “I’ll give you two fuckin guesses because you’re super dumb, but you should only need one.”
Oh, God, this was awesome. But also a little scary because Tenlee couldn’t shift while she was pregnant, so it was really only Trina who had teeth and claws against the entire Wulfe Clan.
“’Scuse me,” a local human called from down the bar. “I need another round.”
“Be right there.”
“Uh, now?” the man called. “You’re just standing there.”
“Ten,” Trina drawled, “it’s fine. The wolves aren’t a threat—”
“Has everyone lost their minds?” Mick asked loudly. “Yeah, we’re a threat. We’re werewolves!”
“Cool. Do you get fleas?” the human asked, slurring slightly.
Mick stared at him with his mouth hanging open. “No!”
Trina pursed her lips against a smile because she shouldn’t piss them off any more than they already were, but it was kinda funny.
“If you even knew…” Gus said, a rattling growl tainting his words. “If you even knew why we were here—”
“Gus, stop,” Darius ordered, power infused in his words.
Gus’s response was immediate. The words he’d been about to say seemed to choke him, and he stumbled forward, locked his arms against the counter like he was trying to stay upright. Ha ha, asshole. Kurt, Trina’s Alpha and Ten’s mate, would never put out an order like that for such a dumb reason.
“I think you should all leave,” came a deep voice just loud enough to be heard across the bar.
Kade, the Lone Wolf, sat relaxed into a chair by the stage, one leg stretched out like he’d been there all night. He hadn’t shaved his face in a few days, and the dark scruff on his chiseled jaw made his silver eyes look even brighter. He was looking right at Darius, unblinking. He was a very dominant wolf to stare down an Alpha like that. Or crazy. Or both. Dangerous combo. Hot combo. What is wrong with you? Stop lusting after psychopaths. Cute psychopaths. Trina purred really loud. Oops. Mick cast her a dirty look.