Wolves, Witches and Bears...Oh My!

by Nicky Charles

  “A drink, sir?” A waitress stopped by his table.

  “Cognac, the best Rémy Martin you have.”

  A flicker of surprise passed over her face as if truly cultured palates seldom passed her way. “I’ll see what’s available.” With a backward glance his way, she went to fill the order. No doubt she’d been expecting him to say beer or whiskey. He’d have chosen one of those if it had suited his cover but for once the job allowed him to be more himself than usual. His tastes were quite cultured and he enjoyed indulging them, especially when it was at someone else’s expense.

  Leaning back in his chair, he observed the activity around him. It was what he’d come to expect from Club Mystique; dancing, drinking, conversation. The décor had changed since he’d last been here. There was still a bar, dance floor and tables but some areas had been remodelled to allow the character of the old building to show through. Brick walls had been exposed as had the wooden beams, and old-style pendent lighting, complete with Edison bulbs, hung over some of the more secluded tables that seemed to be for dining. A menu was now posted on a chalkboard; simple but with a wide enough range to offer some choice. He nodded in approval.

  Switching his focus to the occupants of the room, he flared his nostrils, sorting through the scents that swirled through the building. Beneath the perfume, sweat, food and drink, he could detect several species of shifters. Taking his time, he isolated as many as he could. There was always a chance that a member of the Chicago pack could be at the club. Thankfully, it was a small pack and only a few of them knew who he was. Still, he’d rather be sure.

  Minutes ticked by, his concentration fixed on his surroundings. Finally, he gave a nod. None of the shifters present had ever had contact with him. Not that shifters were his focus this time, but they were the group that could cause him the most grief. He was one of them, and yet not.

  We are loners, his wolf stated. We need no one.

  Dante nodded in agreement. He’d long ago come to terms with being an outcast. It wasn’t worth dwelling on.

  His gaze scanned the room seeking his target—a certain fiery-tempered, red-headed proprietress. And…there she was.

  He leaned forward, hands clasped on the table, eyes narrowed. Black jeans, a grey silky top; simple yet classy. Her hair was pulled back in a clip with the exception of a few tendrils that had escaped and now curled about her face, softening her features. She was making her way through the crowd, talking to some groups, giving others a warning look. There was a don’t-fuck-with-me attitude hiding beneath her outward friendliness. Not surprising given what he’d seen during their earlier encounter.

  Her present trajectory and pace would bring her past his table in about ten minutes unless something urgent demanded her attention. He eased back in his chair and readied himself for their encounter. Their first meeting hadn’t been stellar, however it had created a connection and he’d work with that.

  His cognac finally arrived. The glass, as expected, was a common snifter with too wide a mouth to really capture the aroma. He sighed. A properly formed crystal vessel greatly enhanced the experience of fine cognac. Of course, one first needed fine cognac. He took an experimental sip of the beverage.

  “Is this the best you have?”

  She nodded, but he caught a miniscule hesitation.

  He curved his mouth into an ingratiating smile. “What do I have to do to access the private stock?”

  The server shifted nervously. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m new here. I believe only the owner—”

  “Ah! Understood.” He grinned inwardly. A reason for approaching Gwyneth had presented itself. How fortuitous. “I’ll speak to her about the matter.”

  “But—”

  “On your way.” He handed her a substantial tip. “I’m acquainted with Ms. O’Donohue. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to accommodate me once she realizes I’m here.”

  “I could get her for you.” The server began to look around.

  “No need. She’s coming this way. Take care of the rest of your customers.”

  After shooing her on her way, he took another sip of the cognac. It wasn’t as bad as he’d initially thought. Or maybe the anticipation of another verbal battle with Gwyneth was interfering with his taste buds.

  He waited until she was only two tables away before raising his hand to draw her attention. She walked towards him, a professional smile on her face. The fact that she seemed not to recognize him irritated. Theirs had been a brief meeting but surely he’d made some impression on her.

  Her expression transformed into a frown as she stepped closer. He controlled a smirk. The game was about to begin again.

  “You again!”

  “I was worried.”

  “Worried?” She cocked her head.

  “You didn’t seem to recognize me at first. My ego was on the verge of being crushed.”

  “The lighting kept me from getting a clear view of you.” She folded her arms and looked him up and down. “Though I suspect your ego would only benefit from a thorough crushing.”

  “Then you should have lied to me.”

  “Lies can be too difficult to keep track of.”

  “Not for a sufficiently intelligent individual.” He chuckled to himself when her mouth opened and then closed abruptly as the implications of his words sunk in.

  Her chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath. He noted the way the silk of her top hinted intriguingly at the shape of her breasts. Not large but well-proportioned for her frame. His gaze slid down her length. Average waist, hips not too wide. She was long limbed and wiry, her hands capable rather than elegantly manicured. Interesting.

  She spoke and he moved his gaze back to her face.

  “I’m not here to start a debate. What do you want?”

  Her tone gave no indication he’d irritated her. He couldn’t resist trying again.

  “True love. Peace on Earth. And…” He paused long enough to enjoy the clenching of her fists before continuing. “A cure for the common cold would be nice.”

  “You—” She seemed to catch herself. A treacly sweet smile appeared. “I’m sorry. I should have asked why you flagged me to come over.”

  He admired her self-control while mourning that she’d ended their banter so soon. “A decent glass of cognac.”

  “The server brought you the wrong drink?” She glanced towards the girl who was several tables away. “I’ll—”

  “She brought me cognac but it’s substandard. I believe you have a private stock?”

  Gwyneth pursed her lips and he suspected the new server would be reprimanded. A shame. She’d seemed a nice enough girl. Uncharacteristically, he came to the rescue. “Don’t blame her. Based on your fine taste in jewellery, I suspected you had a more refined taste than this,” he raised the glass derisively before continuing. “I played a hunch and your reaction confirmed it.”

  She conceded to him with the slightest incline of her head. “Be that as it may, my private stock is just that. Private. I share it with friends.”

  “I’d like to be your friend.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re a Lycan.”

  He affected a shocked look. “Discrimination?”

  “Let me rephrase. You’re an annoying Lycan.”

  Leaning back, he studied her. She was different. Charm had failed to win her over this afternoon. Clever banter wasn’t getting him anywhere. What was left? Honesty? Unconventional, yet possibly worth a try.

  Slowly, he eased forward, hands lightly clasped on the table. The teasing twinkle he’d put in his eye earlier was changed for a direct look and his tone became serious.

  “I apologize, Ms. O’Donohue. I’m used to teasing and charming to get my own way. Quite honestly, I came here to relax and have a decent drink of cognac. If you can’t provide that, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Then why didn’t you go to one of the high-class clubs to begin with?”

  “As you said, I’m a
Lycan. Here, there’s a chance I might meet one of my own kind, share a bit of companionship.” He shrugged and slid his chair back as if to stand. “But…”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  “Really? That’s very wise.” He was on his feet now. She was only an inch or two shorter than him. It was a nice change to be able to look into a woman’s eyes without having to incline his head. “Yes, very wise.” They were close enough that the heat of her body was perceptible, her scent filling his nostrils as he inhaled. He gave her a long look and then turned and left.

  She made no sound as he walked away. Gwyneth O’Donohue wouldn’t change her mind and call him back. His subtle hint of loneliness had been ignored, as he’d expected it to be. His plan was that by walking away tonight he’d spark a tiny flicker of interest in her.

  Exiting the club, he hailed a taxi. Gwyneth was definitely proving to be a challenge. He liked that. It would make his eventual success all the more satisfying.

  Gwyn frowned as she watched the irritating man leave her club. His play for her sympathy might have had some women relenting and offering him a drink, but she wasn’t that easy to sway. He knew it, too, damn him. She could tell by his walk that he wasn’t expecting her to call him back. Yet, if that was the case, why the lonely-Lycan ploy? Had he been telling the truth? Was he simply looking for a good drink and companionship? Her gut was telling her honesty had only a passing acquaintance with him. And her vision could very well have been a warning that she should be extra cautious around Lycans right now. Plus, there was the fact that she’d run into him earlier in the day. A coincidence?

  “Excuse me.” A patron brushed by her and she realized she was staring after the Lycan as if she actually cared that he’d left. With a scowl, she grabbed the glass from the table and sniffed the contents. In this, at least, he’d been telling the truth. The cognac was inferior to anyone with a trained palate.

  After placing the glass on the tray of a passing server, she resumed her patrol of the club. So far it was a typical night for Mystique. Music, laughter and friendly conversation filled the space. Drinks were being served, food consumed, the dance floor was beginning to fill. Familiar faces interspersed with visitors from out of town. Everything was as it should be, nothing to tip off the humans present that they were surrounded by shifters, witches and Fae. If anything even hinted at the unusual she dealt with it quickly, if necessary even breaking her own rule and applying some subtle magic to bring things back to order. Heaven only knew, she didn’t want some Damage Control officer breathing down her neck! Mystique was her current pet project and she wasn’t about to let anyone mess with it until she was good and ready to move on.

  Matthias was in his usual spot near the door. He and his cousin, Rudy, worked as a team of bouncers for the club. Gwyneth made her way to him, snagging a bottle of water along the way. She didn’t allow the consumption of spirits on the job.

  “Here you go, Matt.” She handed him the plastic container.

  “Thanks.” He smiled, unscrewed the cap and took a long drink. Nothing about his words or expression indicated they were more than employer and employee. That was one of the things she liked about him. He kept his life nicely compartmentalized. “It’s warm in here.”

  “Unseasonably so. I might have to change the setting on the A/C.” She glanced around. "It seems pretty calm tonight.”

  “Yep.” He took another drink while scanning the crowd. The werebear cousins were both calm, diligent and big enough to intimidate all but the most reckless of patrons.

  “Did you notice the Lycan who left a few minutes ago?” She mentally kicked herself for asking. It hadn’t been her intention and now it was too late to withdraw the comment.

  “Dark hair? Well dressed?”

  “That’s him. Did he seem familiar?”

  He searched his memory. “No. But we have hundreds of people go through here.” The bouncer cocked his head. “Was he causing a problem?”

  “No. Not really. He was just looking for a drink of good cognac.”

  “Ah.” Matt nodded no doubt recalling her extensive stock of fine alcoholic beverages. “And you didn’t hand him the keys to the cellar.”

  “Of course not.” She’d been collecting for years and only a select few were ever invited to sample the rare vintages. “I suppose I was wondering how he knew I even had a private collection. In all the years the club has been open, he’s the only person to have asked.”

  “I’ve no idea. It’s not common knowledge. Maybe a lucky guess?”

  “Maybe.” A sigh escaped her. “I’m likely making too much of it.” She patted the man on the arm, idly registering the rock-hard muscles and recalling how they had felt when wrapped around her last night. “Let me know if you have any problems.”

  “Will do.”

  She went back to work. The new girl she’d hired to replace Tina required supervision, the kitchen staff might need some help and…there seemed to be a small difference of opinion occurring near one corner of the dance floor. She pushed thoughts of annoying Lycans and handsome bear shifters to the back of her mind. There were more important things to keep her busy.

  Matt watched Gwyn insert herself between two belligerent men and give them a tongue-lashing that soon had them cowering. A smile curled the corner of his mouth. She was a hands-on owner who ruled the club with an iron fist, never hesitating to wade into the middle of a disagreement.

  Sometimes he wondered why she bothered hiring bouncers. Being a witch she could zap any troublemakers. Of course, the presence of humans kept her from doing that. He guessed that was where the bouncers came in.

  He crumpled the water bottle she’d given him, his gaze following her progress as she moved to the bar and began filling orders.

  “You can take a break.” Rudy appeared at his side.

  “I’m good. Gwyn brought me some water.”

  “The privileges of sleeping with the boss.” Rudy grinned and Matt elbowed him in response.

  “Jealous?”

  “No. I have my own woman and I’m quite happy with her.”

  He nodded, knowing Rudy spoke the truth.

  “It’s about time you settled down, too.”

  “Yeah. Someday.”

  “Gwyneth?”

  Matt shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “She’s a strong woman. Maybe too strong?”

  He turned to look at his cousin. “What do you mean?”

  “You have a protective streak.”

  “So?”

  “You need to be needed. Gwyneth needs no one.”

  “It’s an act she puts on.”

  Rudy made a non-committal sound.

  Matt scowled, not liking the turn the conversation had taken. “I’m going back to work.”

  Chapter 6

  Dante shifted his weight to his other foot as he stood hidden in the shadows of an alley across the street from the club. After leaving Mystique earlier, he’d had the taxi drop him off a few blocks away and had then circled back to his present location.

  He’d been watching the club for several hours now, observing the habits of the patrons and employees in the hopes of gaining insight into what made Gwyneth O’Donohue tick. When was she alone? Did other witches ever visit? Most importantly, was she involved in black magic?

  And so he stood there, waiting, watching. It was tedious but he’d spent evenings doing worse. No one was trying to kill him, there were no venomous creatures trying to make him into a snack, no flying bullets to dodge and his stomach was full. Yeah, he could handle a bit of boredom.

  A glance at his watch showed it was closing time. The club slowly emptied of customers. The lights inside the building flicked off one by one and the staff trickled out in groups of twos and threes. He made note of each one, mentally recording which direction they went, whether towards a car or a bus stop or walking. Interestingly enough, the bouncer left with the rest of them. That was a change from last night.

  When he’d surveyed the building i
n the morning, a male scent had lingered near the door, indicating the person had left recently, presumably after having spent the night. Tonight, he’d connected the scent to one of the bouncers and concluded Gwyneth and the werebear had a relationship beyond employer-employee. Apparently, they didn’t live together as he first assumed. Good. A permanent boyfriend was harder to dispose of than a casual lover.

  The lower levels of the building were in darkness now, only the third floor remaining lit. It was Gwyneth’s apartment according to his research. A cat was outlined in one window and it seemed to be staring directly at him. He made a mental note to pick up something to bribe the animal with. An animal fawning over you often made the owner more likely to do the same. The cat remained in the window for a moment longer then stood, arched its back and jumped down from the sill, disappearing from view. He chuckled thinking it had telepathically realized his intention to bring food and now felt its mission was complete.

  Or perhaps it had been distracted. A woman walked past the window, something in her hand shaped like a pet’s food dish. Then she returned, her hands empty. She stretched and released her hair from a clip. It fell about her shoulders reaching almost to her waist. He speculated what it would look like; a curtain of red waves, soft and silky to the touch. If the chance presented itself, he’d love to touch it.

  Eventually the light in the window disappeared, leaving the apartment in darkness.

  He waited for another hour to ensure no one came or left before giving up his vigil. Stifling a yawn, he rubbed his bleary eyes and checked his watch. Three in the morning. Time to get some sleep. In a shimmer, he shifted to wolf form and took the back alleys to his hotel, visions of a king-sized bed and down-filled pillows teasing his tired body.

  Rest did not come as planned though. Yes, he slept, but it was wracked with dreams that had him tossing and turning…