by Anne Marsh
“For the mating ball,” I say into the silence. “Human girls.”
I swear Eli’s eyes glow. “What the fuck’s a mating ball?”
Since he’s a Jones, I guess he wouldn’t know. And Jace joined us too recently for there to have been a ball in his time.
“The Breed throws a big party once a year. They call it a ball to class it up, but it’s pretty much an open-bar kegger out in the bayou. He brings in a bunch of girls, and the wolves pick the ones they want.”
“It’s an orgy?” I can’t tell from Eli’s face if he’s for or against the idea.
“Except the guys don’t have to give back the girls at the end of the night.” The words tumble out of my mouth faster and faster, mirroring the pace of my finger on the cup lid.
“They being the wolves—or the girls?”
I shiver, remembering my own mating night. “The wolves. The girls don’t get a say.”
“That fucking sucks,” Eli says casually and without hesitation, and I agree. Sucks doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“Could you—” I need Jace to agree with me, but I’m not much of a sweet talker. Okay, honestly? I’m not much of a talker at all. There’s zero reason for him to listen to me.
“Do something? Yeah. What did you have in mind?”
I blank. I kind of want him to throw on a cape and go do his Superman-to-the-rescue impression, but that’s not the world’s most feasible plan.
“I don’t want the other girls hurt,” I say carefully. “I want them safe.”
Which meant getting them out of there as far as I was concerned.
“You want to stage a rescue mission?” This time Eli does smile at me, and funny how a smile makes him seem like more of a scary-ass bastard rather than less. The man could make a Viking look like a mama’s boy.
“I’d appreciate it,” I say quietly.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Jace tells me, and I’ll have to live with that. He scoops me off his lap and sets me on my feet. “Eli and I have to take care of something, so I’ll take you home. See you later tonight at the clubhouse if not before.”
JACE
The run back to Belle Plantation clears my head. Or that’s what I tell myself. Eli and I shifted after I drove Keelie Sue back to her apartment. Letting her walk away from me doesn’t sit well, but I can’t keep her with me.
Wolves pack Belle Plantation by the time I return. I haven’t stayed out here much in the past couple of weeks, not since I bought my own place. Maybe my wolf sensed that I was coming to this moment, when I pull away from my birth pack and start looking for something more. It hurts though, at the same time that it feels right. Guess that’s the way life rolls, and I’ll have to get used to it.
If the Breed was just a pack of violent, no-good werewolves, I don’t think I’d be so interested. That pack certainly has more than its fair share of assholes, but there are good wolves there too. Wolves who can’t or won’t break away from their pack because our kind doesn’t do so well running as loners, and so they stay and none of them are strong enough to challenge Big Red or to turn things around. I can change that. Even without Keelie Sue by my side, I can challenge and win. I may be a cocky bastard, but I can fight and I’m mean to the bone. Big Red will go down, and then I’ll have a new pack and Belle Plantation will never welcome me in quite the same way again. When I visit, I’ll be an Alpha in my own right, a threat and an ally.
I debate whether my cousins have ever thought about forming a new pack. They lounge about the living room in their wolf forms, looking content as fuck. Since those boys usually don’t come out of the bayou, I have to wonder if their presence means something, or if it’s just a coincidence. Could be I’m paranoid too, after spending so much time with the Breed, where every gesture, every growl is a move in the dominance game.
My cousins are easygoing bastards who don’t want to jockey for dominance in the pack—they know their worth and take turns playing the dominant when they’re alone: rough loners, trackers, and hunters. Of course none of us fits the business suit crowd, and no one pushes us around. That’s how the Jones clan has survived so long.
Cruz strides toward me before I can even close the door behind me. He’s shucked his sheriff’s uniform so he’s officially off the human clock and all ours. It’s a mystery how he balances living in two worlds, but he does. Of course, he also manages to share a woman with the Alpha of the Breaux pack.
Sort of.
I get the feeling that the details of that arrangement are a work in progress. Still, he gets a smile on his face that reaches all the way to his eyes when he talks about Gianna. She picked him and Luc, and if he’s okay with her choice, the rest of us have to be as well. No killing the Breauxs—we’ll focus on the Breed instead.
Of course, I’ve thrown a monkey wrench in that plan and all because I can’t keep my dick in my pants.
It’s too bad because things are finally settling down after Cruz and Luc nearly came to blows over Gianna. And if Cruz picks a fight, the rest of us follow. We have his back, no questions asked. Since Luc’s brothers feel the same loyalty toward their Alpha, it leaves things plenty unsettled in the bayou. Cruz looks happy and relaxed, although the longer he looks at me, the more that look fades. Maybe kisses can make everything better, although I stopped believing that before I’d turned five.
“How’s mated life?” I ask, coming to a halt.
“Gianna’s cooking tonight,” Cruz says, a small, private smile teasing his mouth. “Not sure if I should hurry home or not. Think it’s her first attempt at something other than a Lean Cuisine.”
The plantation has a smaller house set out on the edge of the garden. Place probably belonged to the estate manager in a previous century, but Cruz made it his own. Like all of us, he needs his space sometimes. Hell, now that he has a mate who comes with a bonus Alpha male accessory, he probably needs a blast zone around his walls.
“You better get used to telling her what she wants to hear,” I tell him with a wink. “Now that she’s got you pussy-whipped and all.”
His smile grows. He definitely knows something is up. “Hear I might have company on that front,” he says finally. “Come on out back and we’ll talk.”
At least he isn’t treating me to a full pack hearing. Right now, whatever he has to say to me, he intends to say it as my brother. That works for me. I follow him down the hallway that leads to the back porch. It looks downright good for a place where werewolves routinely run. We don’t always mind our claws, and the woodwork and floors are collateral damage.
Outside, the bayou comes alive in the way I love. A bird calls in a rising scale of notes, almost drowned out by the noise of the crickets, and there is more than enough light to see the cousins’ boats tied up at our dock.
A gator roars somewhere close by, hunting his dinner. Makes me think of Keelie Sue for about the hundredth time since I left her. Big Red mated her to Bolt and they found pieces of that wolf in the swamp. The gators hadn’t left more than a torso, and rumor claims Keelie Sue didn’t cry so much as a tear about her loss.
I lean against the porch railing and wait for Cruz to get started. He stares out at the water for a minute before giving me his full attention. Knowing Cruz, he’s used that handful of seconds to organize his thoughts and come up with a battle plan. Cruz doesn’t waste time, and he’s damned decisive.
“The Breed’s been a pain in our ass for months now,” he says. “They’ve been running weapons and drugs in Baton Rouge, and the methods they use to hold their territory aren’t methods I like.”
All true. I definitely don’t like their methods or, fuck, the end game. Not that I care much about human laws, but the way the Breed runs their territory is wrong. Big Red rules through fear and intimidation, using his fists and his teeth to literally tear down anyone who disagrees with him. It’s one thing to be strong and earn your wolves’ respect—even if that means the occasional dominance fight or beatdown, each blow has a purpose. Big Red is indisc
riminate with his fists, and he likes dishing out pain way too much for my taste.
“None of us like it,” I say. “That’s why I agreed to go undercover with them.”
“Not much cover,” he disagrees. “They know you’re a Jones.”
I shrug. That’s a detail that doesn’t matter so much. “But they think I could be convinced to jump ship, to pick their pack over ours.”
Cruz crosses his arms over his chest and looks at me. “A week ago, I would have agreed with that assessment.”
“And now?”
“And now I have to wonder if there’s some truth to it.”
“If you’ve got something to say to me, say it.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not that simple, Jace. Big Red won’t give up power—not willingly. But he is willing to make you promises about what happens someday—and seal those promises with Keelie Sue. Tell me that’s not the truth, and we’re done here.”
“It’s true,” I allow. “He’s recruiting, and he’s cast his eye in my direction.”
I’ve always been solid for Cruz, always had his back. After he assumed leadership of our pack, I slid easily into a new role as his lieutenant and Beta. Cruz doesn’t give us orders. That’s not how the pack works. He simply picks a direction and then he leads us in it. I’ve never had a problem following before, but now here I am trying to decide if I’ll break away. Carve out my own place in the world. Haven’t thought much about that before because I respect the hell out of Cruz. Pack first. That’s his rule, and that’s mine too.
Keelie Sue’s beat-up face kind of dances its way into my head though, and suggests that maybe she’s pack too.
“You’re thinkin’ about it,” Cruz says. I can’t quite figure out what the look in his eyes is trying to tell me. Words would be simpler, or we could roll around, trading punches like we did when we were younger. Can’t really tell if he’s sad or happy or just mocking me.
“Maybe I am,” I acknowledge. “Breed’s been a pain in our ass for too long now, and this is one way to fix it.”
My self-serving conclusion has Cruz laughing. “So you’d be taking one for the team?”
Fuck him. “Something like that. That pack’s no good run the way it is. They’re terrorizing their part of Baton Rouge, and Big Red’s an ambitious cocksucker. He wants to control it all. Guns and drugs aren’t gonna be enough for him, and we don’t want that kind of trouble anyhow. He’s already gotten his wolves arrested. Sooner or later one of them shifts in custody, and then all of the packs have a problem.”
Cruz nods slowly. “Not sure how the humans would react to finding out they’ve got shifters living in their midst. It would be a goddamn PR nightmare at best, and it’s something I’d rather avoid. Safer for everybody that way.”
I hear him. One of the few checks on Big Red’s wolves is the unspoken rule that nobody shifts in public. We keep our furry side on the down low, and that means terrorizing the old-fashioned way, with guns and fists. If the Breed ran the streets as wolves, adding teeth and claws to the mix, the outcome for Baton Rouge would suck.
There’s something else Cruz needs to know too. “Keelie Sue said Big Red’s got a bunch of other human girls locked up somewhere. He’s planning on bringing them out at their next bonfire and any wolf there can take a bite.”
“Fuck.” Cruz scrubs a hand over his face. “He’s dragging humans in here anyhow.”
“Looks that way.” It goes without saying that neither of us is okay with Big Red’s kidnapping and rape agenda. Cruz’s mate won’t like it either if and when she finds out about it. “I’m gonna see what I can do to spring them, but I may need help.”
And if any of those girls sees the wolves shifting, if they know exactly who and what the Breed are… well then we have ourselves a whole new set of problems that I have no idea how to solve.
And then Cruz lays it out there. I knew it was coming, but the words still hit me like a punch in the gut. “You wan’ to stick with me, or are you striking out on your own?”
“I don’t know yet,” I give my brother the truth. Fair’s fair.
He curses, but doesn’t look surprised. “You got to tell me. You can’t go surprising me with this shit.”
“You’re famille.” I don’t want to lose him or my place here. Any fights we have, we keep them private, and in public we present a united front. I don’t want to cut myself off from our maman and dad, either. I know I’ll never lose them entirely, but coming back here could get complicated if I take the Breed pack and things get messy.
“Yeah,” he says. “We are. I don’t wan’ to fight with you, no matter what happens.”
“Me neither.”
“But the Breed plays by a different set of rules,” he continues. “They don’t care who gets hurt in the course of doin’ business. There’s more to them than bikes and riding fast, Jace, and it could be like riding the bull at the rodeo. Gettin’ on isn’t all that difficult because you got the bull in the chute to start, and those three walls and a gate kind of keep the beast in place, but once the rodeo starts, all bets are off. Not all of the Breed wolves are goin’ to welcome a change in management, and they’re goin’ to test you.”
“I can handle the challengers.” I’ve watched the other wolves in the pack fight, and Big Red is right to be worried about me. I’m the strongest fighter.
“So why not challenge Big Red directly?” Cruz crosses his arms over his chest. “Why fuck around with the man’s daughter?”
I can’t explain why Keelie Sue interests me so much.
But she does.
Christ, does she ever.
KEELIE SUE
Two days after Jace dropped me off at my apartment, I’m back to work. Hello, Monday. I earned a bachelor’s degree in accounting largely through online classes, because my dad wasn’t in favor of my living on campus. I had a wolfish escort for the few classes I took on the local campus, and once I finished, he put me to work managing the club’s cash flow.
Probably makes me dirty by association, but he does a good job concealing where the money comes from and how he made it. What I know is which bills need paying—the unsexy stuff like property tax and the electric—and then I invest the leftover money after I finish payroll.
Honestly, I love the work. Numbers make sense to me. They have a pattern, a predictable rhyme and reason, and there aren’t too many surprises. After I first saw Shawshank Redemption, pretty much not a day went by when I didn’t wonder if I could do what Andy Dufresne did and divert my dad’s dollars into my own private retirement fund. I certainly wouldn’t have a problem with living in Mexico, particularly not if it meant I could live pack-free. If wishes were horses, I’d have enough horses to run my own Preakness.
When my phone rings, it isn’t good news. Since I’ve programmed the ring tone for my dad to play the Jaws theme, looking at caller ID isn’t necessary. He doesn’t wait for me to answer either, just starts talking as soon as I tap the talk button.
He isn’t interested in hearing excuses or a status update—he just informs me that he’s expecting me out at the mating ball on Saturday night and that by Sunday morning I’ll be Jace’s mate.
That’s my dad’s plan at any rate.
Now with the clock ticking, I still don’t have any big ideas of my own. Part of me thinks using Jace’s big body for my own personal sexy times isn’t a bad idea, but the rest of me knows better. I don’t want to mate him.
If Jace mates me, he’ll own me.
Then my dad adds insult to injury by telling me more about “the girls” that “he and the boys” picked up for the mating ball. While I might be the star attraction—albeit I’m more free gift with purchase when all of the wolves are really jonesing for the leadership role in the pack—I’m going to have plenty of company. He has six girls lined up, or so he claims. Worse, he’s planning on making one of them my new stepmomma. That’s a resounding hell, no on my part.
My instincts clamor for me to get in my car and drive unti
l I run out of gas. Since my dad doesn’t trust me with much cash, and my credit cards are pack-issued, hitting empty wouldn’t be far in my future. And even if I had a flush checking account and unlimited gas, it couldn’t possibly take me far enough. I ran once, and my dad came after me. If I pulled a repeat, he’d come after me—and this time he’d kill me. He’d already fired the warning shot on that one, and I had the scars to prove it. So instead of running, I think about alternatives and doomsday scenarios.
By the time I walk into my apartment, all I want is a date with a tub of Ben and Jerry’s, kind of like a last meal where I don’t have to worry about nutrition or calories. What I get instead is a werewolf. Jace sprawls on my cherry-red couch, boots hanging off the end. He’s banished my throw pillows to a haphazard mountain on the floor, and my fingers itch to line them up again. He wears his usual uniform of faded blue jeans and those big shitkicker boots I like far too much. He’s tossed his leather jacket over a chair, and he sure looks like he’s been waiting a while. My pulse kicks up, not sure there’s a good reason for him to be here.
“You got to get better locks,” he announces by way of greeting. “I’ll set you up tomorrow.”
I don’t want him anywhere near my locks.
“Why are you here?” I actually consider running for the door. I’m close, close enough to make it. Probably.
He tilts his head back to meet my gaze. The position should make him look stupid, what with him hanging half upside down on my couch. It should not make him look sexy or approachable. I get the strong feeling that he knows I want to run—and he’ll be on me before I can reach the door. Shoot.
“I’m giving you the chance to get to know me,” he says cheerfully, and I consider picking up one of the abandoned pillows and lobbing it at him. He doesn’t want me—he wants a job promotion and I’m the “interview” he needs to nail.
“I know all I need to know,” I tell him, meaning every word.
“Hit me.” He shoves upright into a sitting position. For a moment, I think he means literally—and I’m kind of in the mood to take him up on the offer—before I realize he’s asking me to 4-1-1 him. Does he really expect me to regurgitate everything I know about him?
