Jeremiah and I work to lengthen the table so that it can fit all nine of us. The extension piece is a darker shade of wood than the rest of the table, showing just how rare a visit from other shifters can be.
Instead of ringing the doorbell, the Dixons come right in through the back door. They’re a family of dragons from Waco, immigrants from the mysterious Draecus Island that I’ve heard about but never seen.
“Awe, my favorite puppy,” Alayna calls. She’s about a head shorter than me, but she runs up and wraps her arms around me, lifting me in the air. Her three mates follow behind, one kissing her on top of her head before passing. Their daughter, Jane, is only six, but she dives into the house in a ball of metallic reptilian energy. Dragons can shift from the time they’re born, unlike wolves, so she crashes in on all fours excitedly. “Human forms, please,” Alayna calls. Her voice is cheerful, but her eyes have bags underneath. I take a whiff of her scent, and there are traces of adrenaline.
“Are you okay?” I ask my friend, putting a hand on her cheek.
She smiles and shakes her head, her ginger hair falling down in a curtain. “It’s getting bad,” she admits. Her shoulders sag, and I wrap an arm around her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.
“Is there something else?” I ask.
She looks up at me, sniffing as her eyes water.
Oh, shit. I am not good with people crying. The last time I cried was when my dad died.
“We’re leaving, Eve,” she admits. Her tone is husky with emotion. “The Hunters have been taking out more and more of us, and it’s just not safe for us here.” She sucks in a breath and lets out a shudder. “We’re asking you all to come with us.”
I freeze, my expression stilling on my face.
Go with them?
I’m not a dragon. I’ve lived more than half my life with one purpose in mind.
“You know I can’t,” I say. My heart breaks. I’d been expecting a fun dinner with friends, but now I realize exactly what this is.
It’s goodbye.
I crush Alayna to my chest, and she hugs me back. “I’m going to miss you so much,” I say. My heart races. Not only am I losing everyone I care about, but this means that it’s finally time for me to move on. Despite getting my ass kicked by Adam, I’m ready for this. I have to be.
We spend dinner acting like nothing is wrong. Jane talks Jeremiah’s ear off, and Adam discusses sports with Ryan, Alayna’s mate with midnight skin and a shaved head.
“We’re gonna go all over,” Jane gushes, scrolling through Ryan’s phone and showing Jeremiah the photos of the RV her parents purchased. She doesn’t seem to understand the ramifications of their extended road trip. I wish I could explain to her what it’s like to leave behind everything you know, but that wouldn’t be fair. At least she’ll still have her family.
After dinner, Adam follows me to my room, crossing his arms over his chest while I pack.
“Are you going with us?” he asks. I pause and stare at him. He can’t be serious, can he?
“I think you know the answer to that,” I say, shoving a black dress in my duffel bag. I don’t bother to make sure everything stays folded properly. Then, I move on to my weapons. I only have one gun, so I put on the corset holster I bought with the last of my waitressing money before I got fired. Then, I tuck the gun in, double-checking the safety and chamber beforehand. I probably won’t die if I get shot with normal bullets, but I’d rather not bleed all over the bus seats from my own dumb mistake.
“Eve,” Adam says, and I stop to look up at him. His eyes are pained. “You don’t have to do this. You’ve been gone for over a decade.” He chews his bottom lip, then asks, “Is it really worth it?”
I freeze. Is he seriously asking me this?
“It’s my pack,” I growl. “They’re being led by a murderer who just wanted power.”
Adam nods and sighs. “We’re going with the Dixons.”
My throat tightens, but I shove the emotion way down.
“Theo is hooking up the camper right now.”
I keep tossing things in my bag. Do I need my Bowie knife? I shrug and add it just in case.
“How are you planning on getting to St. Louis?” Adam asks.
I glance up. He’s still here?
“Bus,” I say.
A pained smile comes across his face. “I thought you’d say something like that.” He tosses something shiny at me, and I catch it.
“Adam,” I breathe, then clench the keys in my hand. “You can’t.”
He shrugs. “We can’t take it with us. You might as well have it.”
I will not cry. I refuse. Instead, I run over and wrap my arms around him.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything.”
He presses his lips to the top of my head, something he’s gotten in the habit of doing with me just like he does for Jeremiah.
“Promise me you’ll be smart,” he says, and I nod. Before traitorous tears can well up in my eyes, I pull away.
“See you around,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.
Chapter Three
Eve
Adam’s matte black Softail Slim is a Harley like no other. When I twist the key in the ignition, it roars to life, vibrating between my legs like a steed anticipating a run.
Jeremiah and I are used to riding dirt-bikes around the sprawling property, but this is a whole other ballgame. I tear out of the garage, keeping my eyes off the mirrors as I leave my entire life behind. My found family are nothing but the Texas sunrise behind me, and I have to focus on what’s ahead.
The drive is long, but nothing in comparison to how I got here. I weave through the light traffic in the dead of night, streetlights illuminating me in bursts. Otherwise, I’m a spirit, an apparition that people don’t see until it’s too late. My heart beats in a steady drum beat, the words repeating over and over in my head.
Kill him.
Kill him.
Kill him.
I have to stop several times, and as I’m filling up at a small-town gas station in Eastern Missouri, the sun peeks out over the horizon, shining through the slat in my helmet. I’m only two hours from the city if I drive the speed limit, which I never do. I check my cell for updates from the dragons, but there are none. They must be really serious about going AWOL. Maybe I should have done the same. My muscles are weary, and my eyelids are heavy. I could easily stop somewhere to rest, but my heart is still racing. Could I find them if I tried? Ask forgiveness and eschew this quest?
Kill him.
I don’t have time to stop and think like this. I down a five-hour energy and press the wolf deep inside. I can’t let it come out, although running to St. Louis, my paws digging into the dirt as I sprint like a ghost through the trees, is tempting. I won’t lose Adam’s motorcycle, though.
The morning is unseasonably warm, the spring air humid and electric as green storm clouds gather on the still-dark western horizon. I sniff the air, and it’s like the trees and grass are shivering with anticipation of the storm.
I shoot a quick text to Adam to let him know I’m nearing the city, and then I store my phone in the storage beneath my seat.
“Nice bike,” a boy with a southern drawl says. I sneer but ignore him.
When a hand clamps on my shoulder, I tense.
Self control is one of the most important lessons I learned from my adoptive family. Instead of breaking the hand of the stranger who dares to touch me, I whirl around and rip the helmet off my head.
The boy can’t be more than twenty years old, his beard patchy while a mousy brown mullet peaks out from beneath a cowboy hat. How the hell did mullets come back? I raise my lips to expose my teeth in a threatening snarl.
“Ah, you’re hot, too,” he says, his eyes lighting as he chuckles. A couple boys around his age whistle from a nearby pickup truck that’s more rust than metal at this point. “I am the luckiest man alive.” His eyes rake up and down my body appraisingly, and the grease from his hair practi
cally rubs across my skin as my hackles rise.
“Fuck off,” I bark. My hands shake as I resist the urge to smack him straight.
He laughs again, this time a hearty sound as he throws his head back and claps a hand back on my shoulder.
I glare at the offending limb.
He’s just a kid, though, so I give him another chance.
“Do. Not. Touch. Me,” I say, shoving his hand off my shoulder. I half expect there to be a dirt mark, but it’s pretty clear this kid has never actually worked with his hands in his life. His skin is pale, and his hat is obnoxiously clean. “Shouldn’t you be on your way to eighth grade?”
His laugh stops instantly, and he grits his jaw. “Fucking bitch. You’re too fat and ugly for me anyway. You’re probably just a cheap whore.”
My entire body relaxes, and a laugh bubbles out of me. This coming from the man who’d just been hitting on me. “You got me right on the money,” I admit, then jab a finger in his chest. The motion sends him stumbling backwards, and he nearly trips over the trash can separating his lane from mine. “But I still don’t want to fuck you or any of your infantile friends.”
It’s that moment that finally breaks him, and he roars with anger, moving clumsily toward me, swinging a fist. It takes me a moment to register that he’s actually attempting to attack me. I take the tiniest step to the side, and instead of breaking my nose, his hand crunches as it makes contact with the concrete pillar beside the fuel pump.
I roll my eyes and get back on my bike, revving the engine as he falls to his knees screaming.
“Next time you pick a fight,” I yell over the roar of my motorcycle, “make sure it’s with someone you can beat.” Then, I put my helmet on and tear out of the parking lot, the front wheel jumping off the ground for just a moment as it overexcites at my gentle prompting.
I get back on the interstate, the wind whipping around my body. My soul soars as the St. Louis skyline comes into view, the arch glistening golden for just an instant as the sun peaks through the oncoming storm clouds. Home.
I’m home.
Chapter Four
Anderson
I nurse a beer bottle and my pride at the bar three blocks from home. It’s a shifter bar, but I’m the only wolf here. I got my ass kicked by Freya yet again. I roll my shoulders back and suck in a breath as the muscle complains. She bruised it deep this time. Hell, the bone might even be fractured. I have a hard time understanding Freya. Half the time, I think she likes me, but the other half just feels like I’m being used.
When the bartender glances my way, I swirl my bottle in his direction. He gives a short nod and grabs me another one out of the cooler.
The door opens, afternoon sunlight streaming in for just a moment as someone enters, silhouetted by the too-bright day. The afternoon storm had passed quickly, but it was enough to raise the hackles of every wolf in the compound.
A young woman stands there, tucking a motorcycle helmet under her arm and glancing around, her eyes sharp as she scents the air. Her spare hand brushes through her long curly hair, which is dark as the night sky. The breeze from the door finally reaches me, and I pause, my drink halfway to my lips. Her scent is spicy and warm, something unique mixed with jasmine.
I know that scent. The tiniest memory pricks at me. I’m pushed to the ground in the parking lot slash basketball court, and a hand reaches down to help me up.
“Vodka,” she says, sitting three seats down from me. Her eyes are green, and I fall into them like a summer lake before realizing that yes, I am staring. But she’s staring back, so how bad can it be? “Anderson,” she says, tilting her drink toward me before shotgunning it in one go.
Goddamn, this woman is sexy.
For some reason, though, her name escapes me. She clearly knows me, but I have no idea how. The memories dance elusively at the back of my mind, but every time I reach out, they escape me. “Hey,” I say. My voice is gruff and, hopefully, sexy. I set my drink on the bar, no longer thirsty. I have more to think about at this moment than being part of a pack that’s falling apart.
A half smile quirks on her lips, and my heart thump, thump, thumps in my chest as my throat closes up. Another memory assaults me, a little girl with her hair buried under a beanie. It was winter, and we were strolling along the river in the middle of the night. Her hand reached toward mine, and I was so nervous that I might break her. Best friends for life, she’d whispered. I always wondered if she could see me as more, but…
“You don’t know who I am, do you?” she asks, scooting over and stealing my beer from right in front of me.
And I let her.
My throat is too dry for me to answer. We ran around on the roof, placing hide and seek around AC units and drying laundry as we waited for the Fourth of July party to start, but it was still early. “You’ll never catch me—”
“Eve?” I finally choke out. No, it can’t be. Eve has been missing for years. Kenneth explained that she’d transformed and murdered her own father in a mindless rage.
She smiles and takes a pull of my beer before setting it back down in front of me. To cover up the trembling of my hands, I pick up the bottle and press it to my own lips, tasting her on it. Something sweet, like blueberries laced with caffeine.
“Chugging energy drinks?” I ask. It’s the only thing that comes to mind. What do you say when your best friend from childhood shows up like an apparition?
She licks her bottom lip, the tip of her tongue just visible for an instant, but I want to capture it between my own lips. I should probably call Freya after this. She may not respect me as a wolf, but she’s a great way to get out the sexual tension in my body. Even if I wanted more, I will probably never get it from Freya. At this moment, though, my thirst is only for the woman leaning toward me, her hand falling to rest on my knee.
“Long night,” she says, glancing at my lips.
I should ask her where she’s been all this time, find out what happened with her father, but all I can think about right now is how visibly tight her muscles are under her black crop top, her hard stomach just peeking out below the hem. I lean forward a millimeter, and she laughs breathily.
“I didn’t expect you to get so fucking hot,” she admits, her hot breath wafting over my face as that same blueberry scent tempts me.
I swallow the nerves rising up in my throat. If she’s back in town, the pack needs to know about it. Kenneth would probably kill me if he found out that the true Alpha has returned without me telling him about it.
Her hand moves up my thigh, her skin hot despite my jeans between our skin. My breathing grows shallow, and my constitution grows weak.
“Eve,” I say, her name a warning and a charm. She brushes her lips over mine, electricity running through my body.
“Want to get out of here?” she breathes, the words tracing over my lips. My brain is slow to catch up.
I let out a short laugh. “Are you fucking serious?”
Instead of answering, she pulls away. Half of me expects her to leave, and the other half expects her to disappear in front of my eyes, because this is no way any of this can possibly be real. Instead, she grabs my arm and drags me away from the bar, dropping cash by our drinks and grabbing her motorcycle helmet. We don’t head toward the front door, though. Instead, she drags me into the ladies’ bathroom.
A young woman with red hair is in there fixing her pale makeup, but Eve just growls, “Get out.” The fox shifter scampers away, her metaphorical tail between her legs. The moment she’s out, Eve flips the bolt on the door.
“Eve, what the—“ My words are cut off as her lips press against mine, though, and she shoves me back until my ass is against the edge of the sink, my cock hard as it strains against my jeans. I want to resist her, to tell her that this is wrong, but my hands grab her hips and pull her against me. She pulls away gasping as she pulls her shirt over her head, tossing it in the sink before unbuttoning her honest-to-god skintight leather pants, shimmying them all the way off he
r body
I hesitate for only a moment, my pinkies at the waist of a pair of lacy panties, before she grabs my right hand roughly and cups it around her sex, already hot and swollen with need. I groan and lean my head back, taking in shallow breaths as her scent washes over me. Everything about this absurd situation sends shivers running through me, and I part her with one finger.
“Fuck,” she whines, that one word high and filled with a desperate sort of need. The wolf inside me leaps forward, and I growl, taking her lips back in mine as I stroke her, going slow as I discover her body. She’s so different to Freya, who’s always so distant.
Her hands fumble over the button of my jeans, then the zipper. She yanks my pants and boxers down to my thighs in an instant, wrapping a hand over my cock. I expect silky smoothness, like the way Freya insists her hands are taken care of, but Eve is rougher. She clearly works with her hands, and when she rubs a thumb over my cock head, I gasp out. Before I can stop her, she guides me toward her entrance, my cock sliding against her slick wetness as her thighs squeeze me.
I move my hand to my cock and rub over it, thumbing over the precum gathered at the tip. “I don’t have a condom,” I admit, my voice gravelly. Eve tangles her hands in my hair and yanks my head back, exposing my throat.
“Does it look like I give a shit?” she demands. Then, she wraps her legs around me, her luscious tits right in my face as she holds herself high enough for me to figure out an angle. Slowly, her green eyes on me, she lowers down.
This is wrong. I shouldn’t be doing this. We haven’t even had a conversation, not really, but the head of my cock is pressing against her soaked pussy, her body wrapped around mine as she pants like a bitch in heat. In an instant, I make my decision. I grab her thigh roughly, my pale skin practically glowing against her tan. I nudge her panties out of the way and help her lower herself over me, my breath growing shallow as I work to maintain my self-control. She clenches around me, and I groan.
“Anderson,” she moans, using her obvious athleticism to gyrate over me, her hips rolling as she lifts herself. I hold her on my hips with one hand, using the other to push her shirt out of the way. Her black bra matches her panties, and I use my tongue to reach below the top hem, finding her nipple instantly. She bucks against me, her entrance tightening around me as her body trembles.
Rogue Wolf Page 2
