Werewolves Only

by Carrie Pulkinen

  The younger man sighed. “It’s been broken for a week.”

  “Dammit. You’re sure no one stuck the body in an adjacent locker by accident?” Macey again. Another drawer slid open. “Not in fifty-six.”

  Shit. His pulse pounded in his ears. The combination of fears called on his flight instinct. His beast begged to take over, the primal urge to shift and get the hell out of there overwhelming him. Not now…

  “What about fifty-eight?” The drawer next to him slid open.

  It took every ounce of control to tame his beast. He could not shift. Not there. He clenched his trembling hands into fists and fought to breathe. The air in his chamber grew heavy. He couldn’t get enough of it into his lungs. He would suffocate if he didn’t get out of there fast.

  The adjacent door slammed shut. Was his next? The sharp screech of fingernails sliding across metal. A slight jiggle of the latch. He could practically feel her hand resting on the handle of his drawer. He closed his eyes, willing her to let go.

  “Did you check fifty-nine?”

  This was it. He swallowed hard.

  “You know, boss. I think we need to call Joseph,” The older man said. “Maybe he can shed some light on it.”

  “You’re right.” The handle clicked as she released it. “Let’s get him on the phone.” Her footsteps thudded across the room. A door opened and closed again.

  Silence.

  He couldn’t wait another second. Fumbling his arms over his head, he gave the door a solid push.

  It didn’t move. Crap!

  He pushed it harder. Still nothing.

  Cold sweat trickled down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He was trapped. He ran his hands across the metal, searching for a latch to release him from the frigid tomb. The damn things only opened from the outside. He pressed his boots against the end of the chamber for leverage and slammed both fists against the door.

  It didn’t budge. That was it. He was going to suffocate. There was no way out, and he would die an excruciatingly slow death trapped inside a meat locker in the morgue. No…It couldn’t happen. He banged frantically on the door, using all his strength to will it open. With his feet against the wall, he gave it a thrust with all his might, and the door flung open. His momentum sent the drawer shooting out, his body flying off the platform and crashing to the floor.

  With a smack, his breath whooshed from his lungs. Pain shot through his limbs, and he gasped for air. He was free. Momentarily blinded by the overhead lights, he rubbed his eyes and shot to his feet. His entire body trembled, no longer with the need to shift, but with sheer terror.

  “Dude, you okay?” Chase must’ve opened the latch.

  “The door wouldn’t open,” Luke muttered.

  “You closed it all the way.” Chase chuckled under his breath.

  “Yeah.” Luke ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. With the racket he’d made, he was surprised no one had come running back into the room. It was time to jet. “I’m good. The body’s not here.”

  “So I heard.” Chase motioned toward the exit.

  Luke paused and inhaled deeply. “I don’t smell it in here either.” He followed Chase out the door and jogged to his truck. He couldn’t get away from that place fast enough. What kind of alpha gave in to irrational fears like that? He needed to get his act together if he ever wanted to be pack leader. Taking one last look at the closed door, he peeled out of the parking lot.

  With the morgue in the rearview mirror, Chase turned to him. “You think it already…woke up?”

  Luke sighed. “God, I hope not.”

  Chapter Six

  Jimmy was a hero. His brother would be so proud of him. He just knew it. He’d gotten Ross’s body out of that place, and no one even saw him do it. He beat those flea-bag werewolves and that pretty cop too.

  He grinned as he thought about what their faces must’ve looked like when they noticed his brother was gone. They didn’t have a clue. Even the werewolves didn’t pick up his scent as he hid out in the dumpster behind the morgue until they’d left. They’d run out the back door so fast, you’d have thought they’d seen a zombie or something.

  “Who’s the idiot now?” Jimmy shoved his brother’s body over the edge of the dumpster and cringed when it thudded on the ground. Ross was dead. He couldn’t feel that, could he? Jimmy swallowed. He hoped he couldn’t.

  He didn’t know where Ross’s ghost was. He’d said something about checking on a host and a birth—whatever that meant. It was confusing. He was supposed to get the body and bring it to the shack in the swamp. If he thought about anything else for too long, he’d get distracted. And the last thing his brother had told him before he left was don’t get distracted.

  He heaved his large frame from the dumpster to the ground and picked up the sack that held his brother. Good thing Jimmy was strong, because his brother was heavy. And it was a good thing he’d found that big duffle bag last spring. He’d had to fold him up just right, but Ross’s body fit perfectly in the sack. It zipped up and everything.

  With a proud grin stretching across his face, Jimmy slung the bag over his shoulder and trudged across the street. As long as he could make it to the forest without being seen, he’d be fine. He might even make himself a bed of leaves to sleep on the rest of the night. It had taken him two hours to walk to the morgue. It would take even longer to get home.

  He stepped behind a fat tree trunk and gently dropped the duffle bag. That’s what he’d do. He’d get some rest and go home in the morning. Ross would be so proud of him that he wouldn’t mind waiting.

  Chapter Seven

  O’Malley’s Pub didn’t look like much. Small. Quiet. Exactly the kind of place Macey needed to clear her mind. She’d walked by the bar dozens of times, always ignoring the urge to step inside. Something about the run-down building called to her. Beckoned her to open up and let it tell its story. That was the reason she’d steered clear of the establishment. Any structure that called that strongly had to be bad news.

  And she didn’t need any more of that.

  The only lead on the case had disappeared. Now, she had nothing. No one at the morgue knew anything. They remembered checking the body in, and it ended there. She reported the broken camera to the head of security, but it wouldn’t help with this case. If someone had taken the corpse out the back door, they’d never know.

  She put her hands on her hips and shifted her weight from side to side. A change of scenery would help clear her mind. O’Malley’s couldn’t be that bad. Biting her bottom lip, she took a deep breath and pushed open the door. She braced herself for the onslaught of memories into her psyche. A building this old had to have an interesting past, and even without opening herself up to them, she expected the stories to hit her like a wall.

  Nothing happened.

  Hmm…Kinda disappointing. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Maybe she could actually relax tonight. It was her night off, after all. She deserved a break, even one she’d been forced to take.

  She adjusted her bun and smiled at the bartender. With his tattoos and piercings, he had a rough appearance, but the way he grinned gave away his sweet personality. He raised his head to acknowledge her. “What can I get you?”

  Macey made her way to a stool at the corner of the bar. “Abita?”

  “Sure thing.” He filled the glass and set it in front of her, then went back to washing dishes. A news program played on the sole television, but it sat too far away to read the closed captioning.

  The phone rang, and the man crossed the bar to pick up the receiver as Macey took a long drink of her beer. The icy bubbles tickled her throat on the way down to her stomach. It’d been way too long since she’d savored the malty goodness. Too long since she’d savored—or even enjoyed—anything. She’d been so caught up in the case; it was all she thought about. If the Chief hadn’t insisted she take the night off after the body disappeared, she’d have been thinking about it now.

  Damn it. It was still on her mind. Af
ter the fitful sleep she’d endured that morning, she needed to loosen up. The bartender hung up, punched in some numbers, and spoke to someone else briefly. The sparkle in his eye disappeared after the phone call, and he shuffled toward her, tensing his jaw and grumbling something under his breath.

  “Everything okay?” She absently rubbed the condensation off the glass with her finger.

  The bartender wiped the counter with a rag. “Yeah. It’s…a family thing.” His head snapped up when a side door opened, and he hurried over to the hunk that entered the room.

  Wow. Macey scooted closer to the corner of the bar so she could watch the exchange without being seen. The man who entered from the back of the pub stood at least three inches taller than the bartender. He ran a hand through long, wavy, caramel locks, and his black T-shirt stretched tight across muscular pecs when he moved. His sapphire eyes held brotherly concern as he looked at the other man. “What’s up?”

  “Bekah’s damn sitter canceled on her again, and she’s gotta go to work. Amber’s not due in for another two hours, and—”

  The taller man raised a hand to stop him. “It’s okay, Chase. Go do what you gotta do. I’ll cover.”

  They walked toward the bar, and Macey gulped her beer to cool the fire that stirred in her core. She gripped the nearly empty mug with both hands and swallowed down a giggle. Had the alcohol already gone to her head? She chewed her bottom lip and focused on the tiny bubbles in her beverage, trying to make her eavesdropping less obvious.

  “You sure, man?” The bartender reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “You’ve been on site all day.”

  “Go take care of your niece.” He lifted the hinged part of the bar and stepped inside. Macey chugged what was left of her drink.

  “Thanks, and I think the lady needs another round.” His glittering smile returned as he bounded out the front door.

  Macey took a deep breath and forced herself to make eye contact with the gorgeous man.

  “What are you drink…ing?” A look of recognition flashed in his eyes before he composed himself.

  “I…uh…” A lump in her throat had formed in the half second she’d caught his gaze. She cleared her voice. “Abita, please.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Have you ever tried Blue Moon? I know Abita’s the local favorite, but it’s got nothing on this one.” He poured the drink without waiting for a response and set it down in front of her.

  “Well, no…but I…” Macey stumbled over her words. What the hell was wrong with her? She was a confident, kick-ass detective, but in half a minute, this guy had turned her into a babbling idiot.

  He squeezed an orange slice and dropped it into the glass. “On me. If you don’t like it, I’ll buy your next Abita.”

  Fair enough. She picked up the beer and took a swig. It was smooth, like liquid gold, and the burst of citrus made her taste buds dance. “Wow. That is good.” Finally, she’d found her voice. “Looks like you’re off the hook. I’ll keep the Blue Moon.” She took another drink and toyed with the glass as her heart pounded hard against her chest.

  “This your first time in?” His deep-blue eyes drew her in, and she had to look away.

  “Yeah. I’ve lived here most of my life, though. I guess I don’t get out much.” Good job, Mace. Way to sound pathetic.

  He chuckled. “Well, welcome.” His gaze locked with hers for what felt like an eternity, holding her still, making her forget how to breathe. How did he do that? “I’m Luke Mason, by the way.” He held out his hand to shake. “My old man owns the bar.”

  She hesitated to take his hand. Something inside her screamed to stop. Instinct told her this was the beginning of something bigger than she could imagine, but she chided herself. It was only a handshake. She reached across the bar and shook.

  As soon as her skin brushed his, a buzzing sensation shot up her arm, making her hairs stand on end. It paused at her elbow, stinging like she’d hit her funny bone, before it lurched up to her shoulder. It spread through her body in a jolt, and she jumped. What the hell?

  He gave her a quizzical look. “Interesting.”

  “Sorry.” She jerked her hand away and rubbed her palm on her jeans. “I’m Macey. I must’ve built up some static electricity or something. You kinda shocked me.”

  “You shocked me too.” Luke ran his hands through his hair and tied it at the nape of his neck with a band. “Do you want a menu? I recommend the steak. Made the marinade myself.”

  “You cook?”

  “Does that surprise you?” His grin sent her heart racing again. What was wrong with her?

  “I guess not. I’ll stick to the beer, though. Thanks.” She tugged on her bottom lip as she watched him wash his hands, pull a lemon out of the small fridge under the bar, and begin cutting it.

  The muscles in his forearms flexed and extended with each chop of the knife. Her gaze traveled up to his biceps, where a thin, pink line scarred his otherwise perfect skin. His black T-shirt blocked her view of his obviously muscular shoulder, and warmth pulsed from her core out to her fingertips and toes. Was it the beer or the amazingly hot man across the bar making her feel this way?

  Whatever it was, she needed a distraction, so she turned her attention to the video trivia machine at the end of the bar and dropped in a quarter. She touched the screen for eighties pop culture and began answering questions about music and movies from the decade. Her second beer was half empty, and she hadn’t been in the bar half an hour.

  She sipped her drink, occasionally stealing glances of the sexy bartender, as more and more patrons filled the bar. By the time she drained the glass, people wearing small white stickers on their shirts had packed the establishment, and Luke had filled three rows of plastic cups with ice on the bar in front of her. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Haunted French Quarter tours. They happen every night at six and eight.”

  “Ghost tours?” She chuckled.

  He shrugged and poured a drink that looked like red Kool-Aid into the cups—New Orleans’ infamous hurricanes. “My dad thought it would help with business.”

  She traced her finger along the rim of her empty glass. “Does it?”

  “At six and eight. Excuse me.” Luke stepped toward a group of customers and handed a patron two of the drinks. He reached for another plastic cup and glanced at Macey. Then he stopped, picked up a beer mug, filled it, and slid it toward her.

  She would have thanked him, but he turned away to help the onslaught of customers getting ready for the tour. The once dark, quiet bar now bustled with activity. People filled every chair, lined the walls, and chattered incessantly. She popped another quarter into the machine. Luckily, the tour started in fifteen minutes. She could hang on until then. In the meantime, at least she could enjoy the view.

  Luke finished serving the customers, and as the last one left the bar, he turned to face her. He looked at her quizzically, slightly cocking his head to the side. He narrowed his eyes and focused on her so hard, the rest of the world slipped away. Was he judging her? Checking her out? Whatever he was doing, it made her palms sweat and her heart race. He went utterly still.

  Then, he inhaled deeply and shook his head like he didn’t believe something. He dropped his arms, and his smile returned, as if that awkward moment never happened.

  “So, Macey…You’re a detective, right? I think I’ve seen you on TV a few times.”

  “Yeah.” She grimaced. Never one for the spotlight, she’d managed to keep her face off the evening news for years, letting her charismatic partner handle all the on-screen interviews. With the nature of this case, though, NOPD decided to be politically correct and have a woman on screen for a change. Lucky Macey.

  And now Luke knew who she was. When men found out her occupation, some of them bolted immediately. It took a strong man to handle an equally strong woman, and it would’ve been nice if he’d gotten to know her personality before her reputation.

  Wait. What was
she thinking? It didn’t matter what this guy thought of her; she wasn’t looking for a relationship. She had no intention of setting herself up to be hurt again. Still, something about Luke drew her in.

  “You’ve got quite a rep,” he said. “I mean…you bust a lot of bad guys.”

  “I know. But it’s my night off…” She batted her lashes, hoping he’d get the message that she didn’t want to talk about work. He didn’t.

  “Can you tell someone is a criminal by looking at him?”

  “There are certain qualities I look for, but I’ve learned not to judge a personality by the package.” She took another sip of beer and let her gaze travel from his face down his muscular chest to his pants. “No matter how tempting the package may be.” Crap. She didn’t mean to say that last part out loud. Heat crept up her cheeks as she cleared her throat. “Why? Do you have something you want to confess?”

  He chuckled and leaned toward her. “If I did, you’d have to beat it out of me.” He winked before standing up straight and crossing his arms. Was he flirting with her? One way to find out.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  The corner of his mouth pulled into a crooked grin. “Maybe.”

  He was flirting. A fluttering sensation formed in her stomach, like butterfly wings beating against a net. She leaned her elbows on the bar, resting her chin on her fist. “Hmm…”

  He scratched behind his ear. “Anyway…you’re working on the rape cases right? How’s that going? Any leads?”

  “Ha. I had a lead…until the body walked out of the morgue.” Crap! What was her problem tonight? Was it the man? Or the beer? Whatever it was, she needed keep herself in check before she jeopardized her job.

  His eyes widened in surprise. “You lost a body?”

  “I didn’t lose it. But…just…forget I said anything. I’m not supposed to talk about it.” She gazed into his eyes, willing him to understand. “Please?”