by A. J. Colby
“My brother thinks a lot of things,” she replied with an impish smile that revealed nothing.
“Meaning?”
“He’s a great pack master, but even he can be prone to getting caught up in all the machismo bullshit. Especially with Metembe at his side.”
So it wasn’t just me.
“Not a fan?”
“He’s a... difficult... personality,” she hedged, her closed expression telling me far more than her words.
I was about to ask for more details when a young woman wandered over to our table.
“Hi, Lucy,” Juliet said with a smile.
“Hey,” the waitress replied, pulling a small spiral notebook from her apron pocket. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have the tofu burger with a side of hummus and veggies, and a soy mocha decaf latte.”
“And you?” our waitress asked, turning to me.
“I’ll have the patty melt with fries, extra crispy, and a regular coffee,” I said, feeling a little guilty about my thoroughly unhealthy choice, especially when compared to the plate of yuppie chow that my companion had ordered.
After the waitress returned with our drinks and wandered off again, I asked, “So you’re a vegetarian werewolf?”
“Vegan, actually,” she replied with a dreamy smile, shaking the wispy fall of her hair back over her shoulders.
“I see...” I replied. I so didn’t see, but I wasn’t at all sure how to follow up a comment like that. Who’d ever heard of a vegan werewolf?
“I know, I know. Who’s ever heard of a vegan werewolf, right?” she said, mirroring my thoughts. Seeing my chagrined expression she added, “It’s okay. Everyone thinks it, even my dear brother.”
“Do you mind if I ask, how does the wolf handle it?”
“Not at all. We have an agreement. She eats what she likes, and so do I. We don’t force our desires onto the other, but we don’t deny each other either. Isn’t that how you and your wolf are?” she asked, looking at me with her large husky blue eyes.
“I... guess so,” I answered even as I felt my brow knit in a contemplative frown. Was that true? If I was being honest with myself, I didn’t think so. Juliet’s warm smile said she didn’t think so either but was too kind to say so.
The silence that stretched out between us wasn’t uncomfortable, but I found my thoughts returning over and over to the question of balance between the wolf and I. Was I unfairly restraining her and limiting her desires?
“Hank was right,” Juliet said, breaking the silence.
“About what?”
“You,” she answered, gracing me with another sunny smile as she sipped her soy mocha whatever.
“What about me?” I asked, my shoulders stiffening as I went on the defensive.
“You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for. But you’d be a hundred times stronger if you embraced the wolf.”
“I have accepted the wolf,” I replied, though even I could hear the lack of conviction in my words.
Juliet raised a pale, skeptical eyebrow at me, and for a moment seemed as though she wouldn’t say anything else on the matter. “Acceptance and embracing aren’t the same thing.”
“Is that why your brother sent you? Are you here to sell me on the virtues of letting the wolf run wild? I think you must have left your Werewolf Welcome 101 packet in your car.”
Ignoring my sarcasm, she said, “Yes. And no.”
“Care to explain that?”
“The pack needs strong wolves like you.”
“I didn’t think a filthy mutt like me was welcome in the pack,” I replied, my voice dripping acid as I pictured Metembe’s sneering disapproval of my existence. “Besides, I don’t think I’m cut out for pack life. I’m not interested in your hierarchy bullshit and rules.”
“Metembe is a good second. I know that he will have my brother’s back no matter what, but his elitist opinions are not mine or Hank’s. And can you be so sure that the wolf doesn’t long to be a part of the pack?”
I wanted to believe that Juliet and her kind could accept me as I was, mutt status and all, but I wasn’t prepared to buy into the pack mentality. As sexy as Hank was, I didn’t want to be beholden to him or anyone.
“We are social creatures, Riley, both the human and the wolf. We need the company of others to feel complete. A life lived alone is only half a life.”
I was glad for the interruption of our food arriving, and although it smelled great it may as well have been made of cardboard for as much as I enjoyed it.
* * *
“You just want to ride with me?” Juliet asked as we stepped outside.
“Umm... sure.”
“Great,” she replied with a beaming smile, fishing a set of jingling keys out of her purse.
Following her along the sidewalk, already starting to regret the choice of a grease-laden lunch, I was surprised when she stopped next to a bright red Miata. I’d expected her to have favored something a little more environmentally friendly, like one of those ridiculous Smart cars or even an electric car, rather than a zippy little sports car. The sound of Enya flowing out of the speakers when she started the car was more in line with the hippy vibe she gave off.
Just like Alyssa, Juliet appeared to think that her car only had two speeds—fast and faster. I spent the majority of the drive gripping the “oh shit” handle and praying that I’d survive. When she finally squeezed the car into an impossibly tiny spot on the side of the street, I all but leapt out, grateful for the solid feel of the sidewalk beneath my feet. My relief only lasted a moment as I looked around at our surroundings and wondered if I should have worn a bullet proof vest.
The Dirty Dog was situated in the steel district of Denver, an area known for dark and gritty fabrication shops and even darker and grittier men. It was, according to Juliet, also Blood Brother territory. Even with the snow and slush piled up against the curb, the street was lined with motorcycles and rusted pickup trucks, forcing us to park a couple blocks away. Walking towards the seedy looking bar, I felt the weight of several eyes on us, but when I glanced around could see nobody out on the street.
“I feel like we’re being watched,” I whispered out of the side of my mouth.
“Oh, they spotted us before we even parked,” Juliet replied with a shrug as if it was no big deal.
“We’re not breaking some kind of rule by coming here are we?” I asked, fighting against the instinct to pull my jacket tighter around myself. “I mean, we’re not going to get jumped and beaten, or anything, right?”
“As Hank’s blood I’m protected by the pack treaties. You, on the other hand...” she began to say with a frown. I felt the bottom fall out of my stomach at the worried expression on her face and almost stumbled as my knees went weak.
“I thought not being part of a pack gave me the liberty to come and go as I please.”
“It does, but some wolves see your lack of pack affiliations as a threat. It goes against everything in our nature. You’re an unknown element and that makes people nervous.”
Seeing my stricken look, her face split in a wide grin and she chuckled as she said, “You’ll be fine. You’re with me, and as my guest you’re covered by the same protection. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”
I wanted to believe her, but the seed of doubt had already been sown.
“That was just mean.”
Juliet was still chuckling when we stopped outside the bar, the orange glow from the flickering neon sign overhead gleaming on her pale hair. The bar looked normal enough, but even from outside the smell of were, beer, and body odor was strong enough to make my eyes water and lure my wolf close to the surface. She was feeling as on edge as I was.
A small window was set in the dark green door, so thick with dirt that the view of the inside was little more than a hazy smear. The door and surrounding bricks bore dozens of faded concert signs and stickers, all of which were overlaid with several red, spray painted wolf paws that I assumed declared
it as Blood Brother territory.
At least, I hope that’s spray paint, and not the blood of the last wolf stupid enough to come here uninvited.
Juliet reached for the door, and then paused, turning to face me. A pensive look stole across her face, her eyes seeming to darken as she grew serious.
“It would probably be best if you let me take the lead in there.”
“I thought you said we were safe.”
“I said we were protected by the pack treaties. That’s not the same thing.”
Once again, I had the feeling that we were being watched and wondered just what we were going to find on the other side of the door. A bar full of werewolf bikers wasn’t likely to be overflowing with glitter and rainbows.
“It’ll be fine, just follow my lead,” Juliet tried to reassure me, laying a petite hand on my arm.
Quit being such a wuss, the wolf sighed. If she could have rolled her eyes at my cowardice, she would have.
I’m going, I’m going, I muttered, ignoring the additional voice in the back of my mind that reminded me that arguing with myself was a sure sign of insanity.
Oblivious to my internal struggle, Juliet opened the door and preceded me inside. Sucking in a deep breath of cold air, I followed her.
A dozen neon beer signs and bare bulbs tried to illuminate the bar’s interior, but the cloud of cigarette smoke kept the room cast in perpetual gloom. It had been almost ten years since Colorado banned smoking in public places, but I got the feeling that the police didn’t visit this part of town very often.
Through the haze, I could make out several mismatched tables spread throughout the large room, most of them occupied, and a dark hallway leading back toward what I assumed were the bathrooms. A curved bar huddled in one corner of the room with a line of off-color TVs hung behind it, all of them tuned to the fishing channel of all things.
“You little pups lost?” a rumbling voice with a thick Scottish accent asked as the door swung shut behind me.
The owner of the voice sat on a stool just to the right of the door, a bowl of peanuts balanced on one knee and a sea of empty shells scattered on the floor around him. Combined with his accent, the long, reddish-brown hair and matching beard, bright blue eyes, and slender build made him look like an extra from Braveheart. I half expected him to be wearing a kilt, and was a little disappointed to see that he was just wearing jeans, a black sleeveless shirt, and dark work boots.
“Still slumming it, Emmett?” Juliet asked, baring her teeth in a humorless smile.
“Still licking your brother’s boots?” he replied, mirroring her smile, though his held a much fiercer edge.
“I’d rather do that than run with this pack of mangy dogs.”
“It’d do you good to remember where you are, girlie. Words like that can get you in trouble around here.”
“You wouldn’t know how to fight your way out of a paper sack.”
Emmett didn’t say anything in return, but the tightening of the muscles in his shoulders was unmistakable. He was gearing up for a fight, and if Juliet’s stiff posture was any indication, she was more than happy to give him one.
So much for following her lead.
The situation was quickly spiraling out of control, and I decided I’d better step in before I ended up having to call Hank and apologize for getting his sister killed.
“I’m glad to see you guys are catching up and all that, but I’ve got business to do here.”
“And who might you be?” Emmett asked, taking his eyes off Juliet long enough to look me over.
“Riley Cray.” The recognition that flowed across his face let me know he’d heard of me, but revealed nothing of his opinion. “And you are?”
“Emmett Brower, m’lady,” he replied, sliding down off his stool to affect an exaggerated bow. Tilting his chin towards Juliet he added, “I see that Stone finally collared you.”
Prickling at the snide edge to his voice, I said, “No one has collared me, not that it’s any of your business. I’m not interested in being a part of anyone’s pack.”
“A lone wolf?” All smugness faded for a moment as his eyes widened in the first sign of something other than arrogant derision. “Interesting.”
“Great. So glad I’ve caught your interest. Now that we’ve gotten the introductions out of the way, can we get down to business?”
“And what business would that be?”
“I’m here to see Yakov.”
At my words, intrigue gave way to suspicion, his eyes narrowing. “What do you want with Yakov?”
Crossing my arms over my chest I replied, “I’m not sure that’s any of your concern.”
“It is if you want to speak with the pack master.”
I was about to tell him to go fuck himself when Juliet sighed and cut in, “Riley is looking into the vamp murders. Now stop being a dick and let us talk to your boss.”
A chill ran down my spine as several eyes turned in our direction, the mood in the air shifting ever so slightly. I was reminded all too keenly by the collection of assessing gazes that I was in their territory without an invitation, and weres weren’t known for being the most hospitable of creatures.
“You’re a cop?” Emmett asked with an amused snort. “And you’re what, the K-9 unit?” he added, flashing Juliet a cruel smile.
“I’m just someone trying to get paid,” I said before it came to blows. Judging by the sour look on Juliet’s elfin features, it wouldn’t take much more goading from the Scottish were before she lashed out, and I wasn’t in the mood to take on a bar full of angry weres. Her brother might have considered her to be a badass, but even if she was the next Jackie Chan, I didn’t think we’d be able to handle them all.
Emmett’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before he finally shrugged as if coming to some kind of decision. “Fair enough.” Hooking a thumb over his shoulder he said, “Boss is over there.”
“Thanks.”
Grinning, he popped a peanut into his mouth and slid back onto the stool by the door, looking relaxed and amused, which just seemed to irritate Juliet further. “No problem.”
Looping my arm through the petite blonde’s, I steered her away from Emmett and towards whatever other dangers were lurking in the gloom.
Damn, I need a beer.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IF EMMETT WAS an extra for Braveheart, then Yakov Pitomi was something straight out of a low-budget action flick. He sat alone at a table with a forest of empty beer bottles spread out in front of him, another clasped in a hand as large as a bear’s paw. Like Hank, Yakov was a big man, easily as wide across the shoulders as Juliet and I put together, but that was where the similarities ended. Even a mundane would have no trouble identifying him as a were, his short, wide forehead and heavy brows crowned with shaggy eyebrows hinting at the wolf beneath. Grey-streaked dark brown hair hung in a limp and greasy mass over his shoulders, adding to the rough and gritty visage.
Bloodshot eyes rose at my approach, and I had no doubt that a fierce predator lurked in their depths. I stopped a few paces away from his table as much to distance myself from the smell of body odor as to avoid being within arm’s reach of the pack master.
“You’re a long way from home, little wolf,” Yakov said to Juliet, his lips curling back in a rough travesty of a smile. “Does your big bad brother know you’ve come to play with real wolves?”
After our run-in with Emmett, I figured it wouldn’t take much to rile her. I felt, as much as saw, Juliet stiffen beside me, the facade of a petite and harmless young woman crumbling away to reveal the strong and willful creature inside. There was no visible change in her appearance, not even a shift of her eyes from ice blue to wolf gold, but there was no mistaking the spicy scent of pissed were.
Maybe I’d have been better off coming alone.
“And you,” he said, turning his eyes to me. The chair creaked beneath him as he leaned forward, his nostrils flaring. “Want to see what a real pack looks like?”
The low murmur of conversation stopped with jarring suddenness at my words. I half expected the music to skip and scratch to a halt too. I was waiting for the screech of a dozen chairs pushing back from the tables when Yakov said, “You’ve got nerves talking to me like that.”
“Yeah, my lady balls are huge,” I said with a shrug, tempted to follow-up the sentiment by grabbing my crotch. “Now that we’ve established that, can we move on?”
Yakov continued to regard me for a long moment, no doubt deciding if my attitude deserved his anger or his respect. Thankfully, after a pause he chose the latter and gestured for me to take the seat opposite him with a hand larger than my face. “Sit, Spirited One.”
I hesitated for a second at the new moniker, and, after receiving a nod from Juliet, pulled out the chair, taking a moment to brush off the layer of dirt before sitting.
“Drink?”
Looking at the film of filth on the table and the piles of dust and dirt in the corners of the room I shook my head. “I’m good.” Juliet’s small cough and nudge against my chair had me looking at her over my shoulder and asking, “What?”
“It’s customary to share drink or food when socializing with another pack.”
“I’m not sure I’d call this socializing,” I muttered, and seeing her brow crease into a frown, rolled my eyes and added, “Fine. Whatever.”
“The guest has first choice,” she said when I made no move to order a drink.
“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” I replied, waving a hand at Yakov. Across the table he bared his teeth in the first genuine smile I’d seen since setting foot in the place, and I got the feeling I’d just made a horrible mistake.
“Luka, bring the good stuff,” he rumbled in a voice that was easily heard over the music without him having to raise his voice. A large blonde were approached the table with a prominent limp, a bottle of dark amber liquid and two marginally clean shot glasses in hand. The fall of his long hair did little to hide the ragged ruin that was one side of his face, and I had to wonder what could cause such an injury. One bright blue eye peered at me with something akin to pity as he set the bottle and glasses on the table in front of us.
