The pheromone rush at the table made Xander feel itchy. Want mate, his panther murmured inside his head. Mate love sexy want why leave hurt kill goback find hate evil why?
Which was about as much sense as his damn cat ever made. It was less like words and more like a rush of feelings and images, gut-deep and laced with rage and longing.
Two-inch claws sprang from his fingertips, and he dropped the rib he was about to put in his mouth and hid his hand in his lap, clenching his fist until the claws ripped his skin.
Next to him, he saw Flynn’s nostrils flare, picking up the blood scent. “You okay?” he asked quietly.
Xander willed the claws back in and took a swig of beer. “Sure, I’m good,” he said.
Maybe for tonight. But he was getting worse. Way too soon, he was going to have to make a choice. 1) Stay with his crew until his damn psycho-panther went completely around the bend and killed one of them.
Or, 2) leave, and let the grief and loneliness drive him insane instead. At least that way, someone else would put him down, so Flynn wouldn’t have to.
‘Cause there sure as hell wasn’t going to be a fated mate waltzing into his life to straighten his shit out.
Xander Fierro was just not that damn lucky.
Chapter 3
Jenny pulled the car into the parking lot and shut off the ignition.
Yep, this was the place. The Wildcat Whiskey Saloon. A long, low wooden building, neon beer signs in the windows, and the faint sound of honkey-tonk country that got louder every time the door opened for someone to come in or out.
Exactly the last place she wanted to be after a day and a half of driving, and an entire life in which she did pretty much anything to avoid talking to strangers. Especially scary shifter strangers.
But it was one of only two shifter bars in this part of Tennessee, and the other one was where the Nashville wolf pack hung out. Not only did she not want to be a female panther walking alone into a bar full of drunk wolves on a Saturday night, but she’d heard that the Nashville pack and the Bad Blood Crew were sworn enemies.
Which would make them drunk and hostile wolves, as soon as she told them who she was looking for. Definitely not doing that, so this place became basically her only shot at getting information about the Bad Bloods—about Xander.
She felt the familiar panic rearing up, and she closed her eyes, taking deep, even breaths. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. You can do this.
She had to do this. It’s for Brandon, she reminded herself. He needed protection, and the Bad Blood Crew already had a reputation of being—well, super-bad. The problem was, they were also reclusive, and hostile to outside shifters. She hadn’t been able to pinpoint exactly where their territory was—just that it was on the outskirts of the Nashville pack’s land, out in the middle of freakin’ nowhere.
Somebody here must know where it was, though. If only she didn’t have to actually talk to them to find out.
She checked her makeup in the rearview mirror, smoothing concealer over the scar on her cheek. Despite the advertising hype, it didn’t totally conceal it, but it made it look less obvious.
Making her look less damaged. She ran a comb through her hair and pulled the left side forward, out of habit.
Maybe the Bad Bloods wouldn’t care about a scar. They were brawlers, weren’t they? They were probably all scarred.
You just want Alex to think you’re pretty.
No, no she didn’t. She didn’t want Alex—Xander—to think anything about her. Except that he was willing to take her and Brandon under his protection. She was definitely not falling into that old trap, following him around, hoping he would see her as more than a friend.
Desperate for him to love her.
He’d broken her heart once, and she wasn’t going to let him do it again. This was about her son’s safety. Nothing else.
She took one more deep breath and got out of the car. Brandon, she told herself. Just think of Brandon.
The minute she stepped inside the bar, she was assaulted by heat and noise. It was a warm early-summer evening, and the bar’s rickety AC couldn’t keep up.
Run away! her panther said.
Excellent idea. Except they couldn’t. We can’t we can’t we can’t.
She pushed her way through the crowd, trying to get her bearings. In one corner, a DJ presided over the tiny dance floor, where people wiggled and gyrated and occasionally bumped into the surrounding crowd, spilling their beers. The mixed scent of shifters and sweat and sex, alcohol and burgers was overwhelming.
There were a few tables around the perimeter, filled with happy, raucous groups. A loud burst of laughter came from a big group in the darkest corner, followed by shouts of, “Drink!” A petite dark-haired girl chugged the rest of her beer, and then proceeded to make out with her giant-sized boyfriend.
Jenny looked away, a pang of envy coursing through her.
Stay focused. You’re here for a reason.
She maneuvered through the crowd towards the bar, collecting a few butt gropes and some splashes of beer on her shirt. Hate this hate this hate this, her panther muttered.
Me, too.
Someone vacated a barstool right when she got to the bar, and Jenny lunged for it, just beating out a bleach-blonde in a push-up bra. “Hey, that was mine!” the blonde whined. Jenny, avoiding eye contact, pretended she didn’t hear her.
The blond turned away, and Jenny breathed a sigh of relief. Catfight averted.
It took almost ten minutes for the bartender, a lean fox shifter, to get around to her end of the bar. By that time, Jenny’s stomach was growling. She realized she hadn’t eaten since lunch.
“Um, a Coke,” she said. “And—”
The bartender rolled his eyes. “I can’t hear you,” he shouted over the noise. “What?”
Jenny raised her voice, feeling like an idiot. “A Coke, and maybe a burger?”
“Grill’s closed.”
Oh. Of course it was. It was late. She should have realized that. “Um, nachos, then? And I wanted to ask if you know—”
The bartender was already gone. Dammit. She dug money out of her purse while she was waiting for him to come back. It was another ten minutes, and she was starting to get uncomfortable. Two guys standing a few feet away were checking her out in a way she didn’t like.
Come on, she thought. Jeez, how long does it take to make nachos?
The bartender came back and slapped down her Coke and nachos. “Ten-fifty.”
Jenny screwed up her courage. “I wanted to ask if you know anything about—”
“I’m busy, Kitten,” the bartender said. “Ten-fifty.” He reached for the twenty in her hand.
Asshole. Now she was getting pissed. She pulled the twenty back out of reach. “I’m looking for information on the Bad Blood Crew,” she said. “Do you know anything about them?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Don’t mess with them. They’re crazy. Now are you going to pay for this shit, or should I take it back?”
Jenny handed over her twenty. There was one bartender who wasn’t getting a tip. Jerk-face.
She ate her nachos slowly, feeling stupider and stupider. What had made her think she could walk into a bar full of strangers and just ask them random questions? The guy on her right was totally into his girlfriend, and had his back to her. There was nobody on the other side, just those guys staring at her and freaking her out.
As if her thought was a magnet, one of them sauntered over to her, his friend a step or two behind. She couldn’t tell what he was—there were too many scents in here. From his lean build and lithe movement, maybe some kind of cat, like her.
“Hey darlin’,” he said. “Whatch’all doin’ here alone? Lookin’ for someplace to stay tonight?”
Oh, God. Right to the sex. Not even “can I buy you a drink?”
Just go away, she thought. Go way go way go way, her cat echoed.
“Not exactly,” she said, not making eye contact. “Looking for an ol
d friend.”
“I c’d be your new friend.” He reached over to her plate and scooped up a cheese-filled nacho.
Eeuw. Gross. And rude.
“No thank you.” She pushed the nachos toward him. She’d suddenly lost her appetite. “You could maybe tell me where to find him, though. He’s in the Bad Blood Crew.”
His friend, standing behind him, spoke up in a deep rumble. He was big—and hairy, with a beard that went halfway down his chest. Bear, probably.
“Bad Bloods?” he said. “Pretty l’il thing like you don’t want to mess with them. They’re fucked up.”
Her nacho thief nodded vigorously. “Fucked up.”
She was getting tired of hearing that.
She turned to look at the bear. “Do you know where their territory is?”
He shook his head. “Nobody goes to their territory. Not without an en-graved invitation.”
Damn. That let out appearing on Xander’s doorstep.
The nacho thief moved around to her other side. She didn’t like that—now she was hemmed in between them.
Get out, her cat said.
She wanted to. But she had to be brave. “Then how does anybody get ahold of them?”
“Who would want to?” the bear said.
“Forget them crazy-ass mutants,” put in the nacho thief. “Come on with us, baby. We can all have ourselves a little par-tay in the back of my truck.”
Did he say all? Oh, hell no.
“No thanks,” she said, trying to catch the bartender’s eye. He ignored her.
The bear and the nacho thief each took one of her arms. “Come on, babe,” the bear said. To his friend, he added, “We can take her out the back, by the bathrooms.”
What?
Jenny panicked, her claws coming out. “Let go of me, you asshole.” She grabbed onto the barstool with one hand. With the other, she clawed at the bear, getting him in the thigh.
“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling on her arm.
“Leave me alone!” she yelled, but no one was paying attention.
“Pitcher’s empty,” Xander said, pouring the last of the beer. “Whose turn is it to buy?”
Lissa rolled her eyes. “Yours, asshole,” she said.
“I’m stuck here in the corner,” he complained. As he always did. He really didn’t mind buying the beer, but it was against his principles to be too cooperative. “Can’t get out.”
“Cry me a river,” Lissa said. “I think we can make room.”
Tank obligingly moved his chair out of the way so Xander could get out and buy beer. He gathered up the empty pitchers and meandered up to the bar, pulling out his wallet to see how much cash he had. It took him a second to notice the two guys trying to drag a girl off her barstool.
“Leave me alone!” she yelled.
Xander’s cat woke up and growled. Without stopping to think, he lunged forward and smacked the nearest assailant on the head with his mostly-empty pitchers. “Cut that out, fucker.”
The guy jerked away, and beer dregs sloshed down his neck. He gave a roar.
Fuck. Bear. Probably a grizzly.
The guy swung around, his eyes going feral. The other one snarled as well.
Double fuck. Much as Xander enjoyed a good fight, he did not want this to escalate. His cat was clawing at his insides, and it was going to get ugly fast. “Tank!” he called. “Little help here!”
The offensive woman-assaulting bear smacked at Xander with a half-changed paw. Xander jumped out of the way, knowing what those claws could do. He lost his balance and tumbled back, taking out a couple of bystanders as he continued the roll backwards and came up into a crouch.
Danger! Help! Bad help love fuck hold kill die run…
Shit. Xander stayed crouched on the floor, eyes squeezed shut, hands locked around his head. Don’t Change. Don’t go crazy. Don’t kill anyone. Shit, shit, shit…
Vaguely, he could hear the rumble of Tank’s voice, and then Brody’s, talking everybody down. Tank was big enough and dominant enough to stop a little spat like this in its tracks. They were fine. Flynn wouldn’t even have to get out of his chair.
And if he did have to, Flynn was dominant enough to flatten half the bar, if he wanted.
Except for Xander. When Xander’s cat really went, it couldn’t even hear Flynn.
He felt the change in tension as the fight was averted. Then he heard light steps approaching, and a delicious and somehow familiar scent hit him.
Bad love mate help fuck kill die run run run…
“I think he’s hurt,” a woman’s voice said. Familiar. Not crew. Why was it familiar? His cat was yowling so loud he couldn’t think.
“Are you all right?”
She touched his shoulder, and his cat’s voice disappeared. Everything went still.
He looked up into a pair of deep, midnight blue eyes framed by long sooty lashes. They widened in shock. “Alex?” she said.
“Holy fuck,” he said. “Jenny?”
Chapter 4
Jenny stared into Alex’s eyes for a few timeless moments, and it felt like the whole world stood still. Then he rose to his feet, backing slowly away like she was a dangerous animal. With stunning speed, he turned and bolted out the door.
His friends—the giant man and the blue-eyed wolf—crowded around her, asking questions that she didn’t even hear.
She’d found Alex. Right here, the first place she stopped, like it was meant to be. She couldn’t let him just disappear. Not again.
Jenny dashed after him, wondering why the hell she’d put on high heels. Trying to fit in, and now look. She could barely run. Ankles wobbling, she pushed past people without really seeing them, not caring now about the drinks spilled on her clothes.
Thank goodness he hadn’t gone far. She caught up with him in the parking lot, next to a beat-up old truck, pacing back and forth and muttering to himself, hands clenched in his hair.
As if he really was as batshit crazy as everybody said.
“Alex?” she said tentatively.
His head whipped around. His mouth was hard, his eyes wary, and there were a couple of faint scars across his face that hadn’t been there before.
“Don’t call me that,” he said roughly. His voice was different too—rougher, more gravelly, like he’d spent a lot of time shouting. Or screaming. “I’m Xander. Alex died three years ago.”
That stopped her in her tracks. He really had left everything behind. He’d done it on purpose.
She knew what a wreck he’d been after Cindi Turned him, and with good reason. She’d done it without even asking him—they were lucky he’d survived it. But afterward, he wouldn’t even let anyone from the clan get near enough to help him. His panther had kept them all savagely at bay.
Then he’d gone away and, apparently, tried to pretend none of them ever existed. That the person he used to be never existed.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and she hoped he understood that it was for more than getting his name wrong. “Xander.”
“I’m not going back,” he said. “So if you’re here for that backstabbing bitch Cindi, or to help that psycho Alton build his evil army of panther drones, you can whip out your cell phone right now and tell them I said no. Fuck no, hell no, no way, every kind of ‘no’ there is. I’m not ever going near Broken Hill as long as I fucking live.”
Xander could see Jenny’s mouth moving, but he could hardly hear her talking. His cat was yammering too damn loud—going all emo and making no sense whatsoever.
Not that that was anything new.
He had to keep it together. Just a little longer, until he could get back to the territory. If his cat had to go nuts then, at least he’d be safe.
They could lock him in the crazy shed until he calmed down. Or trank him and put him out, which he would love right about now, because fucking Jenny.
Jenny had introduced him to Cindi, which he still held against her. Because if he’d never met Cindi…
Don’t go there.
<
br /> She was still saying something, he realized. “Could we maybe talk privately?” she asked.
Xander tried to clear his head. “I thought we were.”
“Um, not exactly.” She looked around nervously.
Oh, fuck. His entire crew was out here, standing around them in a rough circle. Looking worried and dangerous.
Jenny licked her lips. “I—I need your help. It’s important. Is there somewhere we can—”
“No,” Flynn said.
Jenny jumped, as if he’d threatened to hit her. Scared kitty. Little did she know, this was Flynn trying not to be intimidating.
“I’m alpha of this crew,” Flynn said. “If you’re in trouble and you’re bringing it to Xander, I get to hear all about it. Non-negotiable,” he added, as she opened her mouth.
He glanced at Xander. “You okay?”
Xander wagged his head back and forth in a so-so motion. “Kind of loud inside my head right now.”
Jenny’s face filled with concern. “Are you hurt?”
Ha. No. Her fucked-up panther friends had already done the major damage.
“Nope,” he said, in his best ‘zero-fucks-given-here’ tone. “They’re afraid I’m going to go postal and they’ll have to trank me. Better stand back.”
Jenny looked like she didn’t believe him, until Flynn opened his hand and showed her the mini trank gun he held. Somebody always had one when he went out, in case things turned ugly.
Jenny was clearly shocked. “They drug you?” she said. “How often do you—”
“Go postal?” Xander finished for her. “Once or twice a week. They don’t have to trank me every time,” he added. “Sometimes they just lock me up.”
He saw the moment the shock on her face turned to pity, and he told himself he didn’t care. Hell, it wasn’t like he’d ever been her hero. They’d just been friends—good friends. Before Cindi came along and blew up his entire life.
“Yep,” he said. “I’m still a lousy excuse for a shifter. What did you all think would happen, after Cindi fucked me up?”
Bad Blood Panther (Bad Blood Shifters Book 4) Page 2
