by Dunbar, Natalie; Glass, Seressia; Jeffries, J. M. ; Banks, L. A.
Laurel glanced at who would be coming for her. One was a burly chic, about five-foot-eight, two hundred pounds. Cutter’s wife. Thick all the way around, and it didn’t seem to be fat. She glanced at Laurel, and Laurel averted her eyes quickly, and then suddenly realized the potential hazard of the brief but profound submissive act. Damn. It was reflex. A pair of dark female eyes in a dark face set hard now hunted her, backing her off. The competing female flipped a set of long micro braids over her shoulders with a silent snarl. Oh… shit.
But Laurel held her ground and coolly sipped her drink. Another alpha female now gritting on her was a very athletic looking, mega-tanned blonde with spiked hair, serving biker gear to death. Her arms were longer than Laurel’s, which meant she had by reach what the other one had by weight. That could’ve been Fang or Mad Dawg’s woman, she wasn’t sure. Mad Dawg had lost an arm; Fang had lost his life. Either way, whoever this broad belonged to was pissed off. Suddenly, the little black dress and sexy spike heels to attract the alpha male seemed foolish. She should’ve put on some combat gear.
The third female problem was about her height, but built like a brick house—all curves. Laurel focused on her moody dark eyes as they followed her. The challenger had cut her hair short and dyed it Goth black. Even though her face was pretty, and didn’t have a keloid scar over her brow like Cutter’s wife had, there was a definitely hardness to her cinnamon-hued skin that told of many street fights. It was in her eyes.
Okay, only the heavyset chic, Cutter’s wife, had any tresses to grab if it got down to it before an all out shift, and her own head was vulnerable with her shoulder-length hair. Another problem.
Laurel sniffed the air discreetly. Other males were starting to position with interest, since the new alpha had seemingly passed on her. But none of the other females in the joint were in heat. One advantage. Okay, work with what you’ve got.
She glanced over her shoulder at the new alpha and risked giving him a suggestive pout, and then turned back to her drink. The action could be read in two ways; either, come here I want you or who you looking at asshole. She hoped the rival females read it as the later and would hold the line waiting to see what he’d do.
Circumstances would leave him curious, though, if he had any balls. She knew she’d been gone long enough from the casino floor and still smelled enough like Butch to make it seem like he’d had her, then had gone out to drag in grub. Her presence in the bar unescorted on a full moon during a heat could be construed as her misbehaving, looking for options after getting quickly and unsatisfactorily laid, and thus hunting the bars for some additional action while her big male was off providing. Tantalizing as a concept to a new power drunk male. The bourbon didn’t help him, either. By the same token, the Dewar’s and her state of missing Butch so badly wasn’t helping her logic; it was making her bold; rashly so.
A beta male stepped to her, just slightly taller than she was, and leaned in near her at the bar. She looked him up and down with disdain and backed up, partly to hold out for the one she wanted to attract, partly because he was offensive to her, and partly because it would start an attack rush from the alpha females in his clan.
“Can I buy you another one?” he asked, trying to drop his voice to an octave he didn’t own. “I don’t think so,” she said evenly, looking at his slim, wiry build and unkempt cornrows that were fuzzy in the part.
“Why not, sweetness?”
She just stared at him for a moment. The list of reasons of why not was way too long to delineate and recite while sitting on a barstool. First of all, if she was gonna go with his weak ass, she liked her men well-barbered, and if he was gonna rock cornrows, at least let the rows be precise, greased to gleaming clean at the scalp. The thin, ragged goatee he had made her want to slap him for even coming over to her. How about a full beard, grown by pure testosterone, and cut down low to an eighth of an inch over a strong, square jaw with a straight-edge razor so sharp that it put tears in a woman’s eyes? This brother had no pride. The biceps were lame, the chest pathetic, no six-pack in the abs, skinny legs, which meant no power thrusts, and no ass in his baggy jeans—couldn’t jump. Then had the nerve to have such short canines that he’d put a platinum and diamond grille in his mouth! Oh, no he is not in my face with a bling grille! He didn’t even smell good.
“Get outta my face,” she finally said as she rolled her eyes at him and turned back to study her drink.
He tilted his head and scowled at her. “A brother can’t buy you a drink? Whassup with that?”
Hard gazes were on her; the tension was so thick in the bar that side conversations had ceased. Only the loud music was creating sound. Someone in the back discreetly turned it down, most likely to be sure they didn’t miss a thing.
“I got a man,” she muttered and finished her Dewar’s, knocking it back, and then set her glass down on the bar hard.
The loud statement was designed to send the rival females a message that she wasn’t poaching, but to stoke the alpha male she wanted to a challenge. He took the bait. The new alpha stood up as the beta who’d tried her mumbled bitch under his breath, and stalked away. She let it ride. Under different circumstances she would have ripped his little diamond earring out of his ear. Tonight, there wasn’t time for teaching a beta a miscellaneous lesson on things one should never say to a lady.
She could feel the presence of the new male looming behind her, but kept her eyes on the bartender, who’d hesitated refreshing her drink. The bartender’s eyes went first to her, and then to a point just behind her, seeming to be waiting on who would order.
“My apologies for my posse’s rude display,” a rough, mid-range voice said from behind her. “May I buy you a drink to make up for it—peace?”
“Yeah, thanks,” Laurel said without turning.
A barstool opened next to her as several males moved to allow their new leader maneuvering room. Laurel glanced at the now snarling alpha females, and noticed that the new alpha did, too. He shot them a glance that wasn’t as firm as it should have been, she also noted. They didn’t stop curling their lips, but had muffled the sound. This brother was in way over his head. Their pack had to know it. But she was cool.
“I’m Havoc,” he said as the bartender set Laurel’s drink before her. He glanced up, ordered himself a Wild Turkey, and then leaned in with a chipped tooth smile. “Didn’t expect to see you down here tonight.”
“Yeah, well, I got bored,” she said in an icy tone that held a hint of mystery. “Sorry about what happened to your posse.”
“It was fucked up,” he said with a slight smile, reaching up to accept his drink without taking his eyes off her. “But… hey… shit happens. And looking at you, I understand how that did.”
She let out a hard breath and ruffled her hair off her neck, now giving him direct eye contact for the first time since he’d sat beside her. “Dumb bastards are still up there fighting. The moon is out, I’m in heat, and they’ll both be too ripped up to… hey, forget it. Thanks for the drink.” She picked up her Dewar’s and allowed him to take her statement as a subtle offer to rectify her problem, and clinked her glass against his.
He swallowed hard and leaned in closer. “A gorgeous woman like you shouldn’t have to deal with bullshit like that, feel me? Why don’t you just get away from it all?”
She gave him a half smile. “Wish I could… but, uh, that might cause problems. I just came down here to put some distance between me and the madness, get a drink, and try to figure out how to get through another lonely night… alone… you feel me?”
“There’s no problem if you wanna hang out with us, sis,” he said, his eyes seeking. He took a quick sip of his drink to wet his throat. “You eat yet?”
“Yeah, but I’m starved,” she said, holding his gaze and allowing her eyes to rake him slowly.
“Bartender!” he shouted, “Order the lady another Dewar’s and some ribs, stat.” Havoc looked her over with a hot gaze. “Or you want a steak?”
&nbs
p; Several loud snarls ricocheted through the bar. Laurel raised an eyebrow and downed her drink to prepare for the one that was quickly coming.
“I don’t think they’d appreciate me hanging out long enough to wolf down a steak with you, baby. As it is, the vibe I’m getting is making me uncomfortable. I’ll just accept the drink and be on my way. Maybe take it up to my room.” She began to push away from the bar.
“Hold up, Ma,” he murmured, touching her arm gently, and then allowing it to trail up and down it. “There’s no static.” He turned on his barstool. “Is there?” he added through his teeth, looking at the three females that slowly stood. But his attention fractured before he’d laid down the law. “Damn, your skin is soft.”
His clammy touch had put gooseflesh on her arms, but not for the reason he probably assumed. The guy was giving her the creeps. Laurel submitted to letting him touch her hair, but kept the females in her peripheral vision.
“Feels like velvet,” Havoc said quietly. “I can see why they were doing mortal combat over you, baby.” He inhaled sharply. “You just went into phase today, didn’t you?”
She shuddered at the statement. It was true. The first eve was always the worst, but the shudder had been brought on by thinking of Butch. “Yeah.”
“So, like, uh, when the ribs come… you eat, chill, and then, you know, maybe we can go somewhere and talk—get to know each other a little. You can tell me what’s been going on in your life.”
Laurel sighed. This brother had no original rap. “Okay, if everybody’s gonna be cool.”
“They will be,” he assured her, leaning in to smell her again.
“The hell they will,” a deep female voice said from across the bar.
“Fuckin’ A-right,” another growled.
“You must be out your damned mind,” another muttered, followed by the distinctive sound of a female sucking her teeth.
Laurel shrugged and looked at Havoc and sighed. “Like I said, I think I’ll just leave and take my drink to my room. It’s getting thick in here. I’d better go. Thanks for the offer, maybe another time.” She held his gaze for a moment with longing, and then slid off the barstool, leaving him with an erection.
He was off his stool and out of the daze in seconds, canines extended. Laurel hesitated as he whirled on the three females that had challenged his booty-call.
“I told you bitches to chill, didn’t I?” he shouted. Laurel almost laughed as they looked at him like he was insane, cocked their heads to the side, and hands went on hips.
“Say what?” Cutter’s wife snarled, her eyes narrowing. “I know you did not go there.” Her head bobbed with each word. “My husband is dead, I get your ass as a weak replacement, and you said whaaaa to me? After he’s gone because of her in the first place!”
“For her?” The blonde spat on the floor, her eyes holding both fury and disbelief. “You will get your punk male ass beat down up in this bar so bad, ’cause if Fang was alive, trust me, you’d get nowhere near real alpha female tail—don’t front.”
“Mad Dawg might only have one arm, motherfucker, but still got more balls than you, and a longer dick too,” the Goth female said, pounding fists with her girls. “I’d take his one-armed mount over your weak ass any moon. Call me out my name again, punk, and that’s your throat.”
It was interesting, really, as she watched it go down. The bar cleared, Havoc was left standing in the middle of the floor. Horniness had made him forget his reality. Males who had begrudgingly accepted his promotion smiled and gave way to see how he’d handle himself. The man was trapped between a rock and a hard place. A strong female alpha from a rival clan in heat was behind him with her man out on the hunt and liable to come back to take grave exception to what was going down; three very pissed off alpha females from his own clan ready to go for his throat were before him. Butch wouldn’t have even been able to deal with this. Laurel laughed.
“Whatchu laughing at, bitch!” Cutter’s wife shouted.
It was now or never. Laurel shifted, bound over Havoc’s head, and alighted on the bar, bearing fangs. Being in heat had its aggression advantages, too. She was nuts. Moon off da chain. Any female with sense knew it. They might beat her by numbers, but they’d feel it in the morning if they lived.
Taken slightly by surprise that she’d been so bold to go for it without thinking, the three challengers backed up, and then shifted, holding their ground.
Laurel snarled, advancing slowly with her head down, her voice a resonant alto. “Bitch… was I talking to you?”
Cutter’s wife was on the bar now at the far end, and had to make a lunge to keep her pride. The males in the room was slobbering on themselves and beginning to pace. Laurels’ eyes narrowed, but Cutter’s woman had no idea how much pent up aggression was in her.
Laurel left the bar before Cutter’s wife could blink. She was on her and had body slammed her to the bar, slashing her face, but leapt back before one of the rival female’s huge claws could rake her. Two more females went airborne, but Havoc, in distress that his in-heat female might be harmed, shifted and got into the fray, drawing them to attack him.
“Oh, shit, that was a punk move, man!” someone called out.
“Let the females go at it, and may the best one win!” another voice shouted over the din.
Havoc was caught in-between two females who were savaging him. Laurel had the big one down on the floor, pinned down, and had ripped off her ear. Tables and chairs crashed as thick bodies lunged, came down hard, and battled on the floor. A hard elbow caught Laurel in the stomach, knocked the wind out of her, and she was on her back, underbelly showing. Cutter’s wife pivoted and came for her, but Laurel dug her claws in her chest and hit her pelvis with both feet, flinging her body up and over the bar to crash into shelves filled with bottles.
Shards of glass and liquor exploded everywhere. The big female was down, out cold, and missing an ear. Laurel jumped up and leapt onto a section of the bar above where Havoc was trapped. Barking loudly, she got the two females’ attention.
“Back off!” Laurel shouted, and then lunged in to assist Havoc, taking the blonde wolf down in a hard roll. She stopped struggling as Laurel’s jaws clamped over her exposed throat. Laurel waited, breathing hard, for the submissive, let-me-live whimper.
“Don’t kill her, sis,” a male shouted from behind. “You staked your claim, now let her up.”
Trembling with battle rage, Laurel slowly removed her poised canines and leapt back. The female who was circling Havoc backed up, panting, and then shifted. She stood there naked and furious, but had to let it go. Havoc was stronger than her, and had a strong foreign female working with him. The blonde shifted to send the message that she too would yield. Laurel stalked back and forth on the bar, glancing between them and the unconscious she-wolf behind the bar.
“It’s cool,” Havoc assured her as he shifted back from the reddish brown and cream-hued, slim wolf he’d been into human male form. His lip was busted, his nose broken, and his chest was severely gashed, but he’d live.
Uncertain and too unstable now with a hunt pulsing through her, Laurel eyed him, still peering over the edge of the bar, and then at the crowd.
“C’mon, beauty,” Havoc crooned, breathing hard. “It’s okay.” “Damn… you see her?” a beta said with appreciation, pounding fists in the crowd.
“Man, I can’t believe that’s you,” one of the others said, shaking his head. “You gonna tag that?”
Laurel snarled at the inference, but remembered the mission. She didn’t want to shift back and stand before them naked, however, going to the next phase required it. The big brown female on the floor behind the bar stirred, Laurel lowered her head and growled low in her throat. The males on the periphery had begun to pant. Havoc was so turned on that he approached her haunches and attempted to stroke her while in human male form. She whirled on him, snapped, bearing canines, saliva dripping, which only made him whimper with need and walk in an agitated circle.
Cutter’s wife got up slowly, her coat littered with glass and bleeding. Then she shifted into a human, breathing hard on her hands and knees. She looked up at Laurel with hatred in her eyes. “Later.”
Laurel nodded, leapt down from the bar to circle Havoc’s legs, brushing against them, and then nuzzled his hard groin. She glimpsed up, and he just nodded and closed his eyes. She shifted back, and a guy who’d been standing on the sidelines tossed her dress.
“Thanks,” she said, catching it with one hand.
“Damn, baby, they make any more like you in your clan?” the guy who’d tossed her the dress said with a leering smile as she pulled it on.
“No,” she said flatly, thoroughly disgusted. “Why you think they tore up the casino like they did?”
“True dat!” a peanut gallery observer hollered as Fang and Mad Dawg’s women went to help Cutter’s wife. “Make a man ready to bum rush your clan, if they did.”
“Would you get me outta here?” Laurel said, looking at Havoc, who’d been too spellbound to even put on his pants.
“Sure, baby,” he said, now moving with conviction, yanking his pants on in a one-legged hop. “Where you wanna go?”
“Your room. Now. Order room service. My man is out in the canyons. Can’t risk it, but gotta get somewhere soon.”
Chapter Seven