"If you hang out any farther, Coop, a mailbox is gonna rip your head off," I tell him. It's a surefire way to end someone like him and me permanently.
He growls irritably and settles back into the bucket seat with an almost petulant glower. "Fuck, I need to get laid," his low voice grumbles out as he rubs at his dark scruffy beard.
"I hear ya, bro," I commiserate. "I hear ya."
It's been a while for me too. Being twenty-five and single in a tiny close-nit town like Wolcott isn't exactly conducive to anonymous one-night-stands. Coop's family and mine have enough secrets to keep without sordid gossip running rampant about the two of us man-whoring our way through all the willing local girls. Not to mention the potential broken hearts and riled up tempers we'd leave in our wake. Nope, I don't need that kind of shitshow in my life. I'd been there, and done that in my teens, and I never want Mom's disappointed glare and Dad's hard and intimidating scowl over something like that again. I ignore the fact that if they had any idea of what Coop and I are up to tonight, it would get the exact same and unpleasant reaction. But what's a horny single guy supposed to do, become a monk?
"And then a good hard run," Cooper continues, his usually dark eyes briefly flashing amber as he glances my way. His voice drops to a low feral growl. "I need the woods, and the wind in my nose. I need to hunt."
His declaration has a wild rush of eagerness surging through my veins, and I know my own blue eyes are flashing bright silver. I let out a low growl of agreement. I've got another appetite that needs filled too, perhaps by some rabbit or maybe a deer. I long for the thrill of the chase and the kill, for the sweet coppery taste of warm blood and fresh meat on my tongue, followed by the lulling comfort of a full belly. Yeah, that sounds real good right about now.
"Later," I add in a deep gravelly voice that hints at how very much I'm not exactly human. Yeah, monsters are real. Your Mom and Dad were wrong. And how do I know that? Because I'm one of them. But that monster, that beast inside me wanting out, is tempered by the man sharing space with it inside my head. That half grants me the power of will to control the beast, and embrace my humanity in equal measure too.
For a moment, I feel the wolf roiling around inside me, feel the prickles of fur just beneath the surface of my skin shiver through me as it leaves gooseflesh in its wake. My jaw aches with the fangs that threaten to erupt, and I clench my teeth with a snarl as I fight down the urge to shift that vibrates through my very bones. That's a guaranteed car wreck waiting to happen, and though Coop and I would survive it, it would still hurt like a motherfucker and total my beloved Jeep.
When I finally manage to get control of the beast, our destination appears up ahead on the right. Rowdy's Tavern. The old dive bar is lit up, and the parking lot packed. The place is near the freeway and closer to Harrisville, the next bigger town over where most of its clientele come from, in addition to the truckers and other travelers just passing through. It's far enough from Wolcott not to attract too many locals, and has a certain reputation in town that keeps most of them away as well. It suits our purposes for tonight perfectly.
The Jeep's big knobby tires crunch across the gravel as we pull into the bar's lot. I park at the far end near the tree line where its relatively dark, and shut off the vehicle. I glance at Cooper to see a hint of amber still flickering around in his eyes as he shoves his own wolf back down. Although Coop and I are the same age, he came into his wolf a couple of years later than I did when I was fourteen, so his control isn't quite as good as mine yet.
"You good now?" I ask, my voice normal again.
He shoots me an irritated glance as he runs a hand through his closely cropped and wiry dark hair, his eyes back to their usual dark umber. "Yeah, I'm good." His voice is completely human again too. "Let's do this." The eagerness in his tone and demeanor is unmistakable and infectious.
We share a grin, then bump fists before climbing down out of the Jeep and stalking toward the bar's front door. I scan the cars around us, my ears and nose alert for any sign of a threat, noting the acrid scent of pot and the sound of sloppy grunting sex coming from inside an old SUV we pass. Getting jumped in the parking lot here is a definite possibility for the unwary. That ain't gonna to me, besides the fact that I have very little to fear from any weapon I might be threatened with anyway, but I don't need that kind of attention. If I got shot or stabbed and walked away from it unscathed with witnesses, our safe haven in Wolcott, or anywhere else, for that matter, would all come crashing down in a heartbeat. The pack always comes first, and we all jealously guard our secret at all costs.
A big drunken guy comes stumbling out of the place as we approach the entrance, the stench of cheap beer, cigarettes, and body odor wafting off of him. He staggers into me and bounces off my hard muscular body, and I instinctively reach out to grab his arm, so I can steady him. I wrinkle my nose in distaste.
I never understood why some people like to drink themselves into oblivion. It's partly because my naturally heightened metabolism makes getting drunk a near impossibility, but also because the lack of control that comes with it is a terrifying proposition in and of itself. A werewolf without control is a danger to all of us and our secret existence. They risk being shunned and turned out by the pack to fend for themselves, or worse if they're a big enough liability. It's drilled into all of us from a young age never to let a human find out the truth we're hiding right under their noses. Our future depends on it.
"Get your fuckin' hands off me," he slurs out drunkenly as he jerks out of my grip.
He shoots a hard glare at me that I return with one of my own. He looks like he's itching for a fight, but he's fucking with the wrong guy. He might be quite a bit taller and broader than my six-foot-two frame, but he's no match for me, even if he was sober. I put a little of my wolf into my stare, just enough to kick up the guy's instinctual and primal fear of a predator, and his eyes suddenly widen and his face blanches. He quickly mumbles out an apology and staggers away across the parking lot as I scowl after him in disgust.
"Douchebag," Coop mutters under his breath with a shake of his head.
I growl in agreement and turn to lead the way into the noisy bar. We walk in, and my nose is instantly assaulted by the acrid stench of cigarettes with a side order of booze and greasy bar food, and my ears are bombarded by blaring country music. Hazy smoke roils along the vaulted ceiling made of pine and hovers above the raucous crowd. The wolf in me doesn't like being here one damn bit, and the sensory overload makes him want to run like hell out of here. I have to take a moment to steel myself and settle the wolf down, but I have a handle on it by the time we reach the bar.
Brett the bartender immediately nods at us in recognition and pulls two bottles of beer out from under the bar. He pops the caps and slides them over to Cooper and me. I pull out my wallet and toss some cash at him. Brett snatches it up, glares at them for a beat, then arches a brow and informs me that the prices went up.
"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Coop snaps out with a fierce glower. "What the fuck for?"
"New owner, new prices," Brett explains succinctly with an unapologetic expression.
"What happened to Rowdy?" I ask incredulously.
The old fart has owned the place for decades, long before Coop and I started coming in here after turning twenty-one. I don't know Rowdy Boudreau well, but I always figured the only way he'd leave this place is in a pine box, but what the hell did I know.
"Sold the place and retired a few weeks ago," Brett answers with a pragmatic shrug. "Moved to Florida, I guess." His eyes sharpen as he shoves a hand out for more money. "Pay up, I've got shit to do." That's Brett for you, always polite, always a gentleman.
I growl under my breath in resignation, because where the hell else are we gonna go, and toss some more bills at Brett. Then Coop and I grab our beers and turn to scope out the room. The bar looks close to capacity with most of the tables occupied, and the dance floor is packed. Near the juke box, there's a table filled with a group of attractive twentysomethi
ng girls in short skirts and low cut tops. They're all laughing and carrying on, and appear to be here for a good time tonight. I decide that the pool table next to them is where Cooper and I definitely want to be.
I share a quick glance with him, and he nods. Good, we're on the same page. I grin and take an eager step forward, only to find that my path is blocked by something completely unexpected in this place. I glance down to see a silver and white dog looking up at me with so much enthusiastic tail wagging that it has her back end wriggling excitedly. What the? I have no idea where she came from, but what I now realize is a Siberian Husky is currently giving me a wide canine grin with her pale blue eyes intently focused on me. She lets out a playful snort and starts nosing my leg, sniffling and snuffling at me with keen interest. Oh yeah, she can smell what I am. I'm just happy she doesn't seem to mind. Some dogs don't take kindly to my ilk and react accordingly with lots of barking and snarling, or even an attack on occasion. The dog finishes her perusal of my scent, then with another snort, turns and wanders away across the bar. I notice a blue and yellow vest on her that reads "seizure alert dog". Well, that explains why she was allowed in.
"What's with the dog?" Coop blurts out curiously.
"It's with the new girl!" Brett barks out gruffly behind us, his tone clearly irritated.
I glance back to see him nodding across the room before turning to glare at another customer who dared to order a drink from him. I look in the direction he indicated and still with my beer halfway to my mouth when I see her.
She's standing next to a table and setting drinks down on it with a wide and glorious smile. I take in her gleaming raven-black hair cut into a chin-length bob that frames the most gorgeous face I've ever seen in my life. I drink in her big and darkly-lined electric-blue eyes, full kissable pink lips, and her flawless ivory skin. My stare slides down her lithe yet still curvy feminine body. A red flannel shirt with rolled-up sleeves hugs the tight black T-shirt she has on beneath it. The flannel is tied just under her pert little breasts, accentuating them to damn near perfection. Dark skintight jeans cling to an ass and legs to die for, and a pair of black Chuck Taylors grace her feet.
Hot. Damn. This girl is incredible. Perfect even.
Unsurprisingly, the man in me instantly reacts with a predictable and uncomfortable response behind the zipper of my jeans. What shocks me is that the wolf is right there with him taking notice. Wanting. Needing. Coveting. I've never felt anything like it before. I watch as one of the douchebags at the table makes a grab for her ass, and a low growl rolls through me in a wave of dark possessive rage. It's all I can do not to charge over there and crush the fuckers hand in my fist, and then fling him across the room by his fucking throat. The wolf urges me to shift and eliminate the threat, and fuck me, it's all I can do to hold him back.
Luckily, she easily twists away from the attempt to grope her, and the wolf settles down as she moves toward another table and away from the fucker. My eyes continue to track her and the greedy lecherous stares that follow her around the room. I don't like it, not one fucking bit, and the wolf urges me to go grab her and drag her the hell out of here with a trail of broken bodies in my wake.
"She's smoking hot," Cooper mutters incredulously beside me.
I rip my eyes away to shoot a hard glare at him, his words firing up the wolf's fury again. Another quiet yet still terrifying growl escapes me. It captures Coop's attention, and his eyes immediately widen in incredulous shock.
"Emmett, your eyes," he mutters warningly. "Shut it down."
Holy shit, I hadn't lost control enough for my eyes to flash without me knowing it since I was a teen. What the fuck? I squeeze my eyes shut and shove the beast back down with the hardest effort of will I've had to use in years, yet I could still feel him coiled under the surface just waiting to rise up again. Shit. This was not good, not good at all.
When I open my eyes, Coop is watching me with a deep worried frown since he can sense my intense internal struggle. "We need to get the fuck out of here," he says vehemently.
I nod even as the wolf resolutely disagrees. I can't help myself and look back over at the girl again, my feet suddenly riveted to the floor as I fight the urge to go to her instead. Coop snarls under his breath in frustration, then takes my beer and discards it along with his on the bar top. He grabs me by the shirt and starts hauling me toward the front door. I stumble along with him, desperately trying to rein in the wolf.
We're only a few feet from our escape when two hard and dangerous looking men in black leather jackets swagger in through the door. Coop pulls me out of the way, so the two men can pass, and my nose catches the faint yet unmistakable scent of sulfur in their wake. No. No fucking way. It wasn't possible. It had to be my imagination.
"Holy. Fuck," Cooper breaths out incredulously as he stares after them, clinching the truth I don't want to believe, that he also caught their stench.
I watch the two men cross the bar and take a seat at an empty table. A few seconds later, the black-haired girl, who so completely riveted me and my wolf just a few moments ago, is now approaching them with a sweet and welcoming smile. She's totally oblivious to the danger she's putting herself in.
My wolf and I don't like the way those evil motherfuckers are looking at her one damn bit, their eyes hungry and vilely covetous. Coop and I share a long and pointed look. I can't leave her here with them. No fucking way. Neither the wolf nor the man in me will allow it, and he can see it plain as day in my eyes. Finally, Cooper loosens his grip on my shirt and huffs out a long beleaguered sigh of resignation. He knows we aren't going anywhere now, and the night we planned is about to go to shit.
3
RAVEN
Brett shoots yet another glare my way as I shout my next order at him over the tray of drinks on the bar in front of me. I don't understand the guy's surly attitude at all, but strangely I'm getting used to it, enough to have a little fun with it anyway. I smile brightly at him, hoping to irritate him with it as I thank him and heft the tray into the air. I take satisfaction in his deepening glower, knowing my needling was a success. I have this compulsion to give him a reason to be a jerk, and I can't help myself. It's just the way I am. I whirl away from the bar and head back to my tables with a smirk I can't seem to smother.
I take the tray to one of the tables in my section, and give the three middle-aged men a smile as I set a drink down in front of each of them. Two are bald and sporting beer bellies, and one is a skinny guy who I suspect is hiding his own lack of hair under a trucker hat that says, "I have issues". These guys are such a cliche. I grit my teeth as trucker-hat-guy makes a grab for my ass for the umpteenth time in the last hour. God grant me patience before I stomp a heel down on his foot and get fired my first night here.
I easily twist away from his groping hand and make my way back to the bar to see if Brett has my next order ready. Either way it'll annoy him and entertain me. As I walk, a strange almost shiver-inducing sensation that I'm being watched falls heavily over me, and I'm not talking about all the creepers who have been undressing me with their eyes tonight. No, this isn't unpleasant, just...weird. I reach the bar and set the tray down as the feeling fades and look to my left, like my brain knows that's where the odd sensation originated. All I see are the backs of two dark-haired guys heading away from the other end of the bar toward the exit. I shake off the moment as a blip of insanity and wonder if I'm losing it as I turn back toward the bar.
I grin at Brett yet again, then inquire about my next order and receive a glare for my troubles. Goody. I feel a presence come up beside me and turn to see Chavez smiling kindly at me as his strong cologne cloys around me. He shouts a drink order at Brett. Since I'm the only server tonight, he's working the tables right along with me. So far, I'm impressed with the man. I'd never had a boss help out by serving tables before.
"How you doing, darlin'?" he asks loudly over the twanging music of the juke box. "Do I need to break a few overly-friendly hands for you tonight?"
"No." I dismissively wave away his offer. "Nothing I can't handle."
"Good," he replies, then grabs his own full tray off the bar top and moves away.
Brett sternly informs me that he's still working on my next order with narrowed flinty eyes. I thank him sweetly and go over to the small window into the kitchen to find one of my food orders ready. Chavez introduced me to the two quiet guys who work the kitchen earlier. They seem nice, even if they don't say much. I load my tray with a few baskets of greasy food and take them to another of my many tables.
I drop off the food to the three middle-aged creeps, and notice two big and kind of scary looking men taking a seat in my section. I assume they're bikers from all the leather they're wearing. I paint on a friendly smile and ready myself to walk toward them as my every instinct tells me not to, but I ignore it. After all, I feel certain that Chavez wouldn't let anyone hurt me.
Out of habit, I look for Luna to find her slipping back under the nearby pool table that's been her refuge for most of the night. Fortunately, no one has bothered her so far, and Chavez assured me he wouldn't tolerate anyone who did, and would kick them out without question. Hell, I don't think most of the patrons even realize she's here. Luna excels at being unobtrusive when she needs to be.
My dog lays down and focuses on me, and of course she immediately notices my unease, and her ears prick forward. Her attention fixes sharply on me for a second before she fiercely eyes the two men I'm about to approach. Her body instantly stiffens, and I can clearly see her lips curling up into a snarl, her body vibrating with impending motion. Shit, I don't want her anywhere near those guys. I battle down the fear and sharpen my own gaze disapprovingly on Luna, who notices and settles at my rebuking glare, but her eyes stay glued on what she still perceives as a threat.
You and me both, girl.
I steel myself and walk as calmly as I can toward the table that I just assume to have nothing to do with, a big fake smile plastered to my face. As I approach and get a closer look at them, I raise my opinion of them from kind of scary to really scary. These men look hard and forbidding. I slow as fear prickles through me, and I really wish they'd sat down in my boss' section instead of mine. The way they eye me and size me up isn't the harmless gawking of my other tables, and I suddenly feel like a fresh piece of meat on display as their hungry icky gazes travel up and down my body like an unwanted touch. It gives me the chills, and makes me feel instantly dirty.
Wild Blood: The Trueborn Saga Book 1 Page 2
