Rebel's Claw

by Afton Locke

  “I have to get ready for tonight’s performance.” She tugged his left braid. “Please behave yourself tonight.”

  Minutes later, Lara’s singing filled the room, but he focused on the other patrons instead. The Tao pack was fortunate to have a safe place to live and party. He could think of worse places to inhabit. Maybe he should enter the stupid blood oath, but not until he got a honey-haired, sexy rancher out of his mind.

  His cock stirred in his jeans as he remembered how incredible it had been to fuck her. He had to give her an orgasm, damn it. Even if it took all night. She wasn’t here, but his cock needed to slip into something wet and warm.

  A human redhead standing next to him gave him the eye. Women had been hitting on him all week, and this one wore painted-on jeans and a low-cut top. Maybe it was time to forget Carrie Myers once and for all. Her flannel nightgown and work shirt were a lot sexier than gaudy clubbing clothes, though.

  When he turned to shoot the woman an I-want-to-bed-you-now smile, she installed herself on his lap.

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?” He stroked her arm, copping a little feel of her generous breasts in the process. His palms ached to cup Carrie’s perfect handfuls instead. He’d give anything to re-experience her hard little nipples pressing against his chest.

  “I’m Darla.”

  He finished off the second beer. “It’s too crowded in here, Darla. Wanna go outside and sit in my truck a while?”

  Better make use of Ogden’s old junker while he still could. He couldn’t believe the man had let him borrow it again after he’d nearly wrecked it. Of course, he didn’t know Roark had spun mud wheelies with it.

  When she agreed, he led her out by the hand. A good fuck was exactly what he needed to forget his Wyoming mate. The dirty white pickup was parked at the far end of the lot, which should be private enough for a quickie.

  As soon as they got inside, she climbed on his lap again and kissed him, nearly gagging him with her eager tongue and slimy lipstick. Carrie’s natural mouth tasted so much better. And when her hands slipped under his ribbed T-shirt, he couldn’t help imagining they were Carrie’s instead. Only they didn’t feel small and work-worn like hers. This girl’s fingers were pudgy and damp.

  Her enthusiasm made the truck’s chassis squeak. After he finished with the girl, the old junker would probably need new shocks. He grasped her thigh, sliding his hand toward her cunt. Hopefully, she wouldn’t need much foreplay. The move must have turned her on because her pungent arousal filled the truck.

  “I want you so bad,” she said. “Fuck me, handsome.”

  Her musk reminded him of skunk piss. Where were the apples, ripening in the sun, he longed to sniff instead? Hell, he’d rather smell the cow shit on Carrie’s boots than Darla. Even the voice was wrong—sickening sweet instead of husky.

  “Shit,” he muttered as his hard-on withered on the vine.

  She tugged the waistband of his jeans. “What’s the matter?”

  “Get out.”

  “What?” she cried.

  “I don’t like the way you smell.”

  “You creep!” She slapped his face and scrambled off his lap. On her way out, she gave Ogden’s truck door a good slam.

  Roark gripped the steering wheel and laughed. The human had misinterpreted. She probably thought he questioned her feminine hygiene. What he meant was her unique scent as a person left him cold.

  Lara was right. He’d been an idiot to think he could forget his mate after bedding her. Carrie would be in his blood forever, and no other woman would do. He stared at his crotch. The rest of his life would be a series of unsatisfying hand jobs because he didn’t think he could stomach fucking anyone else.

  Shit. Double shit with a paw print in it.

  He ambled back inside, hoping the noise would block out his thoughts. When he spotted a female bartender helping out, he flexed his charm muscles to get alcohol from her—straight whiskey, this time. He may be done with women, but he could still use them.

  The place grew more crowded as Lara sang song after song, but he focused on the conversations nearby instead of her voice.

  “You didn’t know Drew killed his father?” a guy two seats down asked. “I thought everyone did.”

  “Why would he do that?” the woman next to him asked.

  “The guy was crazy. This pack was a nightmare then.”

  Roark grinned into his glass. Now he realized what the Alpha meant when he’d said everybody has been through shit in their lives. It was a hell of a lot more fun to think about someone else’s problems instead of his own.

  Taking another swig of whiskey, he jumped into the conversation. “What did he do? Shoot him?”

  Eventually, he lost track of time and the number of drinks he consumed. And Carrie? Carrie, who? He’d pulled the entire back half of the bar into a lively recap of the pack’s sordid history.

  When Lara’s song ended, she rushed toward the bar and glared at the blonde bartender.

  “A glass of water for me, please. No more alcohol for him.” Then she grabbed one of his braids and pulled. “Get your act together, Roark.”

  “Wha? What I doing wrong?”

  “You’re drinking too damn much and blabbing pack secrets, that’s what.”

  “About Drew?” He shrugged. “No secret here. Everybody knew except me.”

  “The Alpha deserves respect,” she hissed in his ear. “You’re not even a member of the Tao pack yet.”

  He drank more whiskey, the burn in his throat matching the one in his heart.

  “You’re not my Alpha and neither is he,” he pointed out.

  She tugged at her hair. “I know you’re dealing with what you found out about Jared, but you have to move on. Nothing will bring him back.”

  His friend’s name pierced through the alcohol haze in his brain.

  “Getting drunk every night sure isn’t going to solve anything,” she added. “Would you want him to see you this way?”

  He and Jared had partied together plenty, but numbing pain with oblivion like some pathetic old drunk was different.

  “Someone needs to pay for his death,” he insisted.

  Maybe Carrie herself. She inherited the ranch, didn’t she? In his book, her father’s sins went along with it. How should she pay? With her own life? Jail time? The thought of either twisted his gut.

  “My break is almost up.” Lara took a few swallows of water. “Damn it. You’ve given me hiccups. How am I supposed to sing the next set?”

  He flung an unsteady hand in her direction. “Don’t worry about me. I…be fine.”

  “Jared was probably in wolf form when he was shot. Ranchers shoot wolves to protect their livestock.”

  The room tilted. “Whose side you on, cuz?”

  “I’m just pointing out most humans aren’t aware of what we are. To them, killing an animal isn’t as bad as murdering a person.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Why am I trying to reason with a drunk?” She rolled her eyes. “You’re assuming someone shot Jared. For all we know, his death was an accident.”

  “I hear you.”

  She clutched his hand. “You’re needed here, with your family and the rest of your old pack. If you can’t live without your mate, then bring her to the Black Hills.”

  Nothing would part the woman from her ranch. Besides, they could never be a couple with Jared’s death hanging between them.

  “Ryker just walked in.” Lara jabbed him in the biceps. “Sit here and don’t talk, move, or drink until I finish my set. Promise me!”

  “All right. Jeez.”

  She rushed up front to the stage, hiccupping the whole way. It was nice to have family who cared about him. He gazed at the ceiling and let out a slow breath. She was right. He needed to figure out the rest of his life.

  He finished the rest of her water because his head started to pound from the whiskey. Morning hangovers were getting old. His mouth tasted sour, too. He decided to obey her and mind
his own business for the rest of the night. A yawn swept over him, reminding him how little he’d slept lately.

  Ten seconds had barely passed when a burly shifter approached him. Uh-oh. The foul-smelling bimbo from earlier clung to his arm.

  “Is this the jerk who hit on you?” the man asked her.

  “That’s him,” she replied. “Let him have it.”

  “Whoa. She came on to me,” Roark argued. “She didn’t mention she had a mate, either.”

  If he hadn’t had so much to drink, he might have blocked the punch in time. Instead, a meaty fist smacked into his jaw, almost knocking him off his stool. Luckily, his jawbone was heavy enough to take it.

  His body sobered up in a hurry. He stood, pivoted, and slugged the asshole in the stomach. Before he knew it, everyone was swinging at each other. One man even shifted and jumped up on the bar with fangs bared. Lara’s guitar riff ended on a sudden, sour note.

  Ryker shouldered a path through the crowd. Crap. Gee the Were-Bear was with him. For some reason, the mysterious bulk of a man made Roark more uptight than Ryker did.

  “Sit down, all of you!” the Enforcer roared.

  The Wolf on the bar whimpered and shifted back to a human. Silence descended on the entire room like a heavy rainstorm. Ryker faced him, standing so close Roark could feel the guy’s breath. Then he grabbed the collar of his leather jacket and pulled him off the stool.

  “I-I didn’t start it,” he stammered.

  Ryker indicated the door with a toss of his head. “Outside.”

  Roark filed out with Ryker in front and Gee in back. Under the light of a half-moon, they walked what seemed a mile through rocky terrain and dense evergreens. He stumbled twice from the damn whiskey.

  This was it. They were going to throw him out of the Tao pack. Well, he didn’t give a rat’s ass. If they made the decision, he didn’t have to. Might give his lousy life some direction.

  They stopped at a steep embankment overlooking a swollen stream. Dampness from the water and rocky backdrop crawled over his flesh. So did the earthy scent of detritus, which had probably moldered away in the tomb of these mountains for decades. Tumbling over the side would not be pretty. The fall could kill a human and would be pretty hair-raising for a shifter, too.

  No wonder the other two men backed him up to it and stood in front of him, preventing his escape. Both were well over six feet tall, blending into the trees around them.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Uh, I’m sorry.”

  Ryker folded his arms. “Good start, but you have a long way to go, pup.”

  Roark bristled at the diminutive term but clamped his mouth shut.

  Gee leaned against a nearby pine, his tensed muscles anything but casual. “You are a guest in our pack. A privilege you have abused.”

  “We made allowances because you’re related to a pack member,” Ryker added. “But disrespectful behavior will not be tolerated here.”

  The men’s voices were deceptively soft against the backdrop of rushing water, but Roark’s acute hearing picked up every word.

  “The Black Hills are not a playground,” Gee added, studying his nails.

  Roark gulped, picturing bear claws in their place—slashing his throat open. He’d been so wrapped up in his own pain, he hadn’t really thought about how his behavior might appear to the pack authorities. Lara was a nag but always forgave him because he was family. If he were these guys, he’d probably beat him to a pulp.

  He held his hands out. “What are my options?”

  “Take the blood oath. Agree to conduct yourself appropriately,” Ryker said.

  “Or?” Roark asked.

  “Banishment from pack lands,” Gee replied. “Starting at dawn.”

  “Fine.” Roark looked up and exhaled. “If you’ve got a knife, we can make the cuts right now.”

  There was nothing left for him in Wyoming but pain, anyway. The Lamar Canyon pack was no more. At least following protocol would get these two off his back.

  “You need to do it with the Alpha,” Ryker said. “Come to the meeting hall by dawn tomorrow. Drew will be there.”

  “Swell.” Roark took a step forward. “If that’s all, I’m really tired and need to take a piss.”

  But the other two stood as still and unmovable as the nearby boulders.

  “Not so fast.” A smile curled Gee’s lips. “We still have your punishment to deal with.”

  Roark gulped. “Punishment?”

  He hoped they meant an easy sentence like volunteering to help out at the Den. The blonde bartender would go easy on him if he laid on the charm again.

  “Yes,” Ryker said. “True obedience can only be learned one way.”

  And while Gee watched, Ryker shoved Roark backward, over the bank.

  ***

  The next morning, Roark met Drew at the conference hall. The Alpha was alone. Roark’s gaze dropped to the conference table. A glass platter embossed with wolf paws held a knife, white cloth, and disposable bandages. Carvings of wolf fangs decorated the knife’s handle.

  A hangover from last night’s drinking hammered into his skull worse than one of Ogden’s hatchets. Although he could’ve shifted to heal it faster, why not feel like shit while he bled away his identity? He still couldn’t believe Ryker had thrown his ass over that embankment. If he hadn’t shifted midway down, he’d probably be floating to Idaho by now with a snapped neck.

  If Drew knew about it, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he picked up the knife and held it across the table to him.

  “Make sure you’re sure,” he said. “Are you ready to follow me as your Alpha, obey pack laws, and be one with the pack?”

  Roark grabbed the knife and clenched the hilt until it was slick with sweat.

  The Dominant cleared his throat and drummed his fingers on the table. “Is there a problem?”

  Hell, yeah. Giving up on the Lamar pack sucked, but since they were here now, he needed to be close to them, especially Lara.

  “No. No problem.” After sucking in a breath and holding it, Roark rolled up his sleeve, laid his forearm on the table, and cut a thin line across his flesh with the tip of the knife.

  Drew did the same. For a moment, Roark watched pearls of blood bubble across the Alpha’s cut. Then he laid his arm across Drew’s and pressed. The sting of the injury morphed into something more powerful on contact. As the blood mingled and flowed, he became a Tao.

  It felt right.

  “There. Done deal.” Roark withdrew his arm and put a bandage over the cut, which should heal up in an hour or two.

  Drew clasped his hand after tending to his own wound. “Welcome to the Tao pack, Roark. I think you’ll find once you get to know us, we won’t bite…unless provoked.”

  “Thanks,” Roark said after they released each other. “I’m glad to be part of a strong pack.”

  His new Alpha stood. “You’ll feel more at home here with time. It beats living like a refugee.”

  He ought to know.

  Stately evergreens swayed in the breeze outside the window. Not a bad place. He might even like it someday. But how could Hellhole, South Dakota, be home sweet home when his mate was in Wyoming?

  ***

  Carrie sat in her kitchen, updating her records with the latest purchases and other transactions. The task she usually kept up with daily had fallen behind because she’d finally cleaned up the house. Really cleaned it. Shaking the dust out of curtains, throwing away old magazines, and—hardest of all—putting away Daddy’s things.

  Roark had blown through her life like a fresh spring wind, changing everything in its path. Nearly a week had passed since he left. Each day was so similar to the ones before she wondered if she’d dreamed his visit. Each time she walked into the barn, though, reminded her he’d been real. And angry.

  Would he ever come back?

  Part of her wanted him to. His strong arms had made her feel safe in a way nothing else ever had. The pictures of loved ones in his wallet had told he
r how much he cared about others. She glanced at the stove, remembering the burned flapjacks. Cooking for someone else, conversing, and sharing the events of the day like normal people did…. It felt so good she’d almost trade her ranch for it.

  How she wanted to love him!

  But if he did return, he’d pursue his friend’s death until he learned the awful truth. How on earth had he suspected? She’d never believed mental telepathy was real. Every day for the past three years had filled her with the anxiety about what in the world she’d buried. But each year had softened it a little. Made it less likely. She’d assumed when enough years passed, she’d barely remember the grim night.

  But the dark-eyed stranger had turned her world upside down. It would be best if he stayed away.

  The grate of a motorcycle engine sent adrenaline shooting through her body. She wasn’t expecting anyone today for ranch-related business. After grabbing the rifle, she stood to the side of the window and hoped the person was simply lost.

  Her heart thudded when she saw the man in a faded leather jacket. His glossy black ponytail reflected the sunlight. When he shut off the engine and walked toward the kitchen door, she shook from head to toe with lust and fear.

  She considered not answering the door, but he’d probably persist. Keeping the rifle in one hand, she opened it. “What do you want?”

  “You.”

  She’d barely laid the gun in the corner when he scooped her into his arms. His mouth devoured hers, and his spicy scent mixed with the leather from his jacket. Heat swirled in her bloodstream, so sharp it almost hurt. How she’d missed him.

  Nothing mattered. Not the ranch. Nor the secret. Feeling his arms around her overcame everything else, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. He pressed her lower back, letting her know he was her man. She melted against the planes of his body—hot and hard through his white, ribbed tee shirt—saying yes he was.

  At last, he let go of her. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

  “Same here,” she said, her voice hoarse with yearning.

  Thank goodness he didn’t seem angry anymore. What did his visit mean? Did he want to have a relationship with her? As long as she got to keep the ranch, she was open to the idea. In fact, her panties sizzled as if she’d been branded between the legs. If he wanted to, he could trot her up to bed again right now.