by Rhys Ford
The cop wasn’t handsome in a way that Hollywood would draw a frame around. His nose had definitely met something it didn’t like much, or maybe that was just the genetics he’d been handed, but Levi doubted it. There was a bit of a scrapper about him—a cunning tilt to his lush mouth and a challenge built into his strong jawline. His dark brown hair grew thick, touched with a bit of silver in places. But other than the crow’s-feet around his long-lashed eyes, he wasn’t wearing a lot of years on him. Enough to make him interesting, Levi decided as he studied the man, and possibly cynical but with manners, judging by him stepping back to hold the door open for a couple of elderly women tottering out into the cool evening air.
There was muscle on the cop’s frame, enough of it to give him shoulders broad enough to hang on to or hold down against a mattress, and his hips were narrow below a taut stomach. He’d dressed down in a loose black leather jacket, a slightly dingy white T-shirt, and faded jeans, but his body language was anything but relaxed. It was a bit too warm for the jacket, but the cop vibe was strong enough, Levi would have laid money down the guy was carrying a concealed weapon. If there was one thing Levi recognized, it was a predator who’d come to hunt, and while he didn’t know the cop’s prey, he’d come into Levi’s place with something in mind.
And it sure as hell wasn’t to have a good time with an Irish scrub dog who made his living polishing glasses and slinging drinks behind an old pub bar.
The cop’s eyes skimmed over the crowd, picking out the likely threats. Levi watched his attention settle on a few of the larger customers, his burnished-gold eyes gleaming as he probably calculated the threats around him. That warm honey gaze picked out and settled on the obvious physically threatening customers, pausing every few seconds on a pair of broad shoulders or a grumpy countenance. Levi ducked his head to hide a shit-eating grin when the cop’s attention skimmed over a table of petite elderly women in full cackle, the monthly gathering of spotted-hyena matriarchs chatting over a plate of fully loaded tater tots and apple cider.
Even from across the pub, Levi smelled human on him, graceful but not with the liquid movements of a shifter. If he packed anything other than a gun and a star, Levi wouldn’t know until the guy pulled a rabbit out of his hat. But since his eyes didn’t seem to notice the string of protection wards carved into the wood mantle above the liquor bottles, it was a fair guess he wasn’t one of them.
“Eh, that one looks like trouble, brother,” Kawika rumbled, his Hawaiian Island accent rolling deep through his words. “You go take care of that one. You know me. I can’t lie to cops. Too much like lying to my dad. This one’s on you.”
“You’re a fucking elemental mage and, like, seven feet tall. You could squish his head like a grape, and you’re scared to talk to him?” Levi groused softly, setting the mojitos on the bar for one of the servers to grab and deliver. “You know, for a Pele-worshipping kahuna, you sure as hell tap out of shit a lot.”
“I keep telling you, you don’t worship Pele. She’s not like that.” His friend and fellow Peacekeeper shook his head, sending a ripple through the waves of thick black hair he’d tied back for the evening. “She’s more of a ‘leave presents on her porch so she don’t come by and knock on your door’ kind of god. Not someone you invite into your heart, but man, the sex is good, and I can set rocks on fire. I just can’t lie to cops.”
“Yeah, I don’t have that problem,” Levi countered. “Let’s wait him out, because sooner or later, cops always come up to talk to the bartender.”
JOE NEVER got up to the bar. Never spoke to the bartenders, although he knew he should.
He’d meant to. God knew, there were parts of his body aching to stroll up to the long stretch of polished wood and gleaming spigots, but none of that had to do with why he’d come into St. Connal’s. “Focus on the job, Zanetti” became a mantra throughout the night, but his attention kept drifting off of the crowd and back to the pretty-faced brawler slinging drinks across the bar.
Choosing a corner table near the door seemed like a good idea at the time, but as one hour passed, then the second, Joe realized it’d probably been a mistake. Most pub layouts kept the door clear of people, and St. Con’s, as the server called the place, definitely didn’t buck the trend. With his back to the wall, Joe had a good view of the entire place, except for the cordoned-off private area past a pair of closed doors to the left of the bar, but it also gave him a ringside seat for every wicked, sexy grin Levi Keller threw to anyone interested in picking one up.
For some stupid reason, it not only took everything Joe had in him to keep his ass firmly planted on the chair, it took even more to muster up every glimmer of self-control he had to not punch every single person Keller smiled at.
Then Keller met Joe’s gaze and winked at him.
“Cocky son of a bitch,” he muttered, sipping at his Diet Coke only to catch a piece of lemon pulp on his tongue from the slice caught below the ice chips bobbing about against the glass. “What the hell was that?”
“You need anything else, love?” His server sashayed up to him, a wide-hipped older black woman named Debbie, who’d kept his drink filled all night and swapped out his fries for a salad when they got too cold. “Last call’s about a minute off, and the bar will be rushed. Might as well get a refill before we shut down in ten minutes.”
“Thanks,” Joe murmured, flashing her a smile. “I can pay out the tab now if you want.”
“Nah, St. Con’s doesn’t take money from cops, firemen — sorry firefighters —, or paramedics. Usually you’ve got to be in uniform, but since it’s your first time here, I’ll comp it out. And before you say anything, don’t tell me you’re not a cop or I’m going to lose ten bucks to Sherry in the kitchen. She says you’re a lawyer.” Debbie glanced behind her, following Joe’s attention. “Oh, that’s Levi. He owns the place. Want me to ask him to come by? If you need to lodge a complaint or something else with the management….”
“No, I’m okay. It’s fine,” he protested quickly. “A refill would be good, though, and how’d you know I was a cop?”
“’Cause Toni Zanetti comes in here, and if there’s one thing that woman likes to do, it’s brag about her grandbabies. I spotted you as soon as you came through the door and recognized you from all the photos she’s flashed at me. Easiest ten bucks I’ve made in my life without me taking off my clothes.” She chortled at Joe’s flushed cheeks. “She was in here yesterday. Said she went on a stakeout with you.”
“She climbed into my car while I was trying to coordinate something with another division, so no, not really a stakeout,” Joe lied as smoothly as he could, making a mental note to stem his grandmother’s gossip. The sane part of his brain laughed hilariously at him and wandered back up front to drool over Levi’s strong arms and body-hugging T-shirt. “Nana’s… eccentric.”
“That’s a word. I’ll be right back with your Diet Coke.” Debbie nodded down at the mostly eaten salad. “And you either finish that up or pick the mushrooms and olives out of it. No sense wasting the best parts.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Joe said, saluting her with his fork. “I’ll get right on it.”
“You’re going to be hiding those mushrooms under your lettuce as soon as I turn my back,” she scoffed, tapping the table with one long pink fingernail. “Your nana told me all of Tina’s kids hate raw mushrooms, and that’s the last time you’re lying to me, mister. Just eat the olives. I’ll be back with your drink.”
He let himself get one last peek at Levi Keller, then scanned the pub’s customers again. The private room was a concern, mainly because he didn’t know if there was a back door. Debbie probably would answer him if he asked, and there wasn’t any way Joe could trust she wouldn’t bring it up to Keller. There were too many clean spots for a busy pub this size, he thought, looking around carefully. Sure, the mountain serving drinks next to Keller probably could bust a few heads open just by lifting his pinkie finger, but tossing drunks usually meant a couple of cop calls a mo
nth. Keller looked like he could hold his own, judging by the powerful flex of his arms as he stretched, but Joe wasn’t sure if either man could hold their own against a gang of bikers, especially if they came knocking on the pub’s door armed to the teeth and ready to tear apart a rival club.
“Hey, never mind about the soda,” Joe called out to Debbie before she rounded back to the bar. “I’ve got to head out.”
“You leaving a tip?” She cocked one eyebrow, first at Joe, then at Levi, who cleared his throat and turned away quickly to find something else to do instead of battling Debbie’s glare. “Because this one might give away the farm, but my chickens still have to eat.”
“Tip being left, ma’am,” he said, shooting her a grin as he laid down a few bills. “I’ll be back soon, and when I do, I’m paying.”
Once outside, Joe leaned into the slight chill outside of the St. Con’s heavy door. The day’s stickiness surrendered to a nip in the air, a bit of salt-scented breeze carrying up over the lip of the Bay, and Joe shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, warming them up after a couple of hours of cradling an icy glass. The building’s buttery-golden brick walls held a bit of the day’s heat, but they probably would be cold by morning. The traffic lights at the corner flashed through their colors, flickering a short-spectrum rainbow on the road where Joe first caught sight of Levi Keller speaking to the biker.
“Okay, let’s check out how many back entrances there are to this place. Then it’s home for you, Zanetti.” Joe glanced up and down the street, looking for any activity, but despite being on the early side, the neighborhood seemed to have rolled up, with the exception of a few lights coming from apartments and lofts. “Might as well cut through the alley. Car’s parked on the next street over, anyway.”
The pass-through cut through the storefronts right behind the garage attached to the pub. While the entrance was too tight for a vehicle to drive through, farther down the way, it opened up, creating a few parking spaces probably reserved for anyone working or living in the street-facing properties. Pacing off the small garage, Joe reconstructed the pub’s layout in his head, figuring the garage was long enough to run the span of the front room.
“Okay, so the main room was about that deep,” he murmured softly, examining the pair of heavy doors behind the garage. A pair of small dumpsters sat to the left of the doors, their green painted steel exteriors gleaming in the faint light coming from the streetlight behind Joe. There were a few lights dotting the backs of the other buildings, and when he drew closer to the dumpster, his movement triggered a motion-activated flood nearly strong enough to push the night back a few notches. “The first one is probably the emergency exit I saw at the end of the pub. So that means this one goes… where?
“Kitchen had its own swinging door, and the private room was next to that with its own entrance, but nothing says that room isn’t connected to the kitchen,” he pondered. “They could potentially slip people in from the back, and with that tighter opening by the garage, no one would even notice. Definitely will need to have someone cover the back door if—”
“Hey, asshole,” a man called out, his voice booming down the tight stretch between the street and the two back doors. “Thought I’d come back and settle some business with you. Mostly me kicking your scrawny fucking ass.”
Joe turned, but all he saw was a silhouette—a slightly overweight, shorter man cast into deep shadow from the garage’s jutting overhang. But he was moving fast, quicker than Joe could react. Reaching for his gun, Joe had enough time to skim his fingers along his service weapon’s grip when the dark shape moving toward him began to crackle and shake. His attacker started to twist inside of his clothing, shedding his shirt with a wiggling motion, kicking off his loose jeans before launching up toward Joe.
THE SOUNDS coming from the man’s body were horrific—soft shifting bones breaking and twisting beneath convulsing flesh. He’d come close enough to be lit up from the edge of the floodlights, but that didn’t make identifying his attacker any easier. The man fell to his hands and knees, but that didn’t seem to slow him down. A few jumping hops brought the man closer, his palms and joints striking the hard ground with such impact that Joe swallowed hard, nearly gulping down his tongue in surprise. Some part of his mind thought to stare at the attacker’s features, hoping to memorize them so he could identify him later, but that proved to be impossible.
The man’s face was gone, folded into an elongated meld of meat and bone before he crossed into the light, his skin peeling and fraying off into long shreds as his body changed in front of Joe’s eyes. The gun was forgotten. Transfixed by what was happening in front of him, Joe’s brain fought to make sense of what he was seeing, unable to fully accept the jut of shoulder blades pushing up from the man’s bowed torso. A creaking rattle was the only warning Joe got as the man’s spine ripped clear of his skin, lengthening out from the small of his back. Bits of gray-brown fur rippled, seeming to grow or perhaps push out of the peeks of raw flesh flashing quickly before Joe’s eyes. Then, as quickly as it began, it all came to a whispering end.
Leaving one of the largest, fattest, mangiest coyotes Joe’d ever seen standing in front of him.
The beast was huge—much larger than any other he’d come across—but it was definitely a coyote. San Francisco had its share of wildlife, and the long-legged creatures were expert scavengers, often coming down from the wooded areas nearby to help themselves to whatever they could pull out of the garbage at edges of the city. But the pub was way too inland for one, or at least too firmly in the middle of an urban neighborhood for a coyote to dare the streets and dangers simply for an uneaten plate of onion rings, no matter how damned good they looked.
Growling, the creature stepped closer, his head down and teeth bared. But it blinked furiously, staring up at Joe’s face. It was enormous, easily the size of a large hound. One paw inched forward, and Joe finally found his gun beneath his jacket to draw it. He stepped closer in the hopes his looming presence would push the coyote back. His SIG Sauer held steady before him, he advanced slowly, easing closer to the kitchen door. Banging on it probably wouldn’t bring anyone to answer it. He knew from working at his uncle’s restaurant as a kid practically nothing could penetrate a fire door, and his only hope would be to ring the service bell. But he couldn’t spare a moment to glance and find it.
After taking a deep breath, Joe said quietly, “Okay, I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but—”
The heavy steel kitchen door opened suddenly, slamming Joe in the shoulder. Startled, he stumbled to the side, processing the developing situation as the events began to pile up on top of each other. His trigger finger pressed down, but he stiffened his joints before he accidentally let off a shot. Too off-balance to do anything other than sidestep the swinging door, Joe nearly tumbled into the enormous coyote’s path. He caught himself before he plowed into the beast, but as he turned, he caught sight of Levi Keller standing at the open kitchen door, hefting a full garbage bag up, a shocked expression working its way across his handsome features.
“Stay back! Hold the door and get back in!” Joe warned, pulling his gun up to aim at the beast as he tried to back away, giving himself some distance. Keller let the kitchen door slam behind him, shutting off their egress. Dropping the trash bag, Keller seemed to sigh heavily, and resignation took over where shock had momentarily been. “Damn it, Keller. We need to—”
If the coyote had been a long shocking moment, Keller stripping off his shirt and unbuckling his jeans broke Joe’s thoughts. The man was mouthwatering, and in the confusion of everything happening around him, Joe couldn’t spare any more than a glance at Keller before shifting his attention back to the corpulent coyote.
The crackling noises were back, but this time it was Keller’s tightly muscled body shifting, his skin splitting apart and drying in long spirals from his sides. Slack-jawed, Joe couldn’t move, or at least he didn’t dare to. The change to Keller’s form went smoother, or perhaps Joe
was too overwhelmed, but the creaking bones soon gave way to rippling flesh and darkening skin. Then a wave of black fur covered the man Joe’d lusted after only minutes before.
The emerging beast was broader, leaner in places, and sleek. Powerful muscles bunched and released as he moved away from the pile of clothes he’d shaken off with a disdainful flick of his back legs. His eyes reflected the light, as dark blue as the Mediterranean but flecked with gold and moonlight. If the coyote was large, the ebony wolf standing where Keller once stood was beyond enormous—a prime dire wolf with sharp teeth and a growl deep enough to send tremors through Joe’s teeth. He was both magnificent and terrifying. Then he stepped in between Joe and the coyote, and Joe braced himself for what was coming.
There was no way anyone—any beast—was getting out of the situation without spilling blood, and he hesitated to shoot, uncertain if his bullets would even do any good against the transformed men. Still, his SIG was all he had on him, and he wasn’t going to let Keller—wolf or man—die defending him. Lifting his gun, Joe aimed at the coyote’s flank.
“I’m going to assume you can understand me,” he warned, dropping his voice into a command. “Drop down and… stay in place. I don’t want to have to hurt you.” Joe wasn’t exactly sure what he could threaten a coyote with, but he’d been willing to give it his best go. “These may not be silver, but I’m guessing they’ll at least punch a hole in—”
He hadn’t even finished his warning when the alleyway exploded in a cascade of stars and the back of his head began to throb. His words caught on his tongue, and Joe blinked, his eyes refusing to focus. The world tilted around him, and with a stumbling protest, he hit the ground. Joe groaned, sure his head had been split open, but his protests died when the black creeping over him rose up suddenly, and he passed out, all the while hoping Keller kicked the coyote’s ass.
