Daddy Protector: MC Romance (Pythons MC)

by Sadie Savage

  “No, I just thought I heard something.”

  There was no thought to it. His ears were sharper and his hearing better than a human’s. He had heard an unmistakable sound and his body tensed as he caught it yet again. Not close, not yet, but coming.

  Pete said, “I think it was a barre, or at least a partial and it sounded like it was a minor… Dude, you okay?”

  “Yeah sure. Just frustrated maybe.” Drake unstrapped the guitar and swung it from free from his broad shoulder with some real relief. The thing was a custom beauty made of the finest wood and parts—and it weighed a goddamn ton, or felt like it anyway.

  The roar of bikes outside halted the rest of whatever Drake had been about to say.

  “Looks like you got some company, man,” Pete told him. “I have to get going anyway, but let me know about the chord, because I think we need to work that in on that song. It sounded good right there—except for being off the key.”

  The clash of chromed and deep-throated engines rose higher yet, making Drake’s entire body feel rigid and tight. He forced that tension away and tried to focus on Pete. “Yeah, sure. Shit. I can’t believe we lost another bunch of folks. We have to do something about finding people who want to play.”

  The bikes ground to a noisy halt in the driveway of the small and slightly rundown house.

  Pete stuck his bass in its case. “I guess it’s time to put new ads up. I don’t know what the deal is with assholes joining a band one day and leaving the next, but we need some real players.”

  Drake could not have agreed more. “Yeah.”

  Pete said, “We’re getting gigs, man, and it makes no sense. It’s like they get all spooked or something. And it’s not because you’re a biker either; we’ve had some scabby bastards come in here. I just don’t know what it is.”

  Drake knew. Some people could tell he was different. They weren’t sure how and maybe it didn’t register on the top of their brains, but they damn sure knew that he was dangerous. “I dunno. We’ll figure it out.”

  Pete sighed. “We better figure it out before Friday or we can kiss our gig on Saturday goodbye.”

  Pete walked out, holding the door open for Drake’s twin brother, Morgan.

  Morgan and Drake were identical twins, but different as night and day. Morgan had always loved being a bear shifter, and he thrived on the politics of the shifting world. Drake hated the politics and the constant wars between the different species of shifters.

  In truth, he wasn’t exactly thrilled with being a shifter either. In a world run by humans and where shifters were idolized in print and film but hunted down for hush-hush science experiments in reality, there was not much room to be who he was—and what he was.

  There were days when Drake didn’t even know exactly who he was. He knew what he wanted to be, but his cursed DNA made everything else seem like a mere pipe dream.

  Morgan ran a hand through his brown hair, ruffling it farther. He never wore a helmet, and so his hair was windblown even before that gesture; now it stuck up in small points all over his head, giving him a fierce look that didn’t unsettle Drake in the least.

  He’d been whipping Morgan’s ass for years, and he was willing to do it again if it came to that.

  Drake didn’t want to deal with Morgan just then. It was obviously not a friendly little visit. If it had been, the rest of the guys would have come in as well. Of the four bikes parked in the drive, only one other was under a shifter. The two humans in the MC were old-timers, long-haul criminals who had drifted in and out of every club up and down the West Coast and even up into Canada and across to Mexico over the years. They were too hard or too stupid to smell the difference between themselves and the others, or they did and just didn’t give a fuck. Drake had no idea which.

  Drake rubbed at a sore spot near his neck. “What’s up, Morgan?”

  “Just thought I would come by and tell you Mom’s a little pissed that you are not returning her calls.”

  In other words, Magda had sent him to deliver that very message. “I’ll bet. You do know you could have brought me a pizza or something along with that news.”

  Morgan didn’t take the joke well. “You can’t keep doing this.”

  Drake tilted an eyebrow and leaned back against the arm of the sofa. “Doing what?”

  Morgan yanked his hair again. “It’s nobody’s fault you didn’t become Alpha…”

  Drake straightened up in a hurry. “I never said it was. In fact, I was relieved I couldn’t be Alpha. My sperm is useless—no babies for me. That means no Alpha status. Lucky for you, you have very potent sperm. I’m not pissed off, and I don’t want to argue. I just want to live my life without all the bullshit infighting and warring going on.”

  “You owe a loyalty to your brothers…” Morgan began.

  “Which ones? The ones out there on those bikes? The humans who have no idea what we are, or do you mean to you? Or do you mean to the pack brothers? The last time I checked, I hadn’t been disloyal. You better check yourself before you come at me with that kind of bullshit, bro.”

  There was a serious amount of threat in Drake’s tone. He was really sick of the bullshit, all the way around. He really didn’t begrudge Morgan the dubious honor of being named Alpha. He didn’t give three hard damns about that or anything else—except his music.

  Morgan stalked toward Drake, his eyes taking on a low orange shine. His finger came out and jabbed into Drake’s chest. Drake grabbed Morgan’s hand and opened his mouth just enough to let his fangs show while his claws shot from the ends of his fingers—all sharp edges and lethal strength.

  “Goddammit, Drake!” Morgan twisted his hand away but didn’t step back. “People are starting to talk. Mom’s getting nervous.”

  Drake stepped even closer, cutting off all the space between them. Their chests bumped in a really aggressive way, and Morgan was the first to take a step back.

  Drake said, “I couldn’t give a damn what Mom is, or about Mom.”

  Morgan’s mouth went flat. “That’s a fucked up thing to say.”

  Drake sneered, “She’s a fairly fucked up individual in case you had not noticed. Magda’s a lot of things—and that’s the least of them.”

  Controlling, cruel, unsatisfied, angry, and bitter—those were just a few words that described Magda well. Add in a serious thirst for power—which she had not slaked by killing off the Alpha of the bear shifter pack they’d landed in when she had made her escape from the zoo.

  Magda had her eyes on the real prize—all of LA, and total control of every shifter and human who lived there. She would not stop until she accomplished that. Her latest goal was killing off the Nepali tiger pack headed by her former zoo mate Patel.

  Drake had no doubt that Magda had had a hand in the deaths of the Alpha of the wolf pack and his second-in-command. The second had been a good man, by all accounts, and a decent one. It was no gossip that the hood he had helped run was now a den of drugs and other illegal shit. The new Alpha was pumping a literal metric ton of dope into the neighborhood now, all of it supplied by Drake’s motorcycle club brothers—and Magda.

  Naturally, Joaquin, the new Alpha, was too stupid and greedy to see what Magda was doing. His pack would either be run out or one of them would kill him off. But the hood would stay fucked and the drugs would keep sending money right back in to Magda’s pockets—and she was using that money to grease some big wheels in the city.

  Morgan grated out, “Just call her.”

  “Don’t come into my den and take a stand, Morgan. Not unless you aim to fight it out with me.”

  Morgan’s eyes went orange again. “You owe your life to the pack. That is the law and you know this. You don’t offer your life; your life’s worth exactly zero.”

  “That’s Mom talking through your mouth. You want to run up on me?” Weariness seeped into his body. Drake settled his weight on the balls of his feet while Morgan considered his decision.

  Morgan finally said, “No, but
you are not going to leave me much choice.”

  “You mean, she’s going to order me killed if I don’t bow down and kiss her ass like everyone else.” It was not a question.

  Morgan looked away, telling Drake everything he needed to know.

  That was the last thing that he wanted. He didn’t need a war with his own family, and he didn’t want a war with them either. He had thought his being named as a Beta due to his sperm issue would free him. He had been wrong.

  Morgan looked back at him. “Drake, just call her and make nice. She just needs…”

  “She needs her ego stroked constantly.” The disgust in Drake’s voice made Morgan stiffen in a visible way that Drake did not miss.

  Morgan said, “Not gonna argue that with you, Drake, but she is the—”

  “One who pulls all the strings. She named you Alpha but she holds all the power, Morgan. I’d think you’d want to cut her off at some point, but I can see that you don’t. I’ll call her, but I am warning you and her, back off me. I gave my life, and now I’m out. I got exiled, remember?”

  “It was a hard decision, Drake. You had to be exiled because there could not be two bears who might be Alpha. There had to be a clear delineation of power.”

  Drake laughed. The delineation of power was clear. Magda held it all and would until she died, maybe even longer, if she had her way. “Yeah, sure.”

  Morgan glanced around the room. “How’s the music going?”

  The abrupt shift in topic was meant to disarm him. It was an old trick, one of Magda’s best, in fact. “Good, got a gig this weekend down at the Whiskey.”

  Morgan said, “Hey, that’s big.”

  “Yeah.” And his band had fled again, so now he had big problems to go along with that big gig. Great. Just what he needed.

  Morgan ran a hand along his face. “I got to get going. Call her, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He would, if for no other reason than just to get her off his ass while he figured out a way to get a band behind him in the next four days. Yeah, good luck with that one.

  Morgan left. Drake, too restless to think or figure anything else out, made a hasty and obligatory call to Magda, who pretended that he was calling because he wanted to and not because she had just sent someone after him.

  The call left Drake even more furious and out of sorts. He grabbed a pair of hiking boots and swapped them out with the sneakers he wore. Then he headed out, determined to go for a long hike and get his mind right.

  CHAPTER 3:

  Mario whined and danced nervously as he came out from behind the bushes he had been using to hide from a gaggle of hikers. Angelina patted his head and laughed at his expression. “I know, they suck. Come on.”

  They headed up higher on the trail. It was late afternoon and the trails were clearing. Evening brought too many risks: snakes, coyotes, and timber wolves; all the warnings the group of hikers had thrown at her as she stood on the trail. She had assured them that she was coming back down soon, but she was not. She intended to climb for hours, or at least until she could breathe again without feeling the weight of the entire pack on her shoulders.

  Mario took off down a deserted wash out and she let him go. He’d scent her out, or she’d scent him out eventually. Burning sensations ran through her strong upper thighs as she went higher yet. The afternoon sun faded, leaving a hint of coolness in the air. Her body tingled and loosened with each step.

  She started singing. The clear air brought her voice back to her, making it rise higher in a trick that made her happier than she had been in a long time.

  All she wanted out of life was to be a singer and to have some fun. She wanted to have a family, but one of her own choosing and making. The last thing she wanted was to give birth to a pup she could never love because of who its father was, and Joaquin would never let her have the music career she wanted unless he thought he could benefit from it in some way.

  Joaquin. She had to do something about him and fast, too.

  A man came down off the crest of a hill right ahead of her, his shadow running large and dark along the ground. Uneasiness and attraction hit at the same time. Her belly went loose at the sight of him. He was lean and muscular, his long legs set into jeans that were wrapped tautly around his narrow waist and flat hips. His shirt, a plain white tee, had gone transparent with sweat, showing off the broad sweep of his shoulders and the cut muscles of his enviable abs.

  Heart pounding, and not just from exercise, Angelina halted. He did, too. They stood staring at each other. He finally said, “Was that you singing?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, why?”

  “I’m Drake Welsh.”

  She blinked. “The guitarist? You’re in that band… I saw you guys like two weeks ago. You’re awesome.”

  “Thanks.” His teeth flashed behind full lips. Recognition stirred, and she frowned. She’d felt something when she had seen him onstage, too—she just was not sure what it was. Maybe it was the familiarity of one musician to another?

  Drake said, “So—I have a gig Saturday, but most of my band flaked. It’s at the Whiskey, so you can see why it matters that I get this fixed. I could use a singer. You know anything about Silver Lake? Wait, you looking for a gig? I guess that should be my next question. Or my first.”

  He laughed then. His head went back and Angelina caught a whiff of his smell, musky and masculine and something else—something primal that sent a wave of heat down her body in such intensity that her panties went damp and her nipples went hard.

  “Yes, to all of that.” Stupid. That was totally stupid. Joaquin would have her head on a plate if she didn’t do what he wanted, and what he wanted left no room for music or playing a gig. It damn sure did not leave room for this strange and sexy man with the body that was wreaking havoc on hers in some way she could not define but understood was very dangerous.

  Drake came closer. “Cool. Look, could you come by for a practice?”

  “Yeah. When?” No. Goddamnit, what am I doing? This is beyond dumb. This is suicidal!

  He asked, “You got a phone on you?”

  Angelina took it out of her back pocket. Drake gave her a number, firing the digits off fast. He added, “You headed back down? It’s getting dark.”

  “Yeah, I have to find Mario first though. No worries, I ‘m fine up here.”

  His eyes raked her head to toe. That heat came back, spreading a crimson blush all along her upper jaw. Her breath caught in her throat. Her legs shook a little. Jesus she was so turned on!

  “Okay, well call me in the morning and we’ll set up a rehearsal, see if you fit in with us.”

  “Great. Thanks.” Regret hit hard as she watched him walk off. No way could she call him, even if she did have his number in her phone and even if she did want him so badly.

  She wanted him. Every particle of her body was attracted to him, and there was no denying that one.

  After Drake was out of sight, Angelina whistled for Mario, but he didn’t call back. Frowning, she headed down the little wash out she had seen him go down. Long purple shadows chased each other along the trails and she saw a few hares and long desert rats running form one pool of shadow to the next.

  “Mario!” Her voice bounced off the rocks and stunted brush. She walked a little farther down then stopped.

  A white wolf, its front paw stained with blood, lay on the path, panting hard. Angelina took in the situation quickly. The wolf was an outcast, its color making it undesirable to the wild ones. The paw had been injured by a trap, most likely. The paw didn’t look mangled, just deeply cut, but the blood had clotted now. The wolf was tired and sick though. The paw had likely gotten infected.

  A low familiar whine hit her ears. Angelina watched as Mario trotted up, a freshly killed rabbit in his teeth. He dropped it in front of the wolf—a she-wolf, Angelina noted.

  The she-wolf raised her head. Mario nosed the rabbit closer, whining low in his throat. It hit Angelina hard.

  He had just found an exile
. He was an exile. That was what he had been doing all those days and nights when he had gone out alone and come home battered and sad. He had been looking for a mate!

  Angelina had a large water bottle and the collapsible bowl she used for Mario. She poured the bowl full and set it near the she-wolf, who gave a low warning growl that stopped when the she-wolf realized that Angelina was not a threat to the meal.

  Mario sat nearby, his tail swishing the dust as he watched the she-wolf demolish the rabbit. When it was gone, she drank the water then laid her head back down, whimpering low in her throat.

  Angelina approached slowly. She had nothing for first aid and she knew the wolf needed immediate help. She knelt, speaking gently and chuffing and whimpering so the wolf would sense Angelina’s wolfness as well, and not attack.

  Mario circled the she-wolf and laid one paw over her back in a protective gesture that hurt Angelina’s heart. Tears blurred her vision as she lifted the wounded paw and found a small pocket of infection.

  She lanced it quickly with the little knife she kept in one hip pocket. Pus swelled and ran, a thick and putrid flow. The she-wolf whined but did not try to bite; she sensed she was being helped and was willing to take that aid.

  When as much of the infection was out as Angelina could manage, she dipped the paw into the water bowl, washing it thoroughly. The scab had opened again with the lancing and blood flowed red and thick.

  Angelina tore a strip of her tank top off and bound the paw. The she-wolf would gnaw that makeshift bandage off soon enough, but the cloth would keep her paw from getting dirty again until the scab could close.

  Mario darted off and came back with a palm rat. The she-wolf ate it whole, barely swallowing. She staggered to her feet and Angelina backed away. Mario looked at Angelina and back to the she-wolf. His eyes held a question.

  Angelina stood. Tears stung her eyes. Mario had to find a mate, had needed to find one. This exile was his best hope, but once he was gone…

  She would have no reason to stay with the pack. She had considered running away quite often, but she had been unable to leave him. Mario had needed her.